Twice Bitten Page 3

  “I hope they catch this sicko, too,” Tyreen agreed, standing up with her tray. “Yes, I’m coming along with you. But, damn straight we ain’t staying there long. Yours and my ass had better be back in our dorm room before it gets dark.” She shot me a sly smile, though the look in her eyes said she was extremely worried.

  ***

  Tyreen got her wish, and we left the library by four o’clock. Two and a half hours can be plenty of time to get homework done. It used to be, back in high school. But that afternoon, I got very little accomplished—largely because Tyreen couldn’t stay focused on her own studies long enough to give me peace. Every time she wanted to talk about what happened and what it could mean to her, me, and the rest of the females on campus, I had to start over on whatever research I presently worked on. Of course, I wasn’t much help to my cause either, as every time this happened it got me thinking about the murder, Garvan’s warning, all the shit from last night, etc, etc.

  The temperature had dropped nearly twenty degrees by the time we walked back to Massey Hall, which often happens when the sun begins to set in eastern Tennessee in late fall, or so the older students say. However, it seemed a lot colder than usual that afternoon. Every shadowed archway and stairwell—even the thick juniper bushes—looked suspicious to us. We almost ran despite our brisk pace.

  Once safe and sound in our dorm room, Tyreen immediately turned on the TV to learn the latest news on the murder, while I turned up the heater in our room. We already planned to order take-out of one variety or another. The debate between Chinese and the local Steak-out hadn’t been decided yet, when my cell phone rang.

  It was my father, calling from Richmond.

  “Txema?”

  “Yes, Papa.”

  Tyreen motioned that she was going to order for us on her phone, telling me the decision on what it would be had already been made by her. I shot her a playful scowl.

  “So, you are all right!” He sounded relieved. His Brooklyn accent sounds almost ‘mobster’ when he gets upset. “We heard about the girl who was killed today.”

  “Yes, Papa, I’m fine,” I assured him while waving my money at Tyreen. “My roommate and I are staying in tonight, so don’t worry. Okay?”

  “Stefan Goizane is an old friend of mine in New York, and your Grandma tells me his daughter attends college down south. It’s got to be the same girl…how many Goizane’s do you know, eh?”

  It pained me to hear my normally jovial father so worried. But, I was his only daughter and very much a daddy’s girl. I tried my best to assure him that I’d be careful.

  “None, Papa…she is Basque, too,” I said, not sure what I could say to make him feel better about my situation. My father is not one to be won over by a lot of ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine!’ statements. But, maybe a promise would help, although it would be difficult to keep. “I promise not to leave the dorm at all—not unless a fire threatens to burn the place down.” I chuckled, hoping to ease the seriousness.

  “You make sure you don’t leave,” he said, focused on getting me to commit to do what I promised. “They do have security guards watching your dormitory, right?”

  “Yes, Papa, they do.”

  It was sort of a lie, since the guards come and go at different times throughout each day. So it was possible to be vulnerable…if it was some crazed killer out there someplace.

  “The Goizane girl looks a lot like you, so what if her killer sees you? He might come after you then.”

  “And what if it’s not some guy doing this?” I replied, set on easing the deepening worry I heard in his voice. “It could be a crazy, jealous girl instead. What if this girl Irma messed around with some other girl’s man?”

  “It’s not the Basque way,” he said, his tone saddened, as if he seriously considered my point. “The old ways have changed for many of us. But, if I know Stefan as well as I used to, when we hung out together long ago, that’s not the way he would raise his daughter….”

  He grew silent, and I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t bother to let him know he had a lot to learn about how daughters act when not in the presence of their fathers. I did hurt inside for how much he worried for my welfare. He knew I could take care of myself, and he trusted my choice to attend Tennessee for college. But I guess the stakes had changed with a murderer on the loose—one who brought tremendous violence against a girl who reminded my father of me. And, worse yet, one whose family he knew personally.

  “Your Grandma told me to tell you to be especially careful,” he added, perhaps to break the awkward silence. “She says you are one of the last ‘special ones’, so you should know you mean the world to all of us.”

