Adduné - the Vampire's Game (20 page)

“
A tunnel? At Weatherly? Where?”

“
As I said, it was near the room we were working in – through the back wall. ”There’s a doorway. Never noticed it before, but Herb sure did.”

“
Really? This is all so strange. Maybe Fairfield meant there was a large box. If you think about it, a crate with a box in it would be considered an empty box. You wouldn’t necessarily delineate between the two if both were empty.”

“
Makes sense, if both were empty, I suppose. I know that coffin – or whatever it was – was in there. I feel horrible. All this so he could steal a pair of candlesticks. Sad thing is that these buggers think they can get away with it, but they never can. His conscience got the best of him in the end. Why else would he have been having those dreams?”

“
Dreams?” Reginald said springing slightly forward and rolling his chair back. It was just as Figgs had said. Suddenly the image of Willie Figgs flooded his mind. He remembered the rest of the impossible conversation. Figgs sitting across the kitchen table telling him all about dreams … a coffin … and a man with satin breeches.

“
What sort of dreams was he having?”

“
Guilty dreams by the sound of it. Said some horrible man kept watching him in his dreams. Well, the part that made sense anyway.”

“
And the part that didn’t?”

“
Crazy stuff. Said this man in his dream was the one responsible for everything. He blamed him for coming up with the plan to put the tag on the coffin and tell me it was filled with old paintings. Said the man was there in Weatherly Manor and that this figment of his imagination forced him to ship the crate to Fairfield. You see what I’m saying, Mr. Charles? He couldn’t even stop lying at the end.”

“
If he was lying …” Reginald mumbled to himself.

“
What’d you say, sir?”

“
I’m sorry, Sy. Just thinking out loud as to why someone would want a coffin sent to America.”

“
He even had an answer for that! He said the man wanted to be sent to America – wanted to be sent in his coffin. Seems he needed it once he got there! I suppose he would be needing it if he was dead. Have you ever heard such hogwash in your life? He must have been sloshed out of his mind to come up with a tale like that.”

Reginald gripped the edge of his desk. He didn’t like this conversation. It was doing something to his sense of stability that he prided himself on. How could the two stories match? As far as Reginald knew, Herb Pinckus and Willie Figgs were strangers. Herb had just been hired so he hadn’t been to Weatherly before – at least not in that capacity. Was it possible they knew each other before this?

“
Sy, I don’t suppose you could fax me a copy of his note?”

“
Any particular reason, sir?”

Reginald thought a moment. He chose his words carefully.

“
Put it down to curiosity.”

“
Not a problem. Can’t see it’ll matter now. Anyway, Mr. Blanding wanted me to personally apologize for the mix-up. Because of Pinckus’ mental instability it was unavoidable. I hope you understand that, sir, and continue to use Blanding’s for all your needs.”

“
Well, of course. See no reason to change and I quite understand.”

With that, Sy hung up the phone. Reginald patted his pocket now empty of the envelope he’d mailed this morning. He didn’t know exactly why he’d asked to see the note, but knew it had something to do with the envelope’s intended recipient. Call it a hunch or an ill-begotten idea, but Reginald needed to see if there were more in that note. Words that Sy was unwilling to say and that Reginald had been too afraid to ask.

Reading Herb’s final words were the only thing that would put to rest the crazy notion that was crawling up the back of his leg.

CHAPTER 11

Rachel awoke feeling as if she were floating. She put it down to the aftereffects of nearly having her skull cracked open. She wondered why she’d passed out and if there would be a recurrence. Rachel didn’t run to see doctors for every little thing that went wrong, but losing consciousness didn’t seem very little. In fact, it took away her confidence and made her feel weak and vulnerable.

She slowly pushed back the bedcovers and sat up as best she could. Her head didn’t hurt as much as feel woozy. She stayed motionless for a moment giving her equilibrium time to stabilize her balance. She looked out through her framed window and saw it was dusk. She hadn’t intended on sleeping at all, but when she arrived home a general malaise overtook her. She’d then decided to take a quick nap. Instead she’d slept the day away. She was mad at herself. She was supposed to pick-up Velvet. The vets closed at 6:30 PM. She wondered what time it was. It felt as if she’d been asleep for about a week. She’d have to hurry if she were going to make it.

She stood quickly, feeling an incredible energy kicking in – pulsating deep within her. It overtook the lethargy she was feeling for only a second. One delightful second that gave her a glimpse into feeling what it would like to be invincible. Unstoppable. To have an underground, limitless artesian well supplying her with all the energy she’d ever need to accomplish any task. It was gone now and only left Rachel to question what was going on within her to give her such two divergent views. It was as if there were two Rachels that were at war with each other. An inner revolution was occurring, but to what end? The only thing she knew right now was the rapidly descending darkness seemed to be amping up the throbbing between her legs. She paused in making the bed to lean her head back and let out a groan. When finished, she tossed the fancy, decorative pillows she’d splurged in buying onto her bed and padded her way into the bathroom. She used the walls as support along the way. She felt she needed to as her feet were unsteady. Was the floor moving ever so slightly or was it her?

When she entered the bathroom, she flicked on the lights. She winced from the strong lighting. She caught herself. Why did she think the lighting was strong? It had always been only adequate, but today it was hurting her eyes. It was another indication that perhaps she should make an appointment with her doctor and have the bump on her head checked out
.
No sense taking chances.

