Forever Indeed
Towering clean clothes collapsed, as Charley rushed into the kitchen. He harried Sam along who mumbled and clumsily attempted to salvage a pair of teal knickers from the counter fall.
"I've been watching him for a while." Charley exclaimed, waving about his arms for emphasis. He voice boomed, "My old mate told me and I didn't believe him – Ed. I've not seen him since!" He grabbed a knob and opened a cupboard only to growl with frustration, viciously closing the wooden door. Sam flinched, hands clasping at his ears. He released a squawk of embarrassment as the knickers scraped across his left cheek.
Charley turned to stare at Sam, an eyebrow rising as he mumbled with an uncomfortable tone, "Those are my mothers."
Sam threw them away, timidly smiling. The grin crumbled. He moaned, "What am I going to do?"
"Sit down. Help yourself to something to drink. I've put the kettle on and there's coffee and tea in that cupboard there." He pointed to the cupboard nearby that which he had opened previously.
Sam, already having sat at the counter table, shrugged. Charley stormed into the hall, his feet loudly thudding on the staircase as he ran upstairs.
Grumbling, Sam stared at the cupboard, then the kettle. He turned round on the stool slightly and caught sight of a biscuit tin and a bowl of fruit. Sighing, Sam reached for the tin.
Stopping, he thought for a moment. He reached instead for the bowl, dragging it across the counter. The tops squealed, the white paint of the bowl chipping. Sam took a large apple from the assortment.
"I found it!" Charley's voice rumbled. He raced into the room, clasping a large purple folder, "I printed them out yesterday." Dropping the folder onto the counter in front of Sam, Charley snatched an orange from the bowl before pushing it back in place.
"I've been doing research for a couple of days now, but there's no way to tell if the internet is spewing rubbish or actual useful information." Tearing at the skin of the orange, glaring at the blazing colour, Charley continued, "I found some guy. He has a show and seems to know about these sorts of things."
Sam frowned, biting his lips. He raised the apple to his mouth, staring as Charley peeled the orange. "Mr Vincent is only in Vegas for a couple more weeks and his website says he's doing shows every evening, so he's busy a lot. I reckon though, that we can sneak in." He bit into a segment of orange, juice dribbling, "Well, I can probably sneak in while you distract security… or something." Charley loosely confessed when Sam's face expressed great doubt, "Okay! I haven't exactly planned it all out, but it's not like I can make an appointment."
"Charley," Sam strongly interjected, "I have no idea what you're talking about." He settled the apple onto the counter, "My fiancé just leapt into the arms of another man and you're talking about seeing some celebrity in the city – you're out of your mind!"
"What?"
Sam stood, heading through the living-room area towards the front door.
Charley hurried after him, grabbing the folder, "No – Sam. I swear this is important!"
"You're insane Charley." Sam retorted.
"No I'm not. This is life and death." He jumped onto the couch, dashing over the back of it and coming to a stop in front of Sam, emphasising, "Un-death!"
Sighing, as Charley held his hands out to stop him from leaving, Sam daringly asked, "What does this Vincent person have to do with this? What could he possibly do to help?"
Biting his bottom lip anxiously, Charley ventured, "You don't know, do you? It hasn't sunk in yet… or maybe you're just really ignorant."
Voice bellowing throughout the house, Sam barked, "I didn't come here to be insulted!"
"No." Charley stridently replied, "You came to get help for Elizabeth. Help can be gotten too, but you have to work with me. We have to see Mr Vincent."
They glowered at one another for a moment, a tense atmosphere brewing between them.
"Ugh, fine!" Sam shouted, forlornly crumbling onto the sofa. His hands rubbed at his eyes, a guttural stutter escaping his throat. "What has he done to her? You know Charley. You haven't said it, but you know."
Tightly grasping Sam's shoulder, Charley attempted to apply some comfort as he sullenly admitted, "I know."
Sam struck out.
