Mercy's Debt (Montgomery's Vampires Series Book One) (15 page)

SIXTEEN

Liz, thanks to the triple shot latte Robert had given her, fought against an overwhelming urge to pee. She jittered in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs uncomfortably. She felt for the man, she really did, but if he didn’t stop talking soon, her teeth were going to start floating.

They’d been chatting nonstop for the past hour. He’d have to give his voice a break soon, right?

“So, you see, Elizabeth, I did not want to make her feel crowded,” he prattled on. “I only offered to pay off her student loan because I have plenty of money to spare.  I was in no way implying that I wished to buy her off-”

“Uh, Robert?”
Liz butted in swiftly. “I’m so sorry to interrupt, but could I possibly use your restroom?”

“Oh!
Of course. I am terribly sorry. I sometimes tend to forget what it is like to have humans- uh,
females
- in my home.”

Liz looked at him strangely.
“Yah, I guess we ladies do tend to use the restroom more than the boys.”

“I imagine,” he said glibly. “The restroom is down the hall. The door is just on the right.”

“Thanks. I’ll be right back.”

Liz laughed under her breath as she headed to the bathroom.
Sure, the guy was odd, but he was also absolutely head-over-heels in love with Mercy. His adoration for her dripped from every word he spoke on her behalf.

Mercy
was a lucky girl to have found a man like Robert.

Actually, w
hen she thought about it, Mercy was just like Robert- minus the great wealth, obviously. They were so very different, but also very much the same. They were smart, thoughtful, and beautiful; a perfect match, like salt and pepper.

Liz found the bath
room. She emptied her bladder, feeling such relief that her eyes rolled back into her head. This is why she never drank coffee- it just went straight through her.

She
removed her ring and set in the soap dish, lathering her hands under the tap distractedly. It was strange that David had not yet called her, but she never knew what to expect when he had nights out with the boys. They were probably halfway to Vegas by now, sharing a bottle of cheap vodka from a paper bag.

B
ut then the phone in her pocket vibrated to life.

She quickly dried her hands and answered the phone. “David,” she scolded, “I was wondering where you’ve-”

“Liz, thaaaaaank
God
,” he slurred. “I misssss you, baby.”

He was drunk.

“David!” Liz chided. “How much have you had to drink?”

“Jus’ a couple
,” he slurred.

“Yah,” she snorted.
“A couple of six-packs.”

“Lissssen. I need my house key. I’ve locked myself right out of the house! Can you beeeelieve it?” he laughed hysterically.

Liz rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t really mad.
At least he’d made it home okay. But he better
not
have driven home in his condition.

“
Da-vid
,” she uttered in two syllables.

“Yes, baby?
I loooove you, my angel.”

“Oh, God,” she sighed. She checked the time on her phone. It was just past midnight. “Okay, I’ll bring you your ke
y, but I’m not at home right now. I’ll have to swing by the apartment first to pick up my car and grab your key. I probably won’t be there for about an hour.”

“
M’kay.”

“Alright, I’ll see you soon.”

Shaking her head, Liz hung up her phone; guess the conversation with Robert was going to have to be cut short.

SEVENTEEN

The killer’s body stiffened from within the darkness of the apartment.

Could it be?

Yes.

The bitch was finally home.

The wait for Mercy had made for a tedious evening, but the perseverance was about to pay off.

It
had gone on long enough. She must die like the others.

On the other side of the door, Liz turned and wa
ved at Carl. He was such a lovely man, waiting for her the way that he was. Both he and Robert were very sweet- true old school gentleman.

She glanced up at the porch light and frowned. The damn bulb was out. Something was always breaking in their apartment.
First it was the dishwasher, then the screen over her bedroom window had fallen apart just last week; it looked like it had been clawed to shreds by a feral cat. Perhaps if they hadn’t used such cheap materials when they built the place…

Sh
e cussed, dropping her key ring. It took her a minute to find it within the dimness of the porch. Luckily, her neighbor’s living room lamp was on, which gave her the tiniest bit of light to find the thing.

Poor
Carl. She wondered if he ever got sick of always having to wait around for people.

After a few attempts, she eventually got the key to make contact with the lock. She opened the door, and turned back to wave at Carl. H
e waved in return and pulled away from the apartment.

Liz stepped into the
blackness and closed the door behind her, running her hand along the wall to locate the light switch. She found it and flipped it up, scowling when the room remained dark.

