Breaking the girls out had been the right thing to do. That they did not debate. But learning that one of their closest friends, Josip, had changed them was too much even for Dimitri to comprehend. The ferocity behind such an action left his mind in a state of disarray that he had not known for a very long time. He yearned for the quiet times in the mountains of the Balkans before they were captured by the American forces. The time spent in old libraries with even older books had been relaxing and peaceful. Life went by and they were left alone. Things were as they should be. There were advantages to being a myth. People tended to fear them and thought it best to just leave them buried in the layers of dust.
“Dimitri?” a voice called.
Dimitri kept his eyes downcast but answered, “Yes, Iliga, what is it?”
“We were waiting. Is there a problem?”
“At times it seems like there is always a problem,” answered Dimitri and he found himself snickering at his own response. “Yet, we have been through a lot old friend haven’t we?”
“Yes,” Iliga agreed and he gave Dimitri one of his rare smiles.
“We should go and feed,” said Dimitri as he rose. “Everyone is hungry.”
“Your troubles are our troubles,” Iliga said as he placed a hand on Dimitri’s shoulder. “Andre and I want to get back to our home as well. The girls have a place with us. They need us and there is nothing for them here. We will find a way to make it work.”
“I fear we may have done ourselves in,” said Dimitri. “I always cautioned Josip not to display his abilities openly. I warned him that he would only draw the attention of the curious. And here I have done just the same. I should have left them.”
“It will work out,” insisted Iliga. “We have safeguards enough.”
“Let’s hope you are right,” said Dimitri. “If not, this underground shelter may become our own crypt and we will never leave.”
C
HAPTER
F
OUR
As Christina returned to her underground sanctuary at the abandoned Naval Station, she was feeling quite pleased with the way things had transpired with Commander John Reese at his home. The information that he had on other vampires, everything General Stone had insinuated before she killed him, was foremost in her mind but it would take time to get it out of him. She could take it from him, but that might leave gaps, posing an unnecessary risk she did not want to take. At least not yet. She had time and lots of it. She was having fun with this role. Her introduction had even included a flirtatious advance on her part and yet she had not found the part difficult to play. The ease of it surprised as well as frightened her.
Her fear was that her actions might bring back the dream. The dream that she did not like or wish to live through again. Those dreams had stayed buried in the past and she liked it that way. Some memories were best forgotten; especially those of a woman that she could not be anymore.
Arriving at her secure bedroom, she removed her clothes and dropped them on the floor heading for the bed. As she crawled under the cool sheets, she closed her eyes and relaxed in the safety of the protected room. As she began to quietly slip toward sleep, she entered that place somewhere between wakefulness and utter relaxation of the mind. Unknowingly, her hand rose to her face and her fingers traced along the contour of her lips remembering the kiss with Reese. They parted and a smile settled in their place as she drifted off to sleep. But that smile was wiped away as the dream that she feared returned.
***
T
HE
Y
EAR
1800
Christina staggered through the woods. She felt cold and hungry. Her face was dirty and tear streaked even though she could not cry anymore. She stopped, looking back one last time in the direction from which she had come. She would never return to her family and lover, for they had cast her out from her home and from her life. One foolish mistake had cost her everything. One foolish mistake caused by love.
She hated the sound of that word. Love. What had it gotten her? Cast out, scorned, shamed and hated. What had been painted and imagined as the best thing in life, the most important thing in life, was the instigator of all her problems. She hated the word and all that was associated with it. She would never love again. She would never trust anyone ever again.
Darkness settled quickly upon the woods and with it came the cold of night. When it became too dark to see anymore she sat at the base of a large pine tree, resting her back against the trunk and closing her eyes. She wondered if tonight would be her last. She hadn’t eaten for days and felt weak. More importantly, she saw no reason to go on. No matter where she went, they would find out about her. That was the way towns were. News was news, regardless of what it entailed. She listened to the sound of the woods as they too changed from daytime to night. The creatures of the day made their way to whatever home they had, while the creatures of the night began to wake up and start hunting for food. She wondered if she would become food for some lucky animal; perhaps a wolf or bear. She let fatigue and hunger cover her like the blankets she had used in her home only days ago. She slept.
She awoke to the sound of someone talking. The voice was calm and steady and it seemed to gently carry her up from sleep. Her eyes opened and she saw that the wooded area was awash in silver moonlight from the near full moon and that a man sat on the ground across from her.
Even though he was sitting, she could tell he was a tall man with a large build. The moonlight reflected off his face making it appear a ghastly white, as if he were a ghost. Perhaps he was, she thought. Perhaps this was death come to escort her to the gates of Hell. His eyes appeared to glow in the moonlight, but not a silver or white as one would expect from the light, but rather a soft red. They glowed with an almost animal-like quality with a sharpness that looked for prey in the night.
Despite his appearance, she was not frightened. She wasn’t sure if it was her exhaustion or if it was just that she didn’t care anymore. Whatever he was, she was sure that this was some premonition of the end she knew had come.
Who are you? Why are you here? She heard his voice but his lips had not moved. She wondered if she was still asleep, and perhaps dreaming. She pushed back against the pine bark feeling the roughness of it dig into her skin. She was awake and there was a strange man sitting across from her who spoke without moving his lips. She smiled and giggled at the absurdity of what was happening.
You laugh? Are you mad? The voice came into her thoughts again.
As she tried to imagine how this could be happening, she continued to stare at her visitor and suddenly a realization crept over her like dew settling upon the morning fields. She didn’t know how, but she sensed from the stranger that he knew who and what she was. Perhaps he was one of the woodsmen and had heard of her from the villagers and had come looking for her. He would take advantage of her destitution, expecting her to be grateful and pleasure him with her company for a few nights before throwing her out to die.
