After Dark (The Vampire Next Door Book 2) (16 page)

The serf lifted his head weakly and mumbled something incoherent. Pavel knelt by him and tore off what was left of his bloodied clothing. The boy was naked above the waist save for the iron slave collar his masters had locked around his neck to remind him of his low position. He now weakly crawled deeper into the corner of the stall, a halfhearted attempt for escape.

“Be still, my friend, you’ll do yourself no good if you do not let me clean these wounds.” Pavel soaked the bloodied and ripped shirt in the water and used it to clean the gelled blood from the young man’s whip-cut back. He could see the boy’s ribs and backbone through the thin layer of skin—he was poorly fed, and weak. The young serf trembled fearfully under his careful touch, yet he did not cry out in pain as his wounds were slowly washed. “I see they have broken your spirit. If it had been me, I would have sliced the throats of both useless dogs. But, you are not me. Never mind. Just be still.”

He whimpered and made another weak attempt to crawl away. “I will do you no harm. What do I care for a small stain on my boots?” When his back was nearly cleansed Pavel rose to step back and let it air dry. The serf remained flat on the pile of soiled hay, his face buried in foul smelling straw.

Pavel pulled the woolen blanket from his horse’s back and tossed it over the peasant. “What is your name, boy?”

“Dmitri,” he whispered.

“In the morning, Dmitri, you can wear this old shirt of mine.” He let it drop on top of the blanket. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen, my lord.”

“I will see to it that someone brings you some food; I will find someone before I sleep for the day,” and he turned to leave, “and I shall look for you before I leave at dusk, to be sure you are in better condition. But, remember that long ago, centuries before you were born, it was considered an honor to serve my people. Most have forgotten, but I have not.” He left the stable, drifted back into the cold night air.

And again he heard the whisper of soft footfall. He turned to look. It was Mikhail.

“Forgive me, but I could not sleep.”

“And so you decided to follow me?”

“Forgive me.” His voice was sincere, without fear or pretense.

“For what purpose do you follow me? I see you carry no weapon. Or is it concealed?” Pavel quietly demanded.

“It is concealed, but I’ve no wish to use it, Pavel.”

“I have no wish to draw my sword, either, Mikhail.”

“You take pity on a useless servant. Why?”

“I did not know what else to do about him. That is all.”

They walked quietly together under the darkness of the night sky and continued to talk.

“Is it true you were once called gods, all of you?”

“Not gods, no, but children of the Dark Goddess, the one who rules the dark mother earth and the stars in the night sky. It is not important. Not anymore. There are so few of us left. So, they tell me you are a hunter?”

“Only to spend time away from the castle, yes.”

“Then I assume you hunt often?”

“Yes! I do.”

“If I lived here, I believe I would spend much of my time hunting through the forest as well.”

“Did you come from far away?”

“Perhaps I did.”

“And, will you be leaving soon?”

“Yes! Tomorrow at dusk.”

“Then I envy you as much as does my uncle the king.”

“This is a strange place, Mikhail. The king and his beautiful princess laugh constantly, yet there is no happiness here. Only misery. Tomorrow, as soon as the sun is out of the sky, I shall be gone.”

“I almost wish to be in your place. I would give up being able to see the sun and enjoy its warmth, all my money and fine clothes, the comfort and safety of this castle, just to have the chance to ride out of here one night and never return.”

Pavel smiled grimly. Under the cover of darkness, Mikhail did not see. “Then do so, boy! What keeps you?”

“My sister, Katarina. The one who ran from the table tonight. Who would protect her? It is believed the king had our father killed, though there is no proof of this, only talk. He is mad. I know he is; he is quite mad. Perhaps one day he will kill me. He keeps speaking of how dangerous these forests are, of how many men enter and do not return.”

“One day, my friend, when your lovely sister is married and safely far from his reach, you will ride out, and never return.”

Her head fell upon his shoulder hours ago and he sat in silence, watching the stars in the velvet dark night sky and feeling her warmth as she slept.

“Laura,” he whispered, “Wake up.”

“W-what?” she yawned.

“You can’t stay out here all night. Come on. I’ll walk you home.”

There were a few hours still before the dawn drifted into the sky. He would do what he had originally intended to do: Search the area. It was his night to search the area and he did not do a good job of it. He had already wasted a lot of time.

He drove his Pontiac slowly, quietly ghosting through the back streets, watching for anything that looked out of place. Then he saw her from a distance. She was picking flowers in the dark. He had walked her home, but she came back outside again, on her own, to pick the flowers in the dark. At first he thought it was odd. But he knew it was good. She was at least learning how to live, learning how to lighten up a little, even when surrounded by her own darkness.

He pulled over by the small row of flowers that ran down the edge of the park. She said she was doing it just for the hell of it.

She was learning to live. To do things for the hell of it.

And they started talking again. But he had to leave; he had to do what he came out for. He shifted into drive and the car once again began its slow journey through dark alleys, back streets, dimly lit parking lots. And after another hour, the sky began to slowly brighten. And Rick grew tired. The gas gauge read at nearly Empty.

Like him, and all his kind, the large and powerful old car was constantly thirsting, constantly needing to stop, and refill.

He would have to fill it early tomorrow evening. None of the local gas stations were open. Only After Dark remained open, but soon its doors too would be locked, its people would sleep, and so would he.

Rick turned to head for the street that would bring him home. Then he heard the scream. A high pitched wail of pain and cold fear. And the sound of running feet.

“What the hell?” his foot slowly lifted off the accelerator and pressed down on the brake pedal. He looked around.

A kid dashed out of the alley, running fast—

“Hey! Hey kid.”

It was useless.

But then he realized if he had been quiet, then whatever, whoever, had chased the boy would have emerged from the alley. “Damn it,” he whispered.

