Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Vampire Summer ❯ Disease of the Heart ( Chapter 24 )

 

 

Crystal and I ran into Cara at Lockwood's one department store a few days later. We were shopping for school supplies and she was out with her oldest granddaughter, Ellie, doing the same thing.

 

“Lisa!” she said with genuine warmth. “It's good to see you!” The girls, who had become friends at Betty's barbecue, showed each other their purchases while the grown-ups talked. “What have you been up to lately?”

 

She didn't know about me and Kenny. I wondered if she knew about any of it. “I left the packet of letters you gave me with Betty,” I told her, deliberately leaving out the part about the missing pictures. With any luck, Cara wouldn't remember they were in there. “Did you get them back?”

 

“No, I haven't seen Betty since the party,” Cara said. “It doesn't matter—I'll pick them up eventually.” She hooked my arm with hers. “Were they at all helpful to you?”

 

“A little,” I admitted. “It was mostly about your grandmother and Betty's grandmother, but it gave me a god idea of what life was like back then. Have you read any of it?”

 

“Not yet,” Cara said. “But I will. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. I had dinner over at my cousin's house last week—that was the house that my mother and uncle grew up in—and I asked him if I could go through some more of Mother's things in the attic—I have a whole box full of old pictures and correspondence for you. Why don't you and Crystal come over this afternoon and I can give them to you?”

 

“Did you tell Betty about the box?” I asked.

 

“No, it didn't occur to me. Should I have?” Cara gave a little laugh and waved her arm dismissively. “She can look at it later—after we've had a turn!”

 

I felt better. I had the feeling that Betty was feeding me what she wanted me to see. Cara, if she wasn't in the loop, was a wild card. The less Betty knew about what I learned from Cara, the better.

 

The girls were happy to have the entire afternoon to play together. I followed Cara over to her house, an incongruously modern ranch in an incongruously modern subdivision of this staid old town. She dragged the box across her kitchen floor and opened it to show me. It was filled with papers and pictures, including a few bound photo albums that reminded me of the missing ones from Aunt Beth's house.

 

“Did these come from Aunt Beth's?” I questioned, digging out an album. It looked similar, but not exactly the same, with a deep brown flexible cover and black pages with little triangular corners to hold the photos in place.

 

“I don't think so,” Cara replied absently, digging in another corner of the box. “I found those in an old trunk in my cousin's attic. Ah, here it it!” With a flourish, she pulled out the piece of paper she had been searching for. “I thought you might like to see this.”

 

It was a letter from Philip Summerfield to Anna Lovall, Cara's mother, dated 1956. In it, besides the ordinary pleasantries inquiring after the health of her family and assuring her of the health of his own, my grandfather had written that his son John was getting married, and asked that Cara pass that information on to her mother Amelia.

 

“See? They did keep in touch!” Cara said excitedly. “I wonder why your grandfather never came by to see her after he bought the cottage.”

 

Cara didn't know that my father and her mother were brother and sister. I was pretty sure that Betty did know, and that's why she fed me certain information. “According to Betty, your mother sold the property at the lake to my grandfather,” I told her.

 

Cara's eyes grew round as she processed that bit of information; then she reached down and rummaged through the box once more. “That explains it!” she said in triumph. “I didn't understand what this paper meant at first, but you just explained it to me.” She handed me a crude map of the lake and the lots surrounding it. On the far side of the lake, boxes were marked off with names: Anna, Edward, Jackson, Charles. Then, in a second ring around the first one, more boxes were marked with certain names: Philip, Elizabeth, John. The name John was penciled in on our side of the lake, in approximately the same area where our present cottage stood. “Grandmother Amelia must have set aside some of her land for her family—and she gave a piece of land to her cousin Philip and his son, too! Mother must have carried out her wishes after Grandmother passed away.”

 

That made sense. It would explain why Grandpa had come back. I looked at the map again. The lots on both sides of the cottage were empty. One had been marked `Philip,' and the other, `Elizabeth.' Was that why Grandpa was so insistent I be named Elizabeth?

