Eternal Darkness, Blood King (10 page)

I am now interested in this couple because it is not every day I get to meet people like them. I’m not sure how much they knew about my abilities, but I can guess that they didn’t count on the fact that their thoughts were transparent to me. From everything I saw in and felt from them, there is this matter of a book of some sort with information about me that Jean had the opportunity to read in the old world. I need to find out who has that book and who wrote it. Consequently, for that reason, I will let the little masquerade continue.

These days, Lucy is very happy, as happy as a twenty-nine-year-old can be when she realizes the possibility of both recognition and financial freedom. At the dinner, she was laughing, remembering a joke. Her snow-white face was flushed, making her look even more beautiful, if that was possible.

Suddenly, Amy turned to me, smiling. But I was looking at Jean. I didn’t give Amy a chance to talk. I addressed Jean.

“Jean, Lucy tells me that you are an art collector,” I said and waited for his reaction.

Jean flashed a shy smile. “Oh yes! That has been my passion for years,” he confessed.

“Is your collection in any gallery that I may know?” I asked.

I watched as Jean and Amy quickly looked at each other, and I felt that old Gypsy in me beginning to ask for a fight. One thing that’s true about me is that despite everything I know regarding patience, or everything I have learned through the centuries about self-control, there’s hardly anything I enjoy more than a good confrontation. It’s not every night that a killer gets to be taunted.

“No, we are more into private collections,” he answered in a very smooth voice.

I paused meaningfully, looking at Jean Charles; and everything became clear to me. By asking specific questions, I was in fact forcing him to think and rethink a suitable answer. His reply would add up to whatever reality he was trying to sell; but by doing that, the human brain is lured to use its creative side, leaving the other side—the one that rules memory—unguarded and easily accessible to me.

The truth is that Jean is a spoiled rich kid looking for immortality.

Doesn’t everyone else?

He has the means and the resources to track me down, but the issue of how he will approach me and ask for it is still in the air.

“Back in Washington?” I asked.

Jean looked puzzled, looked down, and then looked back up straight at me.

While keeping a wicked smile in place, I wondered in silence if he could feel me inside his mind.

“I’m sorry. We are from Vancouver,” he answered.

My smile widened in the face of his lie.

“Vraiment? je ne sais pas pourquoi je croyais que vous aviez de Washington, mon erreur,” I said in perfect French. “Oh, really? I don’t know why I thought you were from Washington. My mistake.”

Jean smiled back. “Ne s’t,” he said, grabbing his glass of wine and taking a sip. “Don’t worry.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Von Klatas,” Amy interrupted.

“Please, Amy, call me Renzo,” I said, turning to face her.

“Renzo, how did you and Lucy meet?” she asked.

My eyes were on Lucy.

“It was when I first got here,” Lucy answered, smiling at me.

Everybody at the table turned to watch her.

“I got here out of North Carolina for school—with no friends, no money, and no family. After a few weeks, I got this job in a hotel. But because I wasn’t making enough money, I had to get a second job; and from all the ones that I could get, I decided to sell drawings of tourists, done on the spot, over in the South Beach area,” she said.

Suddenly, I felt light-headed. The numbness traveled down my spine again, and I knew what would happen next. It was weird enough having someone at the table who, despite everyone’s best efforts, was not eating; was wearing special UV protection shades for his macular degeneration; and was now about to faint. I tried to be discreet as I slowly moved my head from side to side, trying to pinpoint the source of this entity who had a hold on me.

“Oh! I love those types of artists,” Amy said, distracting me for a second.

“I’m not here for fairy tales,” the voice whispered.

I couldn’t move or think. The only two things inside my head were that voice and Lucy’s.

“And I looked at this guy, and I was about to say ‘I can’t,’ but for some reason, I heard myself saying, ‘Sure, why not,” Lucy said.

“Oh, honey, anyone can see the reasons,” Amy said.

“No, no, it wasn’t like that,” Lucy clarified.

I looked back at Lucy, trying to concentrate only in her words. Lucy turned to me and put her hand over mine on the table.

“He has what I like to call old grace,” she said proudly.

The other couple grew silent, looking at her.

“And he also offered $100 for the overtime,” Lucy added.

Jean and Amy laughed.

“He got his drawing. I got a sponsor, my best friend and guardian angel,” Lucy concluded. Jean and Amy looked at me, their faces lit up with forced smiles.

“That’s such a charming story,” Amy said.

“I can honestly tell you that there’s no other godlike creature out there but me,” the voice, now clear and strong, said.

Again, I looked both sides and then back at Lucy.

“Renzo, will you eat or drink anything?” Amy asked, bringing me back from my concentration.

I held Amy’s gaze, trying to look as if nothing was wrong.

“I had an early supper,” I said.

“But surely you’ll join us for a glass of wine,” Jean said.

I shifted my attention toward the man.

“Surely,” I said, grabbing my untouched glass of wine.

Everyone raised their glasses.

“To friends,” Amy said, lifting her glass.

We all drank from our glasses, and as we did, I couldn’t help but notice Jean trying to make sure I was, in fact, drinking from mine. He had a plan for me. He wanted to capture me. I closed my eyes, savoring the wine’s taste and warmth. There was no doubt in my mind that I had to take Lucy away from them and then disappear from her life as soon as possible.

*******

March 8, 2005, 1:15 a.m.

