The_Amazing_Mr._Howard (27 page)

“They’re spending the night at the Spencers’ house.”

“Hell no.”

“Hell yes. We already made arrangements. Tomorrow, I expect you to come see me. Bring flowers and a nice card. And plan to stay all afternoon.”

“How about a triple meat burger and a large order of fries with a chocolate shake to wash it all down?”

“You be here.”

He slammed down the phone. “Damn bitch. I’ve treated her like a queen for years and this is the thanks I get? No more Mr. Nice Guy. No more compassionate, loving husband. I’ll toss her fat ass out on the street and then we’ll see who’ll want her.”

Inside the basement, Mr. Howard held the fork toward Alicia, still tied against the wall. She opened her mouth to accept the Wiener Schnitzel and he carefully placed a bite between her lips. “What do you think?”

“Good,” she mumbled while chewing. “You made this?”

He beamed at her approval. “My mother taught me to cook when I was a boy. At the time, I hated her for it. You see, I wanted to be off with my friends creating mischief, but now I am grateful to her and sometimes wish I had not killed her.”

Alicia’s eyes opened wide. “You murdered your mother?”

“It is true, I am afraid. A part of me cannot be controlled, much like the legend of the wolf man during a full moon. Most of the time, I can suppress the homicidal rage that lives within me, but from time to time, it escapes to cause havoc.” He offered another bite of the food.

“Is that why you killed Stephanie Coldstone?”

He glanced over his shoulder. “We should enjoy music with our dinner.” He set down the plate and thumbed through his record albums. “Rachmaninoff will do. Stephanie loved Rachmaninoff.”

He placed the record on the turntable. The soothing sound of a piano filled the basement. Mr. Howard returned to Alicia with the food. “You already know the answer to your question because you know what I am. That part of me, the vampire, has more humanity and compassion than my human side I believe. But should that be a surprise given the sad state of human history? Vampires have been around nearly as long as humans, and yet, we do not kill indiscriminately on a mass scale, nor do we target our victims based on their race or religion. We do not seek their land or treasure, no. We take what we must to survive. What human should sit in judgment when you consider the nature of the species?”

“I don’t judge you as a vampire but as someone who kills. You claim your motive is need, but that’s a failed argument. A sexual deviant kills to satisfy their desire. A psychopath kills to quiet the demons of their souls. Every killer claims to have a reason for their action, but in the end, there’s no justification for murder.”

This girl is too smart for her own good.

He smiled as he offered another bite of Wiener Schnitzel. “Vampires have not always killed their victims, and if the ignorance of the Church had not driven us underground and turned us into evil creatures to be feared, we would not kill today. Vampire bats do not kill their prey, but take only what they need. It should be the same for us.”

She finished her last bite and he carried the plate over to the table and returned with a glass of water. She drank the entire glass in five long swallows. He used a handkerchief to wipe a drop from her upper lip. “Better, yes?”

“Thank you,” she said and smiled.

After taking the glass to the table, he pulled a chair in front of her and sat. “I do regret that you must be restrained this way. It is not done to humiliate or make you feel vulnerable. We both know you would try to escape if presented the opportunity, and this will not do.”

“How much longer do I have?”

He considered her with a narrowed gaze. “I do not understand your question.”

“Until you kill me,” she said.

“I am not going to kill you. I already explained this.”

“Why should I believe you?”

“You will not die by my hand, I swear.”

She struggled against her restraints. “Then why am I here?”

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the music. The melody brought him peace, something he longed for, but never seemed to find. He looked back at Alicia, inquisitive, brilliant, and frightened. She would have been a good wife for the right man. “I cannot have you leading the police to me, therefore, I need time to think, to make a plan.”

“Then you must kill me to guarantee my silence.”

He stood and paced. “You come from a long line of psychics, yes?”

“My mother and grandmother were both gifted.”

He stopped pacing. “In what way?”

She shrugged. “The usual, I guess, seeing spirits and talking with them, visions of future events, and past events, things like that.”

“You say it as if those gifts are normal. I do not see the future and my visions of the past rest only in my memory. As for ghosts, the only ones I see are the spirits of those I have killed. Your family is unique. I have seen gifted people before. Grigori had visions of the future. He foresaw the murder of Nicholas and his family.”

