After Dark (The Vampire Next Door Book 2) (7 page)

“Damn it, I blew it,” Martin growled out loud. He struggled to unlock his door. It was stuck again. He kept trying to remember to oil it. “Damn it.”

“If you are so sure we have something to do with it, then why don’t you let one of us help you?”

“What the?”

It was her. Alexandra. She was standing at the dark end of the hallway. She must have left work early after Irina had one of her people quickly escort him back out. None of them would cooperate now. Or would they?

“I said—”

“Why the hell would any of you want to help me with this?”

She drifted quietly forward out of the darkness, coming uncomfortably close to him and into the light. Her pale blue eyes seemed to almost glow under the brightness of the lamp that hung from the ceiling. He flinched, looked away. It was too eerie to look at, and dangerous, maybe.

“Because I don’t believe it could be any of us, that’s why. I want you to find the real killer, that’s why! Don’t you realize how many people there are, out there, who like to pretend?”

“What the hell do you mean?”

“They play make believe. They want to be like us, some of them even believe it. Sometimes they commit terrible crimes, to prove it to themselves.”

“Wanna talk?” Dear God, I can’t lose it again.

“When?”

“Right now,” damn it. He almost said the words damn it but he shut his mouth. He felt uncomfortable swearing around a woman, and he was especially uncomfortable around her.

Martin went inside and paid the babysitter. He gave her an extra ten dollars because he was late, then went to check on Jennifer. She was soundly asleep with her pink bear. He wanted to come into her room and kiss her but it would wake her up. He shut the door.

Alexandra knocked on his door minutes later and he let her in. He didn’t bother to offer her anything. She sat at the kitchen table across from him.

“So,” he began nervously, “What can you tell me?”

She shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

“I dunno. Tell me about these people, these wanna-be’s.” A decent place to start, he figured. “Know any?”

“Not personally. But I’ve heard about them. How was this person killed?”

“Beaten to death.” He got up to get himself a beer from the fridge.

“So, then why would you think it’s one of us?”

“The poor idiot’s neck was all chewed up, that’s why. Ripped right through the skin, right into the muscle tissue.”

“Why would any of us do that?”

“Oh come on.” He sat down again. “You’re the expert. You tell me.”

“Okay. Suppose, just suppose, one of us did do this. Why chew him up? It is a complete and total waste of time. We just do not chew on people.” She emphasized the word not.

“Huh? So you can tear him up to get in at the blood.”

“But why bother to tear him up? It isn’t necessary. It takes no effort at all to puncture the flesh on the throat, no effort. You just do not realize how razor sharp my teeth are Martin.”

He shivered. She noticed.

“Don’t worry. I won’t prove it to you. Although I could do it on my own wrist just to show you how easy it is, and that it’s mostly painless. But I know you wouldn’t like that, would you?”

“It’s okay, you don’t have to.” Damn it, he swore again to himself. He had missed that fact all along. Whoever it was who did this thing obviously had to really, really tear into this guy.

“Yeah, okay. But the letter V was written on the wall above the body, written in the victim’s own blood.”

“If you killed someone, Martin,” and she looked directly into him. He didn’t like that. “Would you leave your name and address at the scene?”

“Okay.”

“Besides, we’ve got plenty of food. Why waste time and energy, why get nice clothes all covered in blood, why bother to beat it out of some fool?”

“I dunno. For kicks?” that’s the motive he believed all along.

“Then why so close to home?”

“Alexandra?” he looked down at the floor, at his shoes when he suddenly interrupted her.

“Yes?”

“Have you ever?”

“What? Drink blood. All the time, Martin. You know that. I don’t live off donuts and cold pizza and beer like you do.”

“No. Not like that, I mean. You know... I mean—”

She thought a moment. “Oh. I see. Well yes. But I don’t see him anymore. After I thought about it for a while, I began to think he was just using me.”

“Huh? Using you?”

“For kicks.” She smiled now, amused at his reaction. “To him I guess it was an adventure of some kind. But I don’t believe he really cared for me. So I left him. No, it just did not work. I suppose after that he tried drugs to get his high. I don’t know. And I don’t care.”

“Let’s talk about some of these people who play make-believe, okay?” he grew more and more frustrated as the conversation continued.

“The way I heard it, they like to dress up in capes, light candles, some of them have got their own little fan clubs, too. They get really into it, coerce people into letting themselves be cut so they can try their blood. Some of them even think they really are. I don’t know what these people would do if they met the real thing. Probably run like hell.”

“Tell me about Leon?” he seemed like a clean kid, but...

“Oh, he’s adopted.”

“What?”

“Yeah. Alex found him sleeping behind some trash cans twelve years ago. He was thirteen, I think. Irina took him in, spoiled him rotten.”

“Then he’s not—”

“No. Not sure where he’s from. Don’t know who his real parents are. But he is like one of the family, he knows everyone, hangs out with my other brother a lot, too. Yeah, he’s family. That’s that.”

“Is he okay? Does he want to be—”

“He knows he’s not.”

“Okay. Any of you people ever have a drug problem?” He’d hate to see one of them high on crack, and the damage it could do.

“No.”

“Telling me the truth?”

“As far as I know, none of us are on drugs.”

“Okay.”

Where the hell was the missing link?

Lina pulled up into her driveway and parked her ‘Vette. She saw another car parked on the street by her house and wondered briefly who it could be. When she got out and walked up towards her door she heard voices from inside.

Oh no, she thought. Not again. Not Sky.

