To Catch a Vampire (13 page)

“Did anyone hassle you?”

“No. Some asshole with a popped collar hit on me,” Petra says. “We didn’t stick around too long.”

“Where’d you go next?”

“Found a couch,” Amanda says. “Kate and I went to dance, and Petra kept our seats. We danced with a couple of guys.”

“That’s when she came,” Petra says, faced scrunched up like she’s just bitten into a lemon.

“Who?”

Petra opens her eyes. “Julie. She said her name was Julie. I remember her.”

“Describe her.”

“Our age. About five feet tall, I guess. Blonde hair with bangs. Pale. She had really blue eyes.”

“Had you seen her before?” I ask.

“No. Never. She just came out of nowhere and sat down. Started talking about the lack of cute guys. I thought it was weird. She didn’t talk like she was from here. I think she was Canadian. She kept saying ‘aboot.’”

I jot that down. “Then what happened?”

“Kate and I came back,” Amanda says. “We all talked to her. She asked about school. Said she and her family just came to town, and she was about to start a new one. Stupid stuff.”

“And when you were talking, did you notice anyone watching you?”

“No,” Petra says. “But then Julie waved to some guy and he came over. Said he was her brother.”

“Describe him.”

“Pale like her. Brown gelled-up hair, tall, early twenties. Said his name was Rick.”

“Kate liked him,” Amanda interjects. “She started flirting right away.”

“Did they mention anything about themselves?”

“No,” Petra says. “It was weird. Whenever we asked a question, they’d just ask us one back.”

“So you talked awhile. Then what happened?”

“Julie asked if we wanted to go back to their place,” Amanda says. “She said their parents were out of town.”

“I said no,” Petra says. “No way. But Rick looked into Kate’s eyes and whispered something. Then she just stands up and says, ‘I’m going with Rick.’ I’m like, what the hell? She’s our ride, and it’s so not like her to do something like that.”

“That’s all she said,” Amanda adds. “She followed him out like a puppy. It was so weird.”

“What did you guys do?” I ask.

“We weren’t going to leave her with those people,” Petra says. “We followed them to the parking lot, and when we got there, Kate was already in the back of the car. I grabbed her arm, but it was like she wasn’t in there. Like her brain wasn’t there.”

“Describe the car.”

“New dark blue Mercedes,” Amanda says. “Tan leather interior. Dirty, like covered in dust. And there was a black bat hanging from the rearview mirror. I didn’t see the license plate number.”

I jot all that down. “Then what happened?”

Petra says, “I started yelling at Kate, but Rick grabbed my arm real hard.” Petra lightly touches her arm where the bruises in the picture were. “He looked me in the eyes and … I don’t know. It was like … have you ever woken up in the middle of the night and you can’t move? You can breathe and stuff, and you’re telling your legs to move, but they just won’t? That’s how I felt for the rest of the night.”

Amanda picks up the story. “He told you to get into the car and not to move or say anything until he said so,” she says in a low voice. She wipes a tear away. “And you did. I couldn’t believe it. That’s when Julie did the same thing to me. It was like I had no control over my body, but it moved and got into the car too. The whole ride I didn’t move, didn’t say anything. None of us did. But I was, like, calm. Like this was no big deal.”

“I didn’t feel that way,” Petra says. “I tried everything I could to move. I just couldn’t. I was screaming and screaming, but no words would come out. They must have drugged us.”

“On the car ride, did they say anything?” I ask.

“They kept fighting over the radio station,” Amanda says. “It got so bad he slapped her. She just sat back and pouted.”

“Then he apologized and kissed her,” Petra adds with a scoff. “Like full on make out. But he kept looking back at us in the mirror.”

“Anything else?”

“They talked about us like we weren’t even there,” Petra says. “Saying how ‘Yummy’ we look. How their friend Geraldo’s gonna love me. I felt like throwing up, but I couldn’t.”

“I just felt numb,” Amanda says.

“Where did they take you? Describe it.”

“A farmhouse in the middle of nowhere,” Amanda says. “I don’t know what town. We took back roads without signs.”