“You’ve got
to be kidding me,” she muttered, contemplating the possibility of a power outage. But then she remembered the bright lamp next door.

Something stirred within the darkness.

She blinked, her eyes straining to adjust.

Another movement.

Liz held her breath. She stepped back near the door as quietly as she could, her hand patting along the wall as she desperately tried to locate the handle.

A solid force
slammed her from the side, causing her spine to make small popping noises as she pitched through the air. Her head hit the hardwood floor with a jolt, momentarily knocking her senseless.

The force had
paralleled being hit by a car- at least that was how she imagined it would feel. But that was illogical; she was indoors. She rubbed her scalp, trying to make sense of what was happening.

Something hard wrapped around her neck and hauled her to her feet- a crowbar maybe? No, it was an arm. And arm stronger and more solid than any she’d ever felt.

She threw her head back and thrashed her legs
.

You’ve got to fight Liz
, she mutely commanded. You’ve got to fight to the death!

But h
er neck began to burn so much and she was so very sleepy all of a sudden. Her attacker had thrown acid on her... Or had she been stabbed?

The grip around her neck tightened, and she did the only thing that she could
think to do before she lost consciousness completely: bite.

She sunk her teeth into the arm of her unseen attacker, clenching her jaw down as hard as her teeth would allow. Her mouth filled up with blood and she gagged. But, still, she did not let go, not even as the revolting coppery liquid flowed down her throat.

The grip on her neck loosened, and she was able to distance herself far enough away to snap her elbow back, making contact with the assailant’s face. The intruder stumbled, providing her with enough time to run out the front door.

She
tripped on the way out, flinging an arm against the door to regain control of her unsteady limbs. Her mouth fell open in horror; her hand had left behind a bloody stripe. She touched her neck, feeling a sticky wetness beneath her fingers. 

She
staggered forward, making it as far as the edge of the porch before dizzily falling to her knees. It was too late. She’d lost so much blood.

She flopped forw
ard, her face splashing down into a murky puddle of mud.

Elizabeth Lo
ri Miller exhaled her final breath; her heart pumped its final beat.

The killer fled from the apartment, pausing to
kick Mercy’s wretched human body over to savor the sight of her disgusting dead face.

No!
It couldn’t be.

Who was this?

It was the wrong girl!

There was not much to do now other than run.

Mercy would have to die another night...

EIGHTEEN

Jerry, the vampire I’d chaperoned, and I were sharing a laugh in the car on the way home.

I’d just informed him that I’d
had more fun on our “date” than I’d ever had with any other man in my life- excluding Robert, that is- despite the fact that it had been spent with a gay man who’d been dead for over a hundred and fifty years.

He was tickled.

Jerry and I had kicked off our evening by going to an art gallery exhibit near Embarcadero. He was showing a few of his pieces alongside other vampire artists, although he was a civil rights lawyer by profession. (And clearly quite a good one. His going rate was five hundred dollars an hour.)

Hi
s paintings, which were inspired by his childhood in Africa, and then his later years as a plantation slave, depicted all sorts of macabre imagery focusing on the deconstruction of the human spirit. His work was spectacular; too gory (and expensive) to be anything I’d choose to hang in my own home, but spectacular nonetheless. He sold every single piece that he had on display before the show was even halfway over.

As it turned out, Jerry
was also popular within the human art community. He’d been an acquaintance of many well-known modern artists of his day. Much to my enjoyment, he spent a great deal of the evening sharing stories about them, tirelessly and graciously answering every single one of my ten million questions about his experiences.

Hand
s down, my favorite recollection of Jerry’s was about a struggling New York City artist that he’d known in the 1930’s. This human painter friend of his had experienced his first major artistic breakthrough after watching Jerry devour a mugger who’d attempted to rob the two of them at knifepoint in an alley.

Instead of runni
ng away in fright after he’d realized what Jerry was, the artist remained motionless in the alley, captivated by the blood spatters on the ground. Moved by the handiwork of his vampire muse, the artist began employing a splatter technique which later made him one of the most famous painters in the world. When interviewed, this volatile artiste would provide vague answers when asked about where he received his creative visions. In private, however, he referred to Jerry as his “bloodsucking liberator.”

After the art show, Jerry and I had gone to a swanky vampire bar called Crimson. The bar served fancy blood cocktails in fine crystal glasses that looked so stylish that I almost felt tempted to try one. I took my drink “virgin” of course, ordering a conservative gin and tonic.

