Adduné - the Vampire's Game (21 page)

She lay still as an image crept into Rachel’s mind. It was that of a small figure in a white coat filling out paperwork at her desk. A thought exploded in Rachel’s mind. She knew what she needed to do. She was well aware of what she was now. The strange feelings, her second taste of Peter, her new appearance, and the gravitating towards darkness all made complete sense.

Rachel let the thought beneath the water rise to the surface.

“
I’m a creature of the night,” she whispered before she started to laugh.

CHAPTER 12

Vampire.

Reginald stared at the sheet of paper that Sy had faxed over to him yesterday. He was pure efficiency as was Cheryl. As soon as it was received, she’d brought it to him. It’d become creased and folded from being handled. He’d read it over and over and still didn’t know what to make of it. It was the same story he’d first heard from Figgs and now … How could it be that both men were speaking about vampires? Was there some sort of larger issue tying the two stories together? Or could it boil down to something as simple as Pinckus and Figgs being pub mates? Were they just stories exchanged over drinks? Tall tales are sometimes given birth when the imagination is fueled by alcohol.

Reginald read a passage from it again.

“
He’s the one that made me do it and now he wants me to take my life so I don’t reveal his secret. He don’t want me talking about what I know, but I’ll fool him. I’ll show him that vampires can’t control everything. He made me do what I did, but he can’t stop me from writing this down. Even now I see that horrible face. I see it in my dreams. White, dead – a vampire’s face. I know he’s in America now. Fairfield. Somebody has to stop him – before he gets free.”

What did it mean? What? And what did it have to do with Willie Figgs? Reginald wanted so much to opt for a simple explanation, but wasn’t so sure. His mind wandered to the check. He wondered if Figgs had received it yet.

Reginald heard a knock on his door. It must be Cheryl with the morning mail. She entered brightly as was her nature. Reginald couldn’t remember her ever being burdened with sadness. She’d had problems, but she was one that counted her blessings and not her curses. She took problems in stride relying on her abject faith that everything happens for a reason and that everything eventually turns out for the best. He idly wondered if that’s what kept her so young. She hadn’t appeared to age since he hired that young girl straight out of school. Yes, there were a few streaks of gray, but her face was unlined and smooth. And her figure? The same as it was 30 years ago despite having married and given birth to three wonderful children.

“
Morning, Cheryl.”

“
Morning, Mr. Charles,” she said appraising his appearance. She’d been with him too long not to know something was troubling him. “Everything alright? You look a bit fatigued.”

“
Oh, yes, of course. Just stayed up too late finishing up with the Quigley matter. I’m glad to say after pouring through some case history, there is precedence. His family can keep their home.”

“
That’s wonderful, Mr. Charles! I knew you’d figure something out. You always do, but then things have a way of working out,” she said turning to leave.

“
You think that about everything, don’t you, Cheryl?”

Cheryl had her hand on the door knob. She moved slightly into the room so she could get a clearer look at the boss she had the utmost respect for – the one that looked more tired than she ever remembered – the one that had just asked her the strangest question.

“
I suppose I do, sir.”

“
But why? How can you be so sure that things will work out?”

Cheryl hunched her shoulders.

“
I can’t say for certain. It’s always been my experience, I suppose.” She touched the cross she wore around her neck. “That and my faith. The good man upstairs has always seen me through.”

“
Faith!” Reginald said gazing off into the distance. “There’s so little faith these days.”

He reached forward and started rummaging through his mail.

“
Thank you, Cheryl. That’ll be all.”

Cheryl nodded, taking care to steal one more glance at her trusted employer. He really did look exhausted. She reasoned something was going on at home – something personal that was taking its toll. She vowed to include him in a special prayer this evening. She smiled knowing that a heartfelt prayer could work miracles.

Reginald heard the door close just as he spotted the handwritten letter. He didn’t get too many of those. Most people used computers for business and personal correspondence these days. He picked it up to examine it more closely.

It was just his name and address written on the front in big sprawling letters. The heavy looping looked familiar. Where had he seen that writing before? He turned the envelope over and had his answer. Willie Figgs had sent him the letter. Figgs was in the habit of leaving him handwritten notes about Weatherly. He’d often seen the expansive script telling him about a leak or some other ailment suffered by the old manor.

He felt the envelope and determined the check couldn’t be in it. The check was too large to fit in the small envelope. It would have to have been folded in half and there were no ridges poking through. It felt like a single sheet of paper was inside.

Reginald sliced through the ecru stationery with his silver letter opener. He took out the solitary sheet that looked as if it had been torn to fit. Although there were just enough words to fill up the small page, they packed a wallop that a blustery soliloquy would not. He read the closing paragraph.

“
I can’t stand it no more. That vampire won’t leave me alone. Pray for my soul, sir, and I’ll pray he don’t come for you.”

Reading the words stole every ounce of energy from Reginald. The final stroke of the “y” trailed down the whole of the page and off the end – as if it were the last rivulet of blood oozing from a body.

The crazy feeling he had the other day erupted inside him. He buzzed Cheryl on his intercom.

“
Yes, sir?”

“
Cheryl, get William Figgs on the phone. Now!”

