And To Cherish (6 page)

“Samson!”

The cry came from her heart, burning her breast. It tore through her throat. And then it brought tears to her eyes. It also lifted her, but a restraining arm prevented her from rising far. She dropped a few inches back onto her gunnysack-covered liner. What had happened? Was she back in the mausoleum? And how?

“Ah. Cherish. Good. I see you’ve decided to awaken after all.”

“Akron?”

“In the flesh. Calm, now. You’re not quite finished with your platelets.”

“My what?”

“Transfusion. You lost a bit of fluid. We’ve been replacing it.”

“Hey! Sir! Did she say John?”

The sound of footsteps thumped across a floor, penetrating the wooden walls of her coffin, shaking the flimsy structure.

“Your hearing is not quite correct, Nigel. She said Samson. I believe that means you lost.”

“Dang it! Why can’t it ever be the kid? Huh? Is that too much to ask?”

“What kid?” Cherish asked.

“The intern. I’ll explain. We knew your mate worked at the bird sanctuary. We also knew he’d been at the fund raiser. That meant it could be, either a pompous fellow named Larry, who is the director on the board of trustees, a photogenic and much vaunted Ornithologist named Samson, or a young intern, John. We didn’t have much to go on. Even the Hunters have been reticent on naming him on their communications network, although the moment they mentioned his lengthy hair, I was certain. Nigel was not. He tends to hope for different outcomes in situations, even when given evidence.”

Hunters had Samson?
Cherish jolted upward again. Akron stopped her.

“Calm yourself, Cherish. Please. Or I will cease my explanations for now.”

“But the Hunters have him!”

“True. It doesn’t mean much at the moment, however. They haven’t even advanced to the stage where they talk to him about being bait. In the event you survived their attack, that is. He isn’t being harmed. They are showing an immense amount of patience actually, if you ask me.”

“They are?”

“He’s a scientist. Scientists seem to be born stubborn. Judgmental. Closed-minded. It’s rather entertaining, actually. Apparently, he’s refusing to believe we exist, despite their pharmaceutical persuasion techniques and video proof. Their communiqués are quite amusing. Besides, we can’t do anything until nightfall. You have at least an hour.”

“Where are we?”

“Inferno Suite. St. Louis. Millennium Hotel. It’s quite nice still, although the amenities are not what they used to be.”

“Amenities?”

“You know. Electricity. Running water. That sort of thing. The structure closed last year. Pity. Although...it is provident that there isn’t anyone about to notice odd happenings in the penthouse area. Things such as coffins being carried in through the balcony.”

“You moved my coffin?”

“Had to. Someone I know gave her name and address to a certain scientist. He gave that information to the Hunters earlier today. Couldn’t risk their actually getting lucky and locating it. Oh. And I had to see to it personally. Nigel doesn’t have enough solar protection yet.”

“Samson...told them where to find me?”

“Oh. Not on purpose. They were using sodium thiopental on him. He is now suffering a case of hiccups that will not cease. That’s a side-effect of the so-called ‘truth’ drug. He was not amused. Consequently, he is even more uncooperative. I told you their communiqués are amusing. And it was for nothing. You weren’t in the gravesite, and he still refuses to believe in vampires, even when it’s on video.”

“Video?”

“Scientists are amazingly close-minded. Even with video proof, they refuse to believe in anything paranormal. They will never admit to aliens. Ghosts. Creatures such as Bigfoot. Vampires. Werewolves. The Hunters took video of their foray into Bellefontaine Cemetery. The gravesite register. Your old plot. They recorded their shoveling efforts to uncover your coffin. All in vain, of course. They failed to locate anything of use, while that scientist mate of yours? He still refuses to believe. I think the Hunters are trying hypnosis next. I don’t think it will work, either. Nigel? Has the helicopter arrived yet?”

“Nope.”

“Oh. Very well. Keep me posted. They’re due momentarily.”

