Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Vampire Chronicles – The Interview ❯ Chapter 3 ( Chapter 3 )

 

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Vampire Chronicles - The Interview

Chapter 3

“You?!”

“Excuse me?”

“You were here last night. It's Trowa isn't it?”

“Of course I was here last night.” The young man confirmed. “I live here after all. However, I think you are mistaking me for someone else. My name is Trinton, Trinton Bloom.”

He is lying through his teeth. Milliardo was now more than ever convinced that things were not what they seemed at this place. Maybe it was journalistic instinct, maybe it was just plain and simple curiosity, but he fully intended to find out what was going on.

“I have a few questions I need to ask you.” deputy Otto meanwhile explained.

The young man nodded. “Should we go inside?”

“That sounds like a good idea.”

“Give me a second to put the dogs in the yard.” Trowa... Trinton ordered the two hounds to heel and led them away. A few moments later he was back. As his two guests followed him into the house Milliardo let his gaze wander.

The place was small and very simplistic, not to say spartanly, furnished; a far cry from the spacious, elegant and classy main house. Most of the ground floor was one large living area, with a fireplace, a couch and two armchairs, a desk and a small dining table with two chairs. An open door gave view into a small kitchen, and a wooden staircase led upstairs where most likely the bedroom and bath was located.

But what struck the journalist as odd was how tidy everything was. Milliardo didn't exactly consider himself a slob, but even though he had an cleaning lady coming twice a week, there was always a little disorder in his apartment; some clothes hanging over a chair, a dirty dish or two in the sink... But not here; this place was almost too neat and orderly.

“Do you live here alone, Mister Bloom?” he asked.

“Yes, why?”

“Just wondering,” Milliardo shrugged. “Don't you get bored or lonely if you are all by yourself all the time?”

“Not really, I keep myself busy. Besides, Thanatos¹ and Nix² provide some companionship if I need it.” The young man gestured at the sitting area. “Please have a seat. Can I get you something to drink, tea perhaps.”

“Thank you, I'm fine,” the deputy declined politely.

“I'm alright, too.” Milliardo settled down in one of the armchairs. “Do you suffer from migraines?” he suddenly asked, earning himself a surprised look from their host.

“No, why do you ask?”

The reporter gestured at the heavy curtains blocking the windows. “My mother used to have migraines when I was a kid. I remember how sensitive she was to light when she had an attack.”

“Oh no, nothing like that,” the young man assured him as he walked over to the window and pulled open the curtains. “I was taking a nap when you came. Keeping the house dark tricks the dogs into thinking it is night and keeps them quiet.” He shrugged.

“Well, lets get started, should we?” Otto suggested. “I really don't want to take up more of your time then necessary, Mister Bloom. Can you tell me a little about the accident you reported this morning?”

“Umm... sure.” He took a seat across from the deputy and folded his hands in his lap. “I was up early to check if the rain last night had caused any damages... sometimes the roads flood,” the explained. “I had Thanatos with me and he was running free as he always does. I remember hearing some noise, something like a crash and he took off. I followed him and he led me directly to the accident site.”

“Then you didn't actually see the crash happening?”

“No, I didn't.”

“You wouldn't know if there was another car involved either then?”

“I'm afraid no. It took me at least eight or ten minutes to get to the accident after I heard the sound. So any car that might have been there had plenty of time to leave.”

“Right.” the deputy confirmed as he took notes of the young man's accounts. Milliardo just listened quietly. It wasn't easy, and he had to remind himself that he had promised to let Otto do the talking.

“And what did you do next?”

“I checked both women in the car to see if they were still alive but I could find no pulse, so I ran back home and called the sheriff's office.” The young man explained. “And that's pretty much it.”

“And then you went on with your daily routine just like that, like nothing had happened.” The reporter just couldn't help himself.

“I tried to assist and I contacted the police; what else would you want me to do?” the younger man asked calmly.

“Right, I'm sorry. After all, you didn't even know those girls. It's not like you'd met them before or anything, right.”

The groundskeeper's eyes narrowed slightly, but that was pretty much all the reaction Milliardo got out of him. “What exactly is that supposed to mean?”

“Sorry, “the deputy intervened. “For some reason, Mister Peacecraft here is under the impression that he and the two car accident victims spent last night at Deerwood Manor, at the invitation of someone who called himself Treize Khushrenada.”

… is under the impression… he makes it sound like I'm nuts or something.

“You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?”