“It was two stories with a dirt road driveway,” Petra says. “Beige, I think. Real run down, paint chipping a lot. The windows were blacked out, like, literally black, as if someone sprayed them with black paint. No porch. And the front was all dirt, but the backyard had dying corn.”

“Were there any other cars?”

“Yeah. A huge black van with the windows blacked out.”

“Wasn’t there an old pickup all rusted out?” Amanda asks.

“I think so. It was the same color as the house.”

“Then what happened?” I ask delicately. Both girls are visibly tense, backs ramrod straight and hands clenched. Amanda stares down at the table as if she can see through it. Petra’s jaw is set in concrete.

“When we pulled up, a woman came outside,” Amanda says. “She was black. Pretty. Rick and Julie got out, and the woman asked what took them so long. They didn’t answer. They just opened our doors, and pulled us out. Julie said, ‘Nice, right?’ The woman huffed and walked back inside. Rick said, ‘Get inside’ and Petra started walking. He took Kate’s hand and led her inside. Julie told me to move and I did.”

“What did the inside look like?” I ask, writing it all down.

“I guess drab,” Amanda answers. “Like my grandparents’ house. Needlepoints on the walls. Old furniture from like the seventies. They did have a flatscreen TV.”

“There was a girl passed out on the couch,” Petra adds. “She had bruises all over her arms and neck. Like covered. I thought she was dead, but then Rick nudged her with his foot and she woke up. He told her he didn’t need her that night. I think she went into the kitchen, I don’t know. They told us to sit down. Then this really big guy with the same bruises came up out of the basement.”

“He had a gun on his hip,” Amanda says, all color draining from her face. “I saw that …” She shakes her head. “Do we have to keep going? I don’t feel so good.”

“We can take a break if you want,” I say.

“Mandy, why don’t you go outside and get some air,” Petra suggests.

“Okay,” Amanda says, standing up on shaky legs. The poor girl all but runs out of the room.

“You don’t need a break?” I ask Petra.

“No. Let’s keep going. I want this over with.”

“Okay.” I have the feeling that if this girl lost every one of her limbs she’d still try to run a marathon. Wish I was like that. “What happened next?”

“The guy with the gun told them he oiled their coffins and put more black paint on the windows. Rick thanked him, and the guy went upstairs. Then he asked the black woman where everyone was. She told him JR got hungry and was upstairs with Miles. I think she said Liang and Ken were out, and Gerry was in the basement.”

“So there were ten people living there total?”

“I guess.” She drinks more water, and then starts ripping off the label in small strips. “Rick sat down next to Kate and put his arm around her. That pissed Julie off. She fell into the chair next to us, just glaring at them. Then Rick yelled down to Gerry. He said, ‘Dinner’s here’ just before he started kissing Kate. She didn’t respond, but he kept doing it.”

“Then what?”

“Then the black woman took Amanda’s hand, and yanked her off the couch like a rag doll. She said, ‘I’m fucking starving,’ and they went upstairs. I have no idea what happened up there. And don’t ask Amanda about it,” Petra says harshly. “She can’t handle it. I’ll tell you whatever you want, just leave her alone or this interview’s over.”

I know I shouldn’t, but I say, “Okay.” I’m such a softie. “What happened next?”

“This guy came up from the basement. He was … huge. Tall, like three hundred pounds of muscle. Um, he had an eagle tattoo if that helps. Hispanic, long black hair. He scared the fuck out of me.

“Julie was playing with her hair, just glaring at Rick and Kate and she said, ‘Gerry, dinner’s here’ and pointed to me. The fucker smiled. That’s when I saw them.”

“What?”

A lone tear falls, but she wipes it away like an annoying bug. “His fangs. They were fucking vampires, weren’t they?”

I could lie, but she deserves the truth. “Yes. They were.”

“Right,” she whispers, shaking her head. “Not just crazy assholes who like to pretend either, right? Fucking
Dracula
vampires?”

“I’m afraid so,” I say quietly.

“Jesus Christ. I was afraid of them as a kid, you know? I grew out of it. Stupid, huh?”

“No.”

