The Vampire (THE VAMPIRE Book 1) (54 page)

He hadn’t stopped for dinner and he was feeling a little hungry now. He didn’t know where he might send out to have food delivered, and then realized he didn’t care enough to eat anyway. Once back in his hotel room, feeling more discouraged, the Southern Comfort and Coke became his dinner, until the Coke ran out. Then it was just straight shots of Southern Comfort, until he passed out.

***

“Oh…ow, ow…ouch…okay, okay…I won’t do it again.” His whimpering came out in a hoarse whisper, fearing his voice would sound thunderous even to himself, as he slowly eased his head back onto his pillow while shielding his eyes even in the darkened room, when he awoke the next morning.

It took a few moments until the room finally stopped spinning. His head was throbbing. It was time to pay up for all the drinking he had done the night before. He lay still for a few more minutes. Finally, driven by the desire to get to the bathroom to void, he carefully rolled himself gently to the side of the bed and slowly sat up. Every movement was slow and painful.
This is not good
.

A cool shower helped to revive him somewhat. He could really use a cold can of Coke right now. He wanted just to crawl back into bed, but he refused to let himself. He made his way down to the hotel’s breakfast room, where he made the effort to drink some juice. He was slowly feeling a little better but his head was still throbbing. He sat by an open window that let in a delightfully cooling breeze that helped to revive him some more. He would like to have lingered there with his eyes closed and his head pressed against the window frame to catch the full breeze a little longer but a girl was eating cornflakes several tables away and he could not handle the noise. He was still moving quite slowly and painfully. He waited for the elevator to take him to the lobby and the bell that sounded its arrival invaded his head with the force of a hammer.

He hoped once he got out to the street he would feel better. But that was not happening so far.

The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo
. He didn’t quite know what had prompted him to think of that phrase. He walked to a small shopping complex that had several floors, one of which was a food court that looked out over the Mississippi. He sat there for a while, gazing out on the river as he sipped a cold Coke. He idly began doing a mental inventory of all he had been through for almost four weeks. There had been so many highs and lows, it was still hard to grasp all of it. He had been on an emotional roller coaster that had left him physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually exhausted. He really just wanted to go back to his hotel and crawl into bed. He was sure he could sleep for days.

A sense of gaiety and cheer surrounded him, much of it having to do with the holidays, but he felt immune to all of it. This was a terrible time of year to be looking for full time employment. He would have to return to his family in Minnesota soon. There would be no joyful holiday this year, not for him. He stared glumly out at the river, reluctant to get up and move. It was still just late morning and much of the day lay before him, with no plan in mind.

He began to think of what his life would be like in the coming months. The very thought hurt his head more.

“I lost a job with the most amazing perks ever.”

Now even the things he had been interested in before taking the assistant position held little appeal for him. Was he supposed to get excited now to get an EVP of some janitor from 1930 in some hotel in the Midwest? Or if he caught an “unusual” orb on film?
I just walked away from the best, and maybe the most interesting supernatural experience that I, or anyone, is ever likely to have. And with that the chance to experience even more phenomena
.

You—this way, we—that way. Love’s Labor’s Lost
. He didn’t know why these strange phrases kept popping into his aching head. It was like he didn’t have the will or strength to stop it. He shook his head, and immediately regretted the motion and the accompanying pain. He had to get up finally and start moving again. He walked along Decatur Street, intending to go to the Café du Monde, though he wasn’t the least hungry, not even for beignets. He had no appetite.

It was already past noon. He just kept walking and then realized he had arrived at that same promising absinthe bar again. He peered into the windows. A youngish couple stood at the bar and seemed focused on some artwork on the wall. A tall guy with longish dark hair wearing a long black velvet looking jacket also stood at the bar with his back to Jason.

That is almost the kind of thing Augere might wear,
Jason thought, otherwise he seemed of no particular interest. He considered going in, just to check out the place again. But he couldn’t face another disappointment just now. Nor could he face what seemed like the cheery atmosphere of the place just then. That was not the ambience he needed at the moment. And he certainly couldn’t handle a drink right now. He decided to go back toward the café instead.

If I lived here,
he mused,
I probably would never come here as often as this
. All of the little lagniappes this city had to offer, all of the little pleasures and the indulgences were slightly less likely to appeal to someone who had this available to them all the time. Sometimes, only the tourist could really appreciate what everyone else might take for granted. Although people in New Orleans were really more fond of their city and indulged in the local treasures more than other places he had traveled to, so it might be less true here. He was slowly starting to feel a little better. The strong chicory coffee he sipped was working some magic on him and brought him a measure of comfort.

What to do now? What was the best way to spend his time? Maybe he shouldn’t have a plan; just wander, aimlessly. He still felt tired and listless but rallied some motivation to continue. He was constantly aware time was running out.

He walked along, browsing shop windows, with no particular thought now, about anything. Then an idea occurred to him: maybe that was it—he should just wander and try to visit places he hadn’t seen. He was just as likely to find Augere in those places as anywhere else probably. And who knew when he might ever be back here again? Maybe if he didn’t focus so hard, and just let things happen…He tried to work up more enthusiasm for the idea but had to fight recurring feelings of exhaustion and depression, of hopelessness and futility.

He spent the day in a desultory fashion, and did see a number of interesting places he hadn’t before: he passed an old pharmacy museum. Noted the bar that had stayed open during hurricane Katrina. He still had no appetite but felt the need for hydration and took in some healthy beverages along the way.

The day seemed to pass quickly. It had grown dark so early, and Jason had little desire to continue to wander the dark streets, but it was only nine thirty: too early to give up and head back to the hotel.