“Of course not,” the young man insisted. “But it seems highly unlikely. Nobody has used the manor in ages. Even if someone from the Khushrenada family comes by to check on the propriety, they usually stay in the guesthouse.”

“But you have keys to the manor?” Otto asked.

“Of course, I have keys to every building and every room at Deerfield. How else could I make sure everything is properly maintained?”

“When was the last time you entered the main house?”

“Just this morning; to check for water damage from the rain.”

“Did you find anything unusual… anything that might indicate that someone had broken in?”

“Nothing! Besides I was here last night, and even if I wouldn't have noticed any strangers on the property Mix and Thanatos defiantly would have”

“That will be all Mister Bloom. Thank you for your time.”

The deputy rose from his chair, indicating that they were ready to leave, and Milliardo had no choice but to follow. The groundskeeper showed the two men to the door and watched as they walked to the police car.

“I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help,” he said just as they were climbing into the vehicle.

Milliardo turned his head, and frowned in irritation. He could have sworn that for just one moment he saw the ghost of a smirk on the younger man's lips.

“Are you satisfied now?” Otto put the car into gear, backed up slightly and turned on the narrow road.

“Satisfied?” Milliardo echoed. “The guy was lying from the moment he said 'Hello!”

''I don't think he ever said `Hello'.” the deputy pointed out, earning himself a glare from the other man.

“You find this amusing?”

The deputy turned serious. “In all honesty, I really have to agree with Sheriff Bonaparte. Your story does sound a little farfetched. And from what I have heard and seen so far, we are dealing with just another tragic accident. At the moment I see no reason for any further investigation. However...”

“However?”

“Dr Po is a very skilled and, capable medical examiner. If there was any foul play involved, she will find indications of it during her autopsy.”

“You are probably right.”

“Alright, then I'd suggest that you do whatever you came here to do, and let her do her job. I promise, if there is anything new I'll contact you.”

Milliardo nodded. “Fair enough.”

The two men didn't speak until Otto dropped the reporter off by his Ferrari.

“Thanks for the ride.” Milliardo gave the deputy a curt nod as he slipped out of the patrol car. “By the way, do you have a library in town, somewhere were I can do some research.”

The other man nodded. “Across town, right off Main street; you can t miss it. It's right on the corner of the new community center.”

“Thanks.”

As Milliardo headed back into town, toward the library, he pulled out his phone and dialed the number for Noin's office. His superior and colleague picked up right away.

“Noin?!

“Milliardo, can you read minds or something? I was just wondering how things were going with your interviews.”

“Well...”

“Well?” she echoed warily.

“I haven't really started working on the article yet.” he admitted.

“What? Milliardo, you don't seem to realize that we are on a tight time schedule here. I need that article to be ready by tomorrow at noon.”

“I know, I know. Don't worry I'll get it done. I've just been a little preoccupied. Two people I knew got killed in a car crash this morning.”

“Oh gosh, that's terrible. I'm so sorry. Are you alright?” Noin asked. “You weren't involved in the accident were you?”

“No, I'm fine. However, I think it might not have been an accident”

“Come again?”

Milliardo hesitated for just a moment and then took a deep breath. “Remember all those so called `accidents' that have been happening around here? Well, I have developed my own theory about what might be behind them.”

“Milliardo?!”

He told her about the Khushrenada family and Deerwood Manor. “The estate is so far from town that they were living in virtual isolation. It seemed strange and didn't make much sense, unless of course they were trying to hide something... or someone.”

“What are you trying to suggest?”

“What if they were hiding the person responsible for those `accidents'?”

“You mean a member of the family is a crazy serial killer? But keep in mind those accidents go back for more than a century, don t they?”

“I realize that. But certain mental disorders are congenital are they not? They are passed down from generation to generation...And from what I have found out so far, the Khushrenada family was very rich and probably very powerful, which means they most likely had the influence to cover up the truth.”

“Do you have any proof of what you are saying?”

“No, not yet. Like I said, it is only a theory. But I'm heading to the library as we speak to do some research. Maybe I'll be able to find some kind of proof.”

“Be careful, Milliardo.”

“Don't worry, I'll be. But I need you to do me a favor.

“Yes?”

“I need you to check if you can find anything about the family that precedes their arrival at Victoriaville.”

“Alright, consider it done. What was the name again?”

“Khushrenada. That spells K H U S H R E N A D A.” he told her.

“Hmm… sounds eastern European. I'm on it, Milliardo. I'll call you as soon as I find something.”

“Thanks Noin.”

