The Vampire (THE VAMPIRE Book 1) (46 page)

He walked around her room, resuming his perusal of her things he had begun last night. She had some great stuff. Her music and movie tastes, the books on her shelf, the posters on her walls: more than the same twisted, absurd sense of humor, they shared the same view of the world. The same passion and intensity for the same things.

“So…how…are…things…going…Jason?” she asked, slowly pausing between each word for emphasis. His back was to her as she spoke.

He carefully composed his expression before he turned around to give her what he hoped was a calm look. “Fine.” he announced.

“Oh, really?” she asked him. The ferret was checking him out. He sometimes felt he was no match for her when her mind was set. Relentless. Determined.

Whenever the family sat together in the living room, watching a scary movie, and everyone else jumped at the sudden shocking scene, Carrie was always ready for it. But he knew her vulnerable side too; the sudden sincere flood of tears; her capacity for empathy. In any case he had learned she was a force to be reckoned with. He was a little afraid of her pointing that acumen at him just now.

“How is the car running?” he asked. He had left his car for her to use when he moved to Boston. “Get to drive much?”

“Barely. Dad is too scared to take me now, just because of that one time…” She frowned. “…and Mom’s always too busy. And Evan is just, well—”

“Too normal.” They both said in unison and then laughed. Then, in unison again, “He can’t help it.”

It felt good to laugh with Carrie again.

“While you’re here, you can take me driving!” she said.

Not if we’re followed, Jason thought, his bright expression fading and too quickly becoming serious. Carrie immediately noticed. “You know,” she said looking at him closely, “there has been a dark cloud and a kind of heavy sadness around you ever since you came home.” She was looking at him quizzically.

“It is exhaustion.” He shrugged. “It was a really busy trip,” he offered as explanation. “I’d never been to Europe before. You never want to sleep! There is so much to see and do. I tried to cram in as much as I could—”

“Did you get some time on your own, or did your boss drag you around and make you do things for him the whole time?”

They talked about his trip for over an hour. Going over all he had seen and done—he got his camera so he could show her some of the photos—which reminded him more of just how great a trip it had been. Until… He felt a struggle to keep up his good humor, for her sake. He hugged her tightly and then said he wanted to get to bed early again tonight. He remained awake downstairs, staring at the TV as he lay in bed, but not following any program he watched. Eventually he fell asleep. He slept restlessly, waking up at intervals, feeling anxious but eventually able to get back to sleep again.

The next morning, Wednesday, he repeated the same pattern as the day before. Once everyone had left, he sat in the kitchen staring absently out the window, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup to warm them. No matter how warm the kitchen, a chill came from within himself. His paranoia was ever present, and he peered cautiously out the windows at intervals. A huge icicle, or maybe a chunk of snow, fell somewhere outside, and it startled him more than it should have. In fact, he jumped at any sound: Car engine, snow blower, dog barking somewhere nearby. They were all ominous sounds somehow, meant as warnings to him. He hated feeling this way: the ever present fear someone was coming to kill him. He was too restless and distracted to read or watch TV. Too nervous and anxious to sit still for long. He did not know what to do with himself.

If they are coming, why don’t they just do it and end this torture!
he thought. He felt a sudden desperate longing for everything to be back the way it was before.

How did I not notice?
He berated himself. But he did notice. So many little things added up. A kitchen that was never used; no meal ever witnessed; jumping out of a still moving vehicle into a dark woods. Really, Jason—seriously? But all that still did not add up to this, he defended himself. Not this truth he was expected to believe.

It really wasn’t until Europe. That old man in Venice. He had to have been in his eighties. He had approached them, convinced he knew Augere. Convinced Augere was someone he had known a very long time ago, apparently.

And what about the French bartender? What about that story? And then, in London, the strange random responses from the Oracle… Jason shook his head. So much circumstantial evidence suggested it could be true. And yet he could not begin to accept such a thing as real. He had resisted it.

But then there was the portal thing.
If I am going to have to die for knowing about all of this, then I should at least believe and accept that it is all true
.