  “Of course Grandma thinks so.” I blurted out, hoping I didn’t sound disrespectful. “I know you all love me, and I love you very much, as well.”

  Again, more silence, and then I heard a low sigh on his end.

  “Txema…your Grandma Terese means this literally,” he said. His voice was softer, and it seemed as if he was searching for the correct words. “I’m not sure how to explain this without sounding corny. I wish I didn’t have to do it over the phone. But, after what has happened, there is no putting it off. Please listen closely, honey…. Until this afternoon, when I spoke to your Grandma, I didn’t realize your birthmark meant anything, other than ‘old wives tales’ and legends from the old country.”

  “What did she tell you?”

  I tried to sound nonchalant, although my heart had quickened. I pictured the two small streams of blood trickling down my neck again, and the angry redness that swiftly disappeared, leaving no trace of any trauma.

  “Well, the birthmark is supposed to have originated many hundreds of years ago. The ancient Basque rulers once bore this mark,” he said. “It changed down through the centuries to where only females carry the mark, and only a few girls have it at any one time. Momma says that each generation produces a handful of females around the world with the birthmark, which is hard to track since we are spread out everywhere. That’s why she called when she heard about the murder today. She decided this couldn’t wait until your next trip home. And, she thought it would be best if it came from me. She’s very upset.”

  “I don’t understand,” I said. This would be heavy and confusing stuff for anyone to handle, I’m sure. “What does the tragedy here have to do with the birthmark?”

  “Ah, maybe I shouldn’t have told you in this manner,” he said, his tone one of regret, and I could tell he was ready to forget the matter for now.

  “No, Papa…please tell me,” I persisted.

  That’s one thing I hate…mysteries, especially those where I’m left hanging on for more clues. I hate movies, books, and TV shows that end on painful cliffhangers. Whoever writes that shit should be hung by their thumbs, so they can never use them on a computer keyboard or typewriter ever again!

  “She says they are all dying. From what she has heard from our family back in France, the girls with the mark are not surviving.” His voice choked up. “There are now just three that she knows of. Two of your cousins that are still living in the Pyrenees and…you.”

  The world began to swim around me, which made it extremely hard to remain cheerful on the phone. Maybe too many strange things happening in my life, in such a short period of time, would now take their toll.

  After telling my father again that I loved him, and to send my love to Momma, my brothers, and my grandmother, I hung up the phone. I wanted to know more…much more. But, I let my father off the hook and chose instead to let what he said sink in. Soon after hanging up, Tyreen sauntered back into our room with the announcement that dinner was on its way. I prayed she didn’t sense the insincerity behind my frozen smile. I wasn’t about to let her know that my world had just been rocked harder—hard enough to where my pragmatic mind now splintered. How was I to know I was still blissfully ignorant? I had only been told a very small portion of the whole story.

  Chapter 5

  “Hello… Hel-lo!
”

  I awoke with a start. It took my eyes a moment to adjust to the dorm room’s dimness. I could make out the faint outlines of my desk and the TV that still bore a faint glow from when it had last been turned off. Tyreen often took awhile to fall asleep, and would watch late night talk shows or VH1 videos until well after midnight—usually outlasting me by an hour. Me? I can sleep through almost anything.

  “Huh? Who’s in here?”

  I was a little surprised by the shrillness in my voice. Nothing like an immediate ‘white flag’ when I could least afford one. Somebody was in my room…close by. It was a male, with a rich Spanish accent.

  Luckily, or so I hoped anyway, I brought a small penlight to bed with me. I also had my Tazer, hidden beneath my pillow. A vulnerable sleeping girl couldn’t be too careful with a vicious murderer on the loose in Knoxville. The fact our room’s thick curtains were drawn tight for Tyreen to rest undisturbed by Massey Hall’s security lights made such precautions even more necessary.

  “Shh-h-h-h!” my visitor responded, moving closer to my ear. I grabbed the penlight and turned it on. A miniature halogen illuminated the ceiling directly above my bed. I believe I mentioned my bed is the top bunk, and I can easily touch the ceiling with my hands, though it wouldn’t have seemed like a wise move right then. Instead, I shrunk back, pulling the covers up to my neck.

