The Vampires' Last Lover (Dying of the Dark Vampires Book 1) (44 page)

“Sure. But it’s true. I never saw or heard from it again, and neither did anybody else from what I gather.”

“Ah-huh. Well, at the very least it’s an experience few people on this planet will ever share. We may come back to it, but for now let’s move on. The next thing we’ve got here is the fact your historic antebellum home was completely destroyed by a tornado less than thirty-six hours later. Pretty weird sequence of events, right?”

“Yeah, most folks should agree on that.”

“I’ll bet most people would find it strange that only your house was destroyed. Your neighbors, the Palmers, suffered minimal damage. But there wasn’t a single thing left intact in your yard other than an old tool shed in the back. Correct?”

Something in Peter’s demeanor shifted slightly. The agent was on a covert mission and Jack worried about his role in the journey.

I wish he’d quit talking about this shit! Leave it in the past, man!

“Correct,” he finally answered.

“You, your brother, and your grandfather fled. At some point, the tornado overtook you, and hurled your vehicle into a field less than a mile away. What do you remember about that experience?”

“Actually, not a whole lot,” said Jack, determined to be less accommodating.

“Please tell me what you recall.”

“Well, it’s pretty hazy, other than jumping into Jeremy’s truck and speeding down Lelan’s Way. The tornado snatched us from behind before we made it to Baileys Bend Road. The last thing I remember was crashing into a ditch in the field. I didn’t regain consciousness for three weeks.”

Peter watched him, absently clicking a pen. Jack took the opportunity to speed things up, anxious to finish the interview.

“We recovered enough to visit what was left of our place, and it surprised us the tool shed was still standing. We lived with my uncle and aunt in Tuscaloosa for the time being. Once I saw the barren plot of land, I realized we’d never come back to live.

“Almost immediately, some dudes started following us. They looked like y’all. Dark sunglasses, stiff business suits and driving nice sedans, hard as hell to tell one from another. When we learned what’d happened to Sheriff McCracken and Carl Peterson, we figured they had something to do with it.

“The uninvited surveillance lasted until my freshman year in college, and then it stopped. Until this week.”

“Anything else you want to add to that, Jack?” asked Peter, frowning.

“Nope. That pretty much sums things up.”

Agent McNamee rubbed his eyes and sighed. For the moment he remained seated, still studying Jack. The silence quickly grew uncomfortable for Peter, however. He stood up and paced slowly across the room. Jack watched intently, praying to be set free. Intuition said otherwise, and a moment later Peter resumed his interrogation.

“I realize some of what we’ve discussed so far is unpleasant,” he said as he returned. “But I can’t stress enough how imperative it is you share what you know with me. It may seem like very little connects your past experiences with the most recent one involving Dr. Mensch. Though, I think you’d be surprised.”

He stood next to Jack, smiling as if he held some dark secret and was going to share it. Instead, though, Peter held off, perhaps waiting for the right opportunity.

“You know, there were witnesses among your neighbors who saw the tornado,” he continued. He sat on the edge of the table and leaned forward. The agent’s cologne, an expensive Ralph Lauren blend, filled Jack’s nostrils. “The Palmers swore they watched the twister blast through your house before turning on a dime to follow as you raced down Lelan’s Way in Jeremy’s truck. They watched it turn and come back after it tossed his vehicle into the field.

“Now, it may have been extremely foolhardy and dangerous, but Jesse and Linda Sue Palmer ignored the safety of their storm cellar to witness the tornado methodically obliterate everything. Except, of course, the tool shed. We’ve already agreed that your home being the sole target of the tornado was very weird. I’m not professing either of us are experts in meteorology or what is considered typical tornado behavior. But, doesn’t the fact this particular tornado came back and took a
second
pass seem preposterous to you?”

Sweat formed in tiny droplets above Jack’s temples and along his spine. He never knew the neighbors witnessed the horrifying events in the early morning darkness that fateful day. According to what he’d been told, no one living along Lelan’s Way ever came forward.

“I see it in your face, Jack. You’re holding out on me,” Peter chuckled. “Well, that’s fine, because I’ve got all night if need be.”

He stood up and returned to his chair. Before sitting, he took the two large books and held them so Jack could read the covers. Both were worn, one smaller and appeared much older.

