The Scribbled Victims Page 9

  “I’ll call her social worker to reschedule. You’re in no shape to see her.”

  “Don’t call it off. I have to see her. I have to become her mother.”

  Berthold raised his voice slightly, “But it’s so obvious that you’re drugged out. We’ll just make it for next week. Monday. You can wait until then, can’t you?”

  “If you reschedule I’ll never make you immortal, Berthold.”

  In the years he had served her, she had never once held the prospect of his immortality over him.

  “Put me in my coffin and wake me tomorrow.”

  Berthold nodded and rose to his feet. He left the room and went out into the garage and came back with a box full of white pillar candles. He took the box into Yelena’s closet, and pressed the door gently so that it opened. It was pitch black in there and Berthold couldn’t see in the dark. He lit a candle and placed it on the first step, descended three steps, lit another candle and placed it on the step. He continued to wind down the spiral staircase in this fashion until he reached the bottom. He lit the six remaining candles and placed them around the floor of the chamber, illuminating the two coffins. He removed the lid of Yelena’s coffin. It was rare that Berthold was down here alone and so he took longer than necessary in order to look around, and especially to stare into Yelena’s silk-lined coffin, thinking that someday his life, or rather, his eternal death, would resemble something like this.

  He ascended the stairs and exited the closet and found Yelena still lying on the bed, her eyes closed again. He scooped her nimble body up and carried her. Since her robe was so short, his right hand held her bare thighs. They were cold, but not like marble, as they ordinarily would be. It was clear she had recently fed. He descended the staircase with her body and placed her in her coffin. Already her sleep appeared deeper. He wanted to kiss her lips but didn’t dare.

  “Sleep well, Yelena. Please wake peacefully.”

  He replaced the coffin lid over her and ascended the staircase, leaving the pillar candles lit, as he knew he would be back only hours later. He closed the secret door and slid the hangers that held a fragment of Yelena’s vast wardrobe in front of it and went back into the bedroom. He sighed as he looked at Christian’s corpse. He was already tired at this hour and still had a body to get rid of.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Sigrid Paz, my social worker, was scheduled to arrive at Yelena’s house at 1 p.m.

  It was nearly eleven a.m. when Berthold pulled into the driveway. He sweated more on his long drive back than he had on the drive out with a corpse in his trunk. The car he drove had its air conditioning going, but his profuse sweating was caused by his apprehension at the thought of waking Yelena during the day. He had done it once before and it had nearly cost him his life.

  He had gone home first to shower off the sweat, dirt, and blood. He shaved, scented himself, and put on an exquisitely tailored suit and reclaimed the appearance of the attorney he actually was.

  In Yelena’s kitchen, Berthold removed his suit jacket and placed it on the back of the chair and sat down. He had two bourbons before he finally got up from the kitchen table. He headed toward Yelena’s bedroom, but passed it, stalling for time, and looked into the newly furnished room that was to be mine. He was hoping Sigrid would want to tour the house and would remark how lovely the new bedroom was, as Yelena, in her brooding over the thought of my death, hadn’t said anything. He fluffed an already fluffy pillow and then turned and left and headed back to Yelena’s bedroom, opened the closet, pushed the clothing aside, took a breath and opened the secret door.

  The candles were all still burning, making all the steps of the staircase clearly visible, but despite this, Berthold descended with caution. He reached the bottom chamber and stood before the two coffins. Yelena’s was farther from the stairs, on the left. He approached slowly. When he reached the foot of the coffin he bent at the knees and placed his hands on the lid. He closed his eyes and took a deep inhale. He opened his eyes and began to slide the coffin lid down the length of the coffin, just enough to reveal Yelena’s placid expression as she slept with her eyes closed. All of the candles flickered as if a gust of wind blew through the chamber.