  Two faces studied me, one at the foot of my bed and the other less than six inches from my face. The iridescent green eyes and pale features near my feet announced Garvan’s presence. Unlike last evening, he smiled warmly. That knowledge could have eased my tension, if not for the unfamiliar face so close to mine, wearing an ornery grin. Like Garvan, this other ashen face belonged to another young man, one as stunningly handsome as Mr. de sang. His slicked-back hair and features were darker, with a little curl hanging down onto his forehead, sort of like Michael Jackson. This one’s eyes were a brilliant blue—bluer than any eyes I’d ever seen.

  “Txema, it is good to meet you…finally!” the owner of this other face exclaimed, revealing fangs more pronounced than Garvan’s slender incisors. He seemed to find amusement in my fearful response, and threw his head back in uproarious laughter.

  It was my turn to shush him, and I did so harshly.

  “Be quiet or you’ll wake up Tyreen!” I scolded him, brazenly ignoring my fear, and the fact that these two had a distinct advantage over me in my bedclothes. “If that happens, you’ll be in a serious world of shit, and then everyone on this floor will be up and going crazy on you!”

  Although I didn’t know for sure what these guys were—other than being quite adept at sneaking into my dorm room, I entertained the thought that maybe they could somehow read a person’s thoughts. I figured that was how Garvan knew my name the other night. If it was true, I hoped they both received my mental image of sixty angry bitches pummeling their asses. The dark haired one definitely caught something from either my thoughts or, more likely, my perturbed expression. He chuckled while studying me. For a moment, his eyes turned a deeper shade of cobalt.

  “Let me go check on your friend,” he said, playfully. This one’s accent was even more genteel than Garvan’s. Like he had spent much of his earthly existence managing an exotic island plantation, like the old ones in the Caribbean. His face disappeared, and I heard Tyreen’s bedcovers rustle. I immediately worried what he might do to her.

  “Hello…Hel-lo Ms. Tyreen!” His voice boomed powerfully from beneath my bed.

  “What in the hell have you done to her!” I demanded, when she didn’t stir. Before I drew another breath, he was back in my face. The faint smell of ginger filled my nostrils.

  “Nothing…relax,” he replied, wearing another wry grin. “Just a little ‘tap’ to ensure she does not awaken while we visit with you, dearest Txema!”

  “Is that what you did to me last night?” I focused on Garvan, who frowned and looked away when I shot him an angry look. “Do you always treat new acquaintances like this?”

  “No!” Garvan sounded indignant. His face drew close to mine as he suddenly appeared in front of me. I gasped, despite a warm musky scent that hinted of cinnamon, wafting toward me. “You gave me no choice!”

  The blue-eyed one pulled him aside, whispering sternly in a strange dialect that was neither French nor Spanish. Garvan looked over at me again, silently mouthing ‘sorry’.

  “Who are you, anyway?” I asked, scooting back against the wall our bunk beds lean up against. I kept my fingers on the Tazer beneath my pillow, trying to remember how to turn the damn thing on without actually seeing the switch. “And what do you want with me?”

  “My name is Armando Iocura,” he replied, glancing at the pillow. “I’m one of five emissaries who have traveled across the Atlantic to see you! We are here to make sure your pretty little neck stays pristine and whole.”

  He paused, as if waiting for me to respond in some way. But all I could think of was Irma Goizane with her throat torn out.

  “Not so pretty an image, is it? It’s most unfortunate that others have also traveled across the ocean. Although, their more primitive senses lack the keenness to define exactly what they are searching for,” said Armando, removing any doubt that he could read my thoughts. I was at a worse disadvantage than I previously imagined. “They don’t possess our heightened sense of smell, nor our lucid intuition.”

  He proudly tapped his long sharp fingernails against his head to emphasize this point, the manicured tips glistening in my flashlight’s glow.

  “So, what are you two, then?” We no longer needed to dance around the pink elephant in the room. “Are you vampires?”