“And you put something in this water, right? That’s why I remember all this crap now,” she says, relief replaced with anger. “The FBI drugs people now?”

“It was the only way to get you to remember. I’m sorry.”

“So you stop vampires? That’s your job?”

“Today it is.” I meet her cold, hard eyes. “I’m sorry I tricked you. I really am. But I meant what I said; I need your help to stop them. To get Kate a little justice. But you need to keep going. I need as much information on these creeps as possible if I’m going to find them. You can be peeved off later. What happened next?”

After a few more seconds of icy glare, the scared teenager looks away. “Rick and Kate stood up. He said, ‘I’ll leave you two alone. Try not to make a mess.’ Then ‘Come on, Julie. We’ll share.’ She scowled but followed them upstairs. Gerry sat down and he … you know. You saw the bruises.”

“Did he …” I can’t finish.

“Rape me? No. I think he was going to, but then there was shouting upstairs. He went to check it out.”

“Could you hear what they were saying?”

“‘You stupid bitch! What the hell is your problem?’ Stuff like that. Then another man said, ‘Not again.’ The two in the kitchen ran up to see what was going on. I still couldn’t move. There was more shouting, then a loud thwack and someone fell down the stairs. It was Julie. She was naked. Covered in blood. Like, even her hair was red. Rick ran down the stairs after her, pissed off to hell. He was naked and bloody too. He got Julie up, punching her in the face. Gerry and some other guy I hadn’t seen before had to pull him off. The black chick stood at the top of the stairs grinning.
”

“What did the third man look like?”

“Lanky, but with muscles. Black hair. He was in pajama bottoms. Anyway, they got Rick away from Julie. The thin guy kind of took control. Asked Rick what happened. He said Julie went bat shit and ripped her throat out.” Petra tries to retain her composure but can’t anymore. She starts crying softly. “He must have meant Kate. Fuck.” She gasps a few times and shakes her hands to calm down. “I can get through this,” she says to herself. “I have to get through this.” The hands wiggle for a few more seconds in time with the gasps. She stops crying. “Shit.”

“We can take a break if—”

“No. I need to finish.” Petra takes in as much air as she can, slowly letting it out. “The thin guy got pissed off too. He said, ‘What the hell is wrong with you guys? We have rules! Why can’t you fuckers follow them? Do you have any idea how pissed he’s going to be when he finds out?’ The black woman said, ‘Then don’t tell him.’”

“Back up. Who is this ‘he?’” I ask.

“No idea. The thin guy gave the woman a look, but she just smiled. Then he started barking orders. Told some guy named Bill to get the body, told Gerry to start digging a hole. Ordered Rick and Julie to get cleaned up. Then the bitch on the stairs asked, ‘What about the other two?’ Thin guy said, ‘Drive them back to their car. Wipe their memories.’ I guess he meant us. Then she said, ‘We should just kill them.’ Thin guy got pissed. Said, ‘One dead teenager he’ll accept, three and he’ll have no choice but to kill us. Just do it.’ And he went back upstairs. So did the black woman.

“A minute later, she led Amanda down the stairs. I was so happy to see her, I couldn’t breathe. She looked so pale. But then the guy with the gun followed them. He had … um, a bloody sheet wrapped around a body. Her hand was … hanging out. I knew it was Kate from her blueberry nail polish. Rick drove us back to the club, told us to forget the whole night, and go home. He drove away. He’d given me the key to Kate’s car, and I drove us home,” she finishes quickly. “That’s it. That’s all. I’m done.”

Petra stands up, not looking at me. “That’s all I’m going to say.” Then her eyes look into mine, chilling me to the bone. “Don’t contact me again until you’ve killed them all.” With that, she walks out of the room.

I close my notebook. I need a shower.

Nine

Purgatory

I’m in a crappy
mood the entire drive back to the hotel. It’s not just the God-awful traffic that doubles my driving time, or the annoying commercials on the radio for mattresses, it’s the fact that I feel like a degenerate who tortures teenage girls. Petra was so angry, so hurt, so scared. She’s never going to forgive herself for what happened. I know she’ll be going over that night again and again, looking for all the things she could have done to stop it.
What if they stayed home? What if she had screamed in the parking lot?
I do the same thing all the time.

