The Vampire Keeper (13 page)

“Wait! I am too tired to hear all of the details; I need a nap. Come down and tell me later.”

“Okay, Bunny. But, before you go down. I should warn you Julius is stuck here until dusk.”

“What? Why is he here?”

“He and Larkin had words,” replied Wyler as an exhausted expression crossed his face.

She shook her head and thought,
Not again. Last time we were cleaning up blood for days.
“Did you finish cleaning up behind their temper tantrum?”

“Yes,” he said. He had cleaned up downstairs while he waited to see if Julius’s wound was appropriately closed. However, he still had the tunnel to deal with, yet he didn’t want to worry his tired wife with that so he simply stated, “Yes,” with a grand smile hoping it was believable enough for her to go rest as she had planned.

Thanks to the fatigue, it did not matter if Ana believed him or not, she closed her burning eyes and through her loving smile she kissed her husband’s cheek. Upon withdrawal she said, “Well, the details on that occurrence can also wait. I am going to bed.”

Wyler returned her little token and watched her depart. Several minutes later Larkin and Jezalyn finally reemerged. “We got your cup of tea,” announced Jezalyn. Trying to justify the presentation of a new dish, Jezalyn added, “Sorry it’s in a new cup. I had just finished washing our cups when you sent Larkin to tell me to brew another pot. And, it took so long, because I misjudged the amount of water it would take to make tea for three, so I had to make two pots.”

Wyler took the cup and said, “That’s fine. It was better that the both of you were still in the back. A nosey reporter came around wanting to interview the two of you about yesterday.”

Anxiety crept over Jezalyn’s face at the thought of having to recount the events. And, Larkin felt Jezalyn’s uneasiness, yet waited until her facial expression gave it away before he asked, “Are you feeling alright Jezalyn?”

“Yeah, I am fine. I just don’t want to give any interviews,” said Jezalyn, trying not fidget.

Wyler placed his hand on her shoulder. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. Maybe you should take a few days off until it blows over.”

Her expression did not brighten, “Thanks, Wyler that is a nice offer, but I can’t afford to be off work that long.”

“Oh no, my dear, consider this paid personal leave,” he said. “I’m leaving town to acquire a few pieces for my personal collection, so we’ll be closed anyway.”

Jezalyn’s gloom subsided and she thanked Wyler for upcoming vacation. He only smiled as he thought,
that was easy. Now if I can only smooth over things downstairs with such ease.
Wyler knew, even in his wife’s state, that fatigue would not stop her from speaking her mind when it came to capricious Julius.

Several hours later, the reporter was still camped outside Wyler’s Rare Bookstore. She stood in front of the general store where she gave a live report on the altercation that took place the previous day.

She began with her usual good evening satire before plunging into her report:

Yesterday. Here in this small town of Transylvania, Louisiana, a domestic disturbance took place, which ended in tears and gunfire, when a woman discovered her husband was having an adulterous affair. It was about noon yesterday when police officers responded to a 911 call that reported gunshots fired inside this local general store. The police arrived on the scene to find Mr. and Mrs. Peterson, the owners, at the end of their domestic dispute. Mrs. Peterson sat slumped over in the middle of the floor crying with a gun in her lap while her husband hid locked away in the back office. The husband was not injured, but it has been reported by a reliable source that Mrs. Peterson fired erratically throughout the store leaving a wide trail of bullets. Some bullets merely lodged in the wall while others punctured through into the nearby bookstore.

One source disclosed to Channel 3, ‘One of the stray bullets penetrated through the wall hitting a young female employee in the neck.’ The source went on to state, ‘The victim would be in critical condition if not dead had it not been for the heroic actions of one man who pushed her out of the way just in the nick of time.’

All requests for an interview with the injured and heroic party have been denied, but it has been this reporter’s goal to not rest until an official interview has been conducted. Until next time, this is Mary Sherwood reporting for Channel 3 news in the once quiet town of Transylvania. Now back to you at the studio, Mark.

***

Wyler, who stood next to the television, violently pushed the off button, “Well that’s just great! Now what are we going to do about this?”

Larkin said nothing as he sat on the couch with a cold, but rather fresh cup of blood that Julius brought back from his hunt. Julius, however, gave his input. “We have three options that I can see: The first two are to either grant her the interview or ignore her. She will either get tired of waiting, or she will get what she came for and leave.”

“I think it is best to wait her out,” said Wyler, not mentioning that Julius had only revealed two of his three choices. He knew Julius well enough to guess the third, so he kept quiet. Yet, he was not the only one. Larkin sat only sipping his beverage as he listened to each view.

“I would let them do the interview so that she will leave. Or maybe you would rather draw the issue out so that the reporter can give free press and advertisement for the shop,” quipped Julius.

