Hard Times (A Sam Harlan Novel Book 2) (8 page)

Callie hadn’t yet returned, so I left the food in the kitchen and went down the hallway, across from the living room, knocking gently against her bedroom door. “Food’s ready.”

“I’ll be right there,” she answered from within.

I heard a gentle murmuring as I walked back to the kitchen. Callie was praying again, probably for Colden, definitely for the missing Elena.

Probably for us, as well.

A little salt and pepper on the steak provided just enough seasoning. Just like I’d imagined, the bloody grease washed down the back of my throat. I closed my eyes and a shiver ran down my spine.

I was
definitely
worried.

I twisted off the top of the beer and took a long pull. The sharpness of the beer perfectly matched the complex flavor of the steak. I pondered my salad before finally giving in and wolfing it down. With all the protein I’d been consuming, I had to get my vegetables somewhere.

I heard Callie open her bedroom door and soon she was sitting in front of me, eying her steak.

“Something wrong?” I asked.

She pushed the steak away and began delicately picking at her salad. “I’m not hungry enough to eat all that.”

I nodded. “You could always have a beer.”

Callie pursed her lips. “You know I don’t drink.”

I glanced down at my nearly empty beer. We hadn’t really talked about the running of the house. She had assumed most of the chores like cooking and cleaning, and I helped out when asked. “I’m sorry. Does it bother you? Me drinking?”

She sighed and stabbed a slice of cucumber with her fork. “I had a life before the convent. Katie and I attended Catholic high school. We weren’t cloistered. We had friends. We even went to parties.”

“Parties, eh? Wild times?”

“Not by most standards. But, I’ve drunk beer. I’ve even kissed boys. Becoming religious is about choosing to give yourself to Christ. It’s a conscious decision. Taking your vows isn’t for the undecided.” She dropped her fork to the table and stared at me with weary eyes. “No, your drinking doesn’t bother me. Maria Diaz’s death bothers me. The missing girl bothers me. It bothers you, too.”

“You’re right,” I agreed. “It
bothers
me. We’ve got to do better.”

I finished my steak and stared at the one I’d cooked for her. She shook her head and passed the plate across the table. I cut a piece and popped it in my mouth. It was good, but it lacked something. Some unique flavor that mine had.

Then I realized. It was well-done, and I couldn’t taste the blood dripping down the back of my throat.

That is … disturbing.

We ate in silence, until I said, “There
is
one option. I could call for help.”

Callie’s eyes widened. “Call the sheriff, you mean. Do you really want to do that?”

“I don’t
want
to,” I said. I finished my beer and tossed the bottle in the corner garbage can, then opened another. I chugged half of it down, then burped quietly. “He knows more about vampires than anyone else, including the Church. If he could help stop this thing, why wouldn’t I call?”

“Because he’s a thousand-year-old vampire,” she said. “Because you can’t trust him.” She sat quietly for a moment, then shook her head. “You think he’s different, because he helped with Jack?”

“No.” I suddenly felt tired, a mind-numbing weariness that shook me to my core. “I know what Henry is. I don’t have your faith, Sister. I don’t know how we’re supposed to do this. If Henry can help, then I’ll take it. If we need the Church to help, I’ll take that, too. I’m not too proud to beg.” I downed the last of my beer and tossed the empty in the garbage can. “The question is, can you accept help?”

Callie’s face reddened. “I’m not afraid. I know vampires are evil.”

Before I could stop myself, I said, “And I don’t? I didn’t see you offering to help stake my daughter!”

Callie stood so quickly her chair skidded back along the floor. “I’m tired,” she said. “I believe I’ll turn in.”

I watched her back as she stormed out of the kitchen. I hadn’t meant to anger her, and I certainly hadn’t meant to bring up Lilly’s death.

I sighed. Our living arrangement wasn’t working. Six weeks and we hadn’t killed a vampire yet. All we had accomplished was to waste a lot of good ammunition and spend some of Jack’s money.

I picked up the dishes and placed them in the sink, then cleaned out the skillet with water and kosher salt before drying it and oiling it to keep the rust away. The remains of the second steak went in the garbage and the rest of the beers back in the refrigerator, then I headed for my bedroom.