McMurphy was not in one of his good moods this morning. Martin could see that his eyes were red. And he seemed exhausted. Strangely exhausted.

“You okay, Murph?” Martin did not really care. He simply was curious. Why the change?

“Busy night, had stuff to do, didn’t get a damn chance to finish what I was trying to do,” he answered. He smiled wearily. “You know me. I’m a man of action, Marty. Gotta always have action.”

He hated to be called Marty, everyone knew that.

“Hear the news?” he went on.

“News?” Martin pretended to be interested.

“Chief is getting a psychic to help find the killer of the street trash. I heard the talk this morning.”

“Damn. It’s my case. He could have asked me. And that’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“Yeah. Let this clean-up crew alone. That’s what I say. Whoever it is, he’s doing society a favor.”

Martin took a quick step back when he saw the video camera. And he hoped to be able to fade into the background when he saw the reporter. She stood by the psychic the department hired to help locate the serial killer, interviewing him excitedly. She seemed eager to appear to take him very seriously, and was interested in every softly spoken word he said.

Martin was getting more uncomfortable—a crowd began to gather. A crowd of typical vacation and beach resort people. Most were in shorts, a few wore bathing suits. Some had cameras, and were taking pictures of this so-called psychic, souvenirs to take home, Martin guessed. The females seemed especially interested in the unusual creature: he was tall, blond, extremely muscular.

The psychic now held a large pointed quartz crystal in his raised hands. He closed his eyes and began to chant something incoherent.

A little girl in the crowd asked loudly, “Mommy, what’s he doing? He’s weird.”

“Shush, honey,” said the mother, “This is very important.”

Martin watched this fool in tights and felt nauseous again.

Suddenly the young man’s eyes snapped open wide. “There is much bad and dark energy in this realm.”

“What sort of bad energy, Zontar?” asked the attractive reporter. Martin guessed that her news van was well air conditioned, because her bright pink suit was too heavy a material to wear on such a hot day.

“Shauna, there is a great deal of very, very negative energy in the area where the first body was found. In the dimension where I originate from, we call this negative energy Ree-Ahh-U, which means, in your Earth language, Negative Energy. Whoever is doing these acts of violence has a great deal of this negative energy.”

“And do you believe you can help us find the serial killer, Zontar?”

“Yes! But I must meditate more intensely. Perhaps for many days.”

For many days while you’re on the payroll, jerk, thought Martin.

“Thank you, Zontar! And now we go over to Detective Martin Atkinson!” She swiftly advanced toward him. “Detective!”

Oh shit.

“Detective Atkinson!”

“Yes, Shauna?” he tried to look at her, and look away from the video camera.

“Do you have any suspects?”

His speech was halting as he answered. “Ah, well, we regret that we are not able to really make any comments on the issue at this point in time. However, we are very involved with this case.”

“And what about the terrifying rumors that there are evil bloodsucking vampires on the loose in this beautiful town?” She smiled, as if it was all very cute, and interesting, to the general public.

“Ah.” He attempted to laugh, smile a little bit. “That’s just an old, worn out, silly local town legend. But we are taking this case very seriously and—”

“No! Noooo!”

Everyone’s head turned instantly. Several uniformed officers rushed to keep the unkempt, ragged vagrant away from the curious tourists.

“No! Don’t listen to him! The police are not taking this case seriously! All the victims are street people and homeless people! It’s a government plot to kill us all off!”

Shauna shut her microphone off, covered the lens of the video camera with her well-manicured hand, and hissed a command to her camera man. “Shut it off, Biff! Let’s get out of here! This ain’t good entertainment no more!”

“Lady!” Martin was pissed off when he overheard. “What do you mean? Entertainment? People have died around here, for crissakes!”

“Thank you, Detective Atkinson! There will be no further questions for you today!” She returned to the air conditioned comfort of her news van. The thick metal door of the van slid shut, and she and her crew quickly left the scene.

“Yes! It’s true!” the vagrant only grew louder. “Vampires are real. I’ve talked to one several nights ago!”

Martin cringed inside.
Oh no. No. Don’t do this. Shut up, man
.

But he wouldn’t. Martin knew he wouldn’t shut up.

Several people in the crowd gasped. The street guy had their full attention now.

“I talked to one of them and they are not the ones behind the killings! They want to help catch the killer before everyone blames them!”

And now the uniformed men were in the process of hauling him off.

“Listen to me! The government is behind all of this!”

Martin would need to talk with Rick again.

“Why’d you go and do that, Bruce?” Rick did not care if all the people in the burger place thought he was odd for wearing his sunglasses at night. The artificial lights were too oppressive and they stung his eyes.

“Why can’t we go over to the Pizza Palace like I asked?” the vagrant was on his third hamburger, fourth set of large fries, and second diet Coke.

“Because like I told you, I can’t stand the smell of garlic. That’s why. Now talk to me, man! Why’d you do that? You didn’t have to, you know. You’re lucky they didn’t toss you in the bin.”

“Naw.” Bruce talked with his mouth full of food. “They don’t lock you away unless you got insurance to cover the electric treatment, like you know, they hook the jumper cables from the ambulance to your head, gotta pay for all that. They hook the cables right up to your ears, and that’s expensive. And all the dope they give you t’get you high, too. Gotta have insurance for all that. Takes money t’get high like that. There’s this guy I know on the streets.” He grabbed a handful of fries, stuffed them in his mouth, and continued talking. “This guy, Crazy Eddie. He’s like so gone, did lotsa drugs, now his brain is permanently shot, talks to himself a lot, all day long, and shakes everyone’s hand, everyone he meets on the street, says he’s running for office and asks for their vote. Hey, man, you got eyes?”