“Why do you not speak?” he asked in a gentle sounding voice. “Why do you not tell me why you are here? Who are you?”
She now saw that his lips moved as he spoke and she told herself that she had just imagined them not moving before. Her hunger and pain were eating away at her mind. There was nothing supernatural or unexplainable here.
“Does it matter?” she said coldly. “I am here, that should be enough to satisfy your question. I am a gift from the Gods for you. Do with me as you like, but kill me swiftly when you are finished.”
“My name is Alexander. Won’t you tell me why you are here? Are you lost?” he repeated.
“We are all lost,” she said and then laughed.
C
HAPTER
F
IVE
In an office deep within the corridors of the Pentagon, a man in a nondescript black suit sat at a desk in a lonely office. There was no name plaque on his desk and no sign on the door that led into the room. His desk was void of anything that would give an appearance that it was actually in use—except a telephone. His hair was a stark white in color although his age was probably around 45 or 50 years. His eyes remained fixed on the package that sat on his desk. About the size of a paperback book, maybe a little larger, it was wrapped in paper that was brown with age. Twine, discolored and frayed, looped around it and was tied in a knot in the center. There was no delivery address – no return address for that matter. It had simply arrived for him via a courier that no one could describe. It was indeed a perplexing issue yet one that intrigued him. He loved a good mystery.
He picked it up and tugged at the twine which separated easily. A layer of dust that was imbedded in the twine rose as into the air as if protesting the action. Obviously whoever had prepared this had done so a long time ago. Next, he unwrapped the paper that enclosed the object, trying carefully not to tear it, but rather to keep it all in one piece. Inside the paper were a folded note and a single book. He read:
It has taken too long for this to make its way back to you. For that, I am sorry. I hope it provides some comfort and gives you some of the answers about a father you seek although I fear it might provide more controversy than comfort. Either way it is in your hands where it belongs.
He refolded the note and noticed that his hands shook briefly. Experience had tempered his enthusiasm many years ago but he was extremely interested and tried to contain his enthusiasm over information that may have to do with a father he never knew. There had been many false leads in trying to ascertain any details about his death. The famous line of “need to know,” had worn a path in his thoughts so well traveled that he had just come to accept it.
He turned his focus on the evidence. The cover was leather which was heavily worn in a few spots. He placed his hands on the book where he would need to open it and saw that the worn spots were where the fingers would have rested when handling the book and making entries. He smiled at his discovery. In a day and age where everything was always more than it appeared to be, he liked the simpler things, no matter how insignificant. The knowledge that this simple book had been used often told him something about the person that had owned it. In that, there was no controversy—things were as they appeared.
The book was not very thick. In fact he thought it was quite thin given the thoughtfulness of the design and the long-lasting leather cover. Maybe the author did not have much to say, he thought. There was only one way to find out and he flipped the book open.
The answer was immediately apparent as there were jagged and torn edges along the interior spine indicative of pages being torn out. Looking at the thickness of the spine, by his rough guess, he figured maybe half of the pages had been removed. He gently turned to the first page.
January 1945
I hope that whoever finds this journal will see that my family gets it. I have written their address on the inside flap cover. I have left only the pages which I felt were relevant to explain what happened. It’s important that they know what happened to me and they have a right to know that I died in the line of duty. Died doing what I felt was right for the agency and my country.
For a brief instant the man thought he recognized the handwriting. Yet he knew there were probably hundreds if not thousands of handwriting styles that might be similar, but still, he thought he saw something in this one. And there had been the reference to the ; another coincidence? Yet even with all this uncertainty, he cautiously flipped to the back of the book to read the address. It was no longer there.
9 October 1944
What a discovery! The body was quite well preserved. It reminded me of photographs I have seen of human remains that have been preserved by some type of natural disaster where the material involved prevented decomposition. A good example would be the bodies found at Pompeii which had been buried in ash. Yet there were no such materials in this cavern. One of the men on my team came to an amateur estimate, based upon the thickness of the layer of dust, that the cavern had to have been sealed for at least fifty or sixty years. I took this initial estimate under advisement. However, if that was the case, the condition of the body was an anomaly which posed additional questions which archeological experts would find intriguing.
As I prepared to extricate my team, seeing no further interest in this matter, some of the men who were making a cursory examination of the body called my attention to some of the physical oddities they’d discovered.
First, it was decidedly that of a female human, the physical characteristics of breasts and genitals were clearly visible. However, her face possessed some features which struck me as very peculiar. My initial reaction was that I was looking at features of an animal rather than a human being. The nose was long and flat as if adapted for hunting, suggesting a heightened sense of smell and her ears were larger and shaped in a way that might be indicative of superior hearing. Her teeth were in immaculate condition and almost appeared to glow in the dim light. Also, her incisors looked more like animal canine teeth rather that of a human. Her skin was extremely pale—almost a pasty white in color where after a long time period one would expect the skin to be mottled and decayed.
As we examined this body the more oddities and questions were uncovered. Apparently whatever it was that was in the crypt, for whatever reason, was quite different than a normal human being.
As we prepared to leave this enigma for the historians and archeologists that would eventually discover it, the man that earlier had suggested the amount of time which had passed, discovered something else. The body was also covered with the appropriate layer of dust as was the rest of the cavern which was to be expected. However, under the nose of this woman, the dust was non existent as if…her breathing had kept the dust from settling.