Red Tide: The Flavel House Horror / Vampires of the Morgue (The Ian McDermott, Ph.D., Paranormal Investigator Series Book 2) (7 page)

Ian briskly walked to the shower house to get himself cleaned up for what he hoped would be a prosperous day of information prospecting regarding Salizzar and his nightclub.

While still in the shower house, Ian stood in front of the sink and mirror as he applied a conservative amount of shaving cream and began to press shaver to neck. But he suddenly halted that idea before the first swipe of his blade as he thought to himself,
Maybe shaving’s not such a good idea? Maybe somewhat of a scruffy look would better fit into that nightclub’s scene? But then again, maybe a clean-shaven look is what is typical?
Ian chuckled nervously as he mused to himself,
I wish I knew what the average, self-respecting, middle-aged vampire clubber looks like and wears nowadays. Cape and fangs? Good Christ, what have I gotten myself into this time?

Back at his trailer, Ian checked his cell phone for the time, which was 9:42 a.m. It was later than he’d thought. He retrieved the book he’d purchased the day before and read the title to himself:
Bloodlust - Vampires 2.0.
He chuckled ever so slightly as he briefly shook his head, once again wondering what he was getting himself into.

With book in hand, Ian looked over at his four-legged buddy. “Scout, we’d better get a move on. That author’s gonna be signing autographs at that bookstore this morning starting at 10:00 a.m. I think they said he was only going to be there for a couple-few hours. There could be a big lineup of people to meet him, so …” Scout barked three times, indicating he too was ready for them to get a move on.

CHAPTER 7

Going Bananas (II)

Ian pulled his vehicle over to the curb and parked just across the street from Banana Books
.

“Okay, Scout, you be a good boy and wait here. This shouldn’t take very long.”

The sky was completely gray but not dark, and the cloud cover didn’t appear very ominous. Ian didn’t think it was going to do much more than a light drizzle, at least anytime soon, so he cracked open a couple of windows, then switched off his ignition. With car keys in one hand and his book in the other, Ian left Scout in the Jeep and began crossing the street to the bookstore.

The moment Ian opened the door to the bookstore, he was greeted by name. “Hi Ian, so glad you came. Help yourself to coffee and muffins.” Mary said as she pointed to a card table covered with a red-and-white checkered, country-style tablecloth, one she had set up for the event. The table sported a beautiful silver serving tray full of cranberry muffins, and a vintage, restaurant-style glass, chrome-topped sugar dispenser, disposable cups, napkins, and a couple of varieties of coffee creamer bottles, all neatly positioned aside a press-pump coffee dispenser.

Gathered at the opposite side of the room, a half-dozen people with more coming through the door were forming themselves into a semblance of a line. Many of them were struggling with managing their coffees, muffins, and books that they wanted signed by the local semi-celebrity author seated at the table before them.

Ian immediately noticed a stack of books obviously written by the author. The books were stacked one on top of the other on the front counter. Ian picked up a copy and cursorily read the inside pages and back of the novel. He then set the book back on top of the pile of its clones as he mused to himself,
Hmm, Graveyard Shift. The title about sums it up.

Ian began moving further into the bookstore. He decided to pass on the muffins, not because they didn’t look good; they looked delicious. But after witnessing some of the people’s juggling acts, he didn’t want to try and negotiate too many things at once. Ian did pour himself a cup of black coffee before he migrated across the room to take his place at the back of the line. It was then that he noticed a poster that was held by a painter-style easel. The poster was basically the artwork that appeared on the cover of
Bloodlust - Vampires 2.0
. He was pleased that he’d purchased the book that the author was advertising.

One by one, the author’s mostly female fans had their moments of praise and chit-chat with the author. The author, though seated, appeared to Ian to be slightly overweight. His hair had advanced past the fifty-yard line in the game one fights and eventually loses against time. In this case, the game fought between team black versus gray. Ian placed his age somewhere around the mid-fifties. The author wore sunglasses, though it wasn’t particularly bright outside or inside for that matter. Nothing much about the author was at a glance remarkable. But Ian was impressed by how he seemed very willing to take his time with each one of his admirers, answering their questions. Questions that to Ian seemed to be repetitively reconfigured by one person after the other like a worn-out recording of the same tune. Finally, after nearly a forty-five minute wait, Ian’s turn arrived.

