Invierea Page 2

  With his parting words of wisdom, Daniel turned and walked silently away. Dumbfounded, I stood and watched his departure. I just could not wrap my arms around this whole destiny concept. Certainly Samantha did nothing to deserve any part of this. Why did my dark and twisted fate have to be so tangled with her seemingly innocent life?

  I remained in the street, aimlessly staring into distant shadows when my cell phone rang.

  “What’s up, Mitch?”

  “We’re at the house,” he said.

  “Send her inside. Wait for me outside. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “We’ll be here,” Mitch assured.

  I made it across the Quarter faster than expected, surprisingly not even breaking a sweat in the stagnant heat. O’Reilly was waiting outside the house, motionlessly leaning on his car, watching my rapid approach.

  “Hey Brian. You sure got here quick.”

  Mitch was doing his best to make small talk with a vampire.

  “I’ve got a little something for you,” Mitch teased. He reached inside and pulled the trunk release. Inside the cluttered trunk lay a white and red Igloo Cooler.

  I pulled the bag of blood from the trunk as Mitch produced a knife and straw from his pocket. “Thought you might need this,” he said, offering the utensils. “Brian, I gotta know you won’t harm her. I can’t let you go in there if you plan on killing her.”

  I poked a hole in the bag and stuck the straw in. “Let’s just say I am not in a huge hurry to give you any excuse to stake me, just yet. Cheers.” I raised the bag and turned away. I was not particularly ready for this whole blood consumption thing, much less in front of Mitch. As I headed to the opened front door, I pulled the straw to my lips, struggling with the thought of what I had to do. Inevitably, to remain strong enough to defeat the remaining vampires, I would have to drink in the evil I once deplored.

  With a deep breath, I drew the cool crimson fluid into my mouth. The sweet nectar quenched the unfamiliar newborn desires. I accelerated my consumption as I entered the house. Now drinking frantically, the blood filled voids beyond a physical hunger. The strength and confidence that shrouded me could only be described as supernatural.

  I did not have to look; Isabelle’s presence in the upstairs bedroom was revealed in acute sensory perceptions. I glided up the rickety stairs, silently, almost floating until I gazed upon the backside of her silhouette.

  “I knew you would return to me,” Isabelle announced in a sultry voice.

  She turned; her eyes filled with all the desire a man could ever crave to command. Fantasizing the softness of her neck, the rapture of puncturing her flesh, savoring the first drop of her blood, these involuntary thoughts raged like a wildfire. “Are you alright?”

  She saw it, the wild gleam, the insatiable hunger. For the first time I saw a fear inside her. How could I concentrate on my purpose? I summoned every ounce of strength. “Isabelle, how can a person become a vampire if they are not bitten?”

  She tipped her head to the side, and stepped toward me. “Why do you ask, Brian?”

  “Monique, the woman I warned you about, she was truly vampire. I do not know how, but … she … changed me.”

  “Monique? She and I are one in the same.”

  “No, Isabelle, you are not. You are nothing like Monique.”

  “I am,” she protested.

  “No Isabelle.” Angered by her fantasy-world beliefs, my voice bellowed. “Do you have these?” I flashed my newly altered glistening canines. Grabbing her jaw and forcing her mouth open, I sought my validation. “Can you do this?” Without thought, I raised my hand in the air and without laying a hand on her, Isabelle’s airway constricted. I forced her backward by sheer will. Terror welled in her eyes, attacked by a force she had never experienced. My actions were channeled by some inner force, one that suddenly overpowered my conscious thoughts.

  “I see what you are, Isabelle. And you are not like Monique, or me.” I reached out, tenderly clutching her jaw, and turned her face to the mirror. I placed my face beside hers. “Tell me, Isabelle, what do you see?”

  Speechless, she stared in the mirror. Witnessing the evaporation of her fairytale existence, her mouth agape, she stared at her solitary reflection. Perhaps, for the first time in her life, the truth of what she was, or was not, was an inescapable reality.

