Lillian Holmes and the Leaping Man (11 page)

He knelt beside her and lightly brushed her damp raven-dark hair away from her neck. The sound of her coursing blood screamed at him from her veins, but he watched her for a moment while his sadness for her—for himself—made him curse.
Thank God no one can see me so weak.

She moaned and threw her arm over her head. Ah, a dream. Did she dream of him? Or was it a nightmare of him? He leaned in close to her neck, the pounding through her arteries practically deafening, matching the beat of his own black heart. Had he ever felt such a bloodlust? Not since the early days. He would have her, every drop of her.

To his shock, her eyes shot open, expressionless. As if he belonged there, she stared at him and let out a deep breath. Then she closed her eyes again, and he wondered if she were indeed ill, but her breathing steadied and she fell asleep again.

His lust driving him insane, he inched his way onto the bed and lay alongside her, struggling against touching the swell of her breasts, her collarbone, her neck. He might murder, but he would not rape. She rolled to her side and moaned in her sleep, and he pressed himself along the soft length of her until his pulse beat in concert with hers.
Here is my match,
he heard himself think
.
Would she mind so much if he touched her before she died?

She moaned when he ran his hand along her hip and then up her torso to brush against the soft underside of her bosom. Then she took in a quick breath and reopened her eyes.

“Am I dreaming?” she slurred in a whisper. It broke his heart, for she sounded so lonely.

“Yes, my mortal queen, you are asleep.” He brushed her eyelids closed and kissed her lips gently, wondering which would be the harsher sentence for her, death or undeath. How much better he understood Phillip now.

She forced her bleary eyes open and stared into his. “You will take me before killing me?”

His heart dropped. Awake, then, and aware of her awful predicament.

“No, I will not. I am a monster, but even I would not do that.”

“But you will kill me?”

“Kiss me, Lillian.”

He heard the desperation in his own voice and choked back the pain rising in his chest. She did kiss him, but then whispered against his cheek, “Why must you kill? Tell me that at least?”

“I kill to live. I am
vampyr
.”

But she didn’t seem to hear him, as she closed her eyes and faded back into her stupor.

Get it over with.

George pressed his torso against hers, pinning her to the bed, and he pushed her chin to the side, exposing her lovely pale neck. Then, “I hate you, Mother,” he said before he sank his teeth into Lillian’s flesh.

He muffled her cry with his hand as the first taste of her rushed through him. Suddenly disoriented, head throbbing in pain, he pulled back for a moment. What had she taken? How did she endure such vile potions? But they would not stop him from feeding. He leaned in to drink fully, to send her into a dreamless, painless sleep.

Was it the potions intoxicating him? Her blood at once sated and aroused him as none had done since his first meal, the blood of his own mother. That had made him die and be reborn at the same time. So felt the blood of Lillian Holmes. Death and life. Why would this fragile mortal have such power? What pull she had on his soul! No, he had no soul—

He heard a loud pop and felt a burn in his chest.

“I do not think you will kill me tonight,” she hissed, and pushed him away.

“God, you fool!” Blood seeped through his shirt and fell in droplets onto her nightclothes.

“Who is the fool, sir?”

The sting of the bullet faded quickly and the blood flow ceased, but Lillian still aimed her pistol at him. Blood dripped from her neck, and he nearly lost sense as hunger overwhelmed him.

“You really should stop indulging that drug habit,” he drawled. “Your blood is quite tainted. It will kill you, you know.”

She shot him again, and he winced. But the noise was worse than the pain. The house came to life with sounds of women and children shouting and opening doors. Perhaps they had not recognized the first noise as a shot when it rang out.

George pulled a small knife from his pocket, dragged it across his bloodied chest and dropped it on the floor. Another suicide—but this time a failed attempt, the police would conclude. They would surely not believe whatever report Lillian gave of him. He could likely depend upon that much, given her drugged state.

Her eyes burned with fear and her hand shook, but she aimed her pistol steady as the clamor grew in the hallway. She would soon have reinforcements.

“No time for goodbyes, Lillian. I do hope we meet again.”

“Have no fear! I will visit you in prison or see you in hell!”

George fled to the balcony, jumped down into the alley, and flew from the neighborhood.

