Forever David's Read online

  Some of the victims now lay on their backs as others kneeled over them and plunged silver, cross-handled blades into their chests. Blood spurted everywhere. Their faces twisted in agony and their screams filled my head. Some instantly went limp and lay peacefully still, while others continued to flail violently and wail before bursting into flames and quickly turned to ash–

  I awoke to the sound of my own scream intermingled with Beethoven’s classic, Fur Elise, my cell phone ring tone.

  It took me a moment to remember where I was and what was happening, but when I did; I lunged for the phone on the coffee table and answered it.

  “Emily!” Benny’s said, his voice sounding as anxious as mine. “Geez! I’ve been calling for like the past three hours! Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, sure. I was just sleeping,” I mumbled, sitting upright and untangling the blanket from around me.

  “Oh. Sorry. I just thought this was sort of a top priority.”

  “Oh, it is. It is. So . . .” I asked, holding my breath.

  “It’s all good. No signs of any drugs in your system.”

  The news should have been a huge relief, but it wasn’t. My mind spun as I struggled to find an explanation that made sense for not only the hallucinations, but the nightmares. And then it came to me. The hallucinations had to have been a post traumatic reaction to being assaulted and the nightmares were just products of my subconscious. I had seen my fair share of vampire flicks and read a few books in my life and since those freaks were a vampire society; my mind just unconsciously intertwined the two and made it all up. It made perfect sense.

  In the silence that followed his report, Benny nervously kept talking. “Well, okay. It’s all good then, right? Okay, well, you’re gonna see that I called your cell like a hundred times. I was just trying, you know–I’m not, like a stalker or anything.”

  “No, of course not,” I said, with a half-laugh. “You were just doing what I had asked.”

  “Yeah, I was,” he gushed, and before he lost his nerve, he quickly added, “Hey, listen, Emily. I know we don’t know each other that well, but I’m here, you know. If you need to talk or just want to hang out or something. You can call anytime. You, ah, definitely have my number now,” he said with a chuckle.

  I was flattered by his less than suave flirting and said I would, although I had no intention of doing so. Thanking him for his help, I hung up the phone and saw that he actually called seventeen times in a three-hour period.

  As I sat there, I realized how unbelievably stupid I was! I had unwittingly walked right into a perilous predicament the night before. One that could’ve had ended badly. Worse than it had.

  And since there’s nothing like a harrowing experience to change one’s perspective, make them appreciate their life and loved ones all that more, I called my mom and made plans to meet for lunch.

  Figuring I should pull myself together, I straight-ened my hair and put some make-up on to make me look a little less dead on my feet.

  When I arrived at our favorite restaurant, mom was already seated, but stood to greet me.

  She was the perfect example of fifty being the new forty phenomena that all the magazines and talk shows were talking about.

  Her make-up was understated as always and her salt and pepper hair was cut and styled in a short and sassy way. A lifetime of healthy eating habits and exercise kept her trim and in better shape than a good percentage of women half her age. And that day, she looked incredible in her high-heeled black boots, dark washed, straight-legged jeans and an emerald colored silk blouse.

  When I hugged her a little longer than usual, she intuitively knew something was wrong. She pulled back and studied me with piercing blue eyes and demanded to know what was bothering me.

  Apparently, I wasn’t masking my trauma very well. Every person I had come in contact with not only noticed something was wrong with me, but actually inquired about my well being. And while I was able to rely on a stranger’s reluctance to get too personal, I knew I wasn’t going to be that lucky with my mom.

  Once Catherine Perkins even suspected her baby was in trouble or distress, she was relentless. She wouldn’t stop until she knew what was wrong and how she could fix it.

  So needless to say, it took some convincing, but I finally got her to accept that I was just tired, and we took our seats.

  During lunch, she told me all about her and dad’s Halloween night and the various adorable costumed trick or treaters who had visited them. While I completely glossed over my mine; obviously, omitting my best friend’s betrayal and the assault by the wannabe vampire club.

  After lunch, I endured a brief parental lecture on the irresponsibility of partying too hard in the middle of a work week, was reminded to dry clean the nurse uniform before returning it, and ordered to go home and take a nap.

  When I got there, the house felt like a walk-in freezer, so I cranked the heat and decided to take another hot shower to warm up.

  I pulled the sweater up and over my head and as I tossed it into the hamper, I noticed a large blackish-purple bruise around the puncture wound.

  When I touched it, David’s face, as vividly as it was in the shower earlier, flashed before my eyes. And after the fourth time touching it and seeing his face like that, I put the sweater back on.

  Within the next ten minutes, I had printed off MapQuest directions to the Blackwell’s house, grabbed my camel colored woolen trench coat, dark green knitted scarf and gloves and was back out the door.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Secret Keeper

  Heavy, gray clouds hung overhead blocking out the afternoon sun as I sped toward Chicago in my little blue Ford Escape.

  I knew going back to the Blackwell house to confront one or both of the brothers was a crazy idea, but I was desperate to know what was really happening to me.

  Why every time I touched the spot where David drank blood from me, it triggered the frightening vision of his face? Why the nightmares seemed so real? Why I was constantly cold?