  With her satin-like flesh against mine, the scent of her body aroused my appetite once more. I allowed my face to caress hers.

  She melted into the sensation as a tear trickled down her cheek.

  “Tell me … why I have been married twice and the men I love grow old and die. Tell me why everyone I know grows old and dies. Everyone except me. I have seen sailing ships and horse-drawn carriages. I have seen the light bulb invented and a man walk on the moon. I have lived through plagues and famines.”

  Her tears grew in intensity. She turned to my face, her lips quivered. “Tell me why I thirst for blood.” Isabelle’s lips met mine. “Make me like you,” she pleaded softly as she brought her hands to my face.

  “I cannot,” I insisted.

  “Then end my life. I do not want to live this way anymore.”

  “Isabelle, I cannot end your life, and I will not make you like me.”

  My connection to Isabelle intensified. Its origins held some invisible clue. She honestly believed she was over a hundred years old. I was, in fact, over sixty. Yet we both appeared no more than thirty-five. Was there some piece of a puzzle I had overlooked, something unknown buried deep in my past, and hers?

  Her lips pressed against mine again. “Isabelle, I cannot do this,” I pleaded.

  “Please,” she whispered, turning her neck to my mouth. Her veins bulged in anticipation of my weakness.

  I pushed her away. “Isabelle, I won’t deny I have an incredible desire to consume you, a vexing need to be with you. But I cannot do this. For me to take you, I would lose control of myself. I would lose everything.”

  “I understand. I feel it too. But I do not wish to contain my desire. I want to explore it to the end of time, to be yours forever,” she pledged.

  “What we feel, and what we allow to happen are two entirely different issues. Our fates are intertwined. I think I have known it all along.” I explained, searching for any shred of reason to fight off the overwhelming desire that burned inside of me.

  My love for Samantha was forced to end. But that love was entirely different from this blood-lust rage. This was primitive and instinctive, more akin to my desire for Monique. I desperately needed a distraction. Memories of my first night in this room flashed back. “The first night I met you, you drugged me, you brought me here. What was that all about?”

  “Initially, that was Cindy’s mischief. She decided to drug you. She wanted you for herself. As I danced with you, I began to realize that you were different. There was something about you that I could not grasp. It was while we were dancing I decided to take you for myself.”

  “Okay. But what the hell were you trying to accomplish by biting my leg?”

  “I told you already. I do not know why, but periodically I crave for blood, especially the blood of a lover. You aroused my desire.”

  “Why not just cut my arm? Why the puncture wounds, down there?” I asked uncomfortably pointing to my crotch.

  “The fang, as we call it, is mainly a symbolic device for those of us born without.”

  “And down there?” I prompted for further explanation. It occurred to me, this was the only occasion that I received a bite wound.

  “That was all of my doing. I knew you would not remember any of the night. I wanted to ensure you knew where I had been,” she said with a lustful gleam.

  Ready to walk with me, or die by my hand, her truthfulness was now apparent.

  “Isabelle, I do not know what my life holds beyond the next hour, but I will make you this promise: if I survive, I will not leave you to a life of isolation and despair.”

  “If you will not take me now, then stay. Be
my lover, just for tonight.”

  “Isabelle, I love another. I cannot be with you.”

  “Is she like you?”

  I did not dare divulge the honest answer. I knew the danger it would bring Samantha.

  “She is very much like me.”

  “Then she is the luckiest woman I know.”

  If only that were true.

  “I have to go; Mitch will take you back to the Chamber.” With Monique dead, there was no reason for her not to return to the only place she belonged.

  Isabelle drew near and hugged me securely. The fragrance of her skin intoxicating, the warmth of her body exhilarating. Placing my hand behind her head, I pulled her close. Holding her tightly, a soulful connection ignited. I pushed back enough to look into her eyes.

  “I will come back for you, I promise.” I kissed her forehead softly, left the house and passed out to the street.

  Mitch was still standing vigil by the car. “Tell me you didn’t kill her?” he asked sarcastically.

  “Not yet,” I joked, as I looked back to see her staring out the transom window.

