Dracula Lives (20 page)

“But the damage had been done.” Markov’s eyes narrowed as the anger returned. “My son left home and I haven’t seen him since.”

Quinn waited while Markov gathered himself, wondering uneasily where his unburdening of his soul would take them.

“I have received two letters from him in the last forty years. The first came in 1973, updating me on his situation. He had gone to Boston and gotten into acting. He railed against directors who couldn’t spot the obvious talent he deluded himself into believing he showed in auditions. He called them psychic vampires as well. The notion of psychic vampires had become his way of scapegoating others for his shortcomings. He could never accept that, in the world of acting, there are king actors and there are butlers. Alas, Max was doomed to be a butler.”

Markov’s expression took on a gloating air. “He closed his portentous epistle by saying that only a final reckoning between he and I could fully exorcise the demons I had bred into his soul. His flair for melodrama.”

A chip off the old block
, Quinn thought. “Maybe after all these years he’s forgiven you.”

“Hardly. The second letter came a few weeks ago. Ravings about my days being numbered. He said my head would soon be resting on a stake beside Vlad the Impaler’s. I doubt that he has the backbone to follow through.”

Until now Quinn had considered Markov’s description of his castle as a shrine to madness part of
his
flair for melodrama, but now he realized it was true. Dysfunctional didn’t begin to describe this bizarre family. They had created an alternate reality that existed in a land that time forgot.

“What about your second wife. Is she … did she…?”

“Sadly, the vampiric urges kept getting stronger in my beloved Lady Elinore, and … I had to put her away.” In the slight movement of his head, little more than a twitch, Quinn saw George Tilton trying to shake off what had to be one of the most painful memories in a life filled with pain. The moment lasted only a few seconds before Markov was back.

“This concludes the tour, Mr. Quinn. Now we come to the moment of truth: stay and live forever in the movies, or leave and rejoin the parade of mortals shuffling to an earthly and unremembered demise.”

Quinn thought of Markov’s description of his life as a descent into the maelstrom, a whirlpool of madness and death. He pictured Johnny being pulled into the vortex, hands reaching up in desperation, looking for someone to save her from being sucked down into her father’s personal Hell. With that image swirling in his brain, he only half-listened to Markov’s patently absurd plan: that he was ready to write, storyboard, direct, and shoot the ultimate monster rally sequence—in one day.

“I have written a draft of the ending with you as the lead,” Markov said. “Should you decide to stay, I need to work out the shooting script. If you decide to leave, it will have to be on foot. To borrow once again from Morbius, I must ask you to forgive the ill manners of an old recluse, but I cannot spare Johnny just now. The Blood Moon is upon us and there is still much to do. I can give you a little time to make your decision, but not much.”

Quinn didn’t need any more time. He’d seen enough to suspect that this
was
a house where evil dwelled.

“I’m staying.”

“Excellent,” Markov said. “I will need a couple hours, more or less. You should use that time to explore the castle and grounds—within the limitations we have discussed. Greater familiarity with the set could save us time when we shoot the final sequence.”

Quinn had been thinking the same thing—but for a different reason. He wouldn’t be scouting out a location. He’d be looking for an escape route.

“I’ll do that,” he said.

“I will contact Johnny when I am ready to begin the final shoot. From that point on we will be on a very tight schedule to wrap before midnight. She will let you know when and where to report.”

“Fine,” Quinn said. “I’ll start with a walk around the grounds.”

“Think of it as my back lot. Go freely, but do not venture too far into the woods. I have seen many of its four-legged denizens on the prowl during my midnight rambles. Even though it is daylight, we cannot be certain that they are entirely nocturnal.”

Just the natural predators on a heavily wooded property this large would be dangerous enough, Quinn thought. Coyotes, bobcats, bears…. If Markov was also one of those four-legged denizens….

Standing in the porte-cochère at the entrance to the castle, Quinn zipped his fleece jacket against the morning chill and took a moment to decide which way to go. The unpaved access road the carriage had used to bring him here continued past the porte-cochère to the left, toward the back of the estate. Running parallel to the side wall of the castle, at barely ten yards wide, it was more of a lane than a road.

