The fall colors blended into a kaleidoscopic design as Jack’s BMW, at close to airlift speed, rocketed through the New England countryside. Nature’s valiant though wasted effort to gain the attention of two men with fairly weighty issues on their minds.
“Jonathan?”
Clara’s father withdrew from his musings to give his son-in-law the attention he was due.
“Humor me, okay?—I need you to tell me again that there’s nothing to worry about—no danger to the girls while we’re away.”
“There’s no danger to the girls,” Jonathan said. “Even were she in the city and strolling arm in arm between the two of them and down the avenue, she’d make no move. In the daylight hours, it would be pointless. Those powers of hers—call them supernatural for want of a better term—are rendered impotent beneath the sun’s cleansing rays. Plus, showing herself during the day, due to her greatly diminished strength, puts her at risk; and they’re not risk takers—the walking dead.”
“Then I don’t understand what makes you think she’s just sitting around waiting for us to come knocking on her door. Risk-taking aside, the one thing she didn’t impress me as was stupid.”
“You’re right, she’s as cunning as they come. But one never knows; and if perchance senility’s set in and she’s basking quietly at home, I’ll happily avail myself of a rare opportunity. However, putting her out of her misery isn’t the reason we’re making the trip. You see, Jack, we play a sort of deadly game of ‘hide and seek,’ she and I. And in order to get the games off to a rollicking good start, she’ll have left word for me as to when and where I might expect to find her. Rather sporting of her, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “She’s a saint.”
Arrived at Mrs. Trollope’s country home, Jack reached over and pulled an Army issue, Colt forty-five, semi-automatic handgun out of the glove compartment.
“Wolves,” he said, at Jonathan’s questioning look.
“They won’t bother us. They keep the same hours she does.”
“Well, if nobody minds,” Jack said, opening his door, “I’ll take it anyway.” And slipped it in his belt behind his back.
“It’s through there,” Jack said, nodding toward a path so densely overgrown it could scarcely be made out. “There’s no way we’d have seen it in the dark, except that her light was on, upstairs, in the garret.”
“Yes, it would have been. It was the Night of Dread, you see, and it was in the stars that you’d be dropping by.”
“Remind me to ask you about that later,” Jack said, as the two men set foot upon the path; and as if swallowed by the foliage, they disappeared from sight.
“Looks like we won’t be needing this,” Jack said, referring to the crowbar in his hand. The storm-cellar door, for which it had been intended, was left in open disrepair—the first indication that she hadn’t bothered waiting around for them.
The trap-door, wide open, was the second. Left that way, no doubt, to let them know she wasn’t about to let herself be taken quite so easily.
The third and conclusive sign was the neatly folded sheet of personalized stationery which—inside an otherwise empty coffin—lay upon a red satin pillow. With a despondent sigh, Jack let his head fall limply forward. For no matter what he’d expected, still he’d hoped against hope that she’d be there.
“What did I tell you?” Jonathan said, after a quick glance at the note. “Listen to this:
“Dearest Jonathan,
“Forgive me for not receiving you properly, but my reluctance to renew old friendships during daylight hours need hardly be explained. Nevertheless, I can’t help feeling a bit remiss; and if you’ll drop by my apartment in the city, tonight, say sometime after seven?—I’ll try to make it up to you.
“Oh yes, one other thing. Do be a dear and give your noble son-in-law a message for me. It is as follows: Fret not, my child, that your sweet wife will soon belong to me. For where she goes, so shall you follow.
“As ever,
“Constance.”
“Dearest Jonathan?” was Jack’s astonished reaction. “As ever, Constance?”
Even given the circumstances, Jonathan couldn’t help but be amused.
“I suppose some might find it bizarre, being on a first-name basis with a vampire. But what you must realize is that we go back a long way together, the Countess Constance Trollope and I; a rather lengthy and involved story which, if you’re curious, you shall have.”
With a comforting hand placed on his son-in-law’s shoulder, Jonathan said, “We have to get back, son. We don’t want the girls worrying needlessly.”
“Forgive me,” Jack said, his anguish having turned to something that few men would have chosen to tangle with. “I don’t remember the last time I let something get to me. I doubt if you’ll see anything like this again.”
“Considering what it is that hangs in the balance, you’re entitled. As for asking my forgiveness about this, or, for that matter, anything—I’d rather you didn’t do it again.”
______________________________________________________________________
If you’ll go to rembrandtpublishing.com, you’ll find the start of what’s been called a vampire novel like none since Dracula. You’ll also find the location of chapter 9, part 2, posted there.