 

I opened the photo album on my lap to view Amelia in her wedding finery surrounded by faces I was coming to recognize, including that of George, the hunter from Rhode Island, grandfather to my Kenny. This hadn't been one of the albums I had seen at Aunt Beth's house after all. Gently I touched the image of Amelia's beaming face. She had been very beautiful.

 

“Cara?” I asked, “Whatever happened to the pictures and genealogy charts from Aunt Beth's?”

 

She wrinkled her forehead. “You know, I'm not sure,” she replied. “Betty and some of the other relatives packed up most of her things after the funeral. As far as I know, they're still there.”

 

“Would Betty or any of the others have kept any of them? For sentimental reasons?” I asked, thinking that may have been why Betty had the photograph of the Crews—they were her direct relatives, after all.

 

“It's possible, I suppose,” Cara said. “We could give Betty a call right now and ask.”

 

“No, that's all right,” I replied. “I just wondered.” The last thing I wanted to do was to alert Betty to the fact that I had gained access to additional information about the family. “You gave me plenty here to keep me busy.”

 

Cara helped me load the heavy box into the trunk of my car. The girls were reluctant to part, and Crystal begged me, “Mom, can Ellie sleep over tonight? Please?”

 

That would go over big with the vampire. He'd probably want to sample Ellie, too, for her blood flavor. “I don't think so, honey,” I said. “Not tonight.” Not ever.

 

Cara stepped in to my rescue. “I need to bring Ellie home soon,” she said. “I'll ask her mother if the two girls can have a sleepover at my house. How would that be?”

 

The girls squealed excitedly and hugged each other good-bye. Cara promised to call me if her daughter agreed to the sleepover so we could arrange a date. I remembered Cara's daughter from the picnic—she was a little stuck-up in my opinion. How could she be related to Cara, who was so friendly? I wouldn't hold my breath that she would give her consent, although I hoped she would, for Crystal's sake. It would do the child good to have a little normality in her life these days.

 

The phone rang soon after I got back to the cottage. I ignored it. Most likely, it was Kenny, and even though we had sort of made up the other night, I wasn't ready to just pick up where we had left off. Besides, my resident vampire was sitting on my couch watching my every move.

 

I lugged the box up the steps and into the living room, with no help from Johnny. “You must have bought out the store,” was all he said, as he observed my struggle with his arms folded across his chest. I scowled at him and opened the box so I could toss him his old girlfriend's wedding album. That should shut him up.

 

“Before you ask me where I got them,” I forestalled him, “Cara got them from her cousin's house. And no, I don't know where that is.”

 

“That would be Charles Lovall's house,” Johnny stated, already flipping through the pages of the photo album. “I know where it is.”

 

Of course he did. “Are you planning on going there yourself?” I asked quietly. I didn't want to bring trouble on innocent people.

 

Johnny didn't reply. He was busy searching through the box for more treasures from his past. I knelt down and looked with him. Crystal took one look at us, hunched over on the living room floor poring over the contents of the box, and sighed. She stomped off to the kitchen to make herself some supper.

 

She came back a few minutes later with a plate of crackers and the entire jar of peanut-butter, and settled herself on the couch in the spot Johnny had vacated. The TV was showing the news, so she sighed again and got up to switch the channel. I wondered if hanging around with someone her own age had turned her back into the little girl she was supposed to be. If so, I'd have to make sure she and Ellie got together a lot more often!

 

We didn't find any other pictures of Johnny, thank goodness. The only ones must have been those that Elizabeth Crew had taken at Amelia's request, and those were all in the envelope marked `Proof,' now back safely in Betty's attic. Johnny was more interested in the photos from the period he had been gone from Lockwood.

 

He looked wistfully at a more mature Amelia, with her husband and children, and later, grandchildren. “I'd like to meet this Cara,” he mentioned, and I recoiled.

 

“I don't think that's a good idea,” I said. First of all, I didn't want him feeding on my friend, and secondly, it was dangerous for Johnny right now.

 

His eyes glinted, amused. “What?” he asked. “I still have to eat.” So he hadn't missed my apprehension.