The GPS finally tells me to turn off the interstate, and five minutes later I’ve completed the turn. Crud, I can’t put it off any longer. I have to call the mansion and give my report. I should have called sooner, but I wanted to be by myself as long as possible. My mouth just seems to bring misery today. I dial, and someone picks up on the fourth ring.

“Hello?” Irie says on the other side.

“Hey, it’s Bea,” I say.

“Well, if it isn’t our little troublemaker,” she says. “How’s Texas?”

“It’s hot. Why am I a troublemaker all of a sudden?”

“Can’t say. Sworn to secrecy. It might ‘jeopardize the case,’” she says in a mock masculine voice. “You’ll find out soon enough. Oh, here’s George!”

“Irie, wait, what—”

“Hello, Beatrice,” George says. “I was just about to call. How did it go?”

“Lousy. Why am I a troublemaker?”

“You aren’t. You’re doing excellent work,” he says quickly. “Now, we did a search of the town you mentioned, and there have been no listed properties in over a year.”

“I guess it’s possible they found a house they liked and just … took it over. I have a description of it.” I read off the characteristics of the house and cars. “I think we should instruct the local law enforcement officers to drive around looking for it. I can go out tomorrow and do the same. And they should be aware there are ten, not seven people in the house. I don’t know the ratio of vamps to people, but at least one has a gun.” I read off the descriptions too.

“Fantastic, just fantastic,” George says. “I’ll get them this information right away. What’s your next step?”

“A bath. I’m wiped,” I say with a yawn.

“You relax a bit. You’ve earned it.”

“Thank you. I’ll call if we develop anything else.”

“I’ll do the same. Truly impressive work, Beatrice. Stay safe.”

“You bet. Bye.” I flip the phone shut. Why is it whenever I call home, I end up more on edge than before? And why am I a trouble
maker? Did they see the pay-per-view charges from last month? Come on, there’s only one video rental store within thirty miles, and they won’t let me get a DVD subscription. I get bored. Know what? I don’t even care right now. I’ll deal with it later. Now, I just want to soak away the last few hours.

I make it back to the Dauphine without screaming at another driver, as I did half a dozen times in the previous hour or so. Locking the car behind me, I walk up to the house. The place is quiet until I’m halfway up the stairs.

“Good evening, Mrs. Smythe,” Cole, the concierge, says behind me. “How was your day at the spa?”

Using my last reserve of energy, I turn around and smile down at him. “Wonderful, thank you.”

“Excellent. Can I get you anything? Would you like to place your dinner order now?”

“I’ll do it later.” This time I run up the stairs before I have to field obnoxious questions. I make it to my room, locking up behind myself.

Oliver’s still … whatever, so I rip off my clothes, grab some sweats from the suitcase, and start the bath. I don’t even wait for it to fill up. The lukewarm water envelops me, and the guilt and tension ease out of my pores. I breathe in and out until the knot in my left shoulder disappears. About an hour in here and the right one should clear too.

Whenever a thought, good or bad, starts creeping in, I push it away. I even ignore the knock on the bedroom door outside. Oliver’s dinner. Some distant part of my brain tells me he’ll be waking up soon, but I shut it up. I need oblivion for a while. Which is what I get when I fall asleep a minute later.

_____

Knocking. Who’s knocking?

I jerk awake on the third knock, sending water splashing everywhere. Crud, I fell asleep. I hate when that happens. I’ll drown one of these nights, and then Will or Oliver will see my naked body floating in a tub of cold, no-longer-sudsy water. And water makes everything look bigger—I don’t need any help in that department. The water’s still warm, so I can’t have been asleep that long. There’s another knock.

“Did you fall asleep in there, my dear?” Oliver asks on the other side. “Do you need me to come in and check on you?”

I’m totally awake now. “Try it, and I’ll pull your brain out through your nose.”

“How vivid.”

“Give me five minutes.”