“Are we going to demolish the Millennium Hotel?”

“Not hardly.”

“Not even the top floors? That would be so cool.”

“We don’t blow up buildings without reason, Nigel.”

“How about training? That’s a reason.”

Akron sighed. The sound reverberated. And then he spoke, almost under his breath, only on Akron, that was still perfectly audible.

“And yet he wonders why I don’t assign him to a 4-D Team.”

“Yeah. Why don’t you, Sir?”

“You are not quite...mature enough. I’d have unnecessary demolitions. And the more times you draw attention to things, the higher the chances of discovery.”

“Not mature enough?”

“Check on the helicopter again, will you, Nigel?”

“On it.”

Quick footsteps sounded through her coffin walls again. As if he jogged. The Inferno Suite must be large. Cherish toyed with verifying it, but didn’t care. Her head was spinning oddly. Her mouth was dry. Despite the blood transfusion, she felt weak. Disoriented. Her reanimated heart was pumping out throbs of pain. Debilitating. Burning.

“How did you know I needed help?” she asked.

“Well, I didn’t know you were going to be jettisoned out the side of a building affixed to a pane of unbreakable glass. That was a surprise.”

“And a heck of a catch, Sir!”

Nigel was back. Akron groaned.

“Well...it looks like we’ve got time for the explanation. And I have zero avenues left to escape. Despite how this pains, I have to say it. The reason I knew you were in need of rescue is because Nigel Beethan has a continual and never-ending proclivity at failure to follow orders. And this time, it was so beneficial, I cannot even remonstrate him for it.”

“What?”

“Have you heard of the Abyss Link?”

“Only when you two spoke of it. Earlier.”

“I’ll explain without going into too much historical detail. Back before what became known as the Industrial Revolution, I became intrigued by all the technology that was being created. I had a lot of time on my hands and something I needed to cease focusing on. So, I turned my attention to communications. All the new developments. I hired the best minds and I paid top dollar. Remember that, you two. You don’t have to be the smartest person in any field, just make certain to hire them. So. I had the Abyss Link designed. It’s a system for accessing and hacking every data stream and communication network that might arise
before
it’s placed into service. The Abyss Link is updated consistently. Monitored for breaks. It’s hidden but still vulnerable. Every network is open to attack every time it goes online. That’s why I limit access to it. And monitor it. I don’t allow associates to use it to check on social network sites.”

“Good thing I did, though. Right, Sir?”

Akron sighed again. “After we spoke with you, Cherish, I moved onto other business. I assumed Nigel – who had already been grounded from the Abyss Link for unauthorized searches – would shut it down. I was wrong. He was surfing the Hunter network for a certain person who shall remain nameless, when he came across their newest communication network. Smart group, the Beethan clan. We hadn’t even known they were working on something like this. I believe they call it Python. I could be wrong. In any case, Nigel hacked into it and accessed their communications. They were mobilizing a force in St. Louis. With orders to hunt and kill a female vampire and her possible mate. Well. You had just called from St. Louis with this scenario. We knew exactly who they were targeting. Nigel came and got me. And here we are. Now you see my predicament. I can’t even punish him. He managed to discover the Hunter’s new system
and
prevent your demise. About the only thing he hasn’t done yet is to mount a rescue of your mate. I may have to give him a commendation or something.”

“Excuse me? Mount a rescue? Me?” Nigel asked.

“Ah. I hear the helicopter. Good. Nigel. See them in. It’s time to prepare.”

A rush of air and the sound of rotors filled the chamber. Cherish sat. Swiveled to watch as lights flashed into the area and then several associates walked through the billowing black drapery. The suite looked extremely large. Especially since the only furniture was a folding table, accompanying chairs, and her coffin.

“What the heck? These clothes are really going to look stupid on you, Sir. And what’s with the blond wigs?”

“Why don’t you go and change while I decipher their latest access code.”

