The Alexandru Chronicles: The Beginning Page 6
The head shot was still hanging half way in the bedroom, not even deterred by the bullet in his head or the blood running down his face.
Genevieve couldn't help being astonished that that shot alone hadn't killed him. Yet, from the animalistic way he was growling, it was apparent that all Kyle's bullet had successfully done was royally piss him off.
“Kyle...,” he looked at her, as surprised as she was about the bullet not even deterring the guy. “out the window!”
Emptying his gun, he hurried over to her and, after a brief hesitation, he jumped.
No sooner was he out the window, did she follow him.
As Genevieve felt the cool night air rush past her, she couldn't help admiring the beautiful starless sky. It was the way the breeze lifted her hair up off her shoulders, that had her preferring that to what was coming. She was content up in that sky; no worries, no strange occurrences happening around her—her world was the same, logical, rational place that it had always been.
Chapter Seven
The moment she looked down at the land below, she knew, just from how fast she was sky rocketing down, that her time in the celestial night sky was close to ending. Instinctively propelling her body towards the greenish brown grass below, she landed, almost face first, into the rough grass and dirt. Yet, no sooner had she hit the ground, was she scrambling to get to her feet.
As she looked around for Kyle, she noticed him on the ground holding his ankle.
Rushing over to him, she shouted, “Come on Kyle..., we have to go!!”
“Oh, God...!” he cried out in pain. “I can't..., I think I broke my ankle!”
“Don't be a baby...!” it was then that she noticed this dark menacing shadow approaching them, and roughly hauling him to his feet, she exclaimed, “Come on!”
“Gen...!” he growled. “You're such a bitch! How your bitchy ass could think that that was the second floor, is beyond me!”
“I know, but frankly my bitchy ass is trying to save your life... and besides we shouldn't linger on the negative...”
She didn't know how she did it, possibly adrenaline, but no sooner had she gotten Kyle off the ground, was she practically dragging – carrying—him.
If there was one main negativity, and there were many, that night, it was their distance from the car—it was an eternity away.
No matter how hard she tried, with Kyle groaning and begging for her to stop, she couldn't seem to get there any quicker and escaping those blasted shadows was a chore.
If it wasn't bad enough that the shadows were constantly stalking them and trying to smother them in darkness, then it was the never ending bends around the complex.
When they went around another bend, and still no car, Kyle let out another excruciating groan. “Gen, I can't do this...! Please just leave me, I can't...!”
Ignoring his whining, she dragged him around another bend.
It was that last bend, that she was surprised by the sight of the car; to be honest her brain was so shocked by the sudden appearance of this car, that she hadn't yet registered that this car was in fact her Chevy Cruze—it was that first startled glance, that had her thinking that this car was possibly someone else's.
Yet, when her brain eventually came out of it's startled haze, and she was able to comprehend where they were at, she breathed a sigh of relief. It was a good thing too, because Kyle was becoming, not just a strain, but a major pain in the ass.
She didn't think she could have gone around another bend with him – not with that consisted whining of his and him becoming such a dead weight.
As she dragged Kyle toward the car, she suddenly halted in her tracks, when he said, “Where did all this damn fog come from?”
Staring puzzlingly at the fog that was surrounding them, she could feel it seeping through her clothes. It was unnatural how damp it was.
While her outfit was appropriate – jeans and a breathable cotton blouse—this fog made her feel as if she was naked.
“Who's that?” it was Kyle's persisted question that had her looking through the fog, and, as her eyes knifed away at the murkiness, that's when she saw it – the menacing shadow that she had seen before.
How had that, beaten them?
Then again, maybe this shadow wasn't the same one. Yet, it sure as hell looked like the same one.
When it started slithering toward them, that was enough to get Genevieve moving.
Practically yanking Kyle the rest of the way to the car, she quickly retrieved her keys from her pocket and clicked the fob to unlock the doors.
When the car made it's usual little clicking sound, it was like music to her ears. It wasn't just because they were closer to being home free, but that menacing shadow, that had been almost upon them, instantly halted in its tracks at the sound of her car and the lights flashing.
It appeared that the menacing murkiness was afraid of the light. Clicking the fob again, to make the car beep, Genevieve was ecstatic to notice, out of the corner of her eye, how this shadow backed away from not just the headlights of her car, but the threatening sounds that the car made.
Taking advantage of her brief reprieve, she quickly got her driver's door open and shoved Kyle inside. After he had scooted over to his side, she hastily got in. Just as she was closing the door, and breathing a sigh of relief, it was then that a hand came in and grabbed her.
It was the strength behind this hand, that not only surprised her, but had her panic-stricken brain going blank. Whoever it was, was strong enough to have her almost off of her seat and was working at trying to pull her the rest of the way out of her car.
It was like a constant tug a war between the three of them, which neither her nor Kyle were going to win – Kyle's grip, was already loosening on her.
It was the knowledge, that if she didn't react, that she would be yanked against her will back outside; that had Genevieve instinctively digging her fingernails into the deathly cold hand.
As she dug her fingernails hard into her aggressor's hand, she felt his grip slightly loosen on her.
