Adduné - the Vampire's Game (81 page)

She reached the bottom of the stairs, her stomach churning and threatening to rid her of the meal she’d eaten earlier. She stood twitching, struggling against all the raw emotions swirling around inside her. It was working – her mind was becoming sharper and keener. Her sight was adjusting to the dark, her ears raising up as if operating on sonar. In the distance, there was the sound of dripping water. She heard it echo in the solitude of the tomb. It was only lingering condensation caused by the efficient cooling system.

She exhaled in plumes of thick vapor, the onset of the numbing cold taking hold. In spite of the brutality of the frigid air, she peeled off the extra layers of clothing. The bulk impaired movement. She couldn’t take the chance of anything slowing down her reflexes. A moment’s hesitation could mean fatal results. She heard the soft crush of Stroker’s bag strike the ground. He reached into it and withdrew the bottle of holy water and a small flashlight. He handed the small silver flask to Miranda.

Miranda stood with it in her hand – not moving.

“
The cap!” he snapped.

“
Sorry,” she whispered keeping her tone almost inaudible. She needed to get it together. She removed the cap, her hand twitching in anticipation and fear. Stroker had instructed her to unscrew it when he handed it to her. There wouldn’t be time if they were attacked. She’d made a mistake because of her nerves. She reminded herself of everything Peter had taken from her. Her hand steadied as if by magic. She needed to grow-up. She’d thought she had, but this would be the test as to whether she could consider herself an adult.

Stroker turned on a small metal flashlight. The beacon that would allow them safe passage through the unfamiliar hallways was alive and glowing. It shone dimly on the opposite wall and then ahead of them as Stroker moved his arm. Stroker had explained the absolute necessity of only shining a faint light. If the beam were too bright, it might alert them. She remembered his logic. It meant she was thinking. She gave herself points for that. Her rapid breath counterpointed Stroker’s smooth exchange of air, but there was something in the background. Perhaps a third breath that told them they were not alone. Miranda was struck by terror, but put it down to an overactive imagination brought on by extreme fear.

“
Let’s go,” he whispered.

His voice prodded her from her fixed position. They began moving forward in the interminable gloom of Siberia. They were wearing rubber-soled shoes to allow them to move stealthily and silently. Their lives depended on it. The hallway was one straight corridor – the staircase was dividing it in the center. They needed to check both halves.

They turned to their left – Miranda walking slightly behind Stroker to make sure they weren’t attacked from behind. They continued until they reached the end of the hall. They’d start there. Stroker knelt down placing his bag on the ground. He took out the large cross that had been used on Rachel. He handed it to Miranda. She held it in her left hand. He then tucked a hammer in his waistband and put a long, sharply pointed wooden stake under his left arm. He rose up slowly, placing his hand on the knob. The door swung open easily. He rushed in shining his flashlight on the piled-up dusty furniture used for outdoor banquets. They made a quick, careful search of the room establishing that furniture was all the room contained.

Their methodology established, they found the next door and the next. The rooms were eliminated as possibilities for Peter’s hiding place – but not too quickly. His coffin might be covered with items to obscure its presence. They wanted to be sure and not get sloppy. Being too hasty could mean a death sentence for both of them – or a fate even worse.

The tension in the air grew as did the terror. Miranda’s teeth were chattering. Her hands were shaking from the consistent pelting of icy cold and a consistent fright. There was no time to assess the obstacles before them, they needed to keep moving. The sun had set. They could be assured that the light had begun to dissipate. They were trying to beat the odds, both needing to prevail for very personal reasons. They would not be deterred.

They proceeded to the last door remaining on the left side of the hall. Miranda’s stomach was in knots. It was so hard to keep calm when she didn’t know what to expect. Stroker turned and nodded at her. She returned the signal, indicating she was ready. The doors were unlocking easily. They hadn’t needed the spare set of keys she’d taken from Theresa’s desk. They were still resting comfortably in her pants pocket – right where she’d placed them.

Stroker pushed and found resistance instead of easy access. He tried again careful not to make too much noise. He turned towards Miranda indicating with a twist of his wrist that he needed the keys. She fished into her pocket. The keys tangled as she worked to free them. The metal tinkled, making too much noise for Stroker’s liking. He put an angry finger up to his lips. Miranda stopped and worked more carefully, noiselessly handing them over to his outstretched hand. Stroker moved the flashlight to the other hand as he tried differing keys. There was the mere hint of noise as the metal was fitted into the lock, but no more. Finally he found one that went in smoothly. Miranda was giving into dark thoughts that they would never find Peter, but he had to be here. He just had to be. There hadn’t been time for him to find another resting place.

Stroker gave the unlocked door a shove, his flashlight facing down to accomplish the exertion. The door swung open revealing a pitch blackness that obfuscated sight. Miranda jumped at the sound of a loud hiss. Stroker reacted by bringing up the flashlight quickly. It shone directly into the garish face of Rex Inwood. Theresa had been only half-right. The privileges extended far beyond sexual favors.

His face was so white as to be tinged with gray. His shirt had been discarded and the pasty, corpse-like color ran throughout his bare chest. His flaccid pecs looked like a dog’s teats. The fat on his stomach jiggled before disappearing into his oversized, baggy jeans. His hair was spiked and looked darker than she remembered. His eyes were blazing and black as coals. Miranda gasped, stopping herself from screaming and alerting whatever else slept in the sub-basement that the museum had visitors. She’d rehearsed this moment in her mind, but she found she wasn’t prepared. She froze.

Rex lunged at Stroker, Stroker’s directions running through her head. They were being recounted at the speed of light. Stroker’s peril unlocked her stasis and deer-in the-headlights demeanor. He needed her to act as a partner and not a helpless victim. She hurriedly committed to accomplishing the specific directives. Since she’d seen him follow these actions last night, she knew they worked. She was confident they would again if she could cease being useless and only act.