  He was about to say her name, but before he could, her eyes suddenly opened and she let out a piercing scream, having been disturbed. The lid of the coffin flew off, seemingly light as a feather, as she rose in a single flash of movement, her body still flat as if lying down. She bounded from her resting space, still screaming, flying forward, extending her hands until they were around Berthold’s throat. Her flight lifted him off the ground and, like a hurled spear, they hit the opposite wall, Berthold’s back taking the brunt of the force. Yelena opened her mouth, her teeth elongated and ready to bite.

  “No, Yelena!” Berthold gasped as he gripped her wrists, futilely trying to release their grasp from around his throat.

  Yelena’s eyes blinked as she heard her name. She recognized Berthold and loosened her grip and let him fall to the floor. Berthold breathed heavily as his heart raced. Yelena’s feet touched down on the stone floor and she looked down at her attorney. As she collected herself, he attempted to catch his breath. Finally, she spoke.

  “I’m sorry you have the task of waking me on days like today, Berthold.”

  She extended her hand. He grabbed it and she pulled him easily and gently to his feet.

  “Forgive me,” she said and pulled his head to her breast and kissed his forehead.

  Berthold loved where he was now, in her arms, upon her breast, and she knew it. She held him like that a moment longer and he felt cherished by her. She clutched him tighter before releasing him and she smiled and then said something she hadn’t said for over two centuries. “Good morning.”

  Berthold coughed out a laugh. Yelena moved slowly to the staircase, languidly taking one step at a time, her energy spent upon her awakening and her daytime strength naturally failed her. She stopped after the sixth step. “The windows,” she said.

  “They’re all covered,” Berthold answered as he followed and benevolently placed his hand on her shoulder and allowed her to fall backwards into his waiting arms. He lifted her. Her bare thighs felt noticeably colder than when he had laid her to rest the night before. He carried her the rest of the way up the staircase, exiting the closet, and setting her down on her bed which he had made up early that morning, with clean sheets, pillowcases, and blankets. The house was dark, lit only by scant lamplight.

  “Do you want coffee?” he asked her. “It might wake you up a bit.”

  “I need an adrenaline shot for the heroin,” she replied. “A fine mother I’m going to make.”

  “I’ll make the coffee,” he said and began to leave.

  “Come back.”

  He turned to her.

  “I need you to dress me.”

  Berthold half expected this. He had dressed her once before when she had to be awake during the day. “Do you want to wear a dress?”

  Yelena assented a belabored nod of her head and shut her eyes. Berthold went to her closet and looked through her dresses before selecting one. He came back with a collared black dress and placed it on the bed. He undid the belt around her waist that held her robe shut. He slid the robe out from under her and removed it and dropped it on the floor. He reached for the dress. Her eyes remained shut.

  “My bra and panties too.”

  He looked at her, unsure. He had never fully undressed her.

  “I killed in these clothes last night. I don’t want to wear them today.”

  Berthold reached around her and undid her bra, removed it, and also dropped it on the floor. He looked at her small breasts. She knew of his admiration and lust for her, but she wasn’t doing this to torture or test him. She was simply too weak to do these things herself. Berthold went to his knees and pulled off her lace panties and dropped them beside her bra. He got up and went back to her closet. In her lingerie drawers he selected a fresh bra and panty set, and a pair of black stockin
gs and garters. He returned to her. He would put her bra on first. He stopped.

  "What is it?” she said monotonously.

  “Blood,” Berthold answered. There was a small smear on her left shoulder.

  Yelena opened her eyes and looked at him. “Bathe me,” she whispered.

