HDA - Living in Darkness Trilogy - Pt 2 - The Search

Chad Whitfield finished knotting his paisley tie and stared out the window, unsettled. He’d fallen asleep last night before Cassandra had come in from outside. The only way he’d known she’d come in to check on him was that the lamp had been turned off, his glasses and the property assessment book on the nightstand. He turned to look at the innocuous little black box on the nightstand. He’d left it out by mistake and although he fervently hoped she hadn’t seen it, he didn’t know how she could have missed it sitting there as big as life. They needed to talk.

Chad left his room and stopped in front of Cassandra’s door, his hand upraised to knock. Then without a single tap on the door, he lowered his hand and walked down the stairs. Not hungry, he left the hotel. He didn’t like not knowing but he wasn’t sure if he could handle a confrontation with Cassandra first thing this morning. And worst of all, what if she said no?

On the steps of the Hanul Manuc inn, Chad looked across at the museum and ruins called Old Princely Court. An area had been cordoned off and a harried looking constable was trying to keep the nosier people in the crowds clear of the rope blockade. Most of the poeple, including a female reporter and her cameraman, looked shaken. Silently admitting that Cassandra was rubbing off on him after all—unfortunately—Chad went over to the crowd to see what was wrong.

“Fool girl,” muttered an old man standing nearby, slightly apart from the crowd. “I warned her.”

Chad glanced at the frail, old man. He got the sneaking suspicion something was dreadfully wrong.

The old man swiveled his had to look at him. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

The old man gestured to the crowd and at that precise moment, the people moved out of Chad’s line of sight. Lying bonelessly across the stones was a girl, clad only in a bra and panties, her skin chalk-white. One high-heeled shoe was missing and a black coat lay haphazardly on the ground. “My God. Who did this?” exclaimed Chad, stunned.

“Thayer.” The old man made the name sound like a curse word.

The words slipped out before he realized it. “Who’s Thayer?” asked Chad.

The man narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he looked Chad up and down. “You aren’t from around here.”

“No. I’m from England.”

The old man snorted in derision, then jerked his chin toward the black body bag the coroner was zipping closed. “She was his latest housekeeper.” His voice softened. “She was also my great niece.”

“I’m sorry.” Chad was suddenly glad he’d skipped breakfast. “Why do you think Thayer killed her?”

“He’s a vampire,”muttered the old man, stalking away.

“Wait,” called Chad, but the man ignored him and disappeared around a corner. Chad sighed. A vampire. He shook his head. Old superstitions die hard. Suddenly he realized that despite the way the girl had been sprawled across the cobblestones, there had been no blood—anywhere. He stared at the spot where she’d lain. No blood. No blood on the coat or the shoe. He took a deep breath. Maybe this trip wasn’t such a good idea after all.

*****

Kurt stared at her, the strangest feeling of deja vu sweeping over him. “What did you say?” he asked again.

Casi took a deep breath. “Your neck,” she whispered, staring.

Kurt frowned and touched his neck, feeling two very sore circular ridges, the centers indented deeply enough to be punctures. Of al the damn rotten pranks...who the hell--? “It’s not what you think.”

“How do you feel?”

He touched the wounds again. “I feel fine.” Actually, that wasn’t true, he admitted to himself. The last thing he remembered was Ailsa’s late night visit—she’d worn something odd, hadn’t she?--then waking up in his bed, on top of the comforter, still fully clothed but freezing. And he’d felt as sluggish as a snail this morning, a snail with one hell of a hangover. No more brandy for him. “Just fine.”

Casi studied him for a long moment, still in doubt as to who he might really be. “Don’t ignore this.”

“Ignore what? Vampires don’t exist. You said it yourself.”

“Then what do you call that?” Casi reached across the table, half-getting out of her chair to do so and yanked the collar away from h is neck, accidentally raking her fingernails over the puncture wounds.

Wincing, Kurt jerked back and put his hand up to touch his neck. This time his fingers came away wet with blood—his blood. He swallowed hard. Was it his imagination or did it look darker than normal. “No.” A searing pain, liquid fire racing through his veins made him flinch. “No.” A memory of a car wreck and a broken chair, the faint scar running the length of his palm. “No.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

He blinked and stared at her for a long moment, then took a paper napkin and wiped his neck. “I’ll take you back to the inn.” He tossed some money on the table to cover their meal. He stood up and crammed the napkin into his jeans’ pocket, reaching for Casi with his free hand and tugging her to her feet. His coat slid from her shoulders as she stood up and a small square box fell out of an inner pocket, clattering to the cobblestone street.

Casi pulled free and bent down to pick up the cardboard box. She flashed back to the ring box in Chad’s room and had to clear her throat. “What’s this?”

Kurt stared at it as it were a deadly cobra. “I....don’t know.”

She pulled the lid off to find a gold necklace nestled on white cotton. The chain was a delicate link, the pendent a stylized letter A. There was nothing odd about the necklace, thought Casi until she saw the blood crusted on the chain and splattered on the pendant. She looked up to see Kurt white as a sheet. Then she saw the pale scar just above his right eyebrow and with startling clarity remembered how he’d gotten it.