Miami

It was after 1:00 a.m. when Lucy and I came out of the restaurant. Jean and Amy had already said their good-nights half an hour earlier, but we decided to stay longer to reminisce about the old days.

If I shared with her all my intimate stories, would she accept the truth?

Would she accept me?

We stood next to each other outside the restaurant while waiting for the valet to bring her car around. I tried to keep my thoughts in the present, but they were far away. I was worried, but I didn’t want her to notice. But then again, she had always proven to be one smart woman.

“Hey, boss, is everything OK?” she asked, bringing me back to the present.

“Why do you ask?” I said, trying to sound casual.

“You seem annoyed by something,” she said, looking closely at my face.

That made me chuckle.

“I’m fine,” I said, trying to keep my cool.

“Yeah, what was going on between Jean Charles and you back there? Why did you ask him if he was from Washington when I already told you they’re both from Canada? What was that about?” Her voice was soft; she was also trying to sound casual.

I looked into her eyes. “Because he is not from Canada. He’s from Washington, even though he’s a collector—that part is true.”

Lucy trained her gaze on me in silence for a moment.

“How do you know these things? Did you have him investigated?” she wanted to know.

I smiled very discreetly, trying to hide my fangs.

“I read minds, Lucy,” I answered in a low voice.

Lucy remained serious for a moment, and then suddenly, she began to laugh. My smile faded as I watched her reaction. I felt the gap between my immortality and her young years more than ever.

“Yeah, right!” she said.

She noticed my seriousness, and her smile disappeared.

“You are serious?” she asked.

“Only when I want to be,” I answered.

Lucy swallowed my words with difficulty.

“Have you done it with me?” she wanted to know.

“Sometimes,” I confessed.

The valet brought Lucy’s car to the front, stepped out, and then held the car door open for her. Lucy looked at the young man and then back at me.

“C’mon, let me take you home,” she said.

I looked at the dark skies. “Thanks, but I’d rather take a leap from here,” I said as I walked her to the car.

“Are you sure you’re OK?” she asked.

No, I wanted to say. I’m never going to be all right if I can’t be fully honest with those I care.

What’s the truth? I asked myself. After so long, can I be capable of opening up to anyone? Will anyone believe me?

We reached her car, and the young valet handed her car keys back. Lucy grabbed them and then opened her purse, looking for the wallet. By the time she found it, I had already paid the fee. She noticed, looked at me, and smiled.

“Thank you,” she said as she got inside the car.

I closed the car door and observed how she waited. Her eyes found mine one more time.

“Gitano,” she said.

I looked at her in silence. I could almost feel the words forming in her mind.

“Have you—” she began to say before forcing herself to pause. She smiled nervously. “Do you . . .” Despite her best effort, she just couldn’t finish the question.

Kill. That was the word I read in her mind, but she couldn’t say it.

“Yes,” I answered.

Her eyes grew teary while mine remained cold. With her right hand, she wipe away the tears.

“This is hard,” she confessed.

 She took a deep breath as she tried to smile again, at me.

“Humans?” she asked in a whisper.

“Yes,” I answered without emotion.

“Tonight?” she insisted.

“Yes,” I said.

Lucy looked away, fighting back more tears. Then she looked back at me, an angry expression on her face.

“Have you ever wanted to do that to me?” she asked with fear.

Her questions put me against my own reality, but strangely I felt proud.

“Yes,” I answered.

Her expression turned to one of disbelief.

“But only that first night when I met you,” I explained.

“What made you change your mind?” she asked in a broken voice.

“First, it was your anger—that fire inside of you, so rare to find nowadays.”

She remained silent.

“Then I got to know you,” I added.

“And?” she insisted.

“Then your hunger for life and beauty,” I said.

“So, what am I to you, your pet project?” she asked, this time taking offense.

I stood there, realizing that she was smart enough to understand my ulterior motives but scared because she could not see my real intentions.

“No,” I said.

She gazed intently at me.

“You got in,” I added.

Slowly, I placed my left index finger on my left temple. “In here,” I pointed out. Then I placed my left hand on my chest. “And in here.”

Lucy stared out at the dark highway. “This explains so much,” she whispered.

“Now you know why I have to stay away from you.”

Lucy turned to look at me again. “So that’s why you’re leaving.”

“Yes,” I said.

“I’ll never see you again, right?” she asked, her voice heavy with sadness.

“It is the only way I know that I can protect you.”

“From what, people like Jean and Amy?” she asked.

“You should stay away from them,” I advised her.

“Are you serious?” she asked, concerned.

“I’m very serious. They do not want anything to do with you or your paintings,” I said.

Lucy blinked, digesting what I had just said. “They are after you.”

“They don’t mean you any good,” I said. “I care about you,” I confessed. “More than you know.”

Lucy realized the implications. “They can only get to you through me.”

“You have always been brilliant,” I said.

There was a brief but somber silence between us.

Lucy nodded. “It is not too late to get in,” she suggested.

My vampire eyes found hers.

“We could plan our escape if you like,” she added.

I smiled at her suggestion, realizing that in another life, I would have gotten in, perhaps never to leave her side. The wind hit my face, bringing me back to reality. I looked at the city, so bright and clear to my eyes now that they were free from the shadows. I felt the energy of the forces that she would never feel or understand. I felt inhuman. I turned back to her.