Crimson
was underground in both a literal and figurative sense. Although one would never guess as much
based solely on the lavish décor, the bar was located several dozen feet below the city in a massive tunnel that was once utilized for bootlegging during prohibition.

After we’d received our drinks, Jerry, noticing my concerned expression,
sweetly assured me that no vampires were going to harm me. I snorted, curtly informing him that I was more concerned about being crushed to death in an earthquake. It was
San Francisco
after all. He’d laughed heartily, asserting that I was the most “unorthodox” human he’d ever met.

I still missed Robert horribly, but Jerry ha
d provided the perfect distraction I needed to help soothe my broken heart.

Back in the car
, Jerry patted my thigh with his gigantic hand. We’d just entered my neighborhood, which meant that our time together would soon be over.

“
Just so you know, I had fun with you, too, sweetie,” he said.

“I
’ll be sad to leave you,” I smiled. “I don’t want the night end.”

“Okay
, then,” he said, baring his fangs, “I’m just going to bite you right on the neck and we can stay together forever.” Seconds later, he let out an eardrum-shattering cackle. “Oh my God! I’m joking around! Girl, you should have just seen your face.”

Snickering
, I punched him lightly in the arm to show that I was a good sport.

“
Ouch
,” he griped, theatrically rubbing his arm where I’d decked him. He, a two hundred pound vampire who was built like an ox, was unscathed by my pitiful attempt to cause him pain.

He looked away from the windshield
and flashed me a grin. “Can you imagine the two of us drama queens living together for all of eternity? Sorry, but I’ve only got room for one queen in my life, and it’s
me
.”

To my relief
, he finally looked away from me and concentrated on his driving. It was making me nervous, the way he kept taking his eyes off of the road. It was pouring outside. The raindrops spilled down from the sky with such force that it sounded like giants were banging their fists against the roof of the car.

“It’s okay, because I’ve always considered myself more of a princess,” I teased. “So, really, you’d be more like my wicked stepmother.” 

“Oh my word,” Jerry gas
ped. The smile vanished from his face.

“What’s the…” I trailed off.

We approached a motorcade of police cars and fire trucks that lined the perimeter of my apartment complex. There was an ambulance pulled up on the lawn.

“I sure hope
that somebody hasn’t been hurt,” he cried.

I sat up straight, clutching his
arm in fright. I saw it, then, the thin line of bright yellow police tape that blocked the doorway to my apartment. There was a grisly red smear on the door, slightly marred by the rain.

“Oh my God!
Liz!”

I
launched out of the car before it stopped moving. Jerry slammed on the breaks, bewildered. I reached the police blockade about twenty feet out from the apartment. I lifted the yellow tape over my head and charged forward.

“
Hey! Stop!” A few uniformed police officers screamed at me, but I ignored them.

One of the officers stepped in front of me. “I SAID STOP!”

“That’s MY apartment!” I screamed back. “Have you seen my roommate?”

“Are you Mercy Montgomery?” he asked.
The officer’s expression instantly changed from anger to pity. He took a step forward, angling his black umbrella so I was shielded from the downpour.

“Oh my God!
Did something happen to Liz?” It felt like I’d been kicked hard in the stomach. “Why aren’t you… Please… Just answer me!” I was hyperventilating, unable to get the words out.

“I’m sorry. There’s been a murder,” he said quietly.

I peered into his face. “Liz?” I sobbed.

The officer nodded. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

I stumbled dizzily. The officer grabbed my arms smoothly and led me to a covered picnic area in the courtyard.

David was there, too.
His hands were stained red, and he had dried blood under his fingernails
and clumped
in his hair. His clothes were red, too, expect for the patch of white down the front of his shirt that had been created by his vomit.

He glanced over
at me with dead, bloodshot eyes. He was crying. He raised both hands and waved at me weakly, and I realized that he was handcuffed. Even with all the blood he had on him, I knew that he wasn’t guilty of anything. He would never hurt Liz, not in a million years.

I collapsed on a bench and the officer took a seat next to me.

“What happened?” I asked dazedly. “Did somebody break into the apartment?”

“Not that we know of. We got a call from that young man over there
” -he pointed at David- “stating that he’d found his girlfriend just outside your door. He claims that somebody had smashed the bulb on your porch light, that she was dead when he found her. He tried to resuscitate her anyway.”