  It felt extremely weird to say it. They both snickered.

  “Yes, we are vampires,” said Armando, allowing his smile to widen far enough to reveal his gleaming fangs again. I gasped, slightly. “You have no need to fear us, as we are the good ones. We’ve traveled a very long way to protect you from those that are not so good.”

  It was impossible at that point to know what was the truth and what was bullshit. So far, it sounded like these two were knights in shining armor and the others were stupid trolls.

  “The ‘bad ones’ must have some special senses to make it here, if they’re the ones who killed Irma Goizane,” I said.

  “The ‘others’ knew beforehand that one of your kind resides in America,” said Garvan, his long locks shielding his gaze, making his previously easy-to-read expression hard to see.

  He threw back his head and shook it, the hair falling away from his face to reveal his handsome features clearly. His mouth formed a slight smile as he studied me. Armando looked over at him and nodded.

  “The reasons as to why this is so isn’t important,” he continued, after releasing a low sigh. “What is imperative is that no harm comes to you, as I told you last night.”

  “So, you two are truly, real live vampires, huh?”

  It still seemed really weird to me. …Vampires? Seriously??

  “I’m not sure that ‘live’ is the right word to define us. We are not pale enough for you, no? Do you know anyone else who can effortlessly float above your bed while carrying on such a pleasant conversation?”

  Armando motioned to Garvan, and they both rose toward the ceiling.

  I suddenly realized they had drifted like this during our entire conversation, instead of standing on the floor, as I had assumed. Perhaps if they were dressed like Bela Lugosi, with black tuxes and white shirts beneath full-length capes, it might’ve been an easier pill to swallow. Both wore jeans and flannel shirts. Given their sleek features, they seemed more like pale-faced lumberjacks best suited for a parade along Fifth Avenue, or for an Abercrombie & Fitch advertisement.

  “But to answer your question, yes, we are very real, and we are most certainly vampires,” Armando continued, while his and Garvan’s heads bobbed just below the ceiling. Garvan moved closer to him, allowing me to hold my flashlight in one spot instead of alternating back and forth between them.

&n
bsp; “So, it’s a bunch of pretty ‘Hollywood’ vampires against the so-called ‘others’, huh?”

  Really, this meaningful question posed from an irreverent perspective slipped out before I could consider the consequences. The initial looks I got from my visitors made me regret it, but before I could apologize for being so forward, Garvan spoke up again.

  “In a sense, you are not far off the mark,” he advised, his expression solemn. “Like your movie stars, only a few fortunate souls make it to the Big Screen, as they say. That is similar to us, where just a few hundred vampires like us exist throughout the entire world. However, the army that is looking to destroy your kind numbers in the thousands.”

  This revelation sounded ridiculous. I mean, all this attention for just little ole me?

  “So, these other vampires don’t look much like you two, huh?”

  I’m not sure why I didn’t just ask them straight up what their counterparts looked like. It’s not often that I’ll beat around the bush.

  “That is correct,” said Armando. “Perhaps you would find them grotesque and frightful. The closest thing you have in your modern world that I can compare them to are vampires like Nosferatu. But even his portrayal on the silver screen would be considered generous compared to the race known to the people of Spain as ‘La sangre fea embauca’.”

  “Or ‘Monstres Glabres’ to the good citizens of France,” added Garvan, almost interrupting Armando, which drew another stern look from him. Garvan looked away. If a hierarchy or pecking order exists among vampires, I had just been given a clue as to who’s the boss between these two.

  “These other vampires are like rabid dogs,” Armando resumed, after returning his attention to me. “They are highly dangerous mongrels with no self control…no decency. They feast on what amounts to road kill in your terms, at least until recently. La sangre fea embauca were once a menace to ancient villages in Europe and Asia until the Industrial Age. They scurried underground like the vile vermin they are, and we’ve rarely heard from them since the early nineteenth century…. But, now they have regained a lust for living blood and tissue, and no longer are content to hide in the shadows like recluse spiders, waiting for a meal to show up for them.”