“These two volumes are fairly old. I’d be willing to bet my life you’d love to get your hands on either one, if you knew what they were. The one on the right is the detailed journal of a man named Dr. Nathaniel Stratton, originally from Murfreesboro, Tennessee, but whose life took him throughout the world. He spent quite a bit of time in Carlsdale. His brother owned the farm that later belonged to the Johnson’s, the same place where that footprint was photographed.”

Jack stiffened noticeably. He’d seen the books, both interesting merely because they were old. Anxious for an opportunity to cut short the interview, he hadn’t bothered to get a closer look at either faded title. A look of recognition slipped through before he could hide it.

“Well I’ll be damned, Jack, we might finally be getting somewhere. I see you’re familiar with the name, Dr. Nathaniel Stratton. There’s a lot of interesting information in this journal. Much of which, I might add, pertains to your grandfather. It spans more than fifty years, from 1896 until his disappearance under mysterious circumstances in 1952.”

He laid the journal down and turned his attention to the other, smaller book.

“This is much older than Dr. Stratton’s journal. It’s basically a collection of local legends from Louisiana, Mississippi, and Alabama. Each one is at least one hundred and fifty years old. Believe it or not, there’s stuff about your family’s history. Even some pretty interesting things about the founding of the town of Carlsdale in the late 1700’s.”

He stopped, obviously gauging Jack’s reaction, who couldn’t hide his fascination with the worn, black, leather-bound book.

“There’s a tale about your grandpa’s great-great-grandfather, Sherman Edwards. It might appeal to you since it describes, in detail, the personal challenges he went through in rebuilding the plantation home you grew up in. Did you know it was built on the very same spot where a previous house of your family once stood?”

Speechless, Jack shook his head.

“Most folks would find stories containing dragons, witches, and the like to be pure fantasy. That’s why both of these books were locked up and nearly forgotten in our Richmond archives. We’ve already discussed a dragon tonight, and there’s a piece of it on the table. So, what most folks think doesn’t apply. Right?”

“Yes, sir,” Jack replied, his respect for Peter slowly growing.

“Your house was built upon another’s foundation. Can you venture a guess as to the only thing still standing from the original structure?”

“Oh, my God!” Jack blurted, instantly ashamed of his inability to control his emotions. “The tool shed?”

“Yes. The tool shed.”

“Would you mind if I take a quick look at that?” Jack reached for the book.

“Uh-uh-uh,” Peter chided, waving his index finger. He removed the books from the table, placing them inside the attaché.

“Why in hell did you do that??” Jack’s face flushed with fury. He stood hastily, almost toppling his chair. “I mean, why go and tell me about that shit if you weren’t intending for me read it?”

Peter motioned to calm down and return to his seat. Jack sullenly returned to his chair.

“I’d love nothing better than for you to read each volume at your leisure, Jack. But, there’s much I need to learn first. Not so much about Dr. Mensch as I do about what really happened in July almost eight years ago. We’ve only scratched the surface so far, and I’d give anything to hear the rest. If you’ll trust me with what you’ve kept hidden, I’ll let you look over the books for as long as you like.”

Jack slowly leaned back against his chair, curiously eyeing Peter.

What in the hell do you really want from me?

Everything on the table engendered a bevy of questions. He couldn’t shake the feeling Peter was after something specific and different.

After considering the proposal, he shook his head. He wasn’t sharing any more information. Whatever Peter and his pals gathered until now would have to suffice, regardless of the book offer.

“Why are you so reluctant? What have you got to hide? What could possibly be so important to keep it bottled up for so long?”

Jack looked down at his distorted reflection in the table’s surface. He sighed and defiantly shook his head.

“You’d never understand,” he said, sadly. “Unless you’d been there yourself, there’d be no way in hell you’d
ever
get it!”

The sadness underscoring his heated tone revealed the terrible burden he carried. Peter stood, moving to him. He stooped to his knees, and peered up into the trembling young man’s face. He slowly brought his arm around. Perhaps to comfort Jack, but Peter stopped short, resting his arm on the back of Jack’s chair.

“Jack, I have my own reasons for wanting to know. I’m about to take a huge risk that could cost me dearly. Beyond the exposure of my personal demons, it could cost my livelihood. That’s how badly I need to know everything. You’ll see my hell and yours are
connected
. Perhaps in ways you would never imagine.”