I wiped at my
tears with the back of my hand. Poor Liz. And poor David for discovering her that way. I don’t know what I would have done if I’d been the first one on the scene.

The officer handed me a
balled up wad of tissue. “Sorry. It’s been in my pocket,” he apologized. “But it’s clean.”

I dabbed at my eyes and blew my nose. “Wh
y is he- David- handcuffed?”

“W
e can’t rule out all the possibilities. He was covered in her blood, and domestic violence is a common thing for men his age, unfortunately.”

I cringed at the word
violence.
I just couldn’t believe that anyone would-
could
- do any sort of harm to Liz.

“H-how did she die?” I cried.
“Did she suffer?”

“I’m not sure I should be discussing this with you. Is this really information you want to know?”

I looked up and met his eyes. The
compassion contained within them intensified my despair. He was a trained law professional who observed the aftermath of grisly crimes day in and day out. If he felt sorry for me, then whatever happened to Liz must have been pretty bad.

“
Please, tell me,” I murmured.

He looked around to ens
ure that there was nobody listening. “If you want my honest opinion, I don’t really believe that David is guilty. Your roommate’s throat had been ripped open. I’m sorry, should I stop?”

“No. I want to know w
hat happened to her.”

“Okay. Well, Liz’s injury wasn’t typical,
like the ones I usually see in the city. I was a park ranger back before I joined the force, and I treated a lot of unlucky people who encountered bears on their hikes. From what I’ve seen, Liz’s injury is more indicative of an animal attack. It had to be something with sharp teeth, like a mountain lion.”

I sat up with a start.
Sharp teeth.

I
had been the target of the attack, not Liz. It hadn’t been Mathew following me the whole time.

It was
a vampire.

I
couldn’t contain my shudder. “This is just so much to take in,” I said quickly. “I just… can’t believe it. Are animal attacks common this close to the city?”

“No, not usually.
Your property is adjacent to the trail, but there are no mountain lions out there that anyone is aware of.” He took a deep breath. “I hate to ask you this at such a horrible time, but could you tell me your whereabouts for last night?”

Shit.
He knew that I was hiding something.

“She was
with me the entire night, officer,” Jerry said as he came striding up.

“And who are you?” the officer asked.

“I’m her friend,” he said haughtily.  “But I’m also her lawyer, Jerome Bellamy,” he added, producing a card from his pocket. His flamboyant accent was gone and had been replaced by a no-nonsense courtroom tenor.

The officer took the
card and glanced at it briefly. He handed it back to Jerry. “You can keep your card, Mr. Bellamy. Mercy isn’t a suspect, but it is my job to ask her.”

The group of policemen surrounding David
waved to the officer. He excused himself and left us.

I shot Jerry a meaningful
look, hoping to convey to him that Liz had been murdered by a vampire, which he had no possible way of comprehending based on my crazy bug eyes.

H
e was sporting a thick mask of foundation that he didn’t have on during our outing, probably an attempt to appear more human. He looked human alright, if he was going for an overdone streetwalker effect.

He noticed me scrutinizing his face. “
What? Do you know how difficult it is to find foundation for black vampire skin? It was the best that I could do in the car,” he whispered.

I
numbly dabbed at my tears, smiling crazily in spite of myself. “Thank you for being here with me,” I said.

“Sweetie, you’re going to catch a cold out here.”
He removed his thick wool trench coat and threw it over my shoulders. I attempted to protest out of politeness, but he wouldn’t hear of it.

“Thanks,” I said unfeelingly.

“You need the jacket more than me. It’s not like I can catch a cold or anything.” The Jerry from earlier had returned, complete with his lovable Southern inflection. “Listen, are you okay? Can I do anything for you?”

“No, thank you.
You’ve already been a big help. I’m so sorry that our evening had to end this way.”

“Oh my, Mercy, not at all! I’m just so sorry about your friend.”

He discreetly looked
at his watch and then up at the sky. I understood immediately.

“
You’d better go. It will be daylight soon. Honestly, I’m fine.”

He hugged me
tightly, rubbing my back. “I’m awfully sorry that I have to leave, but if the sun rises, this flamer will go up in flames.”

We said our goodbyes
, and as nice as he was, he left his jacket with me, along with his business card. If the police had any more questions, then they could just call Jerome Bellamy, Attorney at Law, he’d said. Free of charge, of course.