He allowed himself to relive that night outside of Highgate Cemetery. It wasn’t difficult to recall all the horrifying details.
Get behind me
. The way Augere had stood up to that thing. It wasn’t just the absence of fear. It was like he was confidently in control. Like he had seen this and done this before. Amazing. He had said as much afterward, and that he had the situation under control.
I thought he was going insane from terror, but absolutely not
. Get behind me…
Like he knew: he had this
. Now in retrospect, Jason was completely in awe of him. If he really was some kind of supernatural being, it seemed he was damn good at it.

You will never have to see him again.

Yeah…well. That’s good, I guess,
Jason thought with a deep sigh. But suddenly he just wanted to go back to bed. And not just to rest, but to fall into a deep sleep, and then wake up to a different reality.

He lay on his bed, lacking motivation to do anything else.

Maybe it’s not so much that they
want
to kill me, just that they
have
to do it. To protect their big secret
.

“Nothing personal, Jason. But you have just got to go. We really didn’t mean for this to happen but yeah, well that’s a shame. Sorry, pal.”
They were innocent in a sense too. They couldn’t have known something like this was going to happen. Right?

He wished he could speak to Genier again. He really did like him. He was kind and helpful. That was the real hell of it. He had
liked
these people. He found himself thinking about Augere. How he had never made Jason feel like just an employee. He had often glimpsed Augere’s hotel quarters in passing: Jason never had lesser accommodation. And Augere would not even let him pay for his own drink or meal, if he was around, even if he had none himself. Augere had often been kind and generous to him.

He daydreamed, recalling some of their conversations. Things had just started to get more comfortable between them…why did this have to happen?

He remembered, feeling a little embarrassed all over again, how Augere had tended to him, actually remained at his side for a time, when he had been ill after Savannah. Not at all like someone who would want to harm him. Not the behavior one would expect from a…he still couldn’t bring himself to say it.

But, of course, I never saw him that way. Even if he did say he would have to kill me. Even if he did hold me at the hotel against my will. Inflicting pain
. Jason rolled up the sleeve of the long sleeved shirt he was wearing, for a look. A wide ugly dark purplish bruise ringed his upper arm. It was still painful.

If things had happened differently…if I had figured it out—about Augere, but had just said nothing…! Or maybe if we had not gone to Highgate at all…maybe things could be different right now
.

They could be in that sumptuous library at this moment.
Of course, then I would be seeing him through very different eyes
.

Suddenly a whole spectrum of wonder opened up for Jason. If Augere was truly…vampire. Damn. It would be the most amazing and fantastic, the most unique supernatural experience he, or anyone, might ever have. All this time he had wanted the ultimate paranormal or supernatural experience. And all this time—a rush of excitement took over now—he had been right there! The wonder of him…how old was he really? Living history, for certain…! To have such access to someone like him. Imagine the things he has seen and done. And to think,
he
found me! That amazing synchronicity that so often seemed to be a part of his life: a wonderful trip to New Orleans; then a chance encounter. How many people would love to be in that situation?
Of course, I could never tell anyone, not ever
. All that he could share…but it would always be for just a party of one.
For my eyes and ears only, exclusively. No matter how wonderful, amazing, incredible…or how bad and terrifying. I could never tell another soul
. It was a sobering thought. Still, it was the experience of a life time, to just be around him…Jason came out of his pleasant reverie slowly as he realized all of it had already slipped away…all of it lost. He was looking at mental images of the gone world. A world he had no access to anymore.

Well, what if Jason was back there right now with him? Knowing what he knew? What was their intention as far as he was concerned? Was he being groomed as some modern day Renfield? What was his intended role, really? To lure people to Augere? Or to find hiding places for the bodies? It was odd, wasn’t it, that there hadn’t been hundreds of unexplained corpses all around the Boston area… Drained of blood…or maybe there had been, and he just hadn’t been paying enough attention. No. He couldn’t go back to that life…didn’t Renfield end up insane?
Or, no…wait…I think the master killed him. Yeah. I’m pretty sure that was it. Too bad I’m going to have to die for this anyway though
. His thoughts were back to a jumbled confusion, drifting from one bleak and troubling thing to another.