While this had helped, enough for her to now be able to reach for her gun, it pissed her attacker off to the point that he slammed her back into her seat.
It was the stun impact of her head hitting that head rest, that had her slightly dazed. Yet, when her assailant, again, tried to yank her out, she quickly un-holstered her weapon.
The moment she pointed her gun blindly at her attacker and pulled the trigger, she couldn't help being worried that she either might miss and end up hitting herself. Or this would just further piss her attacker off even more than he was already.
Yet, when he shrieked, and his grip became more lacked than it was, she knew that she hadn't missed; she didn't waste any time. After yanking herself free, she slammed the door, and shoved her car key in the ignition.
It was like music to her ears, when she heard that engine turn over and come to life. Before the car even had time to idle down, she slammed her foot on the gas.
As she peeled out of the apartment complex's parking lot, she side swiped someone standing in the way of her getting away from the nightmare fest in back of her. Hastily looking in her rear-view mirror, she saw the person get to their feet and make a beeline after her car.
Now that's odd...That's just not human.
That's what her brain was telling her the whole time, and that's why she, chancing a glance down at her speedometer, decided to bring her car up from fifty to seventy.
How this person was able to even keep up with her car at seventy was beyond her; it was unnatural—they shouldn't have been able to keep up at fifty.
For some strange, far out, reason, even at seventy, this person found a way to gain on them in a matter of seconds. Deciding to not let it bother her, though, Genevieve slammed hard on her gas pedal; bring her car's speed up to ninety and leaving her potential speed bump in her car's dust.
“Eat my dust, asshole.” she mumbled this under her breathe.
XXX
> The moment Brian opened his eyes, he found himself in a coffin filled with good old Romania soil. There was nothing quite like that good old soil; especially the kind one could get from their own homeland. While Brian's lineage didn't come from Romania, and he, himself, had been born in Scotland – a supposed descendant of great warriors -, he had spent a lot of time in Romania with Cirpian. And he knew, personally, that the Romania soil had something of healing powers; at least, that is, for vampires.
After he pushed back the coffin lid, he was instantly met with the depleting feel of sun light streaming in from the window that the coffin sat right underneath.
Son of a bitch, he sat him right under a damn window.
He had a feeling that Cirpian had done it on purpose. Yet, the man would probably deny it.
Well, it wasn't as if he was still a fledgeling that would either burst into flames by the sun completely touching him or suffer something similar to third degree burns just from a slight brush with the sun.
When it came to fledgelings, there really was no good way to explain their susceptibility to sunlight. Then again, if anyone really wanted to know. Possibly the best way, was to explain the aging process of a vampire. When a vampire aged, he got more and more use to the sun. It was still depleting, but not as bad as it was when one was a young fledgeling.
Swiftly getting out of the coffin, Brian looked around at his surroundings. By the looks of it, he was down in an old wine cellar.
Curiously going over to one of the racks, he frowned at the selection of wine.
“Lord Howdy, Cirpian, you're a great warrior, but you always did have lousy taste when it came to wine...Then again, you never did care for the stuff.”
Shaking his head, he headed upstairs to see Cirpian.
The moment he closed the cellar door, he let his ears lead him to the Celtic music that was emanating from the library.
For a few brief minutes, Brian just stood there propped up in the door frame; just watching Cirpian—his strong, tall, frame sitting at his desk, with his head down reading a book.
As Brian stood there for a few seconds more, just curiously observing Cirpian, he then pulled his gaze away to look around the library. It was like any other library, in an expensive mansion. It had wooden bookshelves encompassing the walls; some of these bookshelves had books on them, and the rest didn't. Yet, the bookshelves that did have books, didn't have that many – at the most five or six books to each shelf.
From the untidy appearance of the library, it appeared that Cirpian had gotten bored and decided to take a break on what he was doing; obviously, the man enjoyed fighting rather than housekeeping. Shaking his head, Brian chuckled and, settling his gaze, finally, on a stack of open, unpacked, boxes of books, he moved away from the door frame; and headed over to those boxes.
After leaning down, he retrieved a book from one of the open boxes, and once he had flipped through this book, he just as quickly put it back in the box. No sooner had he put his first selection back in the box, was he retrieving another book. And it was upon closer examination of this book, that he frowned over at Cirpian.
“Hey, Cirpian...,” when the man looked up from his reading, he said, “are all these books in braille?”
Coldly smiling, Cirpian replied, “Brian, don't be stupid...You know that I'm blind.”
Chapter Eight
It was the shrilling ring of something—possibly that scream that she couldn't get out of her head – loud and unyielding – that had her coming out of her groggy sleep.
When she finally threw back the covers, and let in the welcoming sunlight, she was relieved and, at the same time, pissed, that whatever was disturbing her, wasn't what she had thought. Her head hurt, and yet, she couldn't close her eyes and go back to sleep – not with that irritating shrilling.
It took a few minutes for her groggy eyes to eventually adjust to the light streaming in from her broken blinds. Yet, once she did, she again heard the shrilling – this time louder. Without the blankets to muffle the sound, it was now like a sledge hammer to her brain – and her ears.