I shave, scrub, and rinse in record time. After toweling, I toss on my pink sweats that hide everything. Oliver’s lounging on the bed watching the news in his boxers, sipping dinner out of a wine glass. Would it kill him to put on a shirt? I’m too exhausted to feel the usual lust, let alone engage in a verbal sparring match, so I keep my mouth shut. “Your cellular phone was ringing,” he says not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Thanks,” I say, toweling my hair. I get the phone out of my purse, and dial voicemail. “Hey, Beatrice. This is Joe West.” A huge smile crosses my face. “I guess this is
definitely
your telephone number. No
maybe
about it. I hope you’re still in town. I’ll bet you are, and I’ll bet you’re hungry right about now. I know this great steakhouse, very
Urban Cowboy
. I thought we could have dinner there. Together. Tonight. So if you’re not ankle deep in vamps, call me. 555-3427. Maybe I’ll see you later. Bye.” I flip the phone closed with a silly smile on my face.

“Was that the canary you killed on the phone?” Oliver asks.

“Close. A new friend.”

“Of the male persuasion?”

“Well, if you must know, Mr. Nosey, that was Joe West. Anna West’s son. She said hello by the way.”

“You saw Anna West today?”

“Yeah. She gave me some potions. I made a lot of progress today. You should read my notes.” I dig the notebook out, tossing it at him.

His eyes don’t leave me even when he catches it. “And her son asked you out on a date?”

“Yeah. Do you know him?”

“We met briefly when he was a child.”

“He’s not one anymore,” I say with another smile.

“Will you accept his invitation?”

“I don’t know. I guess it depends on what we’re doing tonight. Do I have time for dinner with a cute Texan?” I know I’m just blatantly antagonizing him now. Give me a break. After the day I’ve had, I can use a bit of fun. “It’d give you time for some more ‘catching up’ with Marianna.”

Grin Number Two, partial fang. “Are you trying to make me jealous as punishment for last night, my dear?”

“You wish. It has nothing to do with you. I happen to like Joe. So can I call him back and make plans?”

“Far be it for me to create a roadblock between you and true love, but alas, we have plans tonight. Killers to catch and all that.”

“Well, if you’d read my notes there, you’d see that I may have located them, or at least where they’re staying.”

He opens the notebook, scanning it while I peruse the room service menu. I know the chances of me actually going on a date with Joe are slim to none, and I’m hungry. I settle on a hamburger with red potatoes.

“Did you contact George with this information yet?” Oliver asks.

“Of course. They’re looking into it right now. What do you think we should do? We could drive there and take a look around ourselves.”

“At night? Two against ten? I think not. Let the local law enforcement do the busy work. No, we proceed as planned.” Oliver jumps off the bed, then retrieves his suitcase. “We go to the club the Costarellos were last seen at, which means I’m afraid Mr. West will have to wait.”

“How did I know you were going to say that?”

Oliver pulls out a pair of black jeans and black silk shirt. I love that outfit on him. The jeans leave nothing to the imagination, and the shirt brings out his eyes and almost red lips. He’s doing this to torture me, I know it. He starts dressing right in front of me. I look away toward the menu again. “You should rest until it is time to depart. I do not want you to swoon on the dance floor.”

“What will you do?”

He buttons the shirt up, darn it. “Marianna invited me to a reading at her bookstore. I believe I shall attend.”

“Wait. You’re allowed to go on a date and I’m not?”

“This is not a date.”

“Right,” I say in a huff. “I’m sorry, but aren’t we supposed to be married? What kind of woman allows her husband to go out with another hot woman?”

“My dear, it is not a date. And people do not stand Marianna up.”

“Beatrice Smythe’s husband does,” I say sweetly.

He looks at me, eyes wild with amusement. Grin Number One forms. “There will be consequences.”

“That’s nice.”

“If you are adamant …” He starts unbuttoning his shirt, not taking his eyes off me.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting comfortable for a night in with my wife,” he says with the final button.

“Cute.” I stand up, rolling my eyes. “Put your clothes back on. We’ll go to Venus, then the club. I don’t want to spend another minute in this place.”

“It will do no good.”