Oddly, he chuckled a bit as he fled, wondering if he knew anyone interesting in Africa or the Orient. For now he had one choice: to go far enough away that Madam Lucifer, Phillip, Kitty, and the lovely Lillian Holmes would never find him. But that didn’t remove his strange happiness that he’d been unable to kill her.

“I am truly the most unlucky man ever born,” he muttered as he entered his home through the back door. And he was. Phillip was waiting for him, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, ready for a fight.

“I hope you are satisfied. Because of you I hunted in the filthy alleyways tonight and was shot. Twice! I didn’t even get a taste before the police whistles sounded.” His thoughts still on Lillian, George fumbled a bit with his lies, but Phillip’s stern expression disappeared.

“I told you to go with me. I feared that… Never mind. I’m off to bed. Kitty no doubt has waited up for me.”

“Phillip?”

His brother had started up the stairs. He turned and frowned.

“You’re lucky to have Kitty. And you deserve that happiness. You were always a good man.”

“Going soft on me, George, or do you need something again?”

“No, nothing like that.”

His brother shook his head and headed up to the solace of his beloved’s arms.

George picked up his pipe and sat, taking a moment to rest in case the police came to the front door. He rather doubted anyone would believe Lillian’s story, but he’d been surprised before in his long lifetime. He hoped his brother would miss him if that happened, just a little bit. But he doubted it. He’d earned Phillip’s disdain over so many years of flip remarks and broken promises. Perhaps after another fifty years or so, circumstances would shift and they could be together again.

***

“Stop it!” Lillian shouted, unable to stand the chaos. Her head threatened to explode, and the pain in her neck matched that of her heart. How had she suffered this neck wound? He’d leaned in to kiss her…

No. She simply wanted a moment to take in the truth of her attack, whatever that truth was. A
vampire
? Had George Orleans claimed to be a vampire? Then he was as mad as he was evil. Perhaps she could almost forgive him if he were mad, if he had no control over his actions. What she really wanted was for him not to be the murderer.

If he meant to slit her throat with that knife, he’d surely have succeeded. And she’d felt no pain as she fumbled for the pistol under her pillow. But perhaps the pills were to blame for that.

“I must stop the blood flow from this wound,” Addie chastised with a shaky voice as she pressed the corner of the light blanket to Lillian’s neck. “Oh, Lil. How did we let it get this bad? This is my fault. I should have…” She shook her head, devastated.

“How is it your fault, Addie? That does not make sense.”

“Aileen, take the boys away. All will be fine,” Thomas ordered.

The maid was as white as a ghost and tried to block her brothers’ view of the scene. “Is Lil going to be all right?” she cried, the boys cried. Everyone but Lillian was crying.

“Send the boys to fetch Dr. Schneider. Go!” Thomas shoed them off and closed the bedroom door. He picked up George’s knife from the floor and choked back a sob as he wiped the blood with a handkerchief.

“There, Lillian,” Addie cooed in a tone she hadn’t used in years. “The doctor will sew up this wound and you’ll be fine. Now, give that pistol to Thomas.”

Lillian looked at the pistol, having forgotten that she still held it, and dropped it onto the bed. “It didn’t kill him. Two shots to the chest didn’t kill him.” How could that be? “He said he was a vampire. He said he killed so that he could live.”

Addie gasped and held her hand over her mouth.

Thomas sat on the bed and put his arm around his sister’s shoulder. “Who are you talking about, Lil?” he asked gently.

“My attacker, of course. The Leaping Man.”
He caressed me, and it felt wonderful for a moment. He did so only so he could kill me as I slept. Or am I imagining that he wanted to kill me? He didn’t harm me, did he? He kissed me. No, my neck, my neck is wounded.

Addie and Thomas exchanged a look and Lillian’s heart raced.
Oh, no!
What unimaginable events! Now the Jackal would swoop in and demand her rehabilitation. They would take her pistol, they would take her freedom. She pushed down a voice at the edge of her mind that wondered if they wouldn’t be right to do so. Her heart sank. Hadn’t she been tracking a dangerous man? Hadn’t he come to her door? What if he’d hurt Aileen or one of the children? This was all so much easier in the stories!

