A Ghost of a Chance (19 page)

Her contributions to literature swirled in the genre of pulp fiction. But what did it matter? They had a following; they were moneymakers; and for some they’d provided an avenue of temporary escape from the pressures and mundaneness of everyday existence. Who was to say that wasn’t great success? And after all, he was very much in love with their author, at least one of them.

He picked it up, the one that had started it all. Holding the book in his hands, he turned it over with curiosity. The title remained unspoken on his lips –
Vengeance’s Angel
. He had heard once that it was always an author’s first work that was most autobiographical. But it wasn’t Hallie’s life that he was interested in unearthing at this juncture.

Slowly, he perused the teaser on the back cover.

Out of the darkness rises a creature of vengeance. Less than a God but more than a man
–
part hero, part monster trapped beneath the confines of a curse, bidden to use his compelling, exotic appeal to wreak havoc on an unsuspecting modern world.

Ah huh, he sighed deeply. Right now he’d much rather have a look at the sport’s page. He did love Hallie, even if the stuff she wrote was a bit mucky. He settled down in a nearby chair and began to thumb through the novel, or rather novella.

It wasn’t terribly long, just over a hundred or so pages. It began,

Samory walked in a separate reality, taking steps in the mortal world yet somehow apart from it as though he were a phantom who occasionally donned flesh to hunt his prey.

Well wasn’t that wonderful? His memory of Hallie’s creation still irritated him. He didn’t care if he was a poor, misunderstood, bastard of a vampire. The guy was a major pain in the ass to him. He skipped forward,

Samory did not allow himself to care about anyone. These creatures of the flesh were as a breed of animal beneath him that served a purpose. He did not let himself consider that they had dreams or hopes. They were nothing to him, and the memory of his life that had once been was like a distant impression that had perhaps been someone else’s dream.

Yes, yes enough of Samory’s psychological dilemmas. We get the angst already. He skipped forward a few more pages.

“
Samory,” Samory heard his name whispered through the turbulent corridors of his mind. But he wouldn’t allow himself to be touched or swayed by the sweet echoes of life. His heart was frozen to sentiment; the white throat that lay beneath his questing, passionate mouth would not be real to him, only the descendent offspring of a black-hearted hypocrite. There would be no mercy to her; she could be nothing to him. All he could allow himself to do was follow the ancient call of hunger, of the life force of blood flowing through the woman’s veins. His sharp white teeth bit mercilessly into flesh and her screams, . . .

He shuddered. Lovely, nothing like a little gore to settle one’s nerves. His eyes continued to scan somewhat distastefully further into the book. Who would have known Hallie had such violence inside her? Then again he wondered whose violence it truly was.

The serving wench who bore the name Madeline McCormick was not an exceptional beauty. At least he didn’t think so. But there was something about the waitress in the greasy little diner that kept pulling Samory’s focus back to her. What was it about this female? And then he recognized the resemblance, of course, the large green eyes that seemed to devour you with their need.

He paused. Now this was of interest.

He remembered that look, of hunger, a void so deep within her soul that she threatened to absorb your very essence. It was that horrible dichotomy of the unconscious predator. They were innocent in that they didn’t know their need devoured and destroyed. It was this that he remembered from a distant past long forgotten. The eyes were on another face, only one of many paintings in a gallery of recollection.

He thought of Hallie’s collection of acquaintances in the real world. After all didn’t real people inspire characters sometimes, or maybe not? Fiction had never been something he enjoyed reading too much. Except of course Agatha Christie. Now there was a complex female.

Hallie’s eyes certainly weren’t so needy they devoured your soul, nor were Monica’s. He supposed it might be Hallie’s mother or sister. The snapshot he’d seen from Hallie’s wallet flashed through his mind. Their eyes were certainly not like that.

A strong chill swept through the room. He looked around expectantly – the presence again. Could he be onto something here? What was it that Aunt Marie had said about entering the reality that Hallie had created in her books? Was that truly possible?

He closed his eyes and felt the coldness sweep around him; it almost felt welcoming now. That in itself bothered him immensely. He hesitated. It seemed as though this journey might not be as difficult as he thought. But that too concerned him.

Red, bright, flashing, warning lights were going off all around him. “It” was making all of this too damn easy? But where was the alternative?

It was imperative that he find some answers for Hallie’s sake. Jack returned to the written page. His concentration focused on the print. And then he went within. He willed himself to open, to feel the flood of energy behind the words. There was a current here, an undeniable pull. Around him, the room shifted, and this reality bent to make room for another.

It was another time. He could see Hallie hunched over a lap top computer quietly but intently filling the screen with words. The waves of anguish that he felt pouring from her were profound. But that wasn’t all. He recognized it immediately. Something else was here, covering her, draping itself over her.

He couldn’t see it, but it was as tangible as anything he’d ever touched. “It” was there, barring him from getting too close, encircling her, flooding, feeding her with its emotions. But “it” was not filled with anguish but with rage.

He had to go deeper. What were Aunt Marie’s words? You must cloak yourself in another’s reality, in the world she had created on the page. He opened himself further,

Samory watched the young woman with fascination. She still had her youth, but already it was showing signs of wear from the world.

Perhaps all of that raging need was devouring her from within. Would he bestow his gift to her, to preserve at least her flesh? After all, he could see already that she an instinctual predator, coming to it naturally. And then she saw him, and he remembered the other that he hadn’t chosen to save.