“The clothes are for me? Ugh. I’m going to look like a frat boy.”

“It’s going to be a difficult extraction, Sir. They look prepared for Armageddon. Armed to the teeth. We’re going to need more firepower.”

“Actually, Ivan, all you are going to need is...let’s see. You. So glad Sebastian Cole hired you. You’re in. Garrick Von Holstaad is here. Good. You brought your uniform? With the pair patches? All good. We’ve got Darryl and Reika. Roger Stanislaw? And Daniel, who will be driving. Excellent. You all need to get in your Hunter camouflage attire. With full gear. We have the spray?”

“Obnoxious, burnt something cologne? That’s why we’re late. Took Lucien and Ashley hours to concoct this stuff,” Darryl commented.

“I can’t smell anything,” the fellow named Ivan commented.

“Daniel and Roger won’t be able to, either, if I don’t miss my guess. Gentlemen?”

“Pretty innocuous,” one of them answered.

“You three won’t have to wear it. Only the vampires need a dose or two.”

“Oh. Only we get that joy? Thanks,” Darryl said.

“For some reason, humans, especially Hunters, have an unmistakable odor. Only vampires can smell it. That includes some half-turned ones. There are several half-turned individuals on the Hunters’ payroll. I’m simply taking that issue out of the equation. Now. I’m receiving their newest security code. They’re changing it every two hours. Smart move. Not smart enough. But smart. Thanks to Nigel. Oh.” Akron shook his head. A faint smile touched his lips. “It pains me to keep saying that. But yes. Thanks to Nigel, we have access to their newest system, and therefore we know exactly what they are doing. How is your British accent, anyway? Do you still have it?”

“Why?”

“You can’t figure it out yet?”

“I’m afraid to try.”

“Well. We have an edge, everyone. A secret weapon. At this particular moment in time, our Nigel is the exact double of Paul Henry Beethan. You see? We have the Beethan heir’s look-alike.
And they don’t know that we do
.”

“I’m going with them.” Cherish was standing beside Akron.

“Well. I didn’t expect you to stay here with me. I even wish I could go. But somebody has to orchestrate this. I’ll be sending and receiving messages. About Paul Henry. His arrival. What he wants. But this is where I’m having a bit of a quandary. Your doctor is very intelligent. But I’m not sure he can be trusted.”

“What?”

“Let me clarify. I’m not sure he can be trusted not to react. Last time he saw you you’d shot out a window and then disappeared. Now, he’s been denying you exist all day. He’s extremely stubborn. I can’t even telecommunicate with him. That makes him and his reactions an unknown factor. I don’t like unknown factors.”

His laptop flashed.

“Ah. I have their newest security code. Interesting. It’s
Mummies
. Everybody assemble in ten minutes. That will give us one hundred and ten minutes before this expires. Now, go. And Nigel? Fluff up your hair. Paul Henry wears it different. And get Cherish a blond wig.”

The kid gave them a ‘thumbs-up’ sign as he walked toward an adjoining room. Akron sighed again.

“Oh. I certainly hope I know what I’m doing,” he said.

Sam jerked with another hiccup. The nylon lines about him flexed. The chair creaked. His belly ached. His hair pulled. He shifted. Resettled. Thus far, the hiccups were probably the worst part of this nightmare. And these jerks had given them to him. He lowered his chin and looked balefully at the gent sitting opposite him, dressed in beige-colored camouflage, a sub-machinegun across his thighs. The smile on his face was directed toward Sam’s discomfort.

Especially the hair.

They’d made fun of it. Somebody joked that he was pretty easy to catch with such long locks. Another guy mentioned how his hair might sound hot in a magazine article, but it sure wasn’t helping him now, was it? And somebody had added that it really made him look feminine, too.

They shouldn’t have given him that truth serum stuff. He would have told them what he knew. He hadn’t done anything. He wasn’t anybody. This was all a mistake. Heck. He hadn’t even known a bunch of morons operated a secret base just outside of Detroit. Nor would he have cared. He probably would have kept his opinion of their lack of mental acuity to himself, too.