She had a rough night and closed the shop early after dealing with abrasive customers and tourists. And now Sky. She was probably in there telling Alex he would be a better, happier, more complete person if he would listen to his inner child or his spirit guides or whatever crack-pot idea she was into now. Either that or she was telling him to become a vegetarian.

She listened.

No. It was a man’s voice. Who was it? Not Rick, his voice was too soft and quiet. Not Martin. But the sound was familiar.

She unlocked the door and went in. If it wasn’t Sky, then she would feel safe to enter.

“Lina! Well, it is good to see you again. It has been so long.”

It was Jim Ellison, the journalist who made his living reporting on the unusual and unexplained. Jim once rented one of Alex’s apartments until he married and bought his own home in another town, but they kept in touch. She was pleased to see him.

“Jim! Well, what brings you here?”

The lights were out. She reclined on the worn out couch wrapped in the woolen blanket, drifting into the dreamlike state between alertness and sleep and listened to the sound of his soft voice. “Have you gone to sleep yet?” he asked.

No, she wanted to say, keep talking, keep telling me these things. But she did not have the energy to speak up.

Why did she trust him so much? She never allowed herself to trust anyone before. Was it because he was different? Because he was also kept apart from the rest of society? Or was it simply because she needed to trust someone, anyone?

She heard him go to the closet for his jacket, getting ready to leave and go out. And then he was gone.

Jim was sitting at the small kitchen table, finishing his Chinese takeout. “Alex insisted on getting me something; this is rather good. Too bad you never have any.”

“It has certainly been a while since we’ve seen you,” Lina bent to pick up her poodle. “And you! Stop begging under the table, Alex is right, you are spoiled rotten.” She put the dog back down. “It’s really good to see you again, Jim. Actually, to be honest, I am glad it’s really you, I almost thought it was a neighbor, a tenant actually, when I heard people talking on my way in. I thought it was her, causing trouble again.”

“Yes.” He opened a fortune cookie and silently read it. “Alex was telling me all about that one. Ought to do a feature on her, maybe. How about... let’s see... Woman Possessed By Space Aliens?”

“No,” Alex growled from the living room where he sat in near darkness. “Space Aliens Invade Earth, Refuse to Pay Rent.”

“Oh Alex, now let’s stop making fun at her expense!” And she looked down to notice the dog begging again.

“And Lina, I see that you still are as lovely as ever. Alex is a very lucky man.”

“Oh stop it, Jim.” She felt herself nearly blush. Even at her age, he made her feel like a school girl.

“Yes,” he went on. “You remain young and pretty while I get old. Luckily the climate here makes my arthritis more... tolerable.” And he finally gave in to the dog’s begging. He handed Sasha an egg roll.

“Lina definitely has that mutt spoiled, Jim,” Alex spoke again. He was now watching out the window, looking over the property towards Sky’s unit, as if spying.

“Oh, why not? Here,” and then Jim gave the dog half a fortune cookie. “Cute little puppy.”

“Lina, Jim came up to show us a copy of this article he found.” Alex drifted out of the darkness and handed the printout to his wife. He had been reading it in the dark by himself. “Here. Read this.”

She took it from him and begin to read it quietly. “This is incredible. A college kid wrote this?”

Sometime before the sun came up he wandered quietly back in. He drew the curtains to close out the light; she stirred when she heard movement in the room.

“Why do you put up with me?” She opened her eyes and realized she was still on his couch, wrapped in the old woolen Navajo blanket, instead of in her own apartment, where she should have been.

“If you found a lost kitten on your doorstep, wouldn’t you take her in?”

“I wish I was a cat.” She yawned, and pulled the blanket more tightly around herself.

“Why?”

“So I couldn’t be me.”

“Yeah? Cats don’t do laundry any better than you or me.”

She couldn’t comprehend his sense of humor very well; she strained her eyes in the darkness and watched as he put his leather jacket away in the closet and headed towards his small room.

“Did you go down there?”

He stopped. “What?”

“Did you go down there, again?”

“Yes. See some old friends, have a few drinks, get the local gossip, you know, the boring stuff that vampires do at night.”

“I wish I had a few old friends, like you do.”

“You will, some day, give it some time.”

“If I live long enough.”

He drew a slow breath and let it out slowly. “You mustn’t say things like that, okay?”

“I’m sorry.”

“Go back to sleep. Stay here, if you want to. I’m going to bed now. All right? Just promise me you won’t be hanging from my ceiling fan tonight when I get up.”

“Will you finish your story?”

“Yeah, I will.” He quietly closed the door to his room but opened it again when he heard a sob. “That’s the trouble with you people. You’re all awake all day long, running around in the sun. It makes you all nuts, it’s not right. Why can’t people like you sleep all day like us normal people?”

She wiped away her tears with the blanket, sniffed weakly.

“Oh come on now.” He came closer, sat on top of the pine table that was by the couch. “It’s okay, go ahead, let it out.”

It was several hours before she calmed down again and finally went back to sleep that morning.

Rick was exhausted but remained awake long enough to hide anything that was sharp. He returned to bed, bolted his door shut.

She was gone when he rose at dusk. He was alone in the quiet darkness. Slowly he drifted through his five silent rooms, somehow the air seemed more still about him, the night seemed darker.

Did he miss her? Did he miss even her annoying tears, her ceaseless complaining?

He told himself No. He told himself it made no real difference to him, as long as she didn’t finally go through with it, and actually kill herself. That was the only, only reason he let her hang around, he told himself.

He wandered to his kitchen, to his well-stocked refrigerator. Later he would go down and open the gallery in case a rich tourist was badly wanting to drop a few hundred to a thousand or so on something frivolous. What the hell, it paid the bills.