I kicked off my boots, removed the shoulder holster and placed it on the nightstand next to the bed, then shucked out of my clothes and tossed them in a hamper against the far wall. The bed was practically calling my name as I collapsed on it, then realized the overhead light was still on. I stared at it, wishing it off, but the light remained on. I closed my eyes and wondered if I could sleep the rest of the night that way, then struggled to my feet and flicked the switch.

The bedroom was now dark as I made my way back to bed, illuminated only by the light from the alarm clock on the nightstand. My eyes adjusted quickly, much faster than before, and I saw everything in vivid detail.

I climbed into bed, staring at the ceiling, and trying to relax. I hoped sleep would claim me, but my mind had other plans. I kept flashing back to the vampire tearing out Maria’s throat, the blood pouring out in a hot mess, so very much red, like something from a movie.

Only, it wasn’t a movie. And no movie ever conveyed the smell, the coppery thick scent that made you gag in the back of your throat.

I tossed and turned, pulling the cold sheets tight against my chest. My wrist still hurt, a dull ache that irritated me and made it hard to sleep, but I finally closed my eyes and the darkness claimed me.

Always the same
dream. Lilly screams in agony as my silver knife pierces her chest. Her eyes spring wide and she stares at me, full of hurt and disbelief. She never expected I would hurt her.

Her own father.

The look in her eyes haunts me and I turn to Callie and Father Lewinheim. Their pitiless stares bore into me, offering no help. Henry Hastings looms behind them, and the look on his face makes my blood run cold. His eyes have gone solid black, his lips pulled back and his second set of teeth, his
true
teeth, bared and glistening like ivory. He means to kill me, to drain my blood and steal away my soul, and I start to shake.

I woke from the dream, my heart pounding, my eyes darting around my bedroom. Light streamed around the aluminum foil covering the windows. I checked the clock on the nightstand and found it was nearly eight in the morning.

I rubbed at my eyes and felt neither rested nor restored. But, the day had begun and I had work to do.

After finishing my morning ritual, including a long soak in a hot shower, I dressed and found Callie waiting at the kitchen table. She wore jeans and a long-sleeved brown shirt, and had pulled her auburn hair back in a tight ponytail. A pot of freshly brewed coffee steamed on the kitchen counter and filled the kitchen with a heavenly aroma that made my mouth water. I nodded at her, poured myself a cup, and took the seat across the table. “How did you sleep?” I asked.

“About the same as you,” she said. “You’ve been having nightmares.”

“How did you know?”

She hesitated. “I can hear you. Sometimes. Just pieces, really. A shout, or maybe a … wail. It carries through the walls.”

I felt my face flush. “Sorry about that. I didn’t realize—”

“It’s not a problem, Sam. I’m having my own unpleasant dreams. Frankly, I would be worried if we
didn’t
have them.”

I took a sip of my coffee. “Did you dream about the old woman?”

Callie took a drink from her own cup. “It happened so fast,” she said. “There was nothing we could do.”

Something had occurred to me when I was showering. “If not for your crucifix,” I said, pointing at her chest, “that vampire would have killed us.”

Her hand instinctively went to the crucifix hanging around her neck. “It wasn’t the crucifix, Sam. It was my faith and bloodline that saved us. The vampire wasn’t expecting it.”

“You’re probably right,” I said. I took another drink of my coffee and sighed. “We’ve got to find that vampire. If Elena is still alive, she doesn’t have much time. Does she?”

“Church records aren’t promising,” Callie said. “Even a vampire that had tamed his hunger would be tempted to drink deeply from a young woman in the prime of her life.”

I felt my anger rise. “We’ve got to find it and stake it.”

“First we save the girl,” Callie said, “and
then
we stake it.”

“Agreed.” I gulped down the rest of my coffee, scalding the back of my throat. “First we protect the Mendoza family. They’ve already lost their grandmother.”

Callie’s emerald eyes caught mine. “How do you propose we do that?”

I’d had a few other thoughts while showering. “I have an idea.”

* * *

I banged away on the laptop. “How exactly do I use this thing?”

Callie grabbed the laptop and spun it around. “Let me.” After several minutes of typing, she looked up. “Bill Davenport. Here’s his address.”

I grunted and said, “I don’t understand why people don’t use phone books anymore.”

Callie rolled her eyes. “Searching the Internet is faster.”