Wyler did not fall into Julius’s taunt, “No, it is not up to me. Jezalyn told me she doesn’t want to do the interview.”

A long pause of silence fell across the room. Larkin knew that Julius was contemplating over the reasons why Jezalyn did not want to give an interview. He also did not want the conversation to turn on her, which could lead to exposure of his previous behavior, so Larkin finally spoke, “You said three options?”

“Yes. I did,” said Julius with a mischievous grin, for it was his personal preference. After quickly running his tongue over his left fang, Julius added, “I could always make her my next snack.” He immediately saw alarm cross Wyler’s face, but it quickly faded. The short lived alarm did not giving Julius enough satisfaction, so he did what he usually did best and joshed, “I like option three; it’s fool proof,” and with a mischievous wink, he added, “everyone wins.”

Wyler had always been good at concealing his emotions, although tonight was an exception. However, he held them much better than his wife, Ana, who awoke from her nap after working a double shift to get a drink of water and overheard Julius’s plan to release the reporter of her present duties. Ana, hair bedraggled, stormed up to Julius, put her finger in his face, and said, “How can you say option three is the best idea; the only one winning will be you. Killing that reporter will cause only more chaos and suspicion. They will send another reporter to take her place, except the new reporter will not only be trying to acquire interviews but also discover what happened to the last reporter.”

Ana was not his Keeper and nor did she pretend to be, which was the only thing that Julius respected about her. So when she had these types of outburst on him, which was rare, he ignored them; perhaps more so because he liked the banter her imprudent behavior caused. “She will not be discovered nor will her disappearance be in any way connected to the shop, so it sounds like to me the problem is solved. Now kindly remove your finger,” said Julius with a complacent smile on his face.

Wyler pulled Ana back several steps, for he and Ana were not Julius’s official Keeper, yet Wyler served Julius at the simple request of Larkin. And even at that Larkin had not pressed it upon him. Wyler accepted the tedious challenge, because no matter which request small or large he felt obliged to follow through; and he did so even with advance knowledge of Julius bad natured temper. Thus once his wife was out of Julius’s direct arm reach, Wyler cautiously told Julius, “No, not problem solved. You can’t solve everything with death.”

He moved a few steps closer to Ana and said, “You sure about that?”

Ignoring the smooth gestures of her husband, this time she did not back away. The tension mounted between the two as they both stood there squared off; both too unrelenting to back down from one another. Finally, Larkin broke the tension and uncomfortable silence, “You are both right. We don’t need to increase suspicion around us, and the best way to get the reporter to leave is to do the interview.”

Wyler felt some relief as Julius’s attention to his wife dwindled but not enough, so he interjected further possible issues, “How are we going to do that? Jezalyn said she wasn’t going to do the interview.”

Ana immediately offered to talk to Jezalyn about giving the interview, but Larkin said, “No. Leave it to me. I think we will have a better chance at getting her to do the interview if I speak with her.”

Wyler broke in; panicked and uneasy, “How are you going to do that? She barely knows you.”

Julius, hoping to stir the excitement further, electively inserted himself into the conversation, “She barely knows any of you, so why does it matter who talks to her.”

Larkin had not perceived him to be on his side, for he understood the hidden meaning that lay beneath the comment, especially when Julius continued with a chuckle, “Besides, she is more likely to open up to her hero than anyone else.” He expected his comment to create some type of tension between them, but it hadn’t. Wyler nodded his head in agreement. He felt that perhaps Jezalyn would open up to him, since after all he had saved her life.

Larkin made no emotional response to the statements set before him. Instead, he announced that a plan would soon be devised and all should go to bed so that he could think. Of course, Wyler proposed to stay up and help come up with an effective plan or scenarios for tomorrow. He ended his offer with an unsuccessful attempt at hiding a yawn.

Ana smiling gingerly at her husband, kissed his cheek and said, “Honey, I think Larkin has this under control now, so come to bed.” Giving a goodnight nod, Wyler took his wife’s hand to leave the room. As they proceeded to leave, Ana glowered at Julius, who moved to take a seat next to Larkin, and said, “I suspect you are staying the night again.”

“Why, thank you for the invite. I think I will stay,” he said, with as much of a charmingly punch as possible. It was not her intention for him to stay or to invite him to stay. She was trying to use subtle sarcasm, as she had done in the past, to ward off his presence. However, tonight it did not work. The only possible response left for her to give him was goodnight, which she did with a dreadfully heated expression upon her face.

As Julius took a seat next to Larkin in the emptied living room, he could not help but make one final crack about Ana. “I wouldn’t want to offend her by taking off after tonight’s little heated discussion. Besides, I am not abandoning plan three until after the lovely Mary Sherwood has left the premises. She looks exceptionally tasty,” he said with a mischievous chuckle.