Dizziness swept over Kurt and he staggered. The necklace—that was it. She hadn’t worn the necklace—the one she never ever took off. “Ailsa,” he muttered hoarsely, finding the sudden need to sit back down. Had she really come over in nothing but a bra and bikini last night?

Casi squelched the tiny spurt of jealousy at the mention of the woman’s name. “This is hers?”

“Yeah.”

“Who is she?”

Kurt felt cold, but it had nothing to do with the chill air or the lack of a coat. The knock on the door, Ailsa walking in, clad only in skimpy black lingerie and high heels, her skin pale, cold and wet—Ailsa actually biting his neck. There was no such thing as a vampire. He remembered her falling to the floor and swallowed hard. “Probably ought to use the past tense,” he said hoarsely.

Casi nearly dropped the box. “You mean--?”

Kurt nodded his head carefully. The food in his stomach wasn’t digesting too well. He motioned Casi to sit back down. “I want you to pretend I’ve just insulted your honor, your—“ He swallowed convulsively as if his stomach were churning. “—everything. Parentage, virginity, the pedigree of your cat—“

“You mean cats—I have three.”

“Whatever. Then I want you to go back to the inn—“

“You were supposed to take me back.”

“I’ll draw you a map.”

“You look ill. I’m not leaving you here to pass out or something.”

He studied her for a moment. “You don’t owe me anything. Especially not for a meal you didn’t eat.”

“I wasn’t talking about the food. You’re ill. At least let me see you home.”

“No.”

“You are a stubborn idiot, you know that?”

Her tone jarred him and he stared at her. “Is that what you usually say to total strangers.”

“We both know that’s not true...Kurt.”

He blinked. So she knew. “I’m here on business. Business that began elsewhere.” He swallowed hard, trying to ignore the nausea in his stomach. “You need to go.”

She shook her head. “No. Damn it, let me help.”

If he hadn’t been feeling so lousy, he would have laughed—or maybe even cried. How was it she always seemed to appear wherever he was? Like it was fate or something. He groaned inwardly. Be his luck that was exactly what it was. He tried to make his voice harsh. “No. I’ll walk you back to the inn.”

“I can find my own way back there. Let me help.”

He pushed himself to his feet, made certain he was steady and let go of the table. “No.”

Casi stood up as well and glared at him, then flung his coat in his face. “Fine.”

Kurt watched her leave and felt relief that maybe this time she wouldn’t get involved. He picked up his coat and realized at that moment she’d taken the necklace. Oh shit, that wasn’t good. He slowly put on the coat and started for his apartment but soon found himself on the stone steps of the Curtea Veche church. He tilted his head back to look up at the sixteenth-century church and felt another sensation of deja vu. It seemed like years ago, the mass at Notre Dame Cathedral, the monk who gave him the wisdom he’d needed to find her.

He raised his hand to his neck but stopped in mid-move. Vampires did not exist. That was the bottom line. God, he was exhausted from walking the few blocks to the church. He sat down on the stone steps. His head was starting to throb painfully, in concert with his pounding heart. Who would go to all this trouble?

Kurt Varick suddenly found it hard to breathe as he answered his own question. Oh my God. Fear and anger washed through him as he struggled to his feet. He had his answer, after seven months, after actually having forgotten. The wreck on the road to Kilgore—Lilith Raven. Oh God...

He ran both hands over his face in a scrubbing motion. He was so sluggish this morning. That wasn’t like him, he admitted. Damn stubborn idiot indeed, he thought, thinking back to what Casi had said. How the hell had she figured it out so quickly, who he was? The simple cheap watch, the second-hand clothes, the dark hair and beard. The only thing he hadn’t changed were his eyes.

He swallowed hard and gazed at his palm. The scar was a jagged white line now, running diagonally across his palm. He couldn’t see the needleprick but hadn’t really expected to. Joseph MacKensey took a deep breath and decided to return to the apartment he’d rented five months ago under the name Kurt Varick. His head was hurting at the slightest move and there was a roaring in his ears now. He stumbled onto his apartment, feeling like a reeling drunk. He fumbled with his key and managed to unlock the door.

It was cold in here, he realized as he shut the door. He turned on the small room heater and kicked it on high. He fell across his bed and promptly blacked out.

*****

29 October 2003

Bucaresti, Romania

9:11 am

“Damn superstitious people. The least little incident and they freak.”

“Incident? A woman was murdered, Gil. There wasn’t any blood in her entire body. You call that a ‘little incident’?”

“Well, hell, it certainly wasn’t a freaking vampire, Nat.”

Natalya Corwen scowled. “Gilbert, as long as you’ve lived here, I can’t believe your attitude.”

He cocked a dark eyebrow at her. “My attitude?” he asked, incredulously. “Nat, this isn’t 1696, it’s 2003. It’s the new millenium, for God’s sake. Vampires do not exist.” He pointed a finger at her. “It’s a statistical impossibility for vampires to exist.”