Charley released a pained cry, trying to pull his arm back. The constrictive grasp Sam had upon Charley's arm caused a quiver to strike through. Tingles sprang up where Sam's nails bit into his skin and Charley moaned. "Sam," he gasped out, "I know you're angry that I haven't told you, but I will. I'll tell you right now – once you've calmed down a little! I'll tell you everything. No lies, no holding anything back… I tell you everything I know."
Gazing at the brooding figure, Charley drew in a deep breath.
Sam agreed.
Charley moved round to sit with Sam.
Pausing, he stepped away from that couch and moved round the coffee table to sit elsewhere.
Sam stared at the carpet, unmoved.
Licking his lips and hands shaking, Charley uncomfortably cleared his throat.
He loudly stated, "Jerry is a vampire."
Laughing, Sam looked up at the young lad sitting opposite him. The table obstructed any chance of him hastily reaching out to strangle the impudent child.
"This isn't the time to mess me around Charley."
"I'm not – I sweat it. He's a vampire." Charley jumped to his feet, insisting, "He's been eating people left and right since he got here. He even ate Doris!"
"Doris, who – oh… the neighbour."
Quieting down, Sam considered Charley's declaration.
They sat silently, the insistent tick of a clock resonating throughout the open-plan space.
"I read Dracula once." Sam admitted, "When I was younger. It was necessary for an English Literature exam." He scratched at his neck, nose scrunching, "I found it boring."
"They used a stake in that one right?" Charlie asked, opening the folder, "I saw one of the movies."
A high pitched laughed burst from Sam, "Yeah," He rubbed his eyes, "Oh God Charley." Staring into Charley's vibrant eyes he beseeched, "Are we going to have to stake her? I love her. Has he changed my Lizzie-beth into a senseless slave?"
Gulping, Charley timidly proclaimed, "I think it may be a little worse than that." As Sam's lips churned, skin creasing and eyes wrinkling, Charley stressed, "I'm certain Mr Vincent can put everything right. He'll fix everything – tell us exactly what we need to know."
Licking his lips, Sam firmly ventured, "What kind of shows does this Mr Vincent do Charley?"
Running his hands fiercely through his short curled tangles, Charley hesitatingly announced, "He's an illusionist."
A gruff laugh escaped Sam's parched lips. It grew, thunderous. Charley slowly stood from his perch and teetered between the coffee table and the kitchen, turning his head this way and that nervously.
Uncertain as to the correct course of action, Charley asked, "What's so funny Sam?"
The laughter stopped. Sam glared at Charley, fists clenching, "You're going to ask a magician."
Stepping towards the kitchen, eyeing the pots and pans, Charley stated, "Yes."
Sam stood, but did not approach.
"Charley I highly doubt a man who cuts scantily clad bleach blonde highschool dropouts in half is likely to know how to take care of our vampire problem."
Avoiding his gaze, Charley said, "I disagree. I think Mr Vincent will be very insightful." Keenly stepping further into the kitchen as Sam tiptoed closer, Charley continued, "Besides, he's an expert in Vampire-ology."
"Vampire-ology… really, there is such a thing as that?" Sam probed sceptically.
Nodding, Charley changed the subject. He looked outside the living-room window to Sam's Parents' house, "You should stay here until dawn then go over and get ready."
"Right," Sam frowned, glancing round the room, peeking into the kitchen and then at the staircase, "Where is your mother? She can't possibly be that heavy a sleeper."
A short laugh broke through Charley's twitching lips, his teeth chattering slightly, "She went out with some work-friends." He began hastily pacing towards the light switches, turning the fixtures off, "Bonnie is putting her up. I don't doubt she'll be too wasted to get a taxi back."
Sam absentmindedly nodded, pre-occupied by the purple folder. He moved towards it, but Charley snatched it up, "I think we should get some rest." Charley insisted, "There are some spare quilts upstairs. You can sleep on the couch and I'll get you one of my mother's pillows."
Warily, Sam scrutinised Charley as he sauntered up the staircase with the folder in hand.
Slamming the door, Sam shocked the engine to life. Charley took to the front passenger seat.