“Hi, I’m Clayton Collins …” Clayton remained seated as he extended his right hand. Ian had finished his coffee and had thrown away his cup just a few minutes before. He quickly extended his right hand. The two men smiled at each other as they shook hands.

“Um, yeah. Hi yourself. I’m … my name’s Ian. Ian McDermott. Very pleased to meet you.”

Clayton glanced at the book that Ian held in his left hand. “I see you’ve got one of my more popular titles. But I must say, I’m not sure I would have matched you with this particular type of story.”

Ian smiled. “You’re very perceptive. It’s true. Normally, this probably wouldn’t be my first choice in reading. No offense intended. I’m sure it’s a very good, well-written book.”

Clayton smiled as he held up his hand, indicating to Ian that no further explanation was necessary.

“Well now, Ian. Would you like me to sign your book?”

Ian smiled as he replied, “Yes. That would be great! But to be honest, I purchased it at this store just yesterday, as a matter of fact, for a little research project I’m working on. And well, I heard you, its author, were going to be here today, and well, I was hoping that you might be gracious enough to meet with me away from here.”

Clayton didn’t reply as Ian paused to catch his breath and collect his thoughts before continuing.

“That is, I was hoping you’d perhaps be able to lend some insight into what I’m … well … here … Just a second. Perhaps this might help.” Ian quickly retrieved from his wallet one of his business cards, which he handed to the author.

Clayton stared intensely for a moment at Ian’s card before speaking. “So you’re an investigator of the paranormal.” Ian unabashedly nodded his head.

Clayton once again extended his right hand. Ian responded in kind. The men once again shook hands. “Certainly, Ian. I’d be glad to meet with you, away from here of course, and answer any questions you might have on the subject of vampires, I presume?”

Clayton paused as he laughed a small laugh, “It’s not like I’ve got more pressing matters to attend to these days. Probably better not to meet at any of the local eateries. The grapevine in this town would astonish you. Tell you the truth, Ian, I was expecting to meet you here today and not by hearing of you from Ed or Mary.”

Ian, having just spent some time in the tiny burg of Harmony Falls, was very aware how fast news can spread in a small town. Regardless, that bit of information made him suddenly a bit nervous as he began to ponder the idea that his cover might possibly already have been blown.
How is it I’ve stuck out and become the topic of anyone’s conversation? Especially in a tourist town where out-of-towners are coming and going daily? I sure hope this town’s grapevine doesn’t extend across the river.

Ian interjected, “I really appreciate you agreeing to meet with me. When and where would you suggest we meet? I don’t mean to be pushy, but is sometime later today a possibility?”

Clayton glanced once again at the business card. He then panned his eyes up and down Ian as if he was sizing up the validity of the man who stood before him.

“I’ll tell you what, Ian. Normally, I don’t make it a practice to invite anyone that I’ve just met to my house. But you seem like a decent enough fellow, and it’s not like I’m any sort of A-list celebrity author these days, worthy of any nut-case stalker.” Ian quickly shook his head. Both men smiled and laughed slightly at that notion.

Clayton removed from his wool-tweed sport coat’s inner breast pocket a small, spiral-bound notepad. He then jotted down his address and phone number and tore the sheet of paper loose. He paused just for a second, then handed the paper to Ian.

Noting Clayton’s only slight hesitation in handing him the paper, Ian thought to himself,
Wow, this guy’s sure the trusting type. Gotta love small towns.

“Okay Ian, how ‘bout you meet me this afternoon at my place, say around 2:30? That should give us both time to have grabbed a bite to eat. That way we can get right to the real nitty-gritty of what you want to talk to me about.”

Ian thought to himself,
If this guy ever gets tired of writing vampire rubbish, he’d make a hell of an investigative reporter
. “Yeah, Clayton. 2:30 will be perfect!”

Ian then handed Clayton his book. Clayton smiled as he glanced up over his black, horn-rimmed, Ray-Ban sunglasses that had slipped down onto the middle of his nose as he signed his name to Ian’s book. As Ian retrieved his book from Clayton and both men said their goodbyes to one another, more customers began entering into the bookstore, several with books in hand.

Ian stopped near the front door to briefly speak to Mary. “I haven’t seen Ed,” he said just loud enough to be heard as he took hold of and began twisting the front door’s doorknob.