I shrugged. My computer knowledge dated back to a class in high school, and a few attempts at creating spreadsheets on an ancient laptop that Stacie had purchased at a garage sale. I had given up after spending hours trying to make the numbers work. Apparently, computers were not my thing.

The thermometer hanging from the window above the kitchen sink showed that the temperature had plunged into the upper thirties. Indian summer was long past, and the cold would only get more brutal as we headed for winter. “Make sure you grab a jacket,” I said. “It’s brisk outside.”

Callie left to get her jacket, and I went back to my bedroom and strapped on my shoulder holster, checking to make sure the Colt was still fully loaded and the safety on, then grabbed my trench coat.

I reached inside the trench coat pocket for the truck keys. The pocket was empty. I checked the dresser against the far wall, next to my wallet, and then the nightstand next to the bed. The keys weren’t there, either. I slid my wallet in my pocket and headed back to the kitchen. “Callie, have you seen the keys to the truck?”

Callie entered the kitchen. She had thrown on a brown jacket which really highlighted her eyes. For a moment, I forgot I was looking at Callie.

Her eyes were the deepest green, just like Katie’s. They were absolutely mesmerizing. I remembered how beautiful Katie was, how vivacious but vulnerable, and how she’d twisted in agony when Pearl ripped through her abdomen, tearing her intestines out like a handful of slippery pink worms.

“Sam?”

I shook my head and the illusion faded. “Sorry. For a moment there, you looked like—”

“I know,” she said softly.

I cleared my throat. “I was wondering if you saw the keys. I thought I left them in my pocket.”

“We were upset when we came home last night,” she said. “It’s not surprising, after what happened. Perhaps they’re still in the truck?”

“Yeah, maybe. I’m going to load up. I’ll check while I’m out there.” I exited the house through the basement, up the stairs into the armory, and through the steel door into the garage. I flicked on the light and saw the car keys dangling from the truck’s ignition.

I must have been more upset than I realized.

I had to watch that. Distractions caused mistakes. Mistakes would get us killed.

I went back to the armory and grabbed two boxes of silver twelve-gauge shells and the modified Remington 870 that Callie had been practicing with and headed back to the garage. I placed them in the toolbox in the back of the truck, and then checked to make sure there was an extra handful of clips for my Colt. The silver Bowie knife was still in the cab of the truck and I vowed to make sure I practiced with it once we found Elena.

The realization that I had almost died at the Mendoza home hit me again and my hands started shaking of their own accord.

“Sam?” Callie called from inside the armory. “Do I need to bring anything?”

I concentrated on my hands until they stopped trembling. “I packed your shotgun. It’s in the toolbox.”

Callie entered the garage and pulled the door to the armory shut with a metallic thud, then hit the garage door opener and turned off the light. Behind me, the garage door rumbled to the side.

I climbed in the cab of the truck while Callie took her place in the passenger seat, a paper bag in her hand. “What’s that?” I asked.

She raised an eyebrow. “Beef jerky, for when you get hungry.”

I started to speak, then nodded gratefully. “Where are we headed?”

Callie removed a piece of paper from her jacket with an address on it and handed it to me. “Tama.”

I pulled out of the garage and shut the garage door with the opener hanging from the truck’s visor, backed down the gravel lane, and headed west on the dusty rock road. Within minutes, we were driving through the streets of Toledo. I turned south on 63 and headed through town until finally reaching Tama. A few blocks of zigzagging and we found ourselves in front of the white one-story house that belonged to Billy Davenport.

The house wasn’t much to look at. The siding looked like it hadn’t been painted since the Clinton years. Further inspection pushed that back to the Reagan years. There were dark mold stains in places, and where the siding wasn’t covered in black mold, a chaotic jigsaw of moss threatened to turn the house green. Cracked and yellowed blinds covered the insides of the windows, while their outsides had shutters that were dangling at crooked angles or were missing. Davenport’s silver Voyager was parked in the dirt driveway.

“Looks like he’s home,” I said. I got out and made my way up the dirty wooden steps. I searched for the doorbell, found none, and knocked on the battered door. Several minutes passed and I knocked again. There was noise from within, the sound of heavy footsteps stomping across the floor. The door opened just enough for a tired-looking Billy Davenport to poke his head out and acknowledge my presence. “You need something, son?”