"This shrine thing then," Sam trailed over for a fourth time, "Are you sure it has something to do with vampirism. Maybe he's just some psycho and has hypnotised Elizabeth."
Charley sighed, shaking his head, "No, no, no, I told you. I saw him dig his freakish fangs into Doris and besides, how else would you explain all the recent missing people." He raised a finger, factually adding, "Professionals say that a single person can get away with illegal action a lot easier than a group. A single law-breaker is harder to catch. Jerry is alone and he's killing anyone who gets too close to the truth. That's probably how he's gotten away with this for so long – hence how he's been able to survive." A disgusted snort escaped him, as he stuck his tongue out at the following verbalised thought, "Being a vampire and all, he's probably ancient."
"You can't clarify what is actually depicted in those photos of yours though." Sam certified, as he spun the wheel.
Sighing, Charley sourly admitted, "No, I can't. Mr Vincent can hopefully fill in the blanks though."
"If he can't… what then?" Sam asked. His hands tightened on the wheel, as the car ceased at a red light.
"I'm not sure." Charley quietly confessed, "I guess we just do what we can with what we have."
"Great," Sam sardonically said with a bright smile, "Wooden stakes, garlic bread and holy water it will be then. I still can't believe you broke into his house… insane. This is completely insane." His fingers tapped on the steering wheel. "I should never have brought her here." He gently droned.
Turning away from the bitter man, Charley silently stared out his window for the remainder of the ride. He avoided all conversation despite Sam's various attempts of goading more information from him about Jerry.
He bought a newspaper, allowing the vender to keep the change. Making his way back to the car, Charley ripped the insignia of the paper from the pages.
"I don't know how long I'll be." He said, watching Sam stick a ticket to the windscreen.
"I can always break away once you're inside." Sam replied.
He turned to the teenager, sturdily probing, "Are you sure you want to do this? We can switch places."
Charley aggressively shook his head, "No, I'll be fine and as soon as I get passed security there shouldn't be any chance of getting caught. Plus, I know what to ask."
"Right, just be sure to be professional." Sam insisted, as they walked to the elevators, "You're a journalist now. Remember to shake his hand, clarify you're alias, the paper you work for and that you've already got an appointment to speak with him."
"I know," Charley retorted indignantly, "I know what I'm doing. Drama is one of my classes."
Sam obliviously continued, "This man no doubt sees reporters every day. He's likely to be hounded out there in the city by paparazzi. He knows the scene. If you get even the smallest thing wrong he'll know something is up, he'll be suspicious and if he figures out why you're really there… he'll think you're crazy."
"Hell," Sam loudly burst, "I'm still on the fence myself."
"Gee," Charley huffily expressed, "Thanks so much for the support mate."
Slapping his hand against Charley's shoulder blades, Sam chirpily replied, "No problem."
A broad shouldered man with a rather rounded figure grabbed Charley's left arm. "Really son, you think I'm an idiot?"
"Err," Charley hesitated, eyes venturing up and down the bald man's tall physique.
"Excuse me," Sam hollered from down the corridor, flittering through the crowd, "Sir!"
Charley broke away from the man, muttering to the other doorman, "I'm with the Vegas Sun – see." He pointed at the badge on his unbuttoned black jacket.
The more lanky man looked towards his portly fellow, but he was occupied with the lost tourist. Looking back at Charley, he gestured to the door behind him, "You here for Vincent then kid?"
"Yeah, this is my first assignment. I'm really excited." Charley poorly performed, yet the doorman seemed convinced by the fake enthusiasm.
He opened the door behind him, allowing Charley to pass. His fellow doorman glanced their way, but Sam grabbed his arm and pointed at the destinations on the map of a reception desk leaflet and asked for the man's opinion on the various sights. The local almost immediately began listing and describing those he felt were most magnificent and 'unmissable'.
Ripping flecks of silver confetti from his hair, Peter Vincent strutted from centre stage. He jumped off the frame and handed parts of his costume – clipped props – to assistants. Shouting orders, his eyes skimmed over Charley. "Who are you?" He boldly queried, gruffly stripping leather belts from his body and tossing them to the floor for others to pick up.
