Authors: David Reuben Aslin
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Genre Fiction, #Horror, #Vampires, #Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, #Thrillers & Suspense, #Suspense, #Teen & Young Adult
Sally’s face went blank and she bowed her head down. It was then that both Ned and Selma both spotted for the first time the two puncture-like wounds on the side of her neck. Dried blood stained her neck all around the wounds that looked already significantly infected. Ned spoke as he looked over at Selma, “You see those nasty marks? Did she say something about being pecked at?” Selma raised her eyebrows as she nodded.
Selma spoke up, “Ned. I appreciate you needing answers. Way more answers than you’ve got here. But Sally … she needs to be seen by a medical doctor and possibly a psychiatrist for a full screening. Those wounds on her neck look bad, and well, you know, for other reasons. We’re not going to get much more out of her that will make much sense until she’s cleaned up and rested.”
Ned nodded his head in agreement. “I’ll have one of my men take her to the hospital straight away.”
Banana Books
It was getting to be late afternoon. Ian had stopped thinking about it a few hours ago, but just realized that his stiff neck had worked itself out and now felt fine. He was feeling good about how everything was progressing, especially how he was now “officially/non-officially” on a new case. He felt like he’d accomplished a great deal for his first day.
Ian decided it was time to head back to Long Beach. But first, he wanted to drive by the former Flavel House Museum.
Upon arriving, Ian pulled his Jeep over to the curb across the street and just sat staring at it. Ian was intrigued by the size and grandeur of the vintage Victorian mansion; it was surrounded by a seven-foot-high, spear-head tipped, black wrought-iron fence. The front gate was also grand. It boldly displayed an artfully-crafted, ornate black wrought-iron dragon with large, ruby-colored eyes. The beautiful gate hung from tall, brick-and-mortar columns, perched on the columns were large, black, concrete gargoyles.
What initially caught Ian off-guard were the security cameras mounted around the fence line and sides of the house, but he quickly realized that anything less would be contrary to Salizzar’s role play persona.
Upon noting the camera’s positioning, Ian realized there would be little chance of anyone getting inside the backyard, let alone inside the house without detection. Ian surmised that the cameras were also video recorders.
The most obvious anomaly were the windows of the grand house. They were all completely blackened. Ian presumed they’d been painted over, as the windows were darker than any type of window tinting that he’d ever seen or heard of. Upon closer examination, Ian noted two exceptions to the black, painted-over windows. There were two large windows, one located on each side of the house’s front door. Those windows appeared to be covered by identical black curtains, possibly made of velvet.
At least from where Ian was parked, it was impossible to see into the house. No apparent light of any kind emitted from within. Ian thought intently,
Those totally blacked windows and all this security, that’s gonna make any potential stake-out of this place useless and way too dangerous to keep my cover. I’m probably on candid camera right now. But whoever is monitoring them, they no doubt are used to lots of curious people parking and gawking at the place. It figures Salizzar would surround himself with all the stereotypical pseudo-vampiric lifestyle motif bullshit and all the related security that goes with being rich. I wonder how many people he employs to take care of the place. And how many bodyguards he’s got? He’s probably installed a secret passage behind the bookcase that leads down to the basement, down to the torture chamber, or down to where he keeps his coffin. Ha.
Just then, Ian and Scout spotted two identical, large, black and tan Rottweilers patrolling the grounds. Scout went on instant alert. He began a low, deep growl, somewhat under his breath, and he was becoming more agitated by the second.
“Steady boy. Steady! Well, we came, we saw, let’s get the hell out of here and head back to camp. We’ll be checking out Salizzar’s warehouse-nightclub soon enough. That’s, I’m sure, where the action is.” Scout halted his low growling and barked once at Ian’s declaration.
Twenty minutes later, Ian and Scout were driving through downtown Long Beach when Ian blurted out, “Look there! A bookstore. Banana Books; sounds like it could be an interesting place to peek around.”
Ian pulled his Jeep over and wrangled his way into a parallel parking spot that was right across from the side street that the bookstore was on. “Wait here, boy. This shouldn’t take long.”