 

Crystal looked at us, peanut-butter smeared across her mouth. “Not Ellie's Grandma,” she said sternly, and by that I knew she was still changed, and not completely the carefree little girl I wished she could be.

 

“O-K!” Johnny saluted Crystal with a grin. “She's off limits.”

 

It was that easy? Crystal only had to ask? Maybe Ellie would have been safe if she slept over here. If Johnny could be trusted. Or would his darker nature overwhelm his promises to my daughter? I didn't want to take that chance.

 

“They must have called him in,” Johnny was murmuring, recalling my attention. “I wonder who knew enough to contact him.” He held a photo of the Rhode Island hunter, George Brown, in his hands. The woman beside him must be Alyce, Kenny's grandmother from Lockwood. He had come here on business, according to Kenny and his father, and had stayed to marry a town girl.

 

“Do you think they contacted him because of you?” I asked. To me, it looked like George was just another in the circle of friends which included Amelia, Lizzy, Charles, Alyce and some others who I didn't recognize.

 

Johnny nodded. “That's what they do,” he affirmed. “They hunt us.”

 

“Us? I thought you said you were the only one.”

 

“I am. I have been for a long time. But not always.”

 

I knew about his vampire mentor. Did he mean there were others? “You mean, besides you and your `father' and the ones he tried to make?” I emphasized the word `father' with distaste. If John Price had `made' Johnny, in vampire parlance, that meant he was in effect Johnny's `father,' didn't it? But not his birth father.

 

Johnny gazed at me for a long time. I felt myself go cold under that stare, although his eyes stayed a warm brown. “Never mind,” he said at last, turning back to the pictures.

 

I heard a car stop in front of the cottage and glanced out of the window to see Kenny getting out of the driver's door. Apparently, he had gotten tired of waiting for me to answer his phone calls. “Damn!” I muttered. “Johnny, you've got to get out of here. Go.” I shoved the photo album and the individual photos we had been looking at back into the box. “Help me move this into the bedroom,” I said, beginning to slide the box across the floor, just as Kenny knocked on the door.

 

Johnny hefted the box up with one hand—he was a lot stronger than he looked—and carried it, and himself, into the first bedroom. He didn't turn on the light, but he didn't shut the door, either. I tried to pull it shut behind him, but it was as if it were glued in place. I couldn't budge it. Johnny's eyes gleamed from the darkness inside the room. “Open the door,” he whispered evenly.

 

Oh, this was going to be wonderful. “Kenny, what a surprise,” I said dead-pan, and watched his eyes widen in dismay. “Come in,” I added, and stepped aside so that he could enter. I made sure I was blocking the open bedroom doorway.

 

“I tried calling,” he said.

 

“I was out,” I fibbed. “Kenny—it's only been a couple of days. I still think we should give ourselves some more time.” I was very aware of Johnny in the other room listening to our every word.

 

Kenny sat down next to Crystal on the couch and snagged one of her peanut-butter crackers. “You said you wanted to get to know me better,” he mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. He spread his arms wide. “What do you want to know?”

 

He asked for it. “What's this `Historical Society' really?” You never mentioned it before. I'm not sure what your club is all about, but it's not about history,” I said.

 

Kenny shifted his gaze away from me, gathering his thoughts. He was going to lie to me, I just knew it. “It is,” he insisted, and my estimation of him went down a notch. “We study the history of the Smythe family and keep records of the various bloodlines. We were discussing you the other night.”

 

“That's not completely true,” I said. “Betty never mentioned anything about keeping records of the family bloodlines. She works at Town Hall, that's all.”

 

Kenny reddened. “She didn't know about the Society until recently,” he said. “It's usually my branch of the family that keeps the records.”

 

Well, that much was true according to what Johnny had told me about the hunters. I conceded the point to Kenny. “What do you mean you were discussing me the other night?”

 

“There was . . . certain evidence that someone might not have your best interests at heart. We were trying to protect you.”

 

“Is that what you call it?” I asked scornfully. “Taking me out on the town, meeting your parents, making me fall—“ I cut off what I was about to say before I said too much. “Protection?”

 

Kenny jerked his head around. “Making you fall?” he questioned.