“He came in from the balcony,” she hurried to say. “You see, I must have left the window open. I was so tired and it was so hot.”

“Your eyes look wild, dear. Please calm yourself and lie back down.”

“Did you hear me? He came through the window while I slept, kissed me, and then somehow…we must have struggled, for I wounded my neck. I shot him twice but he fled back through the window!”

Thomas glanced at the knife.

Oh, God, help me!
“No, Thomas! That is
his
knife, and that is not my blood on it. Don’t you see? The mayor, the boy, and now me? They were not suicides. How could you think I would do such a thing? Why would I shoot my pistol? Is my neck sliced?” She pushed Addie’s hand away and felt at her flesh. “No, these are small marks…”

“Did you use the tip of the knife, Lil?”

“I did not use the knife!”

“Who is this Leaping Man, Lillian? Is that his name?”

“Of course that is not his name! Oh, please, you must listen to me! I can show you in my journal, the night he leapt from the balcony after murdering the boy…”

The Adencourts’ stares were sad and incredulous. Lillian lay back on the bed and wept, her shock now giving way to a new fear. The people she loved most in the world thought her lost. Bess would, too. Dr. Schneider… He was her only hope—unless somehow she could find George Orleans and capture him, force him to tell the truth.

Oh, how would I convince him? No one would believe me! If I accuse a wealthy gentleman of attacking me and then leaping two stories to the ground they will lock me away. No one will believe me. No one.

“The bleeding has slowed. Lie still while I tie a cloth to it, Lil. The doctor will be here shortly. Rest now. Everything will be fine.”

Stop saying that! Nothing is fine! A murderer is running loose in the city, and no one will listen to me.

“Yes, you are right,” she forced herself to say. “I feel a bit better. Can I have a little privacy now before Dr. Schneider arrives?”

Thomas and Addie looked at one another and then nodded. But Thomas took the pistol, the knife, and a letter opener on her desk, while Addie rifled through her drawers, evidently not for the first time. Thomas locked the window and lowered the lamp. They left her in peace, then, but not until after Addie picked Lillian’s purse from the dresser and took it with her. And with that purse, Lillian’s only solace, the little weak pills.

“So be it, I need a clear head now.” But her body ached and her hands shook.

Who would help her? Watson! Bess knew her methods, had heard her mention the Leaping Man, even thought the Orleans household to be odd. With a glimmer of hope, Lillian sat at her desk and wrote a long note. She folded it into a tiny parcel and waited for the visit she knew would come.

When the maid finally tapped at her door, Lillian sighed in relief. “Quick. Come in, Aileen!”

“Are you all right, Miss? I’m so worried for you.”

“Listen, Aileen, I do not have time to explain it all. You must trust me and put aside your worries for me.”

“I’ve always trusted you, Miss.”

Lillian held Aileen by the shoulders and stared deep into her bloodshot eyes. “Whatever anyone says, Aileen, I swear by my Maker that I am not insane, at least not about tonight’s events. But I do need your assistance.” She shoved the note to Bess into the maid’s hands. “As first light, you must go to Miss Wheeler and give her this. Tell her nothing of what transpired tonight. Simply give this to her. Can you do that?”

“Of course, Miss. I can go now if you like. Should I see Johnnie as well? He might be able to help, too.”

“Constable Moran can read, can he not?”

Aileen nodded.

“Then promise you will not give this to him. Do as I say. Only Miss Wheeler should read this.”

“Aye, I will do as you say.” Aileen hugged Lillian and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “If you are running away for some reason, Miss, please know that I love you, and I always will, no matter what you’ve done.”

“Running away? Why, no, I’m not running away.” But the maid’s words made her pause.
Should I flee? Where on earth would I go? Perhaps that is what I must do. But then the murderer will go free, continue to destroy life.

“Good night then, Miss.”

Aileen slipped out, and Lillian whispered to the closed door, “I love you, too, Aileen. And the boys. I should have done more for you earlier.”

CHAPTER TEN

A guilty conscience.

George woke, clothes bloody, hair disheveled, wondering what could possibly have taken Lillian so long to report him, or if his plan to cover his attack had truly worked. His heart dropped at the thought that she might have died from her neck wound.