The Vampire (THE VAMPIRE Book 1) (49 page)

“I have not heard from him yet. I did give him your message.”

“You spoke to him?” This was great news to Jason.

“No. I left the message on his answering machine.”

“I would not keep asking unless it was really very important that I speak with him personally.”

“I will relay that message again…but you have to understand…you have to accept that it is very unlikely that you will ever hear from him again.” There was a pause. “Once things have ended, he will not make contact with you.”

“I see,” Jason said. But he did not. Not really. Because that was just unthinkable. “But you will still tell him for me? Again? Please.”

“I will tell him. Take care, Jason.” Genier hung up.

Jason felt numb. An encompassing isolation and deep emptiness took over as soon as Genier hung up the phone. He had wanted to keep him on the line for as long as he could, if nothing else just to hear his voice. He needed to hear him say he would keep trying until Augere finally called him. Jason just could not accept he would never see or speak to Augere ever again. It was unbearable. His need to talk to Augere had taken on an importance even he was unable to fathom. He was alone; there were no other distractions right now. He could gather his thoughts and examine his emotions freely. He was trying to make sense of something that refused to make sense.
I’m looking at pieces of an imaginary puzzle and trying to put it together. I don’t know what I’m really looking at so I don’t know which piece goes where. I don’t know how to go about this
.

Daily thoughts of some stranger coming to kill him were pushed aside as unimportant suddenly.

Something about everything going back together…But how? What do I have to do? What am I not seeing?

He got up and paced. Something…something was not right. It was right in front of him, he was sure of it, but what was it?

He took the resignation papers out of their envelope. He hadn’t even thought about sending them back yet. He looked them over again. He was expected to sign and return these—

As he looked at all the signatures again, he stared as one detail now stood out. Ballpoint pen. The one signature of Augere’s was written in ballpoint ink.

No way. He would not have done that. Augere simply would not have been able to do so.

It was one of his quirks. There had been times, when Jason was with him, that Augere would buy something with a credit card. When it came time to sign his name, if he had forgotten his fountain pen, there was trouble. He would refuse to sign. That could get embarrassing and it was definitely inconvenient. Jason had taken to bringing extra cash, and carrying a spare fountain pen, an inexpensive one he had bought himself, along with him whenever they were out together. Just in case.

Jason considered several possible scenarios. IF Augere
had
signed it, it was an empty gesture. It had meant nothing to him. In his mind, it would be as if he had never signed it at all. Or, had he signed under duress? Augere? No, hardly. Or was it a forgery? Had someone simply signed his name, attempting to duplicate his signature? As strange as that seemed, it was the one realistic possibility.

Jason did not know the meaning of the ballpoint signature; it was just a small, trivial but interesting detail. But so often when his attention was drawn to a small detail it usually turned out to have a much greater significance.

Maybe Augere was ambivalent about this. About signing anything that had this finality. Maybe he really did not want this either. Jason hoped that might be it.

But the more likely scenario: Someone had forged Augere’s signature on the letter of reference.
He would never see it; it came directly to me for my own use, so it didn’t matter. But the other pages would require his actual signature
.

That had to be it. The others would be signed, probably, at his convenience with his preferred writing instrument. Since he was in Boston, those would have to wait.

There was something else. Something was trying to work its way into his conscious mind now. An emotion that seemed to threaten to engulf him. It scared him a little, whatever it was. He tried to resist it. It felt to him like he was trying to hold back a tsunami. There was a power and intensity to it, a momentum already, and he didn’t even know what it was…

Talk to me.

Jason had turned his head. He had refused to look at Augere. Had refused speak to him. He had ignored the pleading tone in Augere’s voice. Because…of course…Jason was afraid of him. Of the situation…even more so…because of the way Augere grabbed him…

I did not want it to be true! It changed everything!
Jason thought with sudden anguish.
I didn’t want it to be true for his sake. He didn’t deserve to have to live an existence like that. And I didn’t want it to be true…for my sake as well. But what must he have thought then when I wouldn’t look at him or talk to him?…
Jason began to consider all of those possibilities.

That I was specifically turning away from him—in disgust? Or…with…revulsion?…that I totally rejected him, on a personal level, because of what he is? That I was…horrified at just the thought of him, having learned what he truly was, now…that I was unwilling, that I was loathe to even be in his presence?…But it was never that! No! Never!

The surprise of tears fell suddenly. He was overwrought at the imagined miscommunication he had caused.
I was afraid of him, yes. But I wasn’t recoiling from him—I wasn’t condemning or judging him! Certainly not for what he is
. Jason sobbed openly, glad no one else was around to witness the emotional mess he was dissolving into. Not that an audience would have changed anything. The realization of the pain he might have caused Augere by his actions now caused him a tide of grief that he was not able to deny or hold back. He put his head into his hands.

When he was able to finally compose himself, he knew now why it was so important for him to speak to Augere personally. Why it was more important than anything else now, including his own personal safety.

I have got to tell him myself I never rejected him because of what he is. He has to know that, and he has to hear it from me
. Even if it was the last thing he ever did. He could not go on with his life having Augere believe something that was so completely not true. Even if he didn’t care. Even if it didn’t matter to him what Jason thought. If he left Augere with that very wrong impression, then he had to set this right. He never turned away from Augere just because of what he was.
He deserves better than that from me. He has got to know that. Even if all it does is just ease my own conscience
.

That’s it,
he thought.
I’m going to Boston
. Having made a decision gave him a clear purpose. He went downstairs and began to sort through his things and to start packing. He paused briefly to look into flight info on his sister’s laptop. He went to get his credit card so he could be ready to book a flight.