Side-stepping some of the straps, Charley stuttered, "I, err, I'm from the Vegas Sun. I'm doing a column on vampires – separating myths from fact."
Peter incredulously glanced at him, eyes squinting. "Is this your first assignment? You're quite young."
"Yeah," Charley suavely agreed.
The pair came to a stop, somewhere backstage where a few of the crew mingled, tampering with equipment.
Peter sucked in a breath, air hissing between his teeth and phlegm. He shook a whip. A black clad employee hastily approached, taking it from him.
He grinned, a laugh emitting from his throat. "I'm going to pop your cherry." He gloated with glee, gripping Charley's cheeks and squeezing the way one would a child's chubby cheeks.
Pursing his lips and swallowing the belligerent response, Charley averted his gaze elsewhere to avoid Peter's amused facet.
"Ginger!" Peter hollered back towards the stage, "Bring him upstairs." He prodded Charley's chest, "You've got ten minutes."
As he stalked away, Charley glanced behind himself and caught sight of a scantily clad woman. "Come along then sweetheart." She asserted with a snarl, tugging on Charley's arm.
He followed.
His lip curled as murmured, "What is all this stuff?"
Catching his smile, Ginger barked, "Stuff."
Charley slowed his pace, reaching out to grasp an uncased artefact.
"Hey!" Ginger snapped, "Don't touch anything." She slapped his hand. He retracted it with a pained grunt, a pout following. Ginger ignored it, turning away from him and moving on.
She led Charley through a cubed labyrinth of archaic objects.
"Are these really, like, sacred and magical things from eons ago?" he nosily inquired.
Ginger laughed, "I don't know. Somehow he gets his hands on these things, collects them. Mr Vincent is a very… odd man." She glances back at him, seeming to remember that he is in fact a journalist and keeping that in mind she became more cautious, "Regardless, these things give me the creeps. The atmosphere in here and the next few rooms is unbelievably otherworldly."
"Interesting," Charley muttered, catching sight of a large chalice.
Fire spluttered up from a square base. Peter emerged from behind it, tugging at his dark leather coat. Ginger's steps hurried a little. "The one and only." She introduced, gesturing towards Peter with a forced polite visage.
"Midori me." Peter demanded.
Leering, Ginger retorted, "Midori yourself, douchebag." She stalked away, one hand clasping at her vibrant dressing gown closed and the other raking through her long chocolate locks.
Charley timidly stepped further into the room, eyes scanning the area.
Peter threw aside his coat, back exposed to the cool air. He scratched a bit, skin sore and sweaty. Averting his eyes, Charley fixated on a chair. He rushed towards it, but remembered his manners. He remained standing.
His eyes ventured to Peter who had clambered behind a bar. Instead of insisting that Charley take a seat, he shook a bottle. Pulling a glass towards him, he announced, "It looks like piss, but I'm hooked."
Charley grimaced slightly, saying, "I pretty sure piss isn't supposed to be green… or at least not that vibrant of a green." He averted his gaze once more as peter incredulously stared, eyebrows lifting and lips elongating outwards to form a slight 'o-h' shape.
"Do you want some?" Peter asked, but Charley stammered out an 'I'm good, thank you'. "No," Peter concluded, "Too much for you." A grin scuttled over his scruffy visage, "Do you want a Shirley Temple?" he corrected with a mocking tone.
"Sit down." He insisted, watching Charley awkwardly teeter his weight from foot to foot as he poured the Midori.
He rapidly vacated the bar and approached the chair opposite Charley. Peter tore his long locks away. Perching the wig upon one of his many glass cased artefacts, he deafeningly crooned, "I'm the expert for your vampire… thing, eh?"
He droned rather dourly, "They're all the rage lately."
Scratching his head, ruffling his hair into a great untidy mesh, Peter plunged himself into his chair, complaining with a gritty tone, "Leather – it doesn't breath, you know?"