Jack faced him, eyes narrowing in an effort to discern the true depth of sincerity. Agent McNamee appeared on the verge of tears, himself. A volatile mixture of bitter sorrow and anger seemed to bubble and boil within the agent’s eyes, melding together into dark pools of sadness.

“Does the name Bobby Northrop mean anything to you?”

Peter remained in his awkward stance, peering into Jack’s face. Jack gave no indication he had any idea what the agent just asked him.

“I’m going to take a chance and assume you have heard the name. Even if for some reason you haven’t, I hope you’ll bear with me as I tell the story. Can you do that for me?”

Jack nodded.

“All right.” Peter paused. “About three months after the destruction of your home in Carlsdale, Bobby Northrop celebrated his ninth birthday. Until that day, he was a beautiful and happy child. His parents recently purchased a magnificent home in Shipley Farms, located near the edge of Bienville National Forest. That’s just to the east of Jackson, Mississippi. Ever been there, Jack?”

“No. I can’t say that I have.” Jack quietly wondered where the detour led.

“Yeah, I guess it’s most likely you haven’t.” Peter sighed, gazing briefly toward the wall to his right. “I suppose you haven’t been out of the state of Alabama much. Except for baseball and your recent journey here.”

Jack chuckled weakly.

“Well, the day promised to be special. And, it did turn out to be an extraordinary day, though not for the reasons anyone hoped. Bobby’s parents, Robert Northrop Sr. and his wife, Eileen, had prepared quite an event for Bobby. Maybe because their little boy’s birthday was the first to be celebrated in their fabulous new home.

“Kids everywhere, the main level of the house decorated with expensive garlands and balloons. You may have seen a video of the event later on CNN and the major networks, as Robert recorded it with his camcorder. Bobby looked up and smiled after blowing out the last candle on his birthday cake. His eyes sparkled with excitement.”

Peter’s voice trailed off and he looked down. He shifted his weight, and looked into Jack’s face again. Tears welled in his eyes.

“As soon as the cake was cut and everybody had their fill, Bobby’s parents took him outside to open his birthday gifts, stacked high on the back deck. Are you familiar with Raven Wolff?”

“Yeah,” Jack replied, thinking of the cartoon superhero. He cleared his throat. “That was all the rage back then, I remember.”

“Yes it was,” Peter responded thoughtfully. “It’s pretty much all little Bobby talked about. For his birthday present, his mom and dad splurged and bought him a Tower Den Clubhouse. Are you familiar with that, also?”

“Complete with the double slides on either end?
That
Tower Den??”

Jack remembered how much he’d wanted one.

“Yes, that Tower Den. Bobby’s dad and uncle, Lawrence Northrop, spent the better part of two days setting it up. How they kept Bobby from finding it before his birthday celebration is a story in itself. It truly was a magnificent piece of equipment.”

“I would’ve died for one of those things when I was a kid,” Jack admitted. “But, no way in hell would Grandpa shell out two grand for something like that.”

“It may have been pricey, but the thing was definitely worth it, you have to admit. It had the spiral slides and all kinds of other fun stuff, and could keep twenty kids occupied for hours. I thought the coolest thing was the clubhouse, fifteen feet above the ground and large enough to hold five or six kids at once. You could only reach that part by way of a rope ladder or a striped fire pole. Hell, if it wasn’t for all of the outdated Raven Wolff insignias plastered across the damned thing, I’m sure any kid would still dig it now.”

Peter paused, a dreamy look on his face.

“As soon as Bobby discovered the surprise birthday gift waiting in the backyard, he went nuts, thrusting his fists in the air as he ran screaming and dancing to the Tower Den. All the other kids converged and remained until each one’s parents arrived later that afternoon to pick them up.

“Around four o’clock the temperature started to drop. Once Bobby’s aunts, uncles, and cousins left, he and his older sister, Jenny Northrop, went inside. Jenny decided to remain inside and visit with her grandparents from New Orleans. Before long, she went upstairs to play Bobby’s PlayStation with her eighteen-year old uncle, who came up from New Orleans with her grandparents. Meanwhile, Bobby grabbed a jacket and ran outside. On the way out, he picked up the Raven Wolff mask, cape, and glove-claws his sister gave him.”