  “Keep an eye on her for me, Mitch.”

  “As best as I can,” he replied. “What’s next for you?”

  “I think the others left the night after I killed Monique. First thing I would do, contact all of the casket shops and have them check their inventory. If they have any missing, I would check traffic or surveillance cameras near the shops. I would be looking for a rental truck or anything big enough to transport them.”

  “Sounds like a good place to start. I’ll put a few guys on it tonight. We should be able to know something by tomorrow.”

  “Thanks,” I said, as I checked my watch.

  “You want me to see if I can get you a good deal on one while I’m at it?”

  “No thanks, Mitch. For now I will settle for the bathtub and a blanket. I am not quite ready for casket life, just yet.”

  “Just let me know,” he offered with a smile.

  “Call me if you get any more bodies, or missing blood supplies. I honestly think they are gone, but if anything suspicious should turn up, I need to respond quickly.”

  Mitch nodded.

  “If you don’t mind, Mitch, I think I might grab a pint to go.”

  “Help yourself, I’m trying to cut back.” Smiling broadly, he popped the trunk.

  Grabbing a pint and a fresh straw, I turned my back and quickly drained the bag. With every swallow, my strength magnified.

  I dropped the empty bag in his trunk and closed the lid. “I appreciate it.”

  “Call me if you need a delivery. I’d rather be the delivery boy than fill out morgue reports all night,” Mitch winked. The feisty detective was not about to quit busting my chops.

  “Will do,” I said, as I turned my attention in the direction of Crawdad’s.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE BLACK ESCALADE pulled up to the Maison Dupuy; Samantha, her sister Dee, and Phillip were ushered into the balmy evening by the sharply dressed driver. The sleepless nights and stress were beginning to show on Samantha; gone was the glow of happiness.

  Taking leave from his publishing empire, Phillip had reluctantly agreed to return to New Orleans to find me and help clean up what remained of his ill conceived blockbuster story.

  Entering the lobby, dazed and exhausted, Samantha spotted Renaldo behind the front desk and headed in his direction. Phillip and Dee lagged behind, affording her a private conversation with the tight-lipped employee.

  “Mrs. Denman, it is good to see you again.” Alarmed by her distressed expression, he tempered his customary enthusiasm. “Is everything okay?”

  “Renaldo, have you seen Mr. Denman?”

  “Not for three days, ma’am. I thought he might be with you.”

  A tear of desperation rolled down Samantha’s face. “Renaldo, I left him here with you three days ago. When was the last time you saw him? Who was he with? Please tell me.”

  Renaldo knew he had promised to keep my business private. But he had not planned on facing Samantha’s desperate plea. Aware of Phillip and Dee’s attention, he walked around the counter, took Samantha by the elbow and led her to a secluded corner.

  “I’m not sure what happened, but I did not see him until tonight. He left here alone, about an hour and a half ago. And if you’ll forgive me for saying, Mrs. Denman, but Mr. Denman and you both look as if you could use some rest.”

  Samantha nodded. Renaldo was right.

  “Yes, I could use some sleep. But I have been very worried about Mr. Denman.”

  “Might I suggest you wait in your room for him. I am not positive, but I think he will be back later tonight. Meantime, you could get a little rest before he returns.”

  Silently, Samantha considered her options.

  “Let’s go to the bar. I’ll buy you a glass of wine. It will help you rest.”

  “Thanks, Renaldo. Let me tell my sister I’m staying here.”

  Phillip and Dee were immersed in conversation as she returned. “I’m going to stay here, and wait for Brian.”

  “Do you want to go to your place?” Phillip asked Dee.

  “Not a chance. We’ll get a room here,” Dee insisted, her hands resting on her hips, announcing her mind was set.

  “You don’t need to do that,” Samantha objected.

  “With everything we know, there is no way I am leaving you here, alone,” Dee countered.

  “I will be okay. I am just going to wait for Brian in his room. I’ll be fine.”

  “Tell you what,” Phillip interrupted, “You can both stay here. I will go down to Bourbon Street and see if I can find him.”