  I was bundled in my coat and scarf and was wearing my gloves with the heater blasting, but I was still freezing.

  And since I had overheard David telling Robert to tell me only as much of the truth that would ease my immediate concerns, must have meant there was more to be told. More than likely, unpleasant and upsetting things, but more to be told nonetheless.

  And I was determined to find out what that was.

  As I drove through Hyde Park, I noticed that a good number of its residents were out getting their exercise, despite the cold and gloomy weather.

  Children were playing in the yards and riding bi-cycles, skateboards and long boards on the sidewalks and in the streets. Adults serious about their health were jogging, bicycling, power-walking and pushing babies in strollers. Some even pushing babies in strollers while jogging.

  With the detailed directions, I found the house without a hitch and parked right in front. When I reached the gates, I gave them a try, but found them locked.

  Spying an intercom and camera mounted on the left column that I hadn’t noticed the night before; I called the house, all the while looking into the lens.

  I recognized Robert’s voice when he answered and he didn’t sound at all happy to see me. “What the–, what in blue blazes are ya doing here, Miss Emily?”

  “Does David Blackwell live here?”

  “Yes, of course! This is his home,” he replied, his voice sounding angrier by the second.

  “Oh. Well, I thought it was–” I was about to explain that Cara had led me to believe it was Develyn’s house, but realizing the glaring flaw in that, I said, “Ah, never mind. I’d like to speak with him. May I come in?”

  “I’m sorry, Miss Emily, but that tisn’t possible right now. And just to be clear, that means no, I’m not going to let you in.”

  I admit, I was shocked by his response, but not deterred. “Fine. Then you can tell me what I want to know.”

  “But I’ve already told ya
everythin’.”

  “No. No, you didn’t,” I gently argued. “I over-heard David speaking to you last night and I’d like to come in and ask you some questions about all my new immediate concerns.”

  When he didn’t reply, I pressed the button and spoke clearly and loudly into the speaker, “Did you hear me? I’m not leaving here until you tell me everything, Robert!”

  I let up on the button and waited for a reply, but when he didn’t, I pressed it again and sing-songed a very annoyed, “Hel-lo” into it.

  I heard a voice call from far down the driveway and when I looked, I saw Robert hurrying toward me. As he neared, I noticed that he looked similar to the way he had the night before. He had on a pair of worn sandals with white socks, faded jeans, a maroon paisley shirt with a large collar, and his hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

  When he reached me, he was a little winded and a whole lot perturbed. He looked down the sidewalk in both directions to make sure the coast was clear before he spoke.

  “Should I assume your presence means the police will be paying us a visit as well?” he said, sounding particularly Irish.

  Flushing with embarrassment at having my threat rightfully thrown back in my face, I replied with an apologetic smile and said, “No. I’m alone.”

  He peered suspiciously at me through his still bloodshot eyes and said, “What, exactly, do ya remember from last night?”

  “Aah, everything. And then some.”

  “Like what, exactly?” he repeated anxiously.

  Spying one of those super moms, in black shorts and pink sweatshirt and pushing a red and black all terrain stroller jogging our way, I stepped closer to the gates and whispered, “I’m cold. Freezing cold all of the time. And I’m seeing things. Horrible things. And not just in my dreams.”

  Robert’s eyes narrowed and his big mustache twitched. He fished the skeleton key out of his jeans pocket and unlocked the gates. Opening the right-hand side, he flung out his arm. “Please, Miss Emily, won’t ya come inside and have a cup of coffee,” he offered loudly as the woman neared.

  “Why thank you. I would love to, but I’m sorry, I don’t drink coffee,” I replied just as loudly as the woman entered my peripheral view.

  Nodding kindly to the woman as she bounced by, he continued, “How about a hot cup of tea, then?”

  “Well, I don’t care for tea either,” I replied, and before she was out of earshot, I said, “Just a glass of water would be fine.”

  “Of course. Do come in.”

  As Robert closed and locked the gates behind us, I felt a sudden surge of panic. “Is that really necessary?”

  He looked at the gate and back at me with raised eyebrows. “Aye. Mr. David insists that the gates are to remain locked at all times. So, if that tis to be a deal breaker, then I guess I’ll be biddin’ you a good afternoon right now.”

  I’ll admit, I briefly thought about abandoning the whole thing, but with a defeated sigh, I said, “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

  Even in the dreary light of the day, the big old house that had spooked me the night before now looked like any typical home you would find in a historic neighborhood.

  It was a large brick house with steep, pointed gables that were all topped with black and gray asphalt shingled roofs. On the front of the house there were several tall and narrow single windows and two banks of cathedral windows, one set of four on the first floor on the left and another set of three, on the third floor to the right, just above the front porch. All were trimmed with simple moldings painted white.

  The property it sat on looked to be the size of four residential lots with the house being set far back from the street, but centered from the sides. The converted brick carriage house that now served as a three-car garage, sat further back and to its right.

  Six giant trees with bared branches stood throughout the expansive lawns on both sides of the drive. All the flower-beds, shrubs, and the tall hedge that ran along the wrought iron fence surrounding the property were obviously well maintained and currently prepared for the coming winter.