Fidgeting uncomfortably and once more averting his eyes elsewhere, this time catching sight of ornate panelling that crept round the walls of the room, Charley patiently waited for Peter to stop his unnerving groans of agony. Peter tugged at the material as it grated his crotch, sliding his backside against the chair as the leather spontaneously wandered in spite of his adamant attempt of control and heftily sought relief.
"Shoot." He spat.
"Right, well err," Charley anxiously fiddled with the strap of his bag and the collar of his suit jacket, "Look, I know your show is… err." He gaped for a moment, as Peter slowly tore away his moustache, "I know your show is an illusion."
"Yeah, fair enough," Peter lowly accepted.
"Say, though, that I wanted to kill a vampire," Charley expressed, attempting to sound fanatical.
Peter released a husky laugh, eyes closing and Midori drink swaying. "Yeah, sorry," he said, "Go on."
"How would I go about doing that?" Charley sincerely asked.
His leg overlapping the other, foot lightly kicking, Peter clarified, "You want to know how to kill a vampire - seriously." He gradually tore his sideburns off his face, Charley grimacing as he did so.
"Yeah," Charley keenly certified. Swallowing, he finished more dully, "kill a vampire."
"Well, let's think." He tossed away the fake hair, "Err-b, well you've got fire." Snapping a piercing from his eyebrow, Peter threw it at Charley who severely flinched, "Beheading." Swirling his drink, Peter stared at the wall behind Charley searching for methodologies, "Err-b, you could make them a big… garlic-y omelette."
A snarky laugh erupted from Charley.
"Or go traditional," Peter continued, "Stake through the heart. BAM!" His fist struck his chest. A slap-sound resonated.
Nodding, heart fluttering hastily, Charley looked away from the madman. Thinking back to his previous research, he asked, "So, that stuff – it really works?"
The vicious visage upon Peter's face dissipated, "Maybe not the omelette."
Sam paced the entrance of the building.
A multitude of people had passed him, but none were Charley.
"Damn, where are you?" he continuously complained to himself, hands in his coat pockets.
"Sir, could you please seat yourself further in the lobby. You're negatively affecting pedestrian traffic in and out of this establishment." A member of staff professionally requested.
"What kind of establishment is this?" Sam smugly asked, watching as the elderly man's facet jolted.
"The top twenty-three floors are privately owned or rented estates. The following seven floors below are restaurants and the forty below those are a mixture of… recreational activities."
Laughing slightly, Sam trotted away from the entrance, "Good try. We all know what you mean by 'recreational'."
Grunting, the man resumed his duties at the reception desk.
Sitting, Sam's eyes pierced through the thickening crowds, "Come on Charley, where the hell are you?"
The glass of the bottle cracked, green drops seeping out and splaying across the bar. "Get out!" Peter hysterically shouted, "Ginger!"
"No – please! You have to hear me out Mr Vincent. He's a vampire. Just look at the pictures."
"You're insane!" Peter retorted, waving Charley away.
Ginger finally entered, brows furrowed and arms crossed.
"Get him out!" Peter howled.
"Wait, just wait!" Charley cried out. Ignoring him, Ginger clasped his arm and dragged him from the bar towards the door.
"Let it go," she said, "Just go."
Peering into Peter's eyes, Charley eventually heaved a sigh and backed away.
He left the pictures and the purple folder.
Before leaving the lavish room he turned back to look at Peter, pleading, "Just make sure you look at them – just once."
Clawing at his bright hair, Sam scraped his nails across his scalp.
"Maybe I should get in there and speak to him." He murmured.
Charley shook his head, "No, it wouldn't do us any good." Tearing the jacket from himself, he threw it into the boot of Sam's car, "He thinks I'm crazy."
"What are we going to do?" Sam asked, "How are we going to save Lizzie-beth – or ourselves. You said so yourself Charley. Jerry will kill us for getting too close to the truth."
Pacing the concrete, Charley muttered, "I'm not sure yet, but we'll think of something."
He looked up and through the bars of the elevated car park. He caught sight of the sunset. "We should get back." Charley said, opening the passenger door.
Agreeing, Sam clambered into the driver's seat.