  Berthold removed his cufflinks and rolled up his sleeves as he headed to the kitchen. He placed his cufflinks on the table in the spot claimed by his jacket and went to a cupboard and removed a small porcelain bowl. He returned to her room and took the bowl into the bathroom. It took some time for him to draw her a hot bath. He came back and scooped her up under her legs with one arm and supported her back with the other. He carried her to the bathroom. Yelena looked into his face as he carried her. He felt her watching him and with effort he avoided looking at her nude body. He became aware of his penis hardening as he lowered her into the tub. She was still looking at him. He lathered a soft washcloth with an expensive soap and began to wash her body, beginning with the bloodstain on her shoulder. He submerged the bowl and poured the hot bathwater over her body to rinse her, failing not to swoon as the water washed over her unblemished ivory skin. It cascaded mostly down her back, but what spilled over her shoulders trickled over and off her breasts. He poured two bowls over her hair and shampooed and conditioned it and again, using the bowl, rinsed all the suds out. He placed his hands under her arms and lifted her delicate frame out of the tub, the water dripping from her toes, and set her down on the small bench that sat in the corner. He grabbed a very thick towel, dried her body and then her hair and then swathed the towel around her and carried her back to her bed and sat her down. He went to his knees and helped her stand. The towel fell to the floor as she rested her hands on his shoulders. He guided her feet through the new pair of panties and slid them up her legs. His face was at her navel and he longed to pull her into him and kiss her there. But he did not. He supported her as he stood up and turned her around and fastened her bra. He sat her back down and put the garters and stockings on, before finally pulling the dress over her head. He stood her up again to allow the dress to fall to the bottom of her calves. He then lifted her, carrying her a few steps, and set her down in the chair in front of her vanity. He knew she knew he would be unable to do her makeup for her. His part here was complete.

  “Thank you, Berthold,” she said.

  Berthold nodded his head. He struggled to suppress his lust for her as he remembered her as she was moments before, naked and vulnerable. The erection behind his trousers still ached. “I’ll brew the coffee now,” he said and left the room.

  Yelena looked at herself in the mirror. No, he could not apply her makeup, but presently, in her weakened state, she could not apply it either. She would wear no makeup for this meeting, but as she was naturally exceptionally beautiful, it was of little consequence. Instead, while she waited for Berthold to return, she thought of having Berthold putting a pair of sunglasses on her, but she knew that the house would already appear strangely dark to the social worker. Her thoughts turned then to motherhood. As a vampire, Yelena couldn’t ever give birth to her own child. And in the two hundred and nine years she had lived as an immortal, she had given no thought to becoming a mother and therefore knew nothing of the adoption process that she would soon be interviewing for. She was momentarily dejected by the combination of her fatigue and ignorance, but it passed when she thought of me still being alive and recovering. Thinking of me didn’t revive Yelena physically, but it strengthened her mental resolve to make it through this meeting flawlessly.

  *

  Yelena decided it would be best to meet Sigrid Paz in the dining room for two reasons. First, when the front door opened, the sunlight from outdoors would not reach this room. Second, the table would allow her to support herself with her arms rather than falling over on one of the sofas elsewhere in the house. She sat at the head, where Berthold had seated her with a cup of steaming coffee before her. Berthold had already added the copious amounts of cream and sugar he knew she liked. She drank slowly, hoping the caffeine would be of some aid to her.

  “This place looks like we’re having a wake,” Yelena said and Berthold turned on every lamp in the house in an attempt to mask the lack of natural sunlight in Yelena’s home. Berthold then took a seat to Yelena’s right with his own cup of coffee as they waited.

  Sigrid Paz rang the doorbell promptly at one. Yelena remained in the dining room as Berthold got up and answered the door. She could hear their greeting clearly from where she sat.

  “Good afternoon,” a female voice said.

  “Good afternoon. You must be Sigrid. My name is Berthold Leitz. I’m Yelena’s attorney. Please come in. Yelena is waiting for you.”

  She heard Sigrid step into her home. She heard the door shut. The sunlight, shut out. Yelena was safe everywhere in her home again.

  They entered the dining room. Yelena struggled to stand but Berthold stopped her. “Yelena, please don’t get up.” Yelena sat back down. He turned to Sigrid, “Yelena is feeling a bit under the weather today.”

  “Oh, that’s too bad, and it’s such a beautiful day out.”

  She clearly noticed all the window coverings were drawn, thought Yelena.

  “If this isn’t a good time…” Sigrid began to say.

  “No. It’s fine,” Yelena said. Hello, I’m Yelena Solodnikova.” Yelena extended her hand. “Don’t worry, it’s not contagious.” Sigrid took it and both Yelena and Berthold noticed a slight change of expression in Sigrid’s face when she felt the coolness of Yelena’s grip as they shook.