“Grigori?”

“Better known by his last name, Rasputin.”

She blinked several times. “You knew Rasputin?”

“I have known many famous people.”

“What was Rasputin like?”

“A drunkard who smelled like moldy cheese, but he had a way with women, yes, they loved him. He suffered from hypersexuality. Grigori never met a woman he would not fuck. Pardon my vulgarity.”

Alicia rolled her eyes. “I’ve heard the word before.”

“The moral decay of society most certainly guarantees that not only have you heard the word, but used it as well. I find the word most appropriate when driving in town.”

He walked to her and took her by the hand. The warmth she radiated made him want to curl up beside her and sleep. “We do not choose our fates, Alicia, you must realize this. I did not choose to become a vampire. You did not choose to be my guest, which is most unfortunate, because I would have liked to have known you under different circumstances.”

“Why past tense?”

“What do you mean?”

“You talk as if I’m already gone.”

He released her hand and returned to his chair. “That is one of my many bad habits, along with leaving up the toilet seat.” He chuckled. “I should not have told you that last one. Now you will think me uncivilized.”

“You can never escape your human side.”

“This is true; however, if I had remained human, I would have been gone from this world many years ago.”

“You wished you had died.”

His right hand balled into a fist. “That would have been better for everyone, I do believe. But I cannot blame my son for wanting to save my life. He is a good boy.”

“So he’s a vampire?”

“Indeed. He lives somewhere in Australia. I have not seen him since before the Great War. He fought for the Empire. Damn fool. Killed many a Turk. Slipped across no man’s land at night for their blood. According to Lenhard’s correspondence, he wanted to die in the war. But the Turks failed to kill him and so he lives on, taking lives like his father.”

“Are you ashamed of him?”

He tugged on an earlobe. “No, no, like me he did not choose to become a vampire. It is that way with most of us. We are but satellites that orbit in a universe we did not create.”

“Like humans with God.”

“Yes, well, at least God loves you. The Creator has hated me for a very long time.”

The telephone rang upstairs. He rose from the chair with a grunt. “I despise the telephone. The device never brings good news and interrupts my solitude. Please excuse me for a moment.”

He trudged up the stairs, each step seeming to take a lifetime. The phone continued to ring as he emerged in the living room. “Hold on, I am coming.” He snatched the unregistered cell phone from the kitchen counter and checked the caller ID. It was Stanis, the private investigator. Finally. He pushed the talk button. “What do you have for me?”

Several seconds of silence followed before a scratchy voice said, “We need to meet.”

“Meet, as in face to face? Is that really necessary, Mr. Stanis?”

“I’ve got what you need on the cop.”

Mr. Howard leaned against the counter, a big smile on his face. “Something I can use against him?”

“Oh yeah. If I were this guy, I wouldn’t want anyone seeing this.”

“Very well. I recommend someplace discreet. Are you familiar with the Bingham Hill Cemetery?”

“Uh, yeah, but that seems a little too discreet. How about someplace in town?”

“I do not hand over seventy-five thousand dollars in town. Either we meet at the cemetery or not at all.”

“Fine. What time do you want to do this?”

“I can be there in thirty minutes.”

Stanis hesitated. “Shit, yeah, I suppose I can make it. You’d better show up.”

He didn’t like to be threatened, but held back a response. “See you then.” Mr. Howard hung up the phone. The call improved his mood. He bustled down the stairs into the basement. Alicia watched him with a puzzled expression.

“You win the lottery or something?”

“In a way, yes,” he said, collecting her plate and glass. “I must leave for a bit. You will be fine until I return.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she said.

Oh but you are.

He gave her a comforting smile to make her think he found her joke amusing. “Should I leave the music playing?”

“Yeah… sure, it beats silence.”

He started up the stairs.

“Professor,” she called as he neared the top.

He stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “What is it?”

“Will you please leave the light on?”

His head bowed under the weight of guilt. “Yes, of course.”

Bingham Hill was a pioneer cemetery located ten miles north of town. Surrounded by farms and fields of grass and cottonwood trees, the isolated burial ground was the perfect location to meet someone, especially if you needed to kill them, which might be the case depending on what evidence Stanis brought, and his attitude.