Brought to you by Jim Humble’s Miracle Mineral Solution. For without it I doubt I’d have stuck around long enough to tell the tale.
“Jonathan?”
Clara’s father withdrew from his musings to give his son-in-law the attention he was due.
“Humor me, okay?—I need you to tell me again that there’s nothing to worry about—no danger to the girls while we’re away.”
“There’s no danger to the girls,” Jonathan said. “Even were she in the city and strolling arm in arm between the two of them and down the avenue, she’d make no move. In the daylight hours, it would be pointless. Those powers of hers—call them supernatural for want of a better term—are rendered impotent beneath the sun’s cleansing rays. Plus, showing herself during the day, due to her greatly diminished strength, puts her at risk; and they’re not risk takers—the walking dead.”
“Then I don’t understand what makes you think she’s just sitting around waiting for us to come knocking on her door. Risk-taking aside, the one thing she didn’t impress me as was stupid.”
“You’re right, she’s as cunning as they come. But one never knows; and if perchance senility’s set in and she’s basking quietly at home, I’ll happily avail myself of a rare opportunity. However, putting her out of her misery isn’t the reason we’re making the trip. You see, Jack, we play a sort of deadly game of ‘hide and seek,’ she and I. And in order to get the games off to a rollicking good start, she’ll have left word for me as to when and where I might expect to find her. Rather sporting of her, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “She’s a saint.”
Arrived at Mrs. Trollope’s country home, Jack reached over and pulled an Army issue, Colt forty-five, semi-automatic handgun out of the glove compartment.
“Wolves,” he said, at Jonathan’s questioning look.
“They won’t bother us. They keep the same hours she does.”
“Well, if nobody minds,” Jack said, opening his door, “I’ll take it anyway.” And slipped it in his belt behind his back.
“It’s through there,” Jack said, nodding toward a path so densely overgrown it could scarcely be made out. “There’s no way we’d have seen it in the dark, except that her light was on, upstairs, in the garret.”
“Yes, it would have been. It was the Night of Dread, you see, and it was in the stars that you’d be dropping by.”
“Remind me to ask you about that later,” Jack said, as the two men set foot upon the path; and as if swallowed by the foliage, they disappeared from sight.
“Looks like we won’t be needing this,” Jack said, referring to the crowbar in his hand. The storm-cellar door, for which it had been intended, was left in open disrepair—the first indication that she hadn’t bothered waiting around for them.
The trap-door, wide open, was the second. Left that way, no doubt, to let them know she wasn’t about to let herself be taken quite so easily.
The third and conclusive sign was the neatly folded sheet of personalized stationery which—inside an otherwise empty coffin—lay upon a red satin pillow. With a despondent sigh, Jack let his head fall limply forward. For no matter what he’d expected, still he’d hoped against hope that she’d be there.
“What did I tell you?” Jonathan said, after a quick glance at the note. “Listen to this:
“Dearest Jonathan,
“Forgive me for not receiving you properly, but my reluctance to renew old friendships during daylight hours need hardly be explained. Nevertheless, I can’t help feeling a bit remiss; and if you’ll drop by my apartment in the city, tonight, say sometime after seven?—I’ll try to make it up to you.
“Oh yes, one other thing. Do be a dear and give your noble son-in-law a message for me. It is as follows: Fret not, my child, that your sweet wife will soon belong to me. For where she goes, so shall you follow.
“As ever,
“Constance.”
“Dearest Jonathan?” was Jack’s astonished reaction. “As ever, Constance?”
Even given the circumstances, Jonathan couldn’t help but be amused.
“I suppose some might find it bizarre, being on a first-name basis with a vampire. But what you must realize is that we go back a long way together, the Countess Constance Trollope and I; a rather lengthy and involved story which, if you’re curious, you shall have.”
With a comforting hand placed on his son-in-law’s shoulder, Jonathan said, “We have to get back, son. We don’t want the girls worrying needlessly.”
“Forgive me,” Jack said, his anguish having turned to something that few men would have chosen to tangle with. “I don’t remember the last time I let something get to me. I doubt if you’ll see anything like this again.”
“Considering what it is that hangs in the balance, you’re entitled. As for asking my forgiveness about this, or, for that matter, anything—I’d rather you didn’t do it again.”
______________________________________________________________________
If you’ll go to rembrandtpublishing.com, you’ll find the start of what’s been called a vampire novel like none since Dracula. You’ll also find the location of chapter 9, part 2, posted there.
Brought to you by Jim Humble’s Miracle Mineral Solution. For without it I doubt I’d have stuck around long enough to tell the tale.