#

Milliardo was lucky, the library not only had an extensive news- and history-section but also a high-speed computer network that allowed him to check the news archives of several dozen other libraries in the system.

He had to ID himself and fill out an application form before the lady at the front-desk gave him access to one of the electronic newspaper readers. The library was nearly empty at that time. A mother with two little boys was searching for books in the children section, and a group of teenagers were hanging around one of the computer terminals.

Milliardo managed to find several books about the history of Victoriaville. He took them with him, but he decided to first search for information about any and all accidents and unnatural deaths in the area, before he was going to check the books. The newspaper-readers, a device that allowed him to read photocopies of old newspaper articles, were located in the back of the room. He settled down in front of one of the machines and used the access code the librarian had given him to turn it on.

The first incident he found dated back to 1878; or perhaps it was just the first recorded accident because the local newspaper was only established three months earlier. According to the article it was a riding accident, and the journalist would have probably dismissed it if not for the fact that it occurred on the Deerwood estate. A young man, twenty three years of age, was thrown off his horse and broke his neck. It was probably an open and shut case back then, and nobody did any investigation.

Next was a suicide. A woman who had gotten pregnant out of wedlock killed herself in the woods. The article mentioned that her wrists had been slit, but according to witnesses there was no blood found at the scene.

The third incident had once again happened at Deerwood. Apparently a roofer, working on a repair job at the manor, fell off his ladder. He was still alive when he was found and even regained consciousness for a very short time before he died. He acted very violent and combative, almost as if he was afraid of the people who were trying to help him. The doctor who examined him found no other external injuries but a pair of strange puncture wounds in the back of his neck.

Two years later a local teenager drowned in a nearby fishing hole. Witnesses who helped in the recovery of his body all described that the boy's skin had been very pale, as though 'all the blood had been sucked out of him'.

It went on like that. A hiker disappeared and was found dead days later… A farmer died out on the pasture; apparently he had been attacked and gored by one of his bulls and bled to death…

Milliardo rubbed his eyes. Trying to read the small print on the flickering screen was very tiring. He decided to take a break and check out some of the books, but just before he turned off the machine the young man changed his mind. There was just one more thing he wanted to check up on; the hunting accident that took Treize Khushrenada's life. The sheriff had called it a `big story' so it was more than likely that it made its way into the news.

Indeed, there were several articles on the subject. They told more or less the same story he already had heard from the sheriff, combined with some personal information about the victim. Milliardo's jaw almost dropped when he came across a picture.

Impossible! If he died 50 years ago this can't be... But…The same facial features… the same eyes, even the same hint of a slightly condescending smile on his lips.

The reporter knew from the articles that Treize Khushrenada was only 29 years old when he died. He wasn't married and didn't have any children, and there were no siblings either. But sometimes even distant relatives can look alike, can t they?

Milliardo was still trying to think of a reasonable explanation, but deep inside he already knew: The man in the black and white photograph and the one who invited him to spend the night at Deerwood Manor were the same person.

But that's not possible, is it? Even if he for some reason survived the accident back then; he would not look the same, not after fifty years. Unless...

Milliardo didn't even want to finish that thought, because it just seemed too unbelievable. But nevertheless he reached for writing pad. He could feel the hair in the back of his neck rise, as his eyes flew over the notes he had taken.

... no blood found at the scene... a pair of strange puncture wounds on his neck... as though all the blood had been sucked out of him... bled to death...

The young man swallowed, mouth suddenly gone dry. This is... impossible... there is no such thing...

Milliardo was still trying to come to grip with his findings, when the phone in his pocket started to ring. He quickly turned off the ringer, but not before the librarian threw an admonishing look at him.

"Sorry!" he mouthed apologetically, as he gathered his belongings and the books he had picked out and walked to the front desk.

"Can I leave these here for a moment while I go outside and take that call?"

“Of course, I'll keep an eye on them.”

#

“Noin? Sorry about that I was inside the library just now.”

“No problem,” she assured him. “I figured that much. I think I might have something for you.”

“Do you?” Milliardo found himself a bench in the smoking area outside the building. “Go ahead.”

“I have done a search on the Khushrenada name. Apparently they are blue blood, very old aristocracy; very wealthy and as you suspected quite powerful. But strangely enough I couldn't come up with anything like a family tree. However the name kept popping up here and there all over the globe for centuries. There was a merchant in China around the time of the silk-road; the name came also up in Paris until shortly before the French Revolution. After that I found someone by that name in Kiev in and later in Petersburg.
He was mentioned together with the czar of Russia, and apparently was courting one of the czar's daughters. There is supposed to be a painting showing him together with the imperial family. I'm still looking for it though. Does this help you in any way?”