He walked briskly towards the bookstore, which appeared to him to be converted from a two-story house, possibly with living quarters upstairs. Ian thought the bookstore looked wonderfully quaint with a nice sun-deck out front.
As he approached, Ian noticed in the bookstore’s front window a sign advertising espresso and all manner of flavored coffee. It meant little to him. When Ian drank coffee, which generally was only in the morning, it was of the simple, jet-black variety. Nothing fancy about it.
Ian opened the door to the bookstore and walked in. He was immediately greeted by a lovely woman who stood behind the counter, busily fixing a coffee for a customer. He vaguely noticed that there were paper cutout pumpkins and black and orange streamers hung throughout the store. But what immediately grabbed his attention was that nearly every inch of the relatively small store was utilized to its fullest. Ian was amazed by the sheer volume of books that were shelved from floor to ceiling.
Ian then noticed a man who was busily restocking shelves with books he was pulling from a large box.
After a few moments of looking all around the store, Ian walked up to the man doing the re-stocking. “Uh, excuse me. I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of books on the subject of … well, of vampires. Perhaps not so much horror novels per se as, uh, say fact versus myth. Or well, that sort of thing if you’ve …” Ian instantly became a little embarrassed as he realized how silly that might have sounded.
The man stopped what he was doing and turned to Ian. He smiled as he replied, “Well, we have lots of books about vampires, that’s for sure. A pretty fair representation of many of the popular titles.” The man pointed towards shelves just around the corner from where they were standing. “We have some of the
Vampire Chronicles
by Anne Rice. And I believe we have a couple copies of Steven King’s
Salem’s Lot
, all still very popular.” The man paused to collect his thoughts.
The man continued, “Hmm … Books more specifically on the subject of legend versus fact, hmm?” The man put his right hand to his chin and deliberated for a moment. “Ya know, now that I think about it, I might just have what you’re looking for. It’s by a local writer who coincidentally is going to be doing a book signing here tomorrow. Now, the book is still a work of pure fiction. But I’ve been told – understand I haven’t actually read it myself – that there’s quite a bit of material in it that deals with the modern underground vampire counterculture. People that hang out, or fang out, so to speak, at clubs for that sort of thing.” Ian laughed at the man’s levity.
The man refocused and became more to the point. “Fact is, a club like that opened across the river over in Astoria a few months back. Has a lot of people over there up in arms about the sort of people they claim it attracts.” Ian nodded and raised his eyebrows, indicating he could understand people being upset about it.
The man continued, “Anyway, about the book. I should have said it deals with the once modern vampire counterculture. The book I’m referring to isn’t new. It was a pretty popular book around ten years ago.” The man pointed to a poster advertising the author, Clayton Collins, and his book,
Bloodlust Vampires 2.0
, which was mounted on the wall directly above a chair and small desk, which were positioned very visibly in a corner of the store, obviously made ready for tomorrow’s book signing event.
The man went behind the counter and retrieved a copy of the book. He then handed the book to Ian as he continued, “The author, Clayton Collins? Nice guy. He’s written several books on the subject of vampires. But his best seller, the one he’s most known for, is this one:
Bloodlust Vampires 2.0.”
Suddenly, with a big smile, the man extended his right hand. Ian quickly shifted the book from his right hand to his left, and extended his. “My name’s Ed, and that’s Mary over there.” Ed nodded his head once in the direction of Mary who was hanging earrings on a display board.
Upon hearing her name and seeing Ed and Ian shaking hands, Mary smiled as she spoke, “Hello.”
Ian returned the smile and gave a slight nod of his head as he replied, “Ed. Mary. It’s nice to meet you.”
Ian began flipping through some of the pages of the book Ed had handed him. Just then, two dogs came bounding up from behind the cash register area, where they had been previously laying quietly. First, they came over to Ed, then to Ian. One of the dogs a male, seemed very happy regarding a ball that he held pridefully in his mouth, Ian couldn’t help but notice that his tail was wagging enthusiastically. Ian thought to himself,
I’ve got to get Scout a toy of some kind. Something for us to play fetch with.