He headed down it, counting his paces as he went. Every bit of information he could gather about the layout of this massive estate, and the distances between its various parts, could turn out to be vital if … he resisted the phrase
if he needed to escape
… if Markov’s game became truly dangerous.

He reached the rear corner of the hulking pile and stopped to get his bearings. He pulled a notepad and pen from his pocket and jotted
49 from entrance to rear corner
.

A large clearing had been established around the castle, but no landscaping had been done. The weedy growth had simply been mowed. Clumps of wild brush too hardy to mow were scattered here and there. With such a vast estate, Johnny undoubtedly had far too many things to do to be overly fussy about lawn maintenance.

The lane continued straight ahead through a stand of trees about thirty yards away. To the right, a footpath perpendicular to the lane ran through the woods in the direction of the lagoon.

The humanoid shape Quinn thought he’d seen rising up from the lagoon still nagged. Even allowing for an imagination conditioned by a lifetime of watching horror movies, this was a world where the laws of nature didn’t apply.

The body of water warranted a closer look.

He decided to stay on the lane to see what was beyond the stand of trees ahead, then explore the lagoon on his way back.

Twenty-seven paces later, the lane continued through an opening in the trees. Quinn made a quick note and continued into the opening. He was struck by how well it had been cut to form a precisely defined walkway. Overhead, branches extending from the trees lining each side of the path met to form a natural roof. Quinn imagined that in the summer, when the growth was full, the branches would convey a soothing feeling of walking through a leafy tunnel. Now, however, the bare, gnarled branches appeared more like long bony fingers poised to clamp down on unwary trespassers.

He emerged from the trees into another clearing. In the middle stood a large, weather-beaten barn. He went to take a closer look.

Although the sliding door was pulled shut, the padlock hanging on the hasp was unlocked. Had Johnny purposely left this open for him? Simple forgetfulness was possible, but when Quinn remembered her stopping him with a gun in the forbidden chamber, and later urging him to explore any unlocked doors, that seemed highly unlikely.

Quinn removed the padlock and slid the door open. Late morning sunlight coming through windows on all sides brightened the gloomy interior enough to see. He entered and went to the left to begin his inspection. As he approached the rear wall, he smelled the horses before he saw them. One whinnied as he rounded the corner. The horses in each stall watched him intently. The carriage was parked beside the stalls. Bridles, harnesses, and other tack items were neatly hung and arranged beside the carriage. In the corner were two ATVs, two snowmobiles, and a sidecar, all spotlessly clean and precisely lined up side by side.

Quinn began walking along the other side wall to complete the circuit that would take him back to the front door. Partitions had been attached to the wall to create several large bays.

In the first was a black Hummer H1. Quinn had researched GM’s civilian version of the military’s Humvee when they first came out, thinking the rugged vehicle might be just what he needed to handle the primitive terrain he often encountered in tracking down legends. But with a price tag of over a hundred thousand dollars, and fuel economy around ten miles a gallon, he had quickly dismissed the idea. This one was several years old and still looked in excellent condition.

The final bay held tools and an odd assortment of items. The diving equipment got his attention first. Air tanks, flippers, facemasks, a wet suit, dry suit, and other miscellaneous diving supplies were neatly laid out. Given their reclusive lifestyle, it seemed unlikely Johnny would be a recreational diver. This had to be for the lagoon. The item propped in the corner brought a frown.

A spear gun. What possible use could they have for a spear gun? Despite Markov’s ominous talk of monsters, it was impossible to think there was a creature in his black lagoon.

No. Maybe Johnny went spear fishing somewhere. Or maybe they used it to hunt game instead of a bow and arrow.

Next to the spear gun was a scythe. A scythe made sense, but considering how carefully everything else had been grouped together, why wasn’t it with the lawn implements? A few rust-colored patches marred the otherwise immaculate razor-sharp cutting edge. Wondering if they were rust or blood, Quinn rubbed his fingers across one of the spots, looked at the tiny bits that had flaked off, then sniffed.

It proved nothing. Bits of rust and dried-up blood could look and smell the same. “What am I? CSI all of a sudden?” he muttered. Nevertheless, he made a mental note to see if the Grim Reaper was still holding his scythe.