But all they wanted to grill him about was vampires. And Cherish. As far as he was concerned, Cherish hadn’t existed. She couldn’t. She’d been a fantasy made up by his imagination. He wasn’t crazy. He was simply using scientific deductive reasoning. She couldn’t have been real. Because if she had been, he’d witnessed savagery on an unbelievably primitive level when he’d watched them shoot her.

For shielding him.

Another hiccup rocked his body. This time; along with how his bonds flexed, the chair creaked, his hair pulled, and his belly ached, came an additional reaction. His heart suffered a burning sensation for two full beats. His next breath carried a groan. His guard noticed. The guy’s smile contained teeth this time. It should have angered like it used to, but Sam was too tired for that reaction anymore. Was it morning? The next evening? The next day? He didn’t know. They didn’t have a clock in his white-painted prison cell.

Maybe he should ask for another drink.

When these hiccups had first started, they’d brought him water that tasted like they’d dipped it from the bilge water of an overseas tanker. It had tasted that bad. Then, they’d tried giving him a cola. That had tasted even worse. Somebody had a conversation about half-turning outside his door. Sam heard every word. He’d never had such excellent hearing. Or eyesight. Even his sense of touch was excruciatingly vivid. The ends of each hair strand annoyed and tickled, while invisible pock marks made during the manufacturing process in his metal chair seat bit into his ass if he sat for too long in one spot.

Finally, somebody had brought him a large glass of what looked like thick tomato juice. It had tasted delicious. He’d asked for, and been given, another one. Drained it. Neither drink had done a damn thing against the hiccups. But they had sure relieved his thirst. And given him a burst of energy.

It had been a major mistake to act on it. Because that’s when they’d employed the nylon ropes, this room, and a guard. And they hadn’t even pulled his hair back before securing him.

Assholes.

Another hiccup hit. The ropes flexed. Chair creaked. Hair pulled. Sam winced. The guard’s smile barely registered as he shook his head.

Sam couldn’t remember ever being this tired. The drugs they’d injected made him groggy. Lack of sleep made him exhausted. Emotional upheaval from his experiences left him weak-feeling. His eyes felt like they’d been in a sand-storm. And every time he tried to grab some shut-eye, a hiccup jerked him awake. Or somebody interrupted him with another round of interrogation.

And nothing satisfied these guys.

He’d told them his history. Mom died a lingering death of cancer. She’d been thirty-four. Dad couldn’t handle it. He’d shot himself in grandpa’s barn. Their life insurance was the reason Sam didn’t have a huge student loan hanging over his head. And Grandpa? Heck, that old geezer had taken up with a twenty-eight year old from Vegas one year. Married her. Sold the farm. Gone globe-trotting. Sam got a card on holidays from the ‘happy’ couple, until his grandpa’s demise.

Then, he didn’t get squat.

Man. He’d had vivid dreams before, but this nightmare was over-the-top. Continual. And completely random. And it carried a heart-rending pain with it. As if Cherish had been real. And he’d fallen for her. Already.

No.

It was better if she was imaginary. And he didn’t feel anything for her.

Another hiccup hit. It engendered the same set of reactions. Only, this time the guard’s expression didn’t alter. That was probably going to change. And soon. Outside somewhere, Sam heard the distinctive droning noise that accompanied every incoming message. They had a command center close by. They’d sent and received messages all day. Once it had even been a video of some cemetery. One with the same name as Cherish’s apartment complex. Idiots. They weren’t experts on filming, by any stretch of the imagination. Their product was indistinct and poorly-lit. And all they’d managed to show him was some guys digging in dirt.