Mary looked up at Ian with a smile on her face. “He’s in Seattle at a book auction. He’s always looking for titles we don’t have or ones we need more of.”

Ian smiled at Mary. “Gotcha! Well, this was really nice. I’m glad I came. Thank you, and please thank Ed for me for me as well.”

Mary smiled brightly. “I will, Ian. Come back and see us soon.”

“That I will.” Ian replied quickly. He didn’t want to take up anymore of Mary’s time. She was busy finishing ringing up a customer who had purchased several books, including one that Ian recognized at a glance:
Graveyard Shift
, the most recently published work
by none other than Clayton Collins.

Most recently published, in this case, being a relative phrase.
Graveyard Shift
had been completed and published over four years before as a prequel to
Bloodlust - Vampires 2.0
. Ian would find out later that due to
Graveyard Shift’s
lackluster sales (except to his “die-hard” or “undying” cult-like fans of his previous works), Clayton’s publishing house – the one that had not a decade before told him repeatedly that they were going to make him a household name – subsequently dropped him like a bad habit in lieu of writers of less traditionally horrific, more sexy pseudo-vampire character types.

CHAPTER 8

Alliance (I)

“Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss,

the abyss gazes also into you.”

~ Friedrich Nietzsche

Shortly after picking up a couple of burgers and fries for himself and Scout from McDonald’s, Ian drove the two of them back through town and towards the main beach approach. The approach sported a giant, white-wash painted concrete archway that proclaimed that he was about to drive onto the World’s Longest Beach. Ian was already aware that this was one of the last, if not
the
last, beaches in the Pacific Northwest that you were allowed to drive on. Ian knew the proclamation was questionable, but he knew from seeing pictures of it in its entirety that it was truly a very long, unobstructed, beautiful beach, one that could be driven on for over twenty miles.

Before driving forward from the end of the approach out onto the hard-packed sand near the surf, Ian pulled over and climbed out of his Jeep Wagoneer. He turned-in the hubs of his front wheels, then climbed back into his Jeep and shifted into high-range 4-wheel drive.

Ian proceeded to drive about a half-mile up the beach before he parked near the dunes facing the ocean. It was there that he and Scout enjoyed their lunches.

After growing full from their meal, Ian decided a short nap to kill some time was in order. He set the alarm on his cell phone to go off in thirty minutes. Ian calculated that would give him about the perfect amount of time to take Scout back to his trailer, then head further up the peninsula to meet with Clayton.

Ian shut his eyes, and as Scout laid his head across his lap, Ian began slowly petting him. Between the soothing action of petting Scout and the hypnotic sounds of the ocean waves crashing the shoreline, in little time, Ian was fast asleep.

Buzz, buzz, buzz, buzz.
Ian was suddenly startled awake by his cell phone’s alarm. He was momentarily disoriented as he cleared his eyes, trying desperately to regain focus. Ian was amazed how deeply he’d fallen asleep.

Sometime during Ian’s nap, Scout had moved to the back seats and for some time had been patiently waiting for his master to wake up.

Ian glanced towards the back of the Jeep. “Hey, boy. Wow, I must have been really out of it. We best get a move on. Let’s get you back to the trailer so I can go and have a chat with Mister Clayton Collins.” Scout barked once. He began wagging his tail as he moved back to the front passenger seat.

Once back at the point where the beach met with the approach, Ian got out of his Jeep and turned-out the hubs of his front wheels back to free rolling position. He then climbed back into his rig and shifted out of 4-wheel drive back to the standard 2-wheel running.

Ian drove back to the town’s main street, where he then made a left, heading north back to their RV trailer site. Back at the trailer, Ian put out a pan of cold water for Scout. “Okay boy, you be good and hold down the fort. I don’t think I’ll be gone more than a couple of hours.”

Ian stroked Scout a few times, then patted him gently on his head. Without further hesitation, he exited the trailer without his faithful companion. As Ian headed towards his Jeep, he retrieved the small piece of paper he’d previously tucked into his wallet. Ian glanced at the paper as he silently read 1128 J-Place, Surfside Estates. After climbing into and firing up his rig, Ian drove out of the RV resort and turned left, proceeding once again north.

