Adduné - the Vampire's Game (67 page)

“
Stop it, Miranda! Just stop it right now! There’s such a thing as being naïve and then there’s being just plain stupid. Right now you sound like one of those abused women who just refuse to open their eyes and see what’s happening!”

“
I made the phone call, didn’t I?”

“
Yes, but this whimpering, mealy-mouthed attitude you’re using to shield this complete bastard has got to go! It’s like you did the right thing, backtracked, and are now attempting to protect the guilty party in this mess!”

Miranda’s bottom lip began to quiver. She wouldn’t give into self-pity. She just wouldn’t. She’d done enough damage this evening without turning on herself, but she couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the outward signs of the betrayal.

“
Oh, Christ! I’m so sorry, chickie!”

Miranda had been hoping to hide the telltale sign, but nothing went unnoticed. Why did she bother even attempting to cover anything from her friend? Tiffany ran and embraced her.

“
Here, sit down.”

Miranda sat down on the couch next to Tiffany. She tugged at her short top to make sure it met the hipster Capri cotton bottoms. She didn’t want to show too much skin. It reminded her that she was a whore. Nothing, but a goddamned whore.

“
It’s my fault anyway,” Tiffany murmured.

“
Your fault? Why would you say such a thing?”

“
Because I told you I didn’t like him and that I thought he was creepy. I know my little Miranda. That was the best way to drive you into his arms,” Miranda couldn’t argue. In fact, she didn’t want to ever again. She rested her head on Tiffany’s shoulder.

“
What did Reggie say?”

“
You mean, what names did he call me?”

“
He called you names?”

“
No, it was an attempt at humor, but I’m sure he was thinking them.”

“
Whew! I’m glad you said that because if I had to cross that ocean just to give him a good bitch slap …”

They began to giggle. Even under the most dire of circumstances, Tiffany could make things better. It was her ability to laugh at what life offered. It brought out that side in Miranda and before long, the good humor caught hold. While it didn’t fully erase the memory or projections of what ramifications would result, it did alleviate the driving sense within Miranda to throw herself into the river with a boulder. Tiffany was a fighter. Miranda had no choice, but to follow suit.

“
How soon before you think it’ll break?” Miranda asked timidly. She really did not want to know.

“
The video? Would expect it to surface immediately. The story will hit the tabloids shortly thereafter. That is if I’m right about that fucking piece of shit, and I
am
right about him,” Tiffany snapped severely making sure that the final point was not lost. She didn’t want Miranda to drift off into lala land again. Humor did not mean living in a dream bubble where it was alright to lie to one’s self.

“
I hear you, Tiffany. Really I do. I swear,” she said, “I cross my heart and hope to die that you will not hear a word coming out of this skanky, now-probably-diseased English mouth defending that blackhearted gigolo’s actions.”

The laughter ceased. Tiffany had become unnaturally quiet. It was rare for her to cease all movement unless asleep, but she was doing it now. It meant she was thinking. And not just thinking. Miranda knew her well enough to know it meant thinking about something she was reluctant to talk about. Miranda let her have her few moments of silence to sort things out. She wasn’t going to push, but she was curious about what it was. Tiffany’s body sprang forward. A decision had been reached. She was ready to talk.

“
You know, chickie. I’m a realistic girl. You know that, but tonight … tonight I saw something that wasn’t natural. I don’t know if it’s all this stupid talk about vampires and curses, but I didn’t see Peter’s reflection in the mirror.”

Miranda was surprised by her comment. She hadn’t been expecting this subject to touched on, especially not by Tiffany. She was the queen of skeptics when it came to the supernatural.

“
What?” she asked more astonished than anything else. There were a thousand thoughts in her head competing for her attention. Which one should she ask first?

“
What do you mean reflection? What mirror? When did you not see Peter in a mirror?”

“
The bar mirror.”

“
Oh …”

She was talking about the huge mirror that acted as the bar’s backsplash.

“
When I went to beat the shit out of him and get that tape back, I saw everybody else but him in that mirror.”

“
You’re serious?”

“
Of course, I’m serious, chickie! You think I’d make this up?”

“
Look, I appreciate you mentioning it to me, but it must have been the angle or someone blocking him ….”

“
No! No one was blocking him!” Tiffany’s voice rose in tenor. It was tinged with hysteria and a bit of paranoia. It was now Miranda’s turn to play parent.

“…
because
,” Miranda continued, “I saw him in the mirror at the bar - when I was talking to him. And in the private room. There was a mirror there for … oh, for watching yourself and your partner! I don’t know why I’m being shy about telling you that when the world is about to see me boffed about from behind! Anyway, he’s not a vampire. I saw his reflection quite clearly. Oh, and on the dance floor. I danced with him before I … you know … ruined my life,” she added quietly.

Tiffany was looking directly at her – searching her face. Miranda nodded very slightly to make sure she understood she wasn’t just saying she saw him to make her feel better. Tiffany put her head down into the palms of her open hands. She tossed her head to the side.

“
Then I don’t understand. I swear, chickie. I’m not making this up.”

Miranda placed a hand on her back and rubbed her back in attempt to soothe her confusion. A lot had taken place in the last couple of days and with all the talk, it was understandable for her to think she saw something she didn’t – or in this case, the reverse.

“
Look, you were right in mentioning it. I’m the one that brought up this ridiculous subject in the first place so …”

“
Yes, but it wasn’t because you brought it up. I know what I saw.”