She softened the brightness of the room, leaving only the lights over the mirror on. She reached into the shower stall and turned the faucets to the left. She used her right hand to make sure the temperature of the water flowing was nice and hot. She couldn’t wait to feel the water against her as she felt strangely cold. As if she carried a piece of last night inside of her. She touched her hand to her cheek. Both felt as if they’d been packed in ice and put away in the freezer.

She stripped off her pajamas and hung them on the hook behind the door. She stepped into the middle of the stream of water, luxuriating in the spray as it hit her raw nipples. She arched her back, growing more and more excited under the intense downpour of liquid upon her breasts. She lifted them from underneath and held them up to intensify the sensation. She felt fully aroused and realized that the passion locked within her needed release. She carefully made her way to the bottom of the shower and lay with her legs spread wide open. She lifted her hips moving them until her vagina was positioned underneath the gushing stream. The steamy, hot water hit her clitoris with non-ceasing accuracy. Rachel made throaty noises of intense pleasure as she felt the onset of an orgasm. It quickly climaxed, leaving her in its wake and wanting more. It harkened back to the other night, but was not quite as satisfying since one thing was missing – Peter. She’d have to wait. She had the feeling she’d be seeing him again. She had to. Although she was confused, she was sure about him being real. In fact, he was now her whole reason for living – perhaps he would also be her reason for dying.

The idea disturbed Rachel. She struggled to her feet using her hand on the rim of her shower bench to make sure she made it up without injuring herself. One conk on the head was bad enough. She didn’t want to go through blacking out again. She toyed with what blacking out permanently would be like. Would it be like being with Peter?

The whole idea of dying puzzled Rachel. She had never been particularly religious – and what little religion she’d practiced had died when her family did. She wasn’t quite sure why she was thinking about death and dying, but the delicious sexual activity of the previous night drove the morbid thoughts from her mind. Her adventure ran through her as if it were happening anew. She didn’t fight it and merely smiled as she reached for the soap making sure to spread it over her entire body until she was covered in a thick white foam.

She moved her feet apart and rubbed the soap between her legs. The lips of her vagina burned from the astringent properties of the soap. The pain wasn’t enough to turn the experience into something unpleasant and so she inserted it in her vaginal opening. She circled it underneath the lip. The burning increased as did her passion. She wondered what had come over her and knew the answer to that one. Peter had come over her. Over and over her.

She replaced the soap in its dish, using the shower’s handheld attachment to rinse herself clean. She
s
tepped out of the shower and onto her fluffy bathroom rug. She reached in and turned off the water, grabbing one of her bath towels from the towel bar. She dried off, and when done, let the dampened cotton fall to the floor. She walked to the sink and stood with her hands on the edge of it, just staring at her reflection in the mirror.

Rachel was surprised by her appearance, but pleasantly so. Her skin looked whiter, and her hair … her hair blacker. Her pale lips had darkened. She recognized the color as she’d seen it before. They were the color of when she had kissed Jason all night long. Of when she had licked and sucked his penis until he had ejaculated into her mouth – his warm sperm dripping down her throat. They were that color – red – the color of unbridled sexual pleasure. The color of sin.

She touched the two puncture marks on her neck. Two twin openings. They were scabbing over and looked no more than beauty marks. She traced the path they made and wondered if her jugular vein lay beneath.

She grabbed at the bobby pins holding her hair up in a tight bun. Rachel had gotten into the habit of wearing her hair up when she slept. It got too tangled when left down, and once matted, took an inordinately long time to fix.

She took out the pins and watched her beautiful raven hair tumbling down – nestling onto her shoulders and curling around her beautiful face. Beautiful? It felt strange to think her face was beautiful, but it was. She’d always thought of herself as acceptable – and no more, but then Rachel had been taught that it wasn’t proper to give one’s self compliments or think yourself attractive. It was Satan that tempted women to think that way, but Rachel didn’t care about outmoded concepts of evil. She only cared about pleasing Peter and she knew her appearance would please him. For the first time in her life, Rachel cared about what she thought of herself and that was fine.

Rachel turned her face to the right and then the left. There was something about her eyes. She moved her face closer to the mirror’s surface and looked deeply at them – scrutinizing them in way she never done before. There was something there – a hint of purple that h
a
dn’t been there before. She had thought it was her imagination, or the light in the bathroom, but it w
a
sn’t. The amethyst coloring was there and more … a thousand bats … flying into the night … squealing with teeth bared … hunting for food … blood dripping from their mouths … wings spread … and …

She felt someone behind her. She scanned the mirror, but there was nothing there. Only her reflection graced the surface. A phantom arm reached around and cupped her breast. She saw it lift off her ribs. The hand that wasn’t there explored her … fondling … squeezing … pinching. She knew who it was. She let her head fall backwards knowing his strong shoulder would be there to catch it. She felt the brush of his hair against her cheek and his teeth as they bit into the two holes in her neck, reopening them and using them to feed his lust for blood. She felt his left hand between her thighs, fingering her and making her moist. She felt dizzy and collapsed into Peter’s strong arms. He easily and gently placed her on the ground – on the soft bathroom mat. She felt her back against it … and Peter on top of her … ramming himself into her as he continued to drink and suck blood from the twin holes in her neck.

They continued that way for what seemed like hours – at least to Rachel. Whether it had actually been minutes, hours, or days that had passed … Rachel wasn’t sure. She knew at some points during the encounter, she’d been conscious and at others, she’d been lost in the night. Losing herself in the blackness only made her more aware of Peter and her dream. She opened her eyes to find she was still spread-eagle on the floor of her bathroom – alone. Peter was gone.