Stroker batted Rex back by delivering a blistering blow to his head. Rex fell backward, holding the spot that had been bashed by the flashlight. He recovered almost immediately. He coiled and leapt into the air. He was in mid-flight when hit full in his hideous face with a heavy dose of blessed water. Miranda’s aim had been accurate. She breathed a sigh of relief feeling good about not failing Stroker in his time of need.

Rex squealed in pain as he fell heavily to the floor. Miranda rushed forward placing the cross on his forehead.

Stroker jumped on top of the paralyzed vampire, placing the stake against his sternum.

“
Get out!” he whispered.

Miranda uncertainly wobbled, wondering if she should leave and, further, why. It was her rebellious side kicking up at the wrong time. As if reading her mind, Stroker supplied her with an answer.

“
Because you need to shut the door! He’ll be howling and we can’t let them know we’re here!”

Of course! She stepped back and shut the door closing out the sound. The doors were massively thick. Almost as thick as in Weatherly. They effectively muted the shrieks and death cries of what used to be Rex. She listened at the door knowing that Stroker had acted correctly. She wasn’t really interested in watching Rex die. It was only Peter, she insisted on seeing him breathe his last breath. For her own sanity and to offset her enormous guilt, she needed to be the one to pound the stake all the way through his blackened heart. She prayed she got that chance. As Stroker explained, it all depended on how things played out.

The door clicked open. Stroker emerged closing it behind him. He handed Miranda the cross that had been used. She took it and held it at her side. She stared at the wooden door for a moment, wondering exactly what lay on the other side.

Instead, she followed Stroker. They crossed the staircase – the threshold separating left from right. This time they started searching in the center – progressing outwardly. The first room held nothing, but old banquet tables. They worked efficiently, each door causing Miranda’s breath to quicken and heart to race. As the minutes ticked away, there were more unlocked doors and more empty rooms. They found the fourth one was locked. It raised suspicion and threw Miranda into a full panic mode. Was there another Rex waiting? Or more importantly, Peter. Except for old chandeliers and portraits, the room was empty and devoid of inhuman creatures. It meant that the locking of the doors was serendipitous – it couldn’t be used as a gauge for what awaited inside. Locked doors couldn’t be counted on to tell them anything. Consequently they reverted back to every door and every opening of a door being dangerous and fraught with risk. They couldn’t be complacent – not now.

In spite of the unnatural cold that seemed thick and difficult to inhale, Miranda’s face was drenched with sweat. Tendrils were plastered against her face. She saw that the tension was affecting Stroker in the same way. His shirt was wet and stuck to his back from sweating so profusely. The band on his hat was darkened by his perspiration. He used the his hand to wipe at it and prevent it from dripping in his eyes. He needed unobstructed vision. Even a second’s delay in recognizing a threat could mean instant death.

They were down to the last three doors. The atmosphere ratcheted up to a heightened level of alarm that Miranda had never before experienced. Her heart was beating so furiously that she feared it would burst. She tried to control her breathing, but had no power over her need to feverishly fight for air. As soon as she swallowed a helping of it, she needed another. It felt as if the oxygen had thinned. She wasn’t at the top of a mountain and knew it was only the tumultuous circumstances that were making it seem so. Her own good sense and self-preservation were doing everything they could to make her turn around and run back up the stairs, but she couldn’t. She had to help Stroker and see that justice was done. She watched his stealthy movements and marveled at his control. He was doing what he could to rid of the world of that ghastly Peter Adduné. She closed her eyes washing them of the images that haunted her. Tiffany! She had been so young – too young to meet such a foul, putrid death. He couldn’t get away with it – she wouldn’t let him.

Stroker tried the first – it was locked. Miranda’s sense of urgency was amplified. She thought she would scream from the hysteria building inside. She only waited until Stroker found the key and opened it. Miranda’s hand shook as she readied the Holy water. She was set to splash it full into Peter’s face, but the room disappointed her. It didn’t hold the object of her desire. Instead were only chairs. She glanced down at her watch. It was late. Too late. Ten minutes to go to until the sunlight was no more. She tapped Stroker on his arm and showed him her watch. He merely shrugged and moved down the hall. She silently berated herself for the yellow stripe painted inside. Even with every fiber in her body calling out for justice, she would never been able to accomplish this task without him by her side. She would have to find a way to thank him. She didn’t know how, but she’d make sure he was on the receiving end of her generosity.

They tried the second. Inside were discarded, unused exhibit stands. Miranda’s mind was working overtime as she realized Stroker had made a huge mistake. They had taken too long. They were cutting things much too close. There were just minutes to go before darkness and one room to go. They had to find that coffin quickly or …

Dear God! What if they had missed it? What if Peter were laying in one of the other rooms they’d already visited? What about the room Rex had been in? What if he were in there? She didn’t know if Stroker had thoroughly looked after he’d killed Rex. She’d left and hadn’t seen and …

There was a despondent creak. The third door was open. Blackness stared back at her as Stroker’s light faltered. She heard him hit the base several times against the heel of his hand. There was a defiant click as he tried again to get it on. Miranda breathed a sigh of relief. The beacon was before him, pointing at the object of their search. There it was, in the center of the room – raised up on a dais. It was an unassuming, thoroughly predictable pine coffin. She looked at her watch. They had two minutes to spare. Two delicious minutes to make sure he was no more.

“
I want to do this!” she whispered.

Stroker nodded. Things had worked out for Miranda. The scenario was such that she could have her wish and do things her way. Stroker switched articles with her. He took the holy water and cross. Miranda grabbed hold of the stake and hammer.