  As we walked down the drive, I could tell by Robert’s furrowed brow and twitching mustache that he was worried and anxious and in an attempt to ease the tension, I began making small talk.

  “Beautiful house.”

  “Aye, it tis,” he said looking straight ahead.

  “Nice grounds.”

  “Thank you. Tis a lot of work.”

  “You’re the gardener, then?”

  “Aye.”

  “Are you the butler too?”

  “Aye.”

  “The driver?”

  “Aye.”

  “Cook?”

  “No.”

  “Mr. David’s cantankerous body guard,” I asked, sliding a glance his way.

  “Aye. Whenever an occasion calls for it,” he said, his mustache lifting with a smile.

  With that, the tension broke and he looked over at me, as if studying a foreign creature, and said, “You really don’t drink coffee or tea, then?”

  “No. It’s the caffeine. I really don’t need it, I’m high strung enough as it is.”

  With a snort of mock disbelief, Robert smartly replied, “No, ya don’t say.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Truth Revealed, but Rejected

  As I stepped through the front door, it was hard to imagine it was the same house from the night before.

  The now empty foyer wasn’t the least bit fore-boding. In fact, it was very beautiful.

  The walls were painted an elegant emerald green and were trimmed in wide dark base boards and elaborate crown moldings at the ceiling. The grand staircase was constructed of the same dark wood and had twin fluted newel posts at the foot of the stairs and matching balustrades all the way up. A tall, very old looking, grandfather clock with a cherry wood body and a golden engraved face stood beside the front door. Overhead, hung a large chandelier dripping with teardrop shaped crystals and beneath our feet were black and white marble tiles in a checkerboard pattern.

  I followed Robert to the parlor. It was the room where I had first seen him, David, and the cowgirl speaking, and it too, didn’t resemble the dark and scary place I remembered from the party.

  It was a large and airy room that was decorated in a very masculine and minimalist style. The high ceiling was a grid of oak beams and sunken panels with another crystal-dripping chandelier hanging from the center. The hardwood floor was high polished oak and a large, golden tasseled, round Persian rug of predominantly gold, brown, black and blue was laid at its center.

  Champaign and chocolate brown striped wall-paper covered the walls and floor-to-ceiling sky-blue brocade drapes were tied back at the bank of tall windows facing the front yard.

  The furnishings were a combination of antique and modern pieces. All of the assorted tables that were stationed nearby and among all the seating pieces were antiques of golden oak. Atop them, sat various bronzed based Tiffany lamps with colorful stained-glass shades that were all shining brightly. There were six overstuffed, wing-backed, black leather chairs paired off in each corner of the room and two dark-brown leather sofas sat parallel from the fireplace.

  The large fireplace, with its wide oak mantel and intricately carved surround, dominated the far wall and above it, hung the only artwork in the room.

  It was an old family portrait in a fancy gilded frame. I wanted to step closer and get a better look at it, but Robert stopped me when he asked if he could take my coat.

  “No, thank you. I’m cold. Freezing cold,” I said pointedly.

  He nodded. “Sorry, I forgot. Could I make you a cup of hot chocolate,” he offered kindly.

  “No, thank you. Just the water, please.”

  As he left, I removed my gloves and set them, along with my purse, down on the coffee table. I took a seat on the very edge of the sofa and from there, I studied the portrait.

  The subjects in it were a family of dark haired, stern-faced parents sitting facing one an
other, while a pretty, yet expressionless, young girl of ten or so with auburn hair stood behind them. Seated in front, were dour looking, dark-haired twin boys of six or seven. All were dressed in solemn dark clothes that, although probably their finest, looked itchy and uncomfortable.

  Robert returned with a bottle of water and a steaming hot cup of coffee for himself. He handed me the water and set his cup and saucer down on the coffee table before he went to the fireplace. I suspected that he was stalling for time and my patience was running low, so I said, “You don’t have to do that on my account. I’ll be fine. I’ll just keep my coat on.”

  “If you’d prefer, but I always build a fire this time of the day. Mr. David likes to see the hearth ablaze when he enters the room,” he said, opening a hidden compartment beside the fireplace.

  I opened the bottle and took a sip as I watched him make quick work of stacking the logs and starting the fire. As soon as it began to snap and pop and the smell of smoke filled the air, he came over and sat down on the sofa across from me.

  By now, I was sure he stalling and I sighed pointedly as he leisurely took a sip of his coffee. “Now, Miss Emily,” he began, placing his cup back on the saucer, “tell me exactly what’s been happenin’ to ya,” he said, planting his elbows on his knees and leveling his gaze on me.

  “Well, I’m not sure, exactly. I took a drug test this morning, but the results indicated there was nothing in my system. And, well like I said at the gate, I’m freezing cold all the time. I‘ve had some nightmares that, you, you just could not imagine and . . . I’ve even had some full on, visual and auditory hallucinations.”

  As I was voicing my complaints, he was silently nodding, like a doctor would, and when I was finished he said, “Well there tis an explanation, but I’m not sure how reasonable you’ll be findin’ it.”