“What beautiful dogs.” Ian said as he without hesitation stooped over and began petting the dog holding the ball.
Ian spoke while still petting the dog. “He’s some variety of bull terrier, isn’t he?”
Ed once again smiled with obvious pride as he spoke, “Why this here’s Sobe. He’s an American Staffordshire Terrier
.
He and Angel, well I guess you’d say they’re sort of our unofficial mascots, if you know what I mean. They love people. Angel, she’s a terrier mix.” Ian was surprised to hear that Angel was a mixed breed because she looked very much like a slightly smaller, lighter-weight version of Sobe.
It was obvious to Ian without having to ask that Ed and Mary were the owners of the establishment. Their pride of ownership and love of what they did was written all over their faces.
After gazing through a few pages and having read the book’s synopsis on the back cover, Ian was certain that this book would be about as helpful as any of its type. He thanked Ed for thinking of it for him. Ian then walked over to the counter that Mary was at. She was still hanging earrings onto a display board. Ian noticed that Mary was wearing earrings of much the same general style as the ones she was hanging. He then noticed the sign on the earring display board stating that the earrings were hand-crafted. He quickly put two-and-two together.
“Mary, do you make these beautiful earrings?” Ian believed he’d already deduced the answer to his question.
“Yes, these are some of my creations. Do you like them?” Mary asked enthusiastically.
Ian replied, “Oh, yes. Very much! My late wife … She loved artisan jewelry like this.”
Mary placed her right hand to her chest. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”
Ian interrupted Mary from saying anything more. “No, no. Nothing to apologize about. My wife Janet, and my daughter Sue Ann … They’ve been … They passed away a couple years ago. They were in a car accident.” The words welled up and nearly stuck in Ian’s throat. Time hadn’t healed his wounds, not by a long shot. But what had up until very recently been no better than a light scabbing-over regarding his ability to deal with his gaping mental wounds was perhaps finally beginning to transcend itself into that of tenuously thin scar tissue.
Ian rapidly regained his composure. Later, he’d silently conclude that his recently-acquired ability to not get too shaken up, at least for very long anyway, was probably due in large to all that he’d endured back at Harmony Falls.
“Well, I meant it. Your earrings and jewelry are just beautiful!” Ian said with absolute conviction.
Mary smiled big as she replied, “Why thank you. I really appreciate your saying so. I enjoy making them.”
Ian set the book down onto the cash register counter and picked up a business card and began reading it to himself.
Banana Books
-
Owners Ed Grey and Mary Johnson - 114 SW 3rd Street, Long Beach, WA
. Ian immediately deduced that Ed and Mary were much more than merely partners in this bookstore, they were partners in life. And that sentiment made Ian smile.
As Mary began ringing up the sale of the book, Ed spoke up from across the store. “Ian, if you can make it, you should come by tomorrow and meet the author. Bring your book, and have him sign it.”
“That’s a great idea. I’ll try and make it.” Ian said with sincerity as he thought to himself,
If given a chance to talk to the guy, he might have some insights that could prove useful.
Going Bananas (I)
Ian climbed into the driver’s seat of his Jeep. He immediately began petting Scout for being so patient.
“Sorry, boy. That took a little longer than I expected. But look here. I’ve got me some new light reading.” Ian’s eyes rolled as he showed Scout his new book, which was just over four hundred pages long.
Ian started up his Jeep, pulled away from the curb, and once again was heading north on Long Beach’s main street directly through the heart of the small town. Ian noticed there were many more cars and people walking around than he’d seen in town up to this point. It wasn’t yet the weekend, so he wondered why the town seemed to be getting so busy.
When Ian got back to Oscar’s on the Ocean, he was amazed to see that the place was almost completely full. When he’d checked in the day before, and this morning when he left the place, it was ninety percent vacant.