  Berthold gestured to the chair to Yelena’s left, and Sigrid took a seat there. “Can I get you something to drink? We’re having coffee,” Berthold asked.

  “That would be nice, thank you. Just cream, please.”

  Berthold went to the kitchen.

  “Thank you for taking the time to see me,” Sigrid said. “I’m always delighted to meet prospective new parents.”

  Yelena nodded her head. Berthold returned with the coffee and set it down on the table in front of her. He returned to his own seat at Yelena’s right and more pleasantries were exchanged, with Berthold doing the talking on Yelena’s behalf. Yelena focused what energy she had on being charismatic.

  Yelena considered taking charge of Sigrid’s thoughts. But in her weakened state she wasn’t even sure she could. Besides that, Sigrid’s thoughts would again belong to her when she left Yelena’s house. Sigrid would remember the things that had come out of her mouth at the table and maybe that would confuse her later, if the thoughts Yelena gave her were contrary to her real thoughts. In that sense, altering Sigrid’s thoughts would only be effective if they were signing papers that couldn’t be revoked. Yelena was certain Berthold was aware of that.

  But even if none of that were the case, Yelena didn’t want anything artificial intruding into this meeting. She wanted to hear from the social worker, in her own words, that she would make a good parent, and she wanted that to be the truth.

  “Things have changed for my client,” Berthold was saying, when Yelena rejoined the conversation. “Yelena would like to explore the option of adopting rather than fostering the girl. As you can see, she has the means to support a child without assistance from the state which she would receive while fostering.”

  “Yes, I am quite sure you have the means,” Sigrid said, looking at Yelena. “But before we get that specific, I would like to talk about your interest in Orly. I speak with Orly weekly. I know you met in the hospital. So certainly, you are aware that she is in very poor health.”

  She looked to Yelena as she asked this, but Berthold saw the exhaustion in her face and answered for her. “Yes. My client is aware of that.”

  “So I guess my question is, why her? Don’t get me wrong, Orly is a great little girl, but there are many other children in need of a good home.”

  “You mean other children who aren’t sick?” Berthold asked.

  “Yes, I’m afraid that is what I m
ean. Parenthood is a big commitment, especially for one who has never parented before. Taking on a child who is seriously ill is an exceptionally bigger commitment, and is probably too much to ask of a first-time parent. And forgive me for saying so, but as you are now asking to adopt, if that adoption was to take place you would also be taking on the girl’s medical expenses, which I’m sure you are aware are quite significant.”

  “My client is aware of that as well. Her means are vast, and obviously I would advise my client to explore insurance options.”

  Sigrid pursed her lips before speaking. “How do I say this without sounding cruel? Orly is not going to live. Her doctors believe she only has months if not weeks left. Do you see where I’m going with this?”

  Sigrid looked to Yelena for a response. Yelena looked pleasant and charming, but when she didn’t utter a response, Sigrid turned to Berthold. He thought of saying that his client is aware of this also, but did not as he thought it would make Yelena seem morose. So he said nothing.

  “Like I said, there are many, many children, great children, out there seeking a good home.”

  “I love her.” Yelena finally spoke. “Not some other child. I love her.”

  Sigrid nodded her head silently. It appeared she recognized Yelena’s sincerity.

  “Berthold, show her Orly’s room.”

  “Would you like to see the room we made up for Orly?” Berthold asked.

  “I’m sure it’s lovely, but…”

  “I insist,” Berthold interrupted and he stood up.

  Sigrid followed his cue and as they moved to leave, Sigrid looked to Yelena, probably expecting her to come. But when Yelena did not rise from her chair, she left and followed Berthold.

  The longer Yelena remained out of her coffin as the minutes of daylight ticked past, the weaker she became. Her arms went to spaghetti and her forehead crashed down on the table in exhaustion. She felt the need to cry but didn’t have the strength to do even that. The social worker was not going to give me to her. Yelena was sure of it.