After arriving at Clayton’s home, which from the street looked to be a nice but somewhat modest ranch-style house, albeit one that had been built on prime real-estate alongside other spectacular homes, Ian quickly noted that all of the homes on J-Place were custom-built. They all sat like majestic soldiers perched on the elevated hillside.

Even though Clayton’s house was nowhere near as large as many of the homes up and down the street, it represented itself well in this neighborhood. His home sat on what had to be the most desired piece of land on the block: an oversized lot that could honestly boast that it offered the best view of any of them. Even from Ian’s vantage point as he remained for the moment sitting in his Jeep in Clayton’s driveway, he could tell Clayton’s view from his front windows and deck had to be at least a one-hundred-eighty degree panoramic view of the Pacific and its expansive light-gray, sandy coastline, all of which were not even a mile off in the horizon.

Ian took a deep breath and attempted to gather his composure. He was not even certain what questions he might be asking Clayton as he silently surmised,
Sometimes, it’s best to just wing these things. Don’t overthink it.

Ian checked his cell phone; it was 2:27 p.m., and he was right on time. He exited his Jeep and walked directly up to the street-side front door. He noticed a medium-sized pumpkin, neatly carved into a Jack-o-lantern, seated on the porch just to the right of the front door. Ian cleared his throat twice as he rang the doorbell.

The front door opened. Clayton immediately smiled and shook Ian’s hand. “Ah, Ian. Right on time. Please, come on in.”

For the first time, Ian witnessed that Clayton had a pronounced limp. He walked with a cane held in his left hand. Ian also noted Clayton was still wearing his sunglasses.

Clayton gave Ian a quick little tour around his home. He then suggested that they both take a seat in his living room, which offered the best view of the ocean from inside the home. Once they both were seated, Clayton, without asking, poured Ian a glass of red wine from an ornate crystal carafe that exactly matched two equally ornate crystal glasses, all of which were perched on the coffee table before them. Clayton’s glass was already filled.

Clayton then turned slightly in his swivel-rocker chair and stared momentarily directly at Ian, who was seated on the couch alongside Clayton’s chair.

“Ian, please excuse the dark glasses. I have an eye condition. I’m supposed to refrain from exposure to bright light. Anyway, it’s been said of me … well … that I’m a very assuming person. Occasionally too assuming, of that I’m certain. I hope you’re a person who enjoys a glass of wine now and then. In this case a fine Chianti.”

Ian smiled as he took a sip and replied, “As a matter of fact, I am. And this is delicious. Thank you.”

Clayton smiled back as he continued. “Excellent! That said, I feel compelled to say … well … Ian, obviously you’re a highly-educated man. I noted from your business card that you have a Ph.D. I can only assume in some biological discipline.” Ian didn’t speak but nodded his head slightly.

Clayton continued, “Still, you seem … How shall I put it? Not unlike one of the local good-ole-boys, so to speak.”

Ian smiled and let out a small sigh. After a second’s pause, he gave a slight up and down nod, indicating that at least that too wasn’t far off the mark, as he silently mused,
He’s certainly observant. A useful trait in both our fields.

“To tell you the truth, Clayton, from where I sit, much the same could be said about you. I read in the back of your book that you received your Masters in English Literature from Emory University.
Anyway, there was a time, not long ago, that I probably was pretty full of myself. But things and times change. For instance, I recently had the pleasure to work with and get to know a couple of the most down-to-earth people to be found anywhere. Smart guys. Very smart, competent law enforcement professionals. Something I’ve actually been experiencing to be the norm, well, regarding smaller communities, anyway. The two guys that I’m talking about … Neither had more than high-school diplomas that I’m aware of. But as far as I’m concerned, the notion of higher education making a man somehow better or smarter … Well, it doesn’t. It just opens certain doors, ones that would otherwise remain shut, and makes pursuing various opportunities more plausible or at least a bit easier. Suffice it to say, I’ve been hanging around the northwest a while now. I guess the local vernacular and maybe my previously California-cated attitudes, especially pertaining towards people that I once would have referred to as hicks or rednecks, has changed somewhat for the better I hope.”

Clayton smiled and lifted his glass of wine in salute to that. “Okay, Ian. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’d bet my Aunt Gladys’s Sunday bonnet – well, that is if I had an Aunt Gladys and she wore a bonnet – that you’re looking into what’s been going on regarding the recent unsavory happenings in Astoria, principally pertaining to the scuttle-butt one hears that there’s one or more crazed lunatic serial killers of, shall we say, the nocturnal variety hanging about.” Clayton smirked slightly.