As Ian drove into the RV park, he spotted Oscar driving around in a covered golf-cart. Ian waved to him as he pulled up alongside him and rolled his window down. “Hey, Oscar, looks like business is good.”
Oscar smiled as he replied, “Yep. Supposed ta be a honey of a minus-tide in the morning. State gave the green-light fer the dig ‘bout a week ago. ‘Bout time they lifted the ban. Them damn fish-n-wildlife tree-hugger types and their damn red tides!” He scowled.
Ian looked at Oscar with a blank expression. Oscar removed his soiled and tattered John Deere
green and yellow ball-cap that sat atop what remained of his thin, wiry, white hair which adorned his bald spot like a snow-covered wreath. Oscar’s head was of momentary fascination to Ian. All the random dark spots on the top of Oscar’s head looked like a Rorschach inkblot test. And the indention ring formed by the rim of the cap appeared quite possibly to be permanently indented around Oscar’s head from years of wearing it always fixed in exactly the same position, defying any amount of strong wind to remove it.
Oscar began rubbing the top of his head as he began looking all around his park. “Clam dig’n. Ain’t that what you’re here fer? Like most these other folks?”
Ian noticed for the first time, as he panned his eyes around the park, that leaning up against many of the trailers, fifth-wheels motor-homes, and vehicles were all manner of clamming paraphernalia, including but not limited to hip boots, waders, clam shovels, and guns.
“Clam digging … RIGHT!” Ian said, trying not to sound totally ignorant. “No … I’m not here to do any digging around of that sort.” Ian chuckled silently to himself over that one. “No, I’m just here visiting the area, taking it easy. You know, seeing the sights and such.”
Oscar put his cap back on. “Yep. Well, ya picked a good place to take-er easy. Less them damn tree-huggers keep shut’en down the diggin. No diggin, no business. Might have to sell the place an move to Arizona. Die in the damn desert.”
Ian interjected, “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” Both men smiled.
“You take care of yourself,” Ian said as he waved goodbye and continued into the park, heading to his trailer.
Oscar cheekily fired back, “Got to. Ain’t nobody else gonna.”
Ian had the best spot in the park in his opinion. Located at the very end, with nothing between him and the Pacific Ocean but a few hundred yards of dune grass, scrub pines, and sand. The trail that led from the park to the beach was only feet away from where his trailer sat.
Pulling into his spot directly in front of his trailer, Ian looked over at Scout. “You’ve got to be getting hungry, huh boy? First I’ll feed ya, then take you for a walk to get rid of that cheeseburger.” Scout barked twice. Ian and Scout quickly exited the Jeep and climbed into the trailer.
After grabbing the bag of kibble, Ian filled Scout’s bowl to the brim and set it down onto the floor in the trailer’s would-be kitchen area. Without hesitation, Scout went to work on it. Ian then poured some water into Scout’s water dish and set it down beside the food bowl. “Okay, that’s got you taken care of for now. Hmm, what should I do about some chow?”
Ian’s stomach growled a couple of times while he thought about what to do for dinner.
There was a nice looking restaurant downtown pretty close to that bookstore. Probably as good a place to eat as any,
he thought to himself.
Once Scout finished his food, Ian put a lightweight jacket on and fastened Scout’s leash to his collar for no reason other than it was the RV park’s rules. He walked Scout over to a designated place in the park for doggie-walking. He was impressed; there was a station set up and stocked with a few old clam shovels, plastic baggies that dispensed from a pole-mounted dispenser, and a designated bag-lined trashcan all specifically for picking up and disposing of dog waste.
After successfully completing his mission, Ian and Scout continued their walk through the park, heading back towards Ian’s trailer.
“Hey boy, there’s not much wind right now, and it’s not raining. Let’s walk the trail down to the beach. Maybe catch a glimpse of the sunset through the clouds.” Scout barked once, which Ian took to mean,
That’s a capital idea
.
As they continued on their walk, the sky grew darker by the minute, and not just because of the time. Ominous, dense gray clouds were rapidly replacing what had been mostly thin, scattered clouds not a half-hour before.