Several paces farther along, he came to a shelf that held life-sized replicas of instantly recognizable heads.

Lon Chaney’s Hunchback and Phantom, Max Schreck’s hideous Nosferatu, Lugosi’s Dracula, Karloff’s Frankenstein Monster, Lon Chaney Jr.’s Wolf Man, the Creature from the Black Lagoon, Robby the Robot, King Kong. Beside the head of the Creature was one of its clawed hands that had reached up from the lagoon to strike fear into Julie Adams and generations of movie fans.

Quinn walked back and forth, admiring how perfectly the replicas resembled the originals while wondering where Markov could have gotten them.

He picked up the head of Kong and looked inside, imagining that someone might have worn it during the actual filming. But instead of the hollow interior of a mask, he saw a network of wires running from the various facial features into a hub that must somehow have been the source of power. He checked the others and found the same apparatus in each. These masks had not been meant to be worn. They had been meant to be animated.

Markov had boasted of his advanced special effects and how he had incorporated them into his filmmaking. These might have been some of his early attempts. More questions to add to the rapidly growing pile he had for his mysterious host.

There were wristbands in the spaces between each of the heads. Quinn picked up the one between Dracula and the Frankenstein Monster. Both heads moved slightly toward him as he pulled the wristband away. He moved it slowly back toward them, and they slid closer. When he got to within a few inches, the heads shot forward and stuck to the wristband.

Magnetic. He’d heard of golfers using them to combat arthritis. Maybe Markov had experimented with using them as a better way to move the heads around than stop-motion animation.

On another shelf were several open cardboard boxes. He went to the first and looked inside. It was filled with more magnetic bracelets. At least two dozen. The next three boxes held several dozen more. The final two boxes were filled with large canisters of bear spray. Their purpose was easier to guess. Johnny’s security duties included nightly patrols of the woods, and this was bear country. Next to the boxes was an unusual-looking gun and several darts whose shafts were clear glass cylinders for holding medication.

A tranquilizer gun. Quinn wondered what Johnny might use it on. The horses?

He continued past the shelf to the front door. Stepping from the gloomy barn into bright morning sunshine and a clear blue sky, he slid the door closed as though sealing off troubling thoughts and looked at his watch.

He probably had an hour left before Markov would need him. Spending it looking for signs of a shape emerging from the lagoon—a shape that almost certainly had a simple explanation—would be a waste of time. He needed to use that time to explore inside the castle. Markov would undoubtedly be staging his climactic sequence there. And having seen how Markov’s mind worked, Quinn felt sure the sequence would include a shocking reveal. Whatever unfolded between now and midnight, Quinn couldn’t let himself get cornered in the place that must hold Markov’s darkest secret.

It was time to find out what was hidden away in the forbidden chamber.

Quinn headed for the staircase by the Chamber of Horrors that led to the forbidden chamber below. As he rounded the corner guarded by the Grim Reaper, he pulled up suddenly.

It was still holding the scythe, but—was its head facing in a different direction? He thought it had been looking in the direction of his door. Now it was looking the other way, down the long corridor that ended at the Chamber of Horrors. Growing frustration at his inability to know what was real and what was a special effect propelled him around the corner. A short distance down the next corridor, he came to a door he wanted to check. Johnny’s quarters.

Quinn tried the handle. The door opened. Had Johnny intentionally left it unlocked? When he’d summoned her this morning after the pterodactyl incident, she’d said, “I wish I could help you more,” and made a point of encouraging him to take full advantage of his chance to enter any unlocked doors. As eager as he was to know what was hidden away in the secret chamber, he also needed to learn as much as he could about the human being behind the crumbling mask of Markov’s oddly-named
daughter
.

Quinn went in and clicked on the lights.

He stood for a moment, scanning the overall layout. Johnny’s quarters were, in effect, a huge apartment. Unlike the square layout of Markov’s laboratory, this was a long rectangular space, about twenty-five yards wide and twice that in length. The high ceiling and open floor plan added to the feeling of vastness. After taking it all in, Quinn was drawn to the array of equipment and readouts running along the left wall, eager to see Johnny’s level of control over the workings of the castle and the digital creatures that haunted it.