He paused in front of a store window with dusty displays and an old sign that read “Diverse Oddities and Curiosities.” He slowly looked over the goods, his eyes traveling from one interesting object to another. All of what he saw was intriguing, but most of it not anything he was inclined to want. Until his eyes rested on a small statue, no more than six inches or so, the porcelain figure of a pale young girl. She had long, light colored hair and wore a long old fashioned dress of a single pale color. It was a completely unremarkable figure except for two things: her eyes, and the object she held in her hands. The object was painted brown and appeared to be a spire of wood. Her eyes—he had to strain to peer at these more closely—were totally red with small iridescent pin points at the centers, which made them appear to glow slightly. It was one of the creepiest and most unusual things he had ever seen. Too bad the shop was closed; he would have gone in and inquired about the price. It was something he would very much like to have.

He continued walking thinking about the small statue and otherwise lost in his thoughts. If it wasn’t for that, and the fact that he was tired and still somewhat hung over, he might have noticed the determined footsteps sooner.

As it was, he had had a vague awareness of the footsteps behind him for a short while. Now it seemed as if someone was purposely following him. Probably nothing of any concern. But he noted with some dismay he was on a dark, nearly deserted street now, and he still had eight, or maybe twelve, he was not sure, blocks to walk to his hotel.

He continued to walk without much concern. No city was without some crime, but he didn’t necessarily see himself being at risk. He did quicken his pace somewhat though. As did whomever was following him. When he had to stop at the corner to let a single car pass before he could cross the street, he paused to listen and heard nothing.

My imagination is running away again
.

He continued walking briskly, and now the footsteps returned, seemingly accelerated in pace also. He considered what he had on him: ID. Two credit cards. About $100 in cash, the rest having been left at the hotel. It was reckless of him not to pay attention to his surroundings. He had been too distracted lately.

He slowed his pace considerably, hoping to let the other person pass by. There was only silence and no one came forward. He paused at another shop window, again pretending to be interested in the display and to let this individual pass by him. No one did so. He continued to walk a short distance, then abruptly crossed the street and resumed walking briskly again, finally slowing after walking two blocks or so.

His heart was pounding now but he maintained a normal steady pace. He paused briefly and listened. He heard nothing; he wanted to turn and look around him, now that he had some distance. The sound of the footsteps reappeared then, on his side of the street.
That’s what I should do,
he thought.
Turn suddenly and visually confront whoever is there. Stare them down and just wait until they pass me
. He listened, hopeful that soon there would be nothing to hear as he resumed walking.

He began to consider what else he could do: if he did stop and confront—what if there was a weapon, and he was about to be robbed? Or what if there was more than one assailant?

He walked briskly and the follower seemed to pick up the pace also. This was definitely not good. There was no one else on the streets. Not even a car passed.

When he approached a streetlamp he paused for a few moments and then suddenly turned in the direction of the follower. The footsteps abruptly stopped. A figure seemed to move quickly into the shadows of a doorway, but not before Jason could catch a glimpse of a stocky man, possibly a swarthy complexion, who had both hands in the pockets of a short dark jacket. A knitted cap covered his head with seemingly no hair visible and the man had a downward glance; no direct eye contact. Jason got a menacing sense from the man, enough to make him very uneasy.

Jason resumed his quick pace as he considered the possibilities and his options. His most recent fear and paranoia returned: this could be someone sent to kill him because of Augere’s secret. Suddenly he thought that could be very likely. Or, this could just be a random act, someone out to rob anyone they came across. Either way, he was in a dangerous situation.

Jason felt the adrenaline rush and his hands and legs began to feel numb. He tasted fear. He wondered if his legs could obey him if he needed to run. He remembered a hotel several blocks from his own—probably no more than three to four blocks from where he was now. If he could make it to the lobby there, he would be a lot safer than if he tried to make it all the way back to his hotel. He began to walk quickly in the direction of that hotel, keeping an eye out for any taxi along the way.

He crossed the street again, walking as quickly as his legs would allow, ready to break into a run if he had to. He heard the footsteps quicken behind him and flinched as if he could just about feel a hand grab at his shoulder. Now the hotel was just in sight, no more than a block and a half. Just as he broke into a run he heard a sharp cry, a sound of pain, surprise, and fear all in one, a sound that was suddenly cut short. The sound propelled him even faster and he dashed into the lobby, gasping for breath, as a startled clerk looked up from the desk in alarm. Jason turned to look out the lobby window back toward the direction he had come. He saw nothing and no one. The dimly lit street looked deserted. He was badly shaken; his breath ragged as he tried to compose himself.

“Would you be able to call a taxi for me?” he asked the clerk in a shaky voice. The clerk nodded slowly and hesitantly. After he had placed the phone call, Jason began to tell him the story of the harrowing past ten minutes or so. The clerk asked if Jason was in need of medical attention and wondered aloud if the police should be called. Jason shook his head, and said there was nothing certain to report at the moment, no tangible proof of any crime.

Within fifteen minutes he was safe in the lobby of his own hotel, and grateful to be heading to his room. He was unable to settle himself for a long while, reliving the events, the footsteps of the stranger still echoing in his mind. The man had meant him harm; he was sure of it. But then—what had happened? He didn’t really care; he was alive and unharmed. For the second time in weeks he had felt as if his life was truly in danger. A drink might have helped to steady his nerves but he really didn’t want any alcohol. He made a cup of tea in his room and turned on the TV to have some company and some diversion. Exhausted, he soon fell sound asleep.

He slept in the next morning. His body protested when he tried to get up and so he fell helplessly back into the comfort of several pillows, not at all willing to put up a fight.

It was 11:30 when he finally got into the shower and then got dressed. He still wasn’t hungry but thought he should eat something. Nothing really appealed to him; he still had no appetite. He could use some coffee and orange juice but he wanted a quiet place today. A dark corner where he could sit and brood for a while. He didn’t think he could face the usual places just now. It was all too depressing.