“I don’t know if this was such a good idea, boy,” Ian said to Scout as he gazed up at the sky.
Ian and Scout had just reached the beach when it came. It began with flashes of lightning miles out at sea. Seconds later came the thunder. Then all at once, the heavens opened up. Strong gusts of wind seemed to come from nowhere as torrents of sideways wind-blown sheets of rain began pounding and soaking them.
“Come on, boy. Let’s high-tail it back to the trailer,” Ian said to Scout as he looked out at the ocean one last time, marveling at the crashing waves.
The surf’s certainly up,
Ian thought as he turned his back to the sea and wiped the rain from his brow. He and Scout began heading towards the dune path at a pace just south of a full jog.
Once back at the trailer, they were both wet from head to tail. Ian toweled Scout off, and changed into some dry clothes.
“Well, boy, I’m gonna leave you here for a while and go get something to eat. With the pay I got from Charlie back at Harmony Falls, and now with the additional front money to get started on this job, well, I think a nice dinner’s in order.”
Ian took one hundred dollars from the white envelope that Officer Parker had given him and put it in his wallet. He placed the envelope inside a hardcover copy of
War and Peace
that he’d hollowed the center out of years ago, alongside the money that Charlie had paid him.
Ian placed the book inside an area of cabinetry that served as a book case, which housed in addition to his newly-acquired vampire novel around twenty assorted books in both hard and soft bindings along with various magazines, maps, atlases, and the like. The money was safe enough. He figured it was pretty well hidden, and his trailer had a top-notch security system: Scout.
The rain and wind had gotten even worse; it was now pounding hard in waves onto the top and sides of Ian’s trailer. He put on a fleece-lined, heavy denim coat and an old Oakland Raiders ball-cap to help cover his slightly thinning, slightly graying head of hair. He picked up his keys and stuffed his wallet into the front left pocket of his jeans, a habit that he’d picked up from years of overseas travel doing research and participating in expeditions. He’d spent that time searching for any tangible evidence that might support the existence of animals like the Chupacabra, the Yeti, the Loch Ness Monster, and other celebrated and less commonly spoken of cryptid creatures whose existence all too often fell under what Ian himself would refer to as, “highly speculative at best.” That is, until very recent events opened his eyes to the realm of extreme possibility or rather perceived impossibility.
“You be a good boy while I’m gone. I shouldn’t be too long. Just gonna get something to eat and maybe a drink.” Ian thought for a second that Scout gave him a scolding look about his comment of maybe having a drink
.
Ian silently mused,
Ah … come on, boy. Not you too.
The torrential rain was pouring down as Ian nearly ran to his Jeep. Once inside it, he inserted his key and started it right up and turned his wipers on full. The front windshield was fogged over from the humidity, so he cranked his heater on high and moved the heat directional lever to defrost to help clear it up. But it wasn’t clearing fast enough, so Ian used his coat sleeve to wipe the windshield best he could.
Once he’d cleared his windshield enough to proceed, Ian drove his Jeep out of Oscar’s RV park and headed south on the peninsula’s main road towards Long Beach. He was deep in thought regarding what his next day’s moves should be.
First, I’ll go to that bookstore, and if I can, have a talk with that author. Probably won’t amount to a hill of beans, but maybe he’s got some insight on the subject of vampire wanna-bes. Authors often do a lot of research on the subject they’re writing about.
After less than ten minutes of driving, Ian was passing through the center of Long Beach’s main street when he spotted what he’d been looking for. On the right side of the road was a restaurant located on the corner of the block he was on. It was the one Ian had seen earlier just around the corner from the bookstore.
“There it is, The Beached Whale.” he proclaimed quietly.
The food’s gotta be good with a name like that.
he mused.