Cheryl stared for a moment before picking up the phone and fulfilling her boss’s request. It was so unlike him not to say “please” when giving an instruction. It was even more unusual for him to use words like “now.” After 20 years, he knew that Cheryl fulfilled all requests promptly – even the trivial ones – without having to be told.

Cheryl didn’t take it personally. She didn’t have time to be offended. She knew her employer was in trouble and that contacting William Figgs fit squarely in the middle of the quagmire.

Reginald was still staring at Figgs’ letter when he heard the reciprocal sound. It must be Cheryl telling him Figgs was on the line. Reginald couldn’t wait to talk with him and find out what prompted him to write such an unnerving note. The fact that it was coupled with Pinckus’ suicide note was causing the concern. What were the chances of both speaking of the same mythical, non-existent creatures? The fact they were was disquieting to Reginald’s calm disposition. It rattled his composure and he knew he’d have to apologize to Cheryl for the shortness of his tone in barking an order, but that would have to wait until he’d talked to Figgs.

“
Hello!” Reginald boomed expecting to hear Figgs’ reply. Instead he heard Cheryl. She hadn’t transferred the call yet. He felt his temperature rise. He was getting angry. It was the first time in years he felt this emotion, but right now he felt like snapping at someone and Cheryl was the logical victim.

“
Sir, I couldn’t get Mr. Figgs on the line. There’s some sort of …”

“
Cheryl! When I give you an order, I expect it to be followed! If he isn’t available than call me when he is! And keep trying!”

Reginald was about to hang up when he heard Cheryl’s muted pleadings coming from the receiver.

“
Sir? Sir! Please let me finish! Sir!”

Reginald counted to three and brought the phone back up to his ear.

“
All right, you may finish, but this had better be good!”

“
There’s some sort of problem with Mr. Figgs. I have an Inspector Daniels on the phone. He won’t tell me anything.”

Reginald’s mind was racing. An inspector? At the Figgs’ residence? What did it mean? What was going on? More trouble? He hoped it was a mistake. A gigantic mistake he could fix just the way Cheryl expected him to.

“
Put him on, Cheryl. I’ll get to the bottom of this. “

“
Fine, sir.”

“
Oh, and Cheryl?”

“
Yes, sir?”

“
I am sorry.”

“
I know you are, sir.”

Reginald heard the click telling him the call had been transferred.

“
Inspector Daniels? Reginald Charles here. I’m the barrister in charge of handling the Perry estate where William Figgs was employed. My assistant tells me that he’s unavailable. I would like to speak to him about severance pay that is due him. It’s fairly urgent.”

“
Well, I’m afraid that’s impossible, Mr. Charles. No one can speak to him.”

“
And may I ask why that is, Inspector?”

“
Because he’s dead.”

“
Dead?”

The words hit Reginald in his stomach. It began to ache causing him to feel as if he were going to vomit. He collapsed onto his desk. His hand balled into a fist causing the mysterious note to become twisted and lined. He closed his eyes and ran his tongue over his lips trying to wet them. They’d dried up when he learned the news.

Dead? How could it be?

“
Now may I ask what business you had with Mr. Figgs? You mentioned severance pay, I believe?”

“
Business?” Reginald repeated. He was buying time. Trying desperately to think of something to say.

Why not the truth?

Reginald rejected that notion. He’d tell a lie. He wasn’t used to lying to police officials. It wasn’t his style, but he felt a need to protect Miranda and Arthur’s memory from any scandal. Even the rantings of someone that had gone mad might be viewed the wrong way. Having someone raving about vampires being connected with Perry Antiques wouldn’t do. It might affect Arthur’s reputation and cast his business in a bad light.

“
I was following up on a final paycheck sent to him. He’d left our employ and I wanted to make sure he’d received it.”

“
I see. Was there some sort of trouble? Was he terminated from his employment?”

”
No, no trouble. It was entirely his decision to quit and he could have had his job back if he wished. I made that clear to him.”

“
So he wasn’t upset about leaving?”

“
On the contrary. He left it to spend more time with his wife and to pursue other interests. He was employed by Perry Antiques as caretaker of Weatherly Manor. It was a big responsibility and – from what he said – he was happy to be moving on. Inspector? May I inquire as to why you’re asking me such questions? If he died naturally .. then …”

“
That’s what we’re trying to determine. The preliminary findings are that Mr. Figgs took his own life sometime this morning.”

“
May I ask how?”

“
It needs to be confirmed, but it appears that he put some type of poison in his morning tea. It was a particularly painful death.”

“
That’s horrible – just dreadful.”

Reginald heard himself speaking, but it was as if someone else were saying the words. He knew he was distancing himself from what was happening. He did that sometimes to gain objectivity and balance. He smoothed out the note before him on the table and placed the Pinckus’ suicide letter next to it. The word “vampire” seemed larger than any other of the words on the papers. Reginald felt himself being drawn into a dream. A dream where the ending was a beginning and where death is not the finality, but only the commencement of a new existence ….

“
Mr. Charles? Are you still there?”

“
Oh, sorry, Inspector. Was trying to do two things at once.”