“It can’t hurt.” I grab some slut clothes from my suitcase and go into the bathroom, slamming the door. Half an hour later, Beatrice and Oliver Smythe descend the staircase of the Dauphine dressed to kill. Oliver smolders in his black outfit and leather coat, hair slicked back into a ponytail. I’ve gone more sensible tonight with a knee-length black velvet skirt, matching hip-length jacket, knife bustier, two-inch Mary Janes, and spider-web black stockings. No fashion tips tonight.

I think we can make a clean getaway, as no nudists or incestuous vamps jump out while we’re in the hallway—until we take that final step off the stairs.

“There you are,” Marianna calls from the study. All my positive self-image feelings fade away as she walks toward us. Her long, supple limbs go for miles in tight black pants ending at ballet slippers. Underneath her satin jacket about ninety percent of her boobs hang out of her matching jeweled tank top. Even without a stitch of makeup, she’s flawless. And boy is she not happy to see me. Her eyes give me the once over and her lips purse. “Oh, hello.”

“I am sorry, Marianna,” Oliver says. “I will not be able to escort you out tonight. Something has come up.”

“What?” she asks sweet as pie, though her eyes narrow.

“My dear wife has managed to acquire a pair of Bruce Springsteen tickets and wishes us to attend. I am sorry but perhaps we can go another night. All three of us.”

All pretense of niceness fades. “You disappoint me, Oliver.”

“It was never my intention. Please do not be cross with me.”

The sweet mask returns. Smiles ensue. “As if
anyone
could ever stay angry at you. Enjoy your night with your … wife.” She all but chokes that last word out.

“We will,” I say with a smile. I start walking again without a second glance. For once I welcome the blast-furnace air of the night. “How much trouble are we in now?” I ask as we walk toward the car.

“Do you remember Cleveland?”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.”

_____

We spend the next three hours driving aimlessly around Venus, Texas, and its neighboring towns. Well, I do the driving and Oliver does the looking. I can’t see much past the dotted yellow line on the road, not that I think there’s much to see. The few homes we’ve ventured toward haven’t been that much to look at. Dirt, rundown farm homes, the occasional cow. Real exciting stuff. And Oliver hasn’t exactly been Mr. Chatty Cathy. He’s said the occasional, “Turn here,” or “This is a good song.” Finally, around nine o’clock, he demands I return him to civilization. I’m bored out of my skull, so I oblige.

We’re half an hour outside Dallas when the twenty minutes of complete silence finally gets to me. “Me and my bright ideas,” I mutter.

Oliver changes the radio station and Patsy Cline’s “Walkin’ After Midnight” begins. He doesn’t say anything.

“Not going to agree with me?” I ask.

“No. I do not wish to anger you any further after a bad day.”

“But you’re thinking it.” I pause. “Well, I’m sorry I ruined your date with Marianna.”

“Now you are intentionally attempting to start a fight.”

“I am not! But you have to admit it was a pretty lousy thing to do to your supposed wife. Going on a date with another woman.”

“My dear, I know this may come as a shock, but as much as I love living in a basement in Kansas, constantly at war with a werewolf, I do sometimes miss the companionship of my own kind. Talking to them and—”

“Sleeping with them,” I finish.

He looks at me, expressionless. “I did not bed her.”

For some reason I feel like I’ve grown three pounds lighter. “You were gone all night. And you had plans tonight.”

“We reminisced. We drank. We flirted. Not so much as a kiss was exchanged. She tried and I evaded.”

“And why did you do that?” I ask nastily.

“I believe you know the reason.” My head snaps to the right to see his expression. “It would ruin our cover.” Oh. He looks out the window. “Just as you attending dinner with Joe West would.”

I’m quiet for a moment, then sigh. “I wasn’t really going to dinner with him.”

“Why not? You are young. Unattached.”

“It wouldn’t work out. He lives here, I live in Kansas. Besides, I don’t think I could handle a relationship right now. My life’s difficult enough as it is, right?”

“I suppose. Though with all the agony and torment we deal with, there should be some joy to life, yes?”

“Not if it complicates things even more.”

“But the complications make life interesting.”