He drove the winding road to the graveyard, warm summer air blowing through his hair, his thoughts on Alicia. Why couldn’t she be a foul mouth rube with yellow teeth and warts?

No.

She was beautiful, intelligent, and vulnerable, like Stephanie Coldstone and the others. Something flashed out of the darkness. He slammed on the brakes, tires squealing as the car fishtailed to a stop. A deer stood in the beam of his headlights, black eyes fixed on the danger before it. The creature remained motionless, waiting for him to make a decision. After several seconds, it passed into the surrounding shadows. He released the brake and drove away.

Bingham Hill had no parking lot. He stopped on the shoulder of the road outside the cemetery and turned off the engine. Clouds obscured the stars and the surrounding blackness reminded him of the Paris catacombs. Century-old trees became dark sentinels. Wind rustled their leaves.

He stepped out of the car and strolled to the cemetery gate, which opened with the squeal of rusted hinges. A long, narrow dirt trail led to the graveyard. Alongside it, water bubbled past in an irrigation ditch. The buzz of mosquitoes filled the air. Crickets sang. The branches of a willow bowed over the path near its end. He pushed through the delicate limbs, leaves feathering over his face, and emerged at the entrance of the graveyard.

Bingham Hill was built haphazardly on a sloping grade, gravestones spread here and there amongst patches of rocky dirt and cactus. The majority were tiny stones from the 19th century, weather-worn and cracking. Mr. Howard passed the guest book and took a seat on a nearby bench.

After a few minutes, car headlights cut through the darkness. The car stopped next to his and the headlights went out, restoring the gloom. A black figure emerged and turned on a flashlight, its fuzzy white beam swallowed by the night. Mr. Howard followed the light along the path toward the cemetery. Willow branches shook and a large man appeared. “Over here,” Mr. Howard called.

“Who said that?” The flashlight swung wildly from side to side as the man searched for the source of the voice.

“Do not worry, Mr. Stanis. It is me, not a ghost.” Mr. Howard winced as the flashlight shined in his face.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Stanis said, tromping toward him. The P.I. stopped. He leaned forward to consider Mr. Howard with narrowed eyes and blinked several times. “You’re whiter than a baby’s ass.”

“I do not get out much.”

Stanis shrugged. “Whatever.” His gaze moved over the graveyard. “This is a hell of a place to meet. You know it’s haunted? They say you can hear the ghosts of little children and babies crying and cold hands reach out to touch you.”

“Then we should get down to business before that happens, yes?”

The P.I. edged closer. A long trench coat stretched tight across his broad shoulders and barrel chest. His head looked like a bowling ball that had seen too many gutters. Whiskers dotted his sagging cheeks. He reached inside the coat and brought out a cell phone. “I’ve transferred the tape to my phone so you can watch. You won’t believe what’s on this.”

“Mr. Stanis, you would be surprised by what I believe.” He motioned toward the bench. “Take a seat.”

The burly P.I. lowered onto the bench next to him, an asthmatic wheeze whistling from his chest. He pulled an inhaler from his pocket and took a hit. “That’s some walk over here.”

“Is it?” Mr. Howard held out his hand.

Stanis appeared confused as he stared at it.

“The phone.”

“Oh yeah right.” Stanis’s fat fingers punched several buttons on the phone. “Here you go,” he said. “What some people won’t do to get off these days.”

Mr. Howard leaned toward the small screen. It came to life suddenly with a video of a naked man moving about a bedroom. Not just any man, but Willard. Yes, it was most definitely Detective Willard with a… dwarf. He covered his mouth to hide a snicker. This was too good. He watched with amused satisfaction, images of Willard hooking the dwarf woman to some kind of harness and lifting her into the air, but as the film progressed, and they began to make love, his amusement turned to pity. He knew all too well what it meant to be an outcast, and how desperate for love some people became. This tape gave him everything he needed to stop Willard’s investigation. His career and marriage would be over. He should be happy, but his victory felt bittersweet and hollow. Willard might be perverted, but he was also the greatest opponent he had ever faced. When the video ended, Mr. Howard handed the phone back to the P.I. “You’ve done well, Mr. Stanis.”