He heard footsteps approaching. Sam tensed. They must have received a message. He hoped it wasn’t like the last one. Sam’s heart thudded with heavy beats that should have stretched the ropes. That time they’d been in to talk about how his window had been located. It was on the news. It had landed on someone’s car three blocks from his place. It was covered with blood and had a wooden stake stuck right in the middle of it. They’d been pretty brutal with the information. Sam had done the best acting of his life to hide how it felt while they’d queried him.

Didn’t he care that his apartment was now taped off as a crime scene? His new girlfriend was a possible murder victim? And he was being investigated as a person of interest? Wasn’t he even concerned?

At the recollection, Sam’s eyes watered. He sniffed and disguised it as a part of the next hiccup. The physical reactions after hearing about his window were unmistakable, only at a much worse level than when he’d received news of either parent. It felt like he was on an elevator ride that was supposed to stop at a certain floor, but when it got there, it simply jerked and dropped some more. That was the sensation that hit his gut. His heart had been a solid ball of pain. That’s when he started hoping vampires did exist. That could mean Cherish might have survived. But, if vampires did exist, did that mean he was in love with one?

Oh, Sam. Sam. You just said the “l” word
. And it was crazy. He loved animals. Birds. He couldn’t feel love for Cherish. It was way too soon. And if he felt something, did that mean he had to believe in vampires? And if he did, what now? Where could she be? How could he reach her? And if he did reach her...what then?

The questions were endless. Every answer led to another problem. And above it all was a pain in his chest that just wouldn’t go away. That’s when he’d first given them what they called a baleful look. He’d never before cared what baleful signified. Malevolence. Menace. Threat. Nor, that he could portray it with a look.

Oh.

He did now.

Sam looked down to where his bare belly peeked through strands of hair, the ends almost reaching his badly-used tuxedo trousers. He blinked until his eyes were clear. Focused. Sand-filled. And hard. The footsteps got closer. Sounded like he was getting more than one interrogator this time. His guard didn’t seem to have the same sensitivity of hearing. There was a sharp thud on the door, along with the sound of a key turning. The guard sprang onto his feet as if he’d just noticed.

Four guys entered, filling the space. One was Eric. The guy who’d had the rocket launcher.

“What’s up?” Sam’s guard asked.

“We’re checking conditions. Every room. Especially this one. And him.”

A rifle butt nudged Sam’s arm. He ignored it. Then a hiccup jerked his body against the ropes. The chair creaked. His hair pulled. He almost groaned.

“He still has hiccups? Geez. How weak are you, buddy?”

Sam tightened his jaw and looked up. And then he focused on Eric. Eric was carrying a crossbow thing now. The guy had his head cocked to one side, his torso tilted back slightly, and a sneer on his lips. Looked like Eric had his male machismo bravado firmly in place. Sam returned to staring at his thighs. No need for them to guess what he thought of them. They already knew.

“Dang! If he could kill with a look, you’d be dead.”

“Like that bothers me,” Eric replied.

“Well. I don’t blame him. Although he should be thanking you.”

“For what?”

“If you’d used a crossbow like you were supposed to, or managed to hit the bitch in the chest instead of the gut, well. She’d be dead. As would he. The fact he’s still alive and we’re stuck baby-sitting is all thanks to you.”

The bitch?

Sam’s teeth clenched. His heart throbbed. His belly churned audibly. His hands went to fists. Every muscle felt like it tightened. He had to consciously work at each reaction. Force it down. Keep it hidden. And then a hiccup covered it all, as it rocked him against his ropes and pulled his hair.

“Oh. Quit complaining. He’s also the reason I’m moving up in this organization. If you play your cards right, you guys can come along.”

“How so?”

“Yeah. What are you smoking, Eric? The local shrubbery?”

“Ha. Ha. Laugh. And watch a master.”

“Okay, Eric. Tell me, at least. I’m listening.”

Sam glanced at the speaker. It was a thick-set blond kid. Looked like he should be playing nose tackle for some college, not hanging out in camouflage trying to look menacing.