He looked around him to break the pattern of unwanted thoughts, and he sighed heavily. He grew up in this kitchen. When he’d wake up from a bad dream, his mom and he would sit there and have hot chocolate and she would talk to him and calm his fears, make him feel safe; make everything all right again.
Now I’m here as a grown man, having even worse fears and thoughts, worse than anything I could have imagined as a child, and nothing feels like it is ever going to be safe or all right again
. He felt totally alone and completely isolated suddenly. No one could help him now.

He was startled suddenly to hear the front door open.
The assassin! He is here, in the house!
He began to tremble. He stood, eyes wide, near the kitchen entrance, waiting.

Carrie, home from school early, appeared startled to find Jason in a frozen pose, eyes wild, staring at her from the kitchen doorway.

“Jason! Cripes!” They stared at each other for several moments. Jason’s heart was beating wildly. Carrie was taking in his unkempt appearance. “I kind of just let it go when you were working on perfecting your world-weary traveler-angst look,” she said to him. “But this—disheveled, unshaven, wild eyed, spooky mess—not sure just where you’re going with this.”

He mustered his one resource admirably. “I’m on vacation.” His heartbeat was slowly returning to normal.

“Not in a third world country. We now have hot and cold running water here in Minnesota. And a mall.”

He sniffed. Took a sip from the coffee mug he was still clutching. “What are you doing home at”—he checked the time on the wall clock behind him—“noon? Skipping?”

“If you must know, I arranged my whole semester to have a half day off, today, just so I could keep an eye on my older brother. And his maximum weirdness.”

He managed a smirk. He was ecstatic to see her and not the killer he was expecting.

She threw her coat over the back of a chair and then dumped a pile of mail onto the table. She poured herself a cup of coffee and then sat down to sort through the pile.

“You’ve got mail.” She imitated the AOL voice as she handed Jason a 9x12 tan envelope. As he took it, he noticed it was postmarked New Orleans. The return address was a PO box.

He sat down in the chair opposite hers and opened it. They were his formal resignation papers. Would he please sign these and fax them to the number indicated on the attached note. Pages detailed his retirement info, the last day of his medical coverage; info about his final paycheck. Letters of reference, in glowing words, described in inflated terms his various duties; how competent and how much of an asset he had been to the firm. Highly recommended for any qualified position.

James and Allen Genier had signed all the letters of reference; Augere had signed one, though all three names were printed in the heading. Both Geniers had signed the actual acceptance of resignation. The space under the printed name Laurent Augere had been left blank. Why had he not signed it? Oh, right. Because he would be in Boston. They would have to be sent to him there. But why hadn’t they done so first? And if he was in Boston, how had he signed just the one page—but not the rest? And it wasn’t a copy or a fax. Jason could see it was signed in ballpoint ink…and why was this all done so quickly? What was the rush?

“Good news?” Carrie inquired over the top of her Gothic Beauty magazine. He made no reply. “Jason?”

“Just…some work papers,” he replied quietly. He was preoccupied with minute details, overlooking, or missing, some larger significance here perhaps.

She put her magazine down. “Something has you under the bus…and I intend to find out what that is,” she stated emphatically. “I don’t like seeing you like this.”

He shook his head absently, still puzzling over the papers.

“Look, I have to change and get ready to go to my job at the mall,” she said. “Are you going to be okay? Because you don’t look okay to me.”

He nodded, not too convincingly. There was a finality to these pages. The last thing to come undone. And were these papers really even necessary, if he was going to die anyway? Oh, yeah… because then these papers would mean less suspicion cast on the Geniers.

“Hey,” he said, his voice sounding strained, “leave me that magazine to read, okay?”

She got up and came behind him, putting her arms around his shoulders, ostensibly trying to get a glimpse at the papers he was holding, which he had put back in the envelope before she could see.