 

“Forget it. Crystal—bedtime.” She shouldn't be listening to all this.

 

Crystal dutifully put her plate away, then got into her pajamas and padded into the first bedroom. She hadn't slept there since Mary and the kids had left. Smart girl, she closed the door over, although not completely tight. Johnny might still be able to see and certainly hear what went on outside, but there was less chance that Kenny would be able to pierce the darkness and spot Johnny inside the bedroom.

 

“You know it's more than that,” Kenny admonished, taking my hand in his own.

 

“Then what are you protecting me from?” I demanded. “Is there some psycho out there I should be worried about? Or are you protecting me from things that go bump in the night?” I asked derisively, knowing already that that was precisely what he was supposedly protecting me from.

 

Kenny hung his head. “I can't tell you,” he said softly. “But there are things you don't know about this family—dangerous things.”

 

“Isn't that all the more reason you should tell me?” I pressed. “I should know what I'm getting into.”

 

“I can't,” Kenny repeated. “Even the family doesn't know about it—just us few.”

 

“Your Historical Society,” I said skeptically.

 

“You wanted the truth,” he answered. “Lisa, I won't let anything bad happen to you. I care about you—deeply.”

 

“Am I in danger, then?” I asked.

 

“Not anymore,” Kenny replied. “We took care of the person who was causing the trouble. You should be safe enough now.”

 

“Who was it?” I asked. Would Kenny tell me?

 

He hesitated. “Don't freak out, ok? It was your babysitter, that kid John. He was a bad influence.” I was impressed. Kenny had told me the truth, sort of. “He has a vendetta against our family, and has been known to stalk them in the past. Betty noticed him hanging around you and got me involved. We gave him an ultimatum; either he leaves town for good or we call the police. He ended up leaving town. We didn't want to tell you, because we didn't want to scare you or Crystal, but that kid had something wrong with him. He's gone for good now, so you don't have to worry.”

 

That was a blatant lie. He had killed, or thought he killed, Johnny. My good will towards Kenny suddenly evaporated.

 

“Johnny. His name is Johnny,” I said, pulling my hand away. “What was so wrong with him?”

 

“He had a disease.” From the first bedroom I heard a choked back snicker. “If he had stayed close to you and Crystal, he would have spread it to you.”

 

I wasn't going to let Kenny off the hook that easily. “A disease? You were going to call the police because the poor kid had a disease?” I let the incredulity show in my voice. “What kind of disease was it?”

 

Kenny skirted around the truth so tightly that he became entangled in it and nearly fell. “A mental disease—he was a killer, Lisa, and he would have turned you into one, too.”

 

“I should call the police myself,” I said angrily. “You people are all crazy. Kenny, I think you should leave now. When you're ready to tell me the truth, come back—or better yet, call me.” That way, I could refuse to answer the phone.

 

“But I did tell you the truth!” Kenny protested. “I didn't want to, because I knew you wouldn't believe me, and I was right.” He sounded bitter and upset. “You weren't supposed to know.”

 

“Know what? I don't feel like you've told me anything, Kenny,” I said coldly. “You tell me you drove my babysitter out of his own town because you were worried about my safety? You'll have to give me more than that.”

 

“I can't,” Kenny whispered again. “Lisa . . .”

 

I steeled my heart against him. “Come see me when you can,” I said, and crossed my arms and waited until he left. After the last of his taillights disappeared down our dirt road, I locked the front door and flicked on the light in the first bedroom. Johnny lay propped on one elbow, his body on top of the blankets curled protectively around Crystal, who slept peacefully underneath the covers. With his free hand, he stroked the stray hair away from her face.

 

“You heard?” I asked without preamble.

 

Johnny nodded, and unwound himself from my daughter's side. He nimbly jumped over the bed and strode past me into the living room. “You're good,” he admitted. It wasn't the first time he had told me that. Maybe I had a future in the spy biz. He grinned. “A disease,” he repeated, with a chuckle. “I've got to go.”

 

I looked at him in alarm. “You're not going after Kenny, are you?” I asked.

 

Johnny grinned wider. “Why?” he countered. “Are you worried about him—or me?”