“'It does, more than you might think. If you find a picture of that painting can you send it to me?”

“Over the cell?” she asked.

“Yes, but I'm going to turn off my phone for now. I don't want to get my head ripped of if it starts ringing again.”

On the other end of the line, Noin chuckled. “Yeah, that would be a problem, wouldn't? But anyway, have you found anything yet?”

“I think I did, but I'll tell you once I know more. I'll call you later.”

“Alright, later then.”

#

“I see you are you are interested in our town's history.” The librarian gestured at the stack of books as Milliardo came back to pick them up at the front desk.

“Yes, I'm doing research for an article for the newspaper I'm working for.” he told her, and it wasn't even a lie.

“Is that so? You know we also have historic photographs, but we keep them under lock and key since they are rather valuable.”

Milliardo nodded understandingly. “You wouldn't happen to have photos from back when the first settlers arrived, would you? I've heard that the Khushrenada family was among those arrived early on and founded the town.”

“That's right,” she confirmed. “If you give me a few minutes I'm sure I can find something for you.”

“Thank you; that would great. I'd really appreciate it.”

“I'm just doing my job.” The librarian turned toward a large filing cabinet and started to search through one of the little drawers. It didn't take too long before she came back and spread out half a dozen old-fashioned, black and white photographs on the counter. The pictures were well preserved, although they were somewhat discolored by age.

“This is Mister Alberts and his family.” She explained as she pointed at one of the photos. “He came with the first wave of settlers and he opened the first general store, which is still located at the comer of Main and 3rd Street. Of course…” she chuckled. “The store has changed a little since then. Here we have pictures of the old train station, and this is Main Street back when the town had only a population of 100 or so. And last but not least here is a photo of Duke Khushrenada. I'm not quite sure who the gentleman at his side is.” She turned the picture over to check the back. “Hmm it doesn't say either. Would you like me to see if I can find out who he is?”

“Thank you, that's alright.” Milliardo assured her. There was no need, really. He recognized the young man with the golden-blond hair, as well as the tawny-haired gentleman next to him in the carriage. He was still using his aristocratic title back then, but there was no doubt in the journalist's mind that he was the same person who called himself Treize a century or so later.

“Thanks, you have been a great help.” he told the librarian. “Can I leave these books here? I might come back tomorrow morning to do some more research.”

“Sure. I'll leave a note for my colleague. What's your name?”

“Peacecraft. Milliardo Peacecraft.”

She scribbled his name and a few comments onto a sticky note and attached the paper to one of the books. “All set. If you come back tomorrow just tell whoever is working here that you have books are on hold for you and she will know where to find them.”

“Thanks.”

The reporter gathered his notes and left. As he stepped out of the library building Milliardo checked his phone and realized that Noin had sent him a picture of the painting she had been talking about earlier. A cold shiver run down his spine and he opened the message. One look at the picture and the tall, handsome man who was standing with his arm around a beautiful, young woman, was enough to confirm what he already expected by now.

#

On the way home Milliardo stopped to grab something to eat, and called Dr. Po to talk with her about the two car accident victims. A few hours later he was back in his motel room, lying on his bed. He had one hand cupped behind his head and in the other he was holding his cell-phone, as he studied the picture his colleague had sent him earlier.

Part of him still was refusing to believe that there could be any truth to the rumors about vampires. But there was no other explanation, was there? This man had been living for centuries it seemed, without as much as growing a gray hair. And he apparently was not the only one. The photo the reporter had seen in the library was testimony to that. Quatre, the young man who had served the wine the other night, had been by Treize's side back then already. But what about Trowa, or Trinton Bloom how he called himself earlier today, was he a vampire too? How come did nobody notice that Treize Khushrenada didn't really die in that shooting accident? How much of that story was true anyway?

Questions over questions… Milliardo would have been a poor excuse for a journalist if they wouldn't have roused his curiosity. He closed his phone, slipped it into his pocket and checked his watch as he sat up. Well, I know it's considered bad form to make courtesy calls after sundown, but in this case, I don't think I have much of a choice. ___________________________________________________________________________ _________

T.B.C.

 

Author's Note: 

(1) Thanatos: the god of Death; a child of Nix (Night) and the brother of Hypnos (Sleep).

(2) Nix: (or Nyx) goddess of Darkness and Night, Mother of Thanatos and Hypnos