Ian noticed for the first time that Clayton’s glass of wine seemed, in the dim light of the room, to be just a bit darker than his own. He quickly surmised the effect was only an optical illusion and dismissed it from his mind.

Clayton took another slow sip from his wine glass and continued. “Perhaps, as it has been more than suggested, it can be linked in part, or entirely, to the owner or frequenters of that Astoria nightclub aptly named The Morgue. It’s a club that principally attracts, besides just the curious, canine-dentured, undead role players and various persons turned onto the occult. I hear tell that the club’s owner, Salizzar, is an Eastern European fellow. I tell you all this, all the while knowing with relative certainty that you already knew at least that much. But of this I am equally certain; you would have no way of knowing that Salizzar not long ago granted me a brief audience much like the one we are having now. It was at his home, at night. He, as you also no doubt already know, lives in Astoria at the once aptly-named Flavel House Museum.
I asked him during said interview if I could perhaps stylize a character based loosely on him – and perhaps his club as well. Salizzar seemed genuinely flattered and agreed with certain conditions and limitations. At that time, I was allowed no further into the house than the front sitting room, though I’ve been promised a tour of the home sometime in the near future. I came away from the short interview, I believe, a little wiser for the visit. In my humble opinion, Salizzar, in the nomenclature of my profession, at the very least assumes quite convincingly the role of a charmingly suave though egocentrically narcissistic, nocturnal by necessity, possibly nefarious, self-proclaimed
nosferatu.
A term I’m confident you’re quite familiar with, being a paranormal investigator.” Ian nodded his head twice.

Ian enjoyed how Clayton spoke. It was pretty much how he assumed he would, being an author, whose words were the tools of his trade. Ian was slightly surprised at Clayton’s presumption that he would have already known much of what Clayton had to say to him so far. Though so far, he was spot on!

Ian was also a very quick study of people. Had already made a couple of presumptions pertaining to Clayton, one being that authors often must be pseudo-investigators when it came to researching their topics. Ian had already come to the conclusion that the man who sat beside him possessed great instinct and powers of observation, much like himself.

Clayton briefly became silent as he momentarily stared out his living room window towards the surf. He then slapped his knee with the palm of his left hand, wineglass still held in his right. “Okay, Ian. Let’s cut to the chase. How can a simple author of fiction, a novelist of vampire stories, further educate you? Assuming I’m correct that you’re here to perhaps learn a thing or two on the subject, beyond the realm of what one can mistakenly presume to learn by watching humorous 80’s genre films like
Fright Night
and
The Lost Boys
and so forth. Make no mistake, those films, among many others, I happen to enjoy a great deal. In those days, selling vampire stories that often ended up as movies was as easy as eating popcorn. Anyway, I suspect that you, being an investigator of the paranormal, may have on occasion seen for yourself at one time or another the line become blurred or erased altogether between the perceived normal and paranormal. I don’t believe I need to tell you nor try to convince you, of all people, that there perhaps is truth to what Friedrich Nietzsche once so eloquently stated, ‘Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.’ Pointedly poignant, wouldn’t you agree?”

After all that Ian had gone through over the last few weeks back at Harmony Falls, he had to nearly bite his tongue as he mused to himself,
When it comes to supposed fiction turning out to be fact … Clayton, you have no idea what I know to be true.

After listening to Clayton talk for nearly the last half-hour, Ian’s willingness to discuss the topic of vampires, and his investigation, with the man he was with had grown exponentially.

“Clayton, you are correct on every point. Understand, I am counting on your absolute discretion regarding what I’m about to reveal to you. I’m not even certain why I’m going to tell you other than I need some help. And you just might be a very valuable source of information, but I doubt you would be very informative if you don’t know at least some of my reasons for asking the questions I’m going to be asking. So here goes. I am conducting a private investigation very loosely in conjunction with the Astoria Police Department. All strictly on the down low. I would be instantly disavowed by them and left dangling in the wind if my name was even associated as such. At this point, my investigation is principally targeted at Salizzar and his nightclub. No surprise there. But please understand, what I’m about to ask or tell you must remain strictly confidential if I’m to have any success. And perhaps remain healthy, if you get my meaning.”