“We just got notified. Got a big shot coming.
Big.
He’s fetching our prisoner. Apparently, it’s time to move onto the baiting phase, and they want to handle it.”

“And you took that to mean we’re moving up? Are you nuts? They’re relieving us of responsibility.”

That was another fellow. Wiry. Dark-haired. With a scar across his neck that looked as if someone had tried to decapitate him or something.

“What big guy?” somebody else interjected. The speaker had brown-hair. Medium build. Bent nose. Pretty nondescript features without the broken nose. Looked like he should be studying agriculture. Or dentistry.

“Are you talking about
the
man, himself? Chester Beethan?”

“Nah. Better. He’s sending his oldest. His heir. Some kid named Paul Henry.”

“And you took that to mean something? Shit. That’s it. You have shit for brains. He’s coming to reprimand us, and you’re crowing. If it wasn’t for you, he’d be coming to give us all commendations and pair patches.”

“You guys are never thinking ahead. That’s why you’re going to be stuck in back-water places while I’m going up. Way up, if you catch my drift. And not one of you is interested in how?”

“Explain already. I’m all ears.”

Nose Tackle spoke up. The others either nodded or looked skeptical.

“All right, then. Listen up. Chester Beethan is the head of our organization, true. But he’s also a billionaire. Something about cotton milling. I don’t know the specifics. Don’t care. He’s one of Britain’s wealthiest citizens. And he hobnobs with all kinds of wealthy and influential people. That’s what I care about.”

“Okay. So?”

“I’ve never met Chester, but I’ve seen pictures. He’s always got these same guys around him. Every time. They’re all about fifty. His age. Anybody ever notice that?”

There was silence while they mulled it. Sam already had Eric’s reasoning figured out, but it was amusing to check the others while they pondered. Nose Tackle was really having trouble. His face was scrunched up.

“These guys are the top echelon of the Hunter Organization. They’re from all over the world. All nationalities. They probably make a lot of money. Get tons of bonuses. Rub shoulders with other billionaires. And that got me to thinking. How did they get so close to Chester in the first place?”

“I don’t know, how?”

Nose Tackle spoke again. Nobody else offered up.

“Oh. Come on. Think. They’ve been around him
for years
. And why? Because he chose them when he was young. Got it?”

“Hmm. Maybe.”

“No doubt about it. I checked old photos. Same guys are always around him. Trust me.”

“So what does this have to do with us?”

“You guys are so dim. Geez. Us. Can’t you see?”

Several shook heads. Sam’s snicker got lost in another hiccup, making it louder than the usual.

“The Beethan heir is coming. Here. To a back-water camp on the border between Canada and the United States. This is the guy who will be running things in a few years. Think about it! He’s young. I think maybe...twenty? He has guards around him. I bet his father picked them out. He’s going to want to replace them as he gets more control. I would. So, along that vein of thinking, I’m thinking every contact I can make with this kid is a potential job interview. And Dancer Boy, there, is going to help us. Well. He doesn’t look too bad. Maybe we should roughen-him up a bit before they get here.”

Dancer Boy?

“What?”

Three of them said it. Sam hiccupped again, adding to the effect.

“Nah. You’re right. This Paul Henry is pure Brit. I checked out his profile. He’s in college. He’s uber-rich. He’d probably snobby as hell. If we’d worked Dancer Boy over, it would be a black mark.”

“What’s with calling him Dancer Boy?”

“On, come on. Look at him. He’s pretty buff. He’s wearing nothing but pants and shirt cuffs. And then, there’s that hair. Maybe we should cut it off. Like Delilah did to her Samson. What do you guys think?”

Sam gave them his baleful look. It wasn’t difficult. He felt those emotions exactly. Vindictive. Malevolent. Sinister.

Eric sniggered.

“Oh well. We probably don’t have enough time. We have to get ready to impress a snobby Brit. Who’s with me?”

Eric left. Everyone followed him out.

Including the guard.