Jack could feel the flood of emotion beneath the words like rippling tides threatening to overcome him. All he had to do was let go, and he would be there. But there was fear, a tangible fear pulling him the other way. He focused on Hallie; the feel of her; the animation of her eyes; and her strong but gentle spirit. Steeling himself, he consciously let go, allowing his spirit to totally be sucked into the dark world.

He awoke with dizziness, his head lying on a cold, stone floor. The air was damp and his vision was unbelievably blurry. He breathed in and felt what only could be described as stale air entering his lungs. Pushing back the gagging reflex, he found that his eyes were gradually beginning to adjust. He tried to breathe shallowly so as not to inhale too much. Funny, in Hallie’s house he had never once had to concentrate on breathing.

In the darkened corners of the room he could now perceive a movement scurrying around. A creepy feeling of disgust swept through him as vivid images of what was making that movement fluttered through his mind. Just wonderful, he straightened up with effort. There was a definite clammy, moldy smell in this place – one that he didn’t care to explore further.

He looked around trying to quickly size up his environment. The entire room appeared to be made of stone – stone shelves, inscriptions on the stone walls. He stood up, his knees trembling, brushing himself off of the dustiness that seemed to have enveloped him.

As he moved closer to them, he could make out some of the dates chiseled on the walls – the 1800s, the latest the 1920s and names that were nearly unrecognizable with age. With reluctance he began to acknowledge where he’d landed – a tomb of some kind, a mausoleum.

“
Good to see you old fellow. We’ve been expecting you.” Jack regrettably recognized the voice and slowly turned to face its author. The always, impressive figure walked out of the shadows. His face was pale against the black suit that he wore – modern dress for a modern vampire. “My luck that I arrive after dusk.”

“
That’s when all the action takes place friend,” his voice was deep but laced with his rich, foreign accent, no doubt a variation on Transylvanian.

“
So what is this Samory? Your home away from home? I expected something a little more polished.”

He laughed heartily, apparently amused by Jack’s presence. “Yes, well I imagine the idea of roughing it is foreign to you Jack Brennan. It’s just a little safe house that I have tucked away. You can’t be too careful when you’re me.” And he added, “You never know when pesky sea captains may be nosing around trying to make things complicated.”

Jack smiled and laughed without sincerity, looking around for an escape hatch. What in the world was he going to do now? Aunt Marie hadn’t prepared him for anything of this nature. “Well Samory. Who exactly is this we you referred to?”

He smiled malevolently with his chalky white teeth,

“
Why myself, and my creator.”

“
You mean Hallie?”

“
Don’t be coy, Mr. Brennan. I know why you’re here. To cause more trouble.”

“
Trouble? What kind of trouble could I cause for you? You’re the man in these books, aren’t you? If you went, so would Hallie’s career,” he coughed a bit. The dustiness around him seemed to have crept directly into his throat.

Samory’s already black eyes seemed to darken. “One would think so. But since you’ve arrived Mr. Brennan you’ve displaced me in Hallie’s affections, and then with no gallantry or sense of fair play have attempted to rip Gabriella from me with that dolt of a creation of yours.”

“
I wouldn’t be so hard on the Captain if I were you. He seems to be making some progress,” he laughed and then stopped when he noted Samory’s scowl.

“
He’s an imbecile.”

“
Well be that as it may,” again looking around, trying to lock onto the entrance to the tomb. “I’ll put in a good word for you when I get back.”

“
You’re assuming a lot. Hallie has just fallen under your influence temporarily.”

“
As opposed to your influence.”

He smiled grimly, “I have always been just a player.”

“
Is that so?” He glanced around apprehensively, “Then who pulls the strings around here?”

“
You don’t really think we’re going to let you out of here, do you?”

Jack felt his energy waning. He was feeling unnaturally tired, a tightness in his chest. He was beginning to wonder if being here was actually draining something out of him. He leaned against one of the granite walls, not wanting to consider whom he was cozying up to. He had to be more subtle. A full frontal was not working. “Well,” he cleared his throat again of dust, “Samory, there’s no reason for us to get nasty. You must be a lonely guy. I mean loner that you are.”

The vampire laughed without humor, “What’s your point?”

“
I thought we could talk. Tell me about yourself, about your past. I hate to admit that I haven’t been an avid reader of Hallie’s books. Maybe you could fill in the blanks.”

The charismatic nosferatu looked suspicious. “What are you up to Brennan?”

“
When you were one of us, I mean not like me. A human, wasn’t there someone special?”

“
That was eons ago.”

“
Yes, but you never forget that first love. Do you, big guy?”

He looked displeased, “The past is a cold place.”

“
Can’t be much worse than here.”

Samory’s eyes almost seemed to glaze a bit, and Hallie’s character seemed to be momentarily pulled back into the narrative.

His voice became filled with gothic melodrama. “There was a time,” he began.

“
Yes, long ago,” Jack prodded.

“
It was so long ago. I was a king and she was a mere country maiden in the village. An innocent, filled with such goodness, but I was a king and she was unworthy. So I let my love for her become twisted and,”

He waited impatiently, the tightness in his chest becoming a crushing pain. It was all too evident to him now that he couldn’t exist on this plane for very long. “And what? What happened? You destroyed her?”