He checked the small folio where he kept his cash and credit cards. He had put these in a small zippered compartment inside his suitcase along with his house keys. Everything was there still, all except the keys. He did a quick search through the luggage, and then a more thorough one. He could not find the keys to the house in Boston. They were gone. He would have had no reason to take them out of the zippered compartment, not at any time during the entire trip to Europe. Yet they were nowhere to be found. He remembered now: he had put some extra euros in that compartment the night before going to Highgate. He was sure the keys had been there then. The euros were still there now.

He checked his jacket pockets. His passport was there. No keys though. They wouldn’t have been in his jacket in any case.

He thought back to that night in London. Some of his things had already been packed; a few things had still been scattered around. In his haste, he had simply thrown things into the suitcase…He knew Allen had put some of his things into his luggage also…it did not make sense that Allen would have removed the keys. Why would he? Yet, somehow, in the chaos and confusion of that night those keys had been misplaced. Unless they had been purposely taken.

He called the hotel in London. They had not had any keys turned in, not in the past several months. They assured Jason that all found items were logged in, with the dates found and their location. Jason gave them a description of the keys. They promised to notify him if they were found.

And then another thought occurred to him: what if Augere had already changed the locks on the doors? Even if he went to Boston, Augere did not have to let him in. He might not even answer the door.
I can’t just stand around outside, in winter weather, hoping I will run into him
. Meanwhile, Genier was probably already making plans to have his stuff moved out of the house, whether he provided instruction of where the items were to go or not. If he continued to stall he would have no choice in the matter. His chances of ever seeing Augere again were slipping further and further away. Time could be running out.

He tried calling Genier again, to see if he could delay the moving of his personal things. Try to stall for more time, until he could think of something else. If his things remained at the house a while longer, he might still have a chance to speak to Augere.

“I’m sorry. Mr. Genier is gone for the day. Do you want to leave a message?”

“Yes, please. Will you say that Jason called. Tell him I am making arrangements on my own to have my things removed from the house. I will get back to him.”

It was becoming clearer now, what was happening. He had no direct access to Augere whatsoever and he barely had access to Mr. Genier. He didn’t work for them anymore. They were distancing themselves. They were slowly severing all ties. He wondered how much longer before he was going to be put on permanent hold. That phrase was used among people he knew in his previous occupation to describe when you call a person or place and they pre-screen you. You never have contact with an actual person; you are automatically transferred to canned music, and the experience becomes a bizarre test of endurance: will you actually hold the line for five, ten, twenty minutes or more, before realizing no one is ever coming, and hang up? Because no one is ever going to answer. No human even knows you are there, waiting on the line. “Your call is important to us—in another galaxy, far, far away.”

Now what?
he wondered.
What are my options here?

I could write a letter to Augere. Mail it to him in Boston, or to the Geniers’ PO Box
. But he would never know if Augere ever got the letter, much less read it. What he had to say was far too important. For his peace of mind, if he was to ever have any again, Jason had to say the words to Augere himself. Even if he was met with derision or hostility, he had to do this.

I know things will get better for me. I won’t always feel this way. But it is just so hard right now
. He felt broken. Beyond repair. Today had been such an emotionally exhausting day and he had no choice but to keep all of it inside, and not let his family see his anguish. It was wearing him down.

Carrie arrived home. She took one look at him and shook her head. “We are going out,” she said to him. “We need to talk.”

He didn’t have the will to put up any resistance. He sat on her bed, while she was in her bathroom changing her clothes.

As he numbly waited for her he gazed at the objects on her dresser and recognized a little present he had sent to her from New Orleans, when he had gone on that first auspicious trip in March. It sat under glass, like a treasured fragile object.

It was a little sugar skull, exquisitely detailed. A small tag attached to it read:

A sugary treat that’s sweet to find

A souvenir of a happy time

A reminder to live your cherished dream.

And come on back to New Orleans!

Come dance with the dead in New Orleans!

The words and sentiment had struck him as so sweetly strange and so perversely odd when he had discovered these.
A bizarrely gothic themed item
he had thought at the time. He had gotten several for himself also, now all but forgotten. This seemed to be speaking directly to him.
I’m really losing it,
he thought. Yet he felt strangely drawn to this. The words stuck in his mind.
I need some direction,
he had been thinking.
I need to know what to do. Is this sugar skull a sign?
Strangely enough he felt it was. He released a deep sigh. Or maybe his mind was just grabbing at anything and everything for direction and reassurance. Crazy.

It was three-thirty in the afternoon. He checked his phone again. No messages. He wanted to call Genier, one more time. He knew he was bothering Genier now, and that fact bothered him too. He did not want to be acting this way. But he needed to have reassurance his stuff had not been moved yet. He needed to know there was still a chance. He managed to convince himself it was reasonable for him to call again for that purpose.

“I’m sorry. Mr. Genier has already left for the day. You just missed him.”

Damn. Should he even bother to leave another message? He wanted to say—

In a slightly lowered voice, practically a whisper, the same girl’s voice he had connected with each time went on to say: “Mr. Augere just called and missed him too. From a local number.” And then she hung up.

It took Jason a few moments to process what she had told him. The meaning and significance of it.

She was, discreetly it seemed, letting him know Augere had finally called. Had Genier really been in the office just then? Maybe. Or was there someone else she did not want to have hear her? And why else had she whispered…“a local number”?…because…He realized with a start: she was telling him Augere was in New Orleans. Well, that was good to know. Then Boston was not the place to go right now.

Jason thought over the few brief conversations he had had with Genier this past week: Mention was made he had been busy with meetings. “Mr. Augere accepts that things happen and he just goes on.” And now Augere was in New Orleans. Suddenly, it all came together; he knew what was happening, what it all must mean…the significance of it.