Ian pulled his Jeep over to a parking spot on the main street just three spots down from the restaurant’s front door. Even though the town’s pace had picked up due to clam digging, there didn’t appear to be much of an evening dinner crowd, especially in this weather. Ian could see inside the place, which had a mostly glass front door and large picture windows on either side of it. He was too hungry to further deliberate on whether this was a good choice for dinner or not. He turned off his engine, grabbed his keys and climbed out of his Jeep, then proceeded towards the restaurant’s front door, getting rain-soaked by the second. The moment Ian entered the restaurant, he noticed that it was as much a bar as an eatery.
A young twenty-something female bartender greeted Ian and flashed him a warm smile as soon as he breached the threshold of the place. “Hi there. Just one, for drinks or dinner?”
The more people Ian met on this small peninsula and surrounding area, the more he liked their apparent genuineness, their non-pretentious ways. It reminded him of his friends back in Harmony Falls.
Ian returned her smile as he replied, “Hello yourself. And uh, yeah. Just me. For dinner, I mean. And maybe a beer or two.” Ian said beer, but what he thought to himself was,
I’d love a double Jack-n-Coke … Hold the Coke.
The waitress picked up a menu from behind the bar. “Sit anywhere you like. You can see we aren’t busy. We had a bit of a rush a couple hours ago, but the town’s pretty dead tonight.”
Ian sat himself in a corner table near the front door. Even as quiet as the town had become, he still liked staring out at the occasional weather-defying, brave pedestrians to see where they might be headed. He noticed there were still a few stores open, the bakery across the street being one of them. They appeared to be getting the lion’s share of what little business there was to be had on this cold, windy, and very wet evening.
With menu in hand, the waitress approached Ian. She handed him the menu as she spoke. “What-a-ya be having to warm ya up on such a night? You said beer. We’ve got a fair selection on tap as you can see on the back of the menu. Even more by the bottle.”
Ian glanced over the beers listed on the back of the menu. “Say, do you have any local microbrews from Portland, or …”
The waitress eagerly interrupted Ian. “We’ve got Fort Columbia Pale Ale
on tap. It’s by a brewery in Astoria. I’m not much of a beer drinker, but I’ve heard it’s really good.”
Ian smiled, “Perfect! I’ll bet I don’t even have to look at your menu. I’m guessing you’ve got pan-fried Willapa Bay oysters, am I right?”
The waitress smiled, “You bet that we’ve got fresh, not frozen. The best in town. A half-dozen of them comes with your choice of salad or coleslaw and baked potato or fries. To go with, I’ll bring you some of our house horseradish seafood sauce and our chef’s own family recipe tartar sauce.”
Ian smiled widely, “Again, perfect! I’ll have the coleslaw and a baked potato with everything on it.”
The waitress strolled away, and Ian relaxed and gazed out the window. When his dinner arrived, he enjoyed it immensely. He equally enjoyed the couple of beers he drank to wash his meal down with.
After having had his fill of food and beer, Ian left the restaurant. Without any further loafing about town, he drove straight back to his RV campsite.
Scout was very excited to see his master. Both Ian and Scout went to sleep shortly after laying their heads down for the night. Ian slept straight through, something he rarely did, and didn’t wake until his cell phone alarm went off at 7:30 a.m.
Directly after getting up and dressed for the day, Ian took Scout to the doggie-walk area. After Scout had finished his business, they returned to the trailer, and Ian retrieved his travel kit, which housed his depleting inventory of personal necessities, including a careworn toothbrush that he kept within the confines of a small, aging, zip-lock baggie; a nearly empty tube of mint-flavored Crest toothpaste; and two sealed, motel-room confiscated miniature bottles of shampoo, mere remnants of what once was a very sizeable collection of motel-acquired sundries. The two surviving shampoo bottles were generically marked and could have come from any one of dozens of motels he’d stayed in over the last few years. There was a nearly new miniature bar of soap that had also been confiscated, which once boldly proclaimed on its neatly-wrapped, sealed covering: “Super 8”. But its remains were now not so neatly preserved in a small, semi-rectangular-shaped wrapping of severely crumpled aluminum foil. There was one nearly-full, travel-sized dispenser of Gillette shaving cream and three disposable razors. Each were significantly less sharp and less attractively stubble-free than they had once been.