Larkin gave into Julius’s playful behavior and replied, “Do what you will for the night, but don’t touch the reporter until it’s a last resort. If it does lead to that, save me a small treat.” When he finished he let his head fall backwards with closed eyes.

Larkin was deep either in thought or in meditation, but Julius did not care which. He himself was cleverly devising his own plan. Earlier, he had inadvertently called into question Larkin’s motive for being the one to talk Jezalyn into giving an interview, but all the while giving Larkin a reason to spend more time with Jezalyn. Julius found Larkin’s intrigue with Jezalyn fascinating; it was a bond he had never expected his maker to experience again. He perceived there was something more going on than what Larkin claimed. Maybe Larkin did not even realize it himself yet, but either way, Julius was determined to see the outcome of his maker’s new found attachment to the end.

***

The following morning Jezalyn awoke to her phone ringing. It was her grandfather. He did not give her a salutary greeting. But instead he immediately rambled off part of his newspaper to her. “Yesterday’s altercation at Transylvania’s general store was tragic, but did not end in tragedy. Mrs. Peterson was shooting off several rounds at her husband when a stray bullet inadvertently hit an innocent bystander after puncturing the wall of Wyler’s Rare Bookstore. The identity of the employee has not been released, but reports say, ‘Although she did not escape unscathed she is alive and well due to the heroic act of one kind gentleman.’”

When he finished reading, he made no further inquiries; instead, he sat silently waiting for a response. Jezalyn knew her grandfather all too well. She would not be able to brush the report off without any details, so with a deep breath she responded to his silent inquiry. “That report is not entirely true. Yes. There were gunshots next door, but I wasn’t shot. ”

“The report claims a female was injured, if not you then who?”

“Well, I did sustain a minor scratch on my neck, but it was only a graze.”

“I figured as much. Pack your bags you are coming home immediately.”

“No, grandpa! I don’t want to come home; it’s—”

He cut her short, not allowing her to finish her line of reasoning, “Oh, Yes ma’am you are. I will not have you living and working in a dangerous place.”

As the word “place” left his tongue she responded, “But Grandpa, this isn’t a dangerous town; the people here say that this was the first time something like this has occurred in over fifty years.”

“You’re not making a strong case for yourself, young lady, and it sounds like a history of violence to me.”

“A fifty year history, so the next occurrence should not be scheduled to happen in a long while. I’ll be dead by then,” she said, trying to build an argument for saving her independence.

“Poor choice of words, my dear, and none the less it is history. It is not a given that it will strike every fifty years; it could be in a few days or months. The future is unpredictable, my dear, so go on and start packing, and call me when you’re on your way,” he demanded in a composed manner.

Jezalyn’s frustration showed in her pink face. She was getting nowhere, so she took several deep breaths, letting the color restore in her face before trying a more subtle approach. “Grandpa, listen. I know the report scared you, and I should have called right away. It’s just that I did not want to alarm you. The bullet barely nicked me.”

“Only because someone pushed you out of its way. I am sure next time you will not be so lucky,” he said with a stern voice.

“Yes, but, Grandpa, please,” she pleaded. She stated her love for the shop, the job, the cheap rent, and the easy commute. She also tried to argue the point of an independent life in Transylvania as the best opportunity to gain responsible life skills. Jezalyn finished up her appeal with the fact that her boss was really, really nice. And to prove it she told her grandfather that Wyler had given her a few days off, with pay, until the reporters cleared out so that she could rest and concentrate on school. “Please, Grandpa. I want to stay,” she whined.

“I am sorry but no. You must come home now. I feel that Transylvania is not safe for you.”

She was silent as she thought of another defense for staying, for it had not taken long for Jezalyn to realize that her plea was more similar to a sixteen year old begging for a later curfew than one of an independent college student. Although both her reasoning and heartfelt plea had failed leaving her with only one option left, directness. “Grandpa, I love you but no, I am not leaving. I want to be independent and out on my own. I am almost nineteen years old now. Please stop treating me like a child. I will not pack up and leave because some stupid wife got mad at her cheating husband. I am in no danger here, so I am staying with or without your consent.” When she concluded, her breast heaved and she was gasping for air. Jezalyn had spoken as fervently as possible trying to make her grandfather understand how important it was for her to remain away from home.

Her grandfather showed no signs of relenting, and he merely responded, “I have to go. There is someone at the door, but this conversation is far from over.”

Before she could make a rebuttal to his last response, she heard the line go dead. Then in a fit of annoyance, at her grandfather and the situation that she now found herself in, she forcefully flung her phone onto the bed.