The one plus side of not having her covers over her head, if there was any, was that now she could hear the shrilling a lot clearer. She now knew that it wasn't from last night's horror fest – it was more a distinctive ring rather than a loud shrilling shriek.
Frowning over at her phone on her nightstand, she groaned and, pulling the covers back over her head, she put her hand out to pick the phone up; once she had..., she hung it up.
She was just dozing back, when the shrilling from the phone started again.
Groaning, she peeked out from the small opening in her covers, and, picking the phone up, again, she irritably inquired, “Who the hell is this?!”
“Don't you dare speak to me like that, you little...”
Dropping the phone back in its cradle, she snuggled back into her blankets – hoping that her irritant would get the hint that she didn't want to be disturbed.
When the phone rang again, though, she knew that her annoying caller wouldn't stop until she answered the phone – this annoyance was like those irritating solicitors, who couldn't take no for an answer.
At one point, when these said solicitors wouldn't stop calling, she had decided to get even by answering the phone and saying either, “County morgue, this is Death speaking.” or, she had said in her best accented voice, “No, I don't know what you're saying. I, too, have problems with the English language. Bye and please don't call me, again.” oddly enough the first one worked better than the second.
Throwing her covers back, she, picking up the phone, angrily said, “What the hell do you want?!”
“Gen, you talk to me like that again, I'll...”
She hung-up the phone again. This time after she put the phone back in it's cradle, she watched it for it to ring again.
It didn't take long.
When she answered the phone, again, there was, this time, more amusement in her voice than irritation, “What?”
“Gen..., you know how I hate when you do that to me.”
“You know how I hate mornings...Especially if those mornings are my days off.”
“I'm sorry...”
“Are you really?” there was a hint of sarcasm in her voice.
Her sister sighed. “Gen.., I have to ask you a favor.”
“No...”
“I didn't ask it, yet.”
“Well, whatever it is, my answer is still no.”
“Gen, we are having dinner over at that new client of mine's house.”
“No.”
“I expect you to pick me and Jewel up at seven.”
“N...O...No.”
“Okay, I'll see you at seven.”
“Is there something wrong with your hearing? I said no...”
“Don't be late, okay.”
“Who do you think you are, you can't...! Hello...” when Genevieve heard nothing but the typical phone static, she realized that her sister had hung up on her. Looking at the phone, she irritably mumbled to herself,“That dumb bitch hung up on me...Who does she think she is?”
Putting the phone back in it's cradle, she, sighing, got up from the bed. The moment her feet touched the floor and her bare legs and arms felt that cool air from her air conditioning, she was overwhelmed by this groggy dizziness, that she had forgotten as she spoke to her sister on the phone. As she stood there, disgruntledly, looking around her room, clenching her teeth together, she tried to focus on not falling face first on to the floor.
She was too exhausted to be arguing with Amelia this early. Yet, while she was infuriated by the fact that her sister had disturbed her, all she could do was angrily mumble to herself, “She can't make me...I won't do it...I refuse.” when she felt another wave of dizziness, she, groaning, steadied herself by grabbing hold of her dresser. After the dizziness had subsided, she said aloud, “Her dumb ass will just come over here.” raking her fingers through her frizzy hair, she, after turning on her radio, finally decid
ed on a warm shower.
It was the shower's warm spray, that chased away some of her grogginess, which she wasn't entirely sure was a good thing. The fatigue had been somewhat of a shield of helping to keep her from having to think about last night. If her brain was too focused on being tired, she didn't have to think about what had happened.
After combing her thick curly hair out, she sighed; she just couldn't get those monstrous images out of her head—that fog, those shadows, the way those wannabee idiots had looked.
How had those wannabee scumbags, changed from looking like scumbags to being...?
Oh, hell, she didn't know. All she knew was that they had changed from ugly to worse.
It had taken a lot for her to settle down. Keeping every light on in her apartment and the television tuned to a funny channel. She still, though, hadn't been able to sleep.
Eventually, once the sun had come up, she had been able to drift for a few hours. Yet, not long enough to feel rested.
As she brushed her teeth, she suddenly stopped, when she heard the DJ come on her radio and say, “This next song is for Genevieve...” she came into her bedroom, just as the DJ said, “Genevieve, you have a secret admirer, who wants you to know how much he likes you...So, this song is for you.”
Chuckling, she shook her head and, as she again brought her toothbrush back to her mouth, she turned to leave her bedroom.
Bung, bung, bung, bung, bung
It was the beginning of this song, that instantly had her halting in her tracks.
Bung, bung, bung, bung, bung
Bung, bung, bung, bung, bung
Bung, bung, bung, bung, bung
Bung, bung, bung, bung, bung
As she stood there, paralyzed, with toothpaste coming down from her mouth, she tried to will herself to move either toward that blasted radio or flee her bedroom – possibly her apartment. Yet, she couldn't seem to do either.
Mr. Sandman, bring me a dream
(Bung, bung, bung, bung)
Make him the cutest that I've ever seen
(Bung, bung, bung, bung)