“
And I know what I saw. I was in that room with him for … let’s just say far too long. He cast a reflection, Tiff. I mean, can you imagine if he didn’t? I would have run like a banshee into your protective arms like the little girl that I am!”

The corners of Tiffany’s mouth turned up in a smile.

“
It means only one thing.”

“
Which is?”

“
That I’ve officially lost it.”

A mirthful titter started in her throat and before long both girls collapsed against each other in a full-blown fit of laughter. They both knew it was to relieve tension and let themselves go. They did just that. It felt so good to let go after a thoroughly wretched night that was only going to get worse.

“
Tiff, I don’t know what I’d do without you, my little girly-girl. You make everything better. The good times and … the times like these colloquially known as the pits.”

“
Aw, chickie! You’re my sister! Of course, I’m gonna love you no matter what. Now let’s get some sleep. Something tells me we’re going to need clear heads tomorrow.”

“
Yes, that … and a wooden stake,” Miranda muttered to herself.

CHAPTER 34

Black eyes followed Miranda. She was surrounded by blackness. She walked unsteadily – her arms in front of her feeling for objects of obstruction that would hamper her search. What she was searching for she didn’t know, but she had to keep walking and find it. Down the long corridor she went – a wooden stake clutched in one hand. Its tip had been filed into a sharp point that would penetrate skin as easily as a knife.

She had no idea where she was or what she pursued, but she had to keep going –further into the darkness to complete a mission. Someone was going to die. She accepted it might be her.

She opened a series of doors on either side of the corridor. The rooms were empty – devoid of what she sought. Her resolve waned, her feet unsteady on the stone beneath her. This would test her. It would take all she had to complete her task, but she had no choice. It was either victory or …

The hall had seemed limitless, but she came to its end. A door was before her. Her senses told her it was the one she sought. She inhaled deeply as she approached – the old slab of wood a barrier between her and her tormentor.

The door creaked – moaning its displeasure at being disturbed. Dust rose up blanketing her face and invading her airway. She couldn’t cough, or it would know she was here. It couldn’t be woken from its sleep as it was nearly sundown, a dangerous time to be seeking out the unholy.

It was in the corner. Resting on lengths of wood. Raised off the ground although it more properly belonged beneath it. A coffin. An old pine box. The kind of coffin fit for a pauper’s grave. She had to kill what was in it.

She clenched her weapon more tightly as she made her way towards it. The shafts of daylight that had filtered through a distant window allowing her feeble sight were squelched by the invisible henchmen of the night. Day was dying – being quickly followed by the rich blackness of twilight. In a few scant moments, ink blotted out the world and stained the sky. She shuffled toward the encasement, silently reciting the Lord’s prayer just one more time. Would God protect her in her hour of need? Time would tell. She feared not.

She was close enough to touch it. It took everything she had not to turn away and flee. The revulsion was enormous. A thousand times worse than being encircled by rats. A hundred times worse than being trapped in a snake’s pit. It was a claustrophobic type of fear – a terror that travels to the very marrow of bones. Her body shook, but her hand moved to the lid despite every fiber in her telling her not to.

Her fingertips were so close – about to make contact when it swung open. She was too late! Night had rousted it from its slumber. She brought the stake up – ready to drive it into its chest. To impale it in its filthy grave.

The creature sat up. Its hideous face inches from hers. The black eyes that haunted her – the ones that silently watched were set in this demon’s face. She felt the spray of saliva cover her skin. She closed her eyes in a protective move. The blink was a respite from gazing into the ferocity of its expression. A reprieve from seeing the long incisors glinting and dripping with anticipatory pleasure. A lull from what was to be done – and the inevitability of it all.

A vampire was before her. A vampire that would tear her to shreds if she didn’t kill it first. The hand holding the stake went limp – not in fear, but in recognition. She knew the full extent of brutality that would be unleashed – all because of her inability to wield a death blow. Her familiarity and affection for the undead would be her undoing – she would not leave the room alive even though she had a chance if she went against everything she believed. She had no choice for there was no way she could bring herself to kill what sat before her. Frozen, she stood looking into the face of the creature that was part of the army of the undead. It wasn’t Peter – it was her father – Arthur Perry.

Miranda screamed jolting awake from the disturbing nightmare. She looked about Tiffany’s guest bedroom making sure it had been a dream. The quiet yellow paint and sleek teak furniture assured her she was safe.

She staggered out of bed looking fleetingly at the clock. It was only 9:20 AM. She sat on the edge of the bed gripping her head. What had caused that dream? It was so vivid – so alive – as if it were actually happening. Her dreams were growing in intensity and scope.

She did her best to shake it off. It was a horrible dream and nothing more. Even a platoon of the undead wouldn’t be able to get up to the penthouse without a key. The dream dissolved from her thoughts as she remembered what had occurred the night before. She groaned when she realized the horror of last night was real. There was no shaking that off.

She’d turned her cell phone off. She plucked it off the dresser. She had enjoyed the few minutes of ignorant bliss – just a few seconds spent dwelling on whether anyone knew about what had transpired in that private room. She turned it on – it lit up like a Christmas tree. Evidently, what happens in New York, doesn’t stay in New York since she had hundreds of messages from friends and people that wanted to become friends. Then there were the texts from the tabloids expressing sympathy and generously offering her the opportunity to tell her side of the story.