  “No,” Samantha objected. “Dee can go with you. I’m going up to the room to try and get some sleep.”

  “Alright,” Dee reluctantly agreed. “Just promise me you’ll stay in the hotel. I do not want you out there by yourself.”

  “I promise. Renaldo and I are going to the bar for a glass of wine, then I’ll go straight to my room … Mother,” Samantha pledged, forcing a halfhearted smile.

  “See that you do, or you’ll be grounded for a week, young lady,” Dee joked, trying to lift her sister’s spirits.

  Once outside, Phillip placed his arm around Dee as they walked down the cobblestone streets.

  “Dee, I was wondering,” Phillip began, but paused to consider his words.

  “Yes?”

  The words he was contemplating would not come easily, but for once Phillip decided to abandon reason. “Dee, when this mess is over, I was wondering if you would consider coming back to New York with me.”

  “What, for another week?”

  “No, more like an indefinite stay.” Phillip’s voice was seriously lacking its self-assured swagger.

  “Why, Mr. Wilder, are you propositioning me?”

  “No, no, no,” he rattled off unconvincingly. After a brief pause of uncomfortable silence and a bewildered look from Dee, Phillip continued. “Well maybe. It depends on your definition of proposition.”

  “That would depend on the offer. What are we talking about here, Phillip?”

  “Exclusivity, just you and me.”

  “And all this time I was hoping this was nothing more than unadulterated lust,” Dee said with a coy smile.

  “Ouch, that hurts,” Phillip responded, rejection sweeping across his face. “I was actually hoping we were becoming something more.”

  Dee mulled Phillip’s words. “Have you ever said that to anyone else?”

  “Never,” Phillip replied quickly and confidently.

  “Have you ever felt this way before?”

  “Absolutely never, and I’m not planning on leaving New Orleans without you.”

  Grabbing him by the shirt, Dee kissed Phillip madly. Gasping for breath, she pushed back and whispered, “You won’t have to.”

  Phillip smiled broadly. “Come on. Let’s go find Brian so we can get the hell out of this town.”

  Taking to the dark and quiet
streets, my newfound love of the night blossomed; a place where prying eyes held no concern, a place where in the quiet I found peace. Eventually winding my way to Crawdad’s, I stood outside and stared at Jimmy and Chuck throwing back a couple of cold ones.

  Laughter from inside sparked memories of happier times. Just days earlier we were planning the mission like it was just another day in the jungles of Colombia, killing the bad guys and plundering their spoils. How it had changed so drastically. Jimmy and Chuck were out of sorts, worn thin by the stressful days of the hunt. Hoping they had had some success but dreading the conversation to follow, I walked with trepidation.

  “Well look what the hell the cat dragged in,” Chuck started when I arrived. “I hope you and the little Missy have been having a good time while Jimmy and I have been doing your dirty work.”

  Without reply, I remained somber. I could not look directly at either, as crucifixes dangled from their necks.

  Jimmy cut his eyes, meticulously studying every detail of my face.

  “I must say you look well rested,” Chuck added.

  “Guys, I am sorry,” I began to explain.

  “You’re damn right you’re sorry,” Chuck jumped back in. “I’ll have you know, while you’ve been …”

  “Shut up, Chuck,” Jimmy interrupted. “Brian’s got something he wants to say.”

  I pulled out the chair, away from the table. “Guys, I’ll explain in a second, but first I need you to do me favor. Lose the crosses.”

  Exchanging puzzled expressions, they turned back to me.

  “Just do it, please,” I insisted.

  They looked puzzled but tucked them under their shirts. I bowed my head in shame, ill prepared to look either in the eye.

  “Guys, I don’t know how, but I am one of them. I … I am a vampire.”

  Staring in disbelief, Chuck picked up his beer and chugged the remainder. Jimmy continued reading my expressions.

  “Shit,” Chuck objected, “there ain’t no way you’re a fucking vampire, Brian. I mean, look at you. You don’t look anything like one of them.”