Natalya sighed, deciding not to bother anymore. Once Gil, who was half-Gypsy, had his mind set, it would take a ton of explosives to change it. Like her, he had transplanted himself to Bucaresit not long after the new democracy had taken over. She had been born to English parents who had lived in nearby Hungary while Gil’s mother was Romanian Gypsy and his father an American journalist. Both of his parents had settled years ago in America.

She got up from her desk, an open folder in her hand. Once the new government had settled in, openings in various areas had come up, including the police department. Armed with degrees in forensic pathology and criminal psychology, Natalya had found her niche.

“According to the coroner’s report, she was completely bloodless,” said Nat, suddenly all business. “As if someone had sucked it out—“ She caught her partner’s look and amended the rest of the statement. “—with a wet/dry vacuum.”

That made even Gil blanch and Natalya shook her head. “The lack of blookd caused her heart to stop beating thus shutting down the brain waves—“

“Nat,” said Gil, almost pleadingly.

She sighed and closed the folder, and then put it back on her desk. “I won’t say another word.”

“Has she been identified yet?”

“No. She’s still a Jane Doe. Look, Gil, we’ve been here long enough to kow superstition is still like a religion here. What if someone was faking the vampire killing to get rise out of the townspeople, scare them to death or something. Hallow’s Eve is close at hand.”

Gilbert Henerik nodded and stood up. “Exactly. And who would have the most to gain from a stunt like that?”

Natalya grabbed his arm, her hazel eyes worried. “Gil, don’t. He’s a harmless old man. Sueprstitions are all he has left.”

“Harmless? Nat, don’t go soft on me now. Let’s go.”

Natalya heaved a sigh, reached around for her blazer and followed her partner out of police headquarters. No one in the detectives’ division had wanted to work with her initially. Gil had been the one to step up and offer to be her partner, since he had said loud enough for the next region to hear, that the old fogies in the homicide department were sexist Marxist pigs. Still, no one had expected the Corwen-Henerik partnership to last a day much less four years.

She followed him outside and got in the unmarked car, silent, as he started the engine and shifted gears. Gil backed out of his parking space, shifted into drive and pulled into the stream of traffic. Natalya settled in deeper in her seat and as an afterthought buckled her seatbelt.

Roderick Haines lived just out of the city to the west. His rampages about vampires being alive and active had earned him more than one night in a jail cell to cool down. He’d gotten even worse since his great-niece had left the house. Natalya knew deep down, he was harmless. He’d have no reason to kill a beautiful young woman....

*****

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her headed his way. She’d taken a long walk, realized Chad. Somehow he didn’t feel that was a good sign. “Good morning, Cassandra.”

She gave a start, as if waking from a trance. She blinked up at him and then looked around. A relieved look came on her face as she realized she was in front of the inn. She nodded to Chad. “Good morning, Chad.” She saw him gaze across the way and looked that way as well. A few people were milling around as if waiting for something. “What happened?”

“A girl was found dead this morning, her body apparently drained of blood.”

Casi gave him a long, steady look. If she knew nothing else, she knew Chad wasn’t one to make vampire jokes. “Yeah, right, Chad, don’t be ridiculous.”

“The girl’s great uncle said she worked for Dorian Thayer.”

“Who’s that?”

Chad shrugged. “According to the old man, a vampire.”

Casi snorted, about to say something sarcastic when it hit her. The girl....Joe. Oh God, it can’t be true. She swallowed hard. “Where’s the great-uncle?”

Chad shook his head. “Oh no you don’t. We’re not getting involved this time. If we have to leave today, I’ll make sure of that.”

Casi wasn’t too sure she could stay civil if she responded to that, so she started for the Manuc’s lobby. A second later, Chad grabbed her arm and when she looked down, she realized he must have seen the small box. “Cassandra, what’s that?” he asked in an odd tone.

“Oh, nothing.”

He stepped in front of her. Despite a few dents, the box was pretty, obviously homemade. “Cassandra, really. How much did you pay for that trinket?” He reached for it.

Casi jerked it away, causing the pendent to bump the sides of the box. “I didn’t buy it.”

Chad narrowed his eyes. “Well, I bloody doubt you stole it.”

“I found it....while I was walking.”

Chad frowned. “Cassandra, it may be a good idea to stick close to the inn, only go on supervised tours....” He let his voice trail off as she glared at him.

“I can take care of myself.”

Chad glanced around, as if trying to see if anyone was bothering to look their way but no one was. He hated public scenes. “Can you? Six months ago—“

Casi’s head shot up and she glared at him. “Don’t bring that up.”

Chad cleared his throat, shifted his weight from one foot to the other, and then sighed. “Would you care for breakfast then?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Truth was, neither was he. “Very well. Do you wish for a guided tour. I know the guide book said—“

Casi shook her head. “I don’t think so, Chad.”

Chad reached out but she was already entering the inn. He let his hand fall to his side. A lot of fun this trip had turned out to be. Chad heaved a sigh. Maybe a long walk was what he needed.

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The Hardy Boys belong to Simon and Schuster and the Stratemeyer Foundation. The authors have just borrowed them for an adventure or two. The authors promise to put the boys back when they are done with them. The authors do claim copyright to the original characters in this story. Please do not borrow original characters without express permission of the authors.