Bury Me in Black Read online

  Okay, three…two…

  Wait.

  He again heard the wailing of a child. The cries echoed up at him. He sidled closer, and—body on vibrate—peered down below. A flight below, on the very bottom step, a little girl was seated, her head in her hands.

  She stopped crying. The little girl looked up. She saw him.

  “And then what?” she asked.

  His breath had a shiver to it he inhaled. Save for the veil, the girl looked the same now as she had then. A helpless child, caught at the center of something she didn’t understand.

  “Marco…”

  Tears were welling in his eyes. Marco bit his lip, trying desperately to keep his composure.

  “I’m sorry, Shelby,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

  The car came to a halt. He heard the doors open and shut, and then the trunk door behind him was popping open, letting in all that blinding sunlight. He turned, and several arms grabbed him, pulling him out and onto solid ground. It took him a moment to regain his balance. Marco glanced back once at the trunk. Totally empty inside. Leon slammed it shut.

  Marco rubbed his eyes and turned, and there it was. That infamous structure. The building sat up on an incline, so that it overlooked Covington Center. Up on a hill, like the castle that it was. The Armory was a massive structure, composed of brick-red stone. It’d been built back in the 20’s, by Marco’s best guess. Three stories tall, the mammoth building seemed out of place amongst these dapper little shops. A single turret stood tall on the left side of the building. At the top of the steps was a great rounded archway that gave way to two heavy steel doors, within the cavernous arch, barred from the inside. Two men sat on the roof in lawn chairs, resting rifles against their shoulders.

  The place had been unmanned for decades, serving as an event hall. After all those years, it had come full circle, back to its true purpose. Ancient and beautiful, it was a wartime structure that had been waiting all these years for a war.

  “Aright, Marco,” Leon said. “Let’s go meet Mother.”

  7

  -THE PIANO-

  -Justine-

  IN AN EMPTY LIBRARY, in an empty town, they stared at one another in silence. Each taken aback by the looks of the other. She’d seen her father’s red eyes and pale skin and it’d been jarring, true, but not like this. This pretty young man with the nasty scar seemed to fit these monstrous qualities in a way her father never had. His chest heaved in and out as she stared into those impossible red eyes. Somehow, even like this, there was a dark beauty to him.

  He held out an open hand, palm up, nodding ever so slightly towards it. Justine was breathless. The room around them seemed to disappear, to fade into fuzzy obscurity, and all that was remained was this fear: a sudden chill, an arousing shock to the system. She held out her own shaking hand and placed it atop his. She felt the inhuman warmth immediately. His palm felt feverish, as if he’d just held it over an open flame. The man’s mouth opened and he exhaled. She knew now that he was feeling the opposite. Compared to his, her skin was ice cold.

  ~

  In the mirror, every morning, she donned her disguise.

  Getting ready was an ordeal. She was going through makeup and powder at an alarming rate. Even wearing those black silk gloves up to her elbows, it still took a great effort to conceal what she was. One small missed spot, one area of pink flesh showing through, and the jig was up. She combed her hair in the mirror, parting it so most fell on one shoulder. Time and again she’d turn and pivot, making sure she hadn’t missed a spot. She had to nail the vampiric look perfectly. The corpse-white skin had to be just right, and consistent in every revealed area. She had to look like a wraith.

  Like a monster.

  The rest was just taking care. She made sure never to let anyone touch her, save for a shake or a kiss of her glove-covered hands. With all the plastic courtesy that was being thrown around here, it wasn’t all that hard. Only once the wine had been flowing for hours was it ever a problem. People stumbled, people got more familiar, people got less careful. They also were much less likely to notice. Twice during each party, she’d slink away back to her room to make sure everything was in it’s right place. She’d then apply extra makeup and powder as needed. Pretending to be infected with a supervirus was a full-time job.

  On a night like any other, she made her way downstairs. Late, as usual. A crowd had formed in the airy foyer, a semi-circle around a man seated beside a harp. Another makeshift talent show. She hung around the fringes, raising a finger when a serving woman walked by. She was another resident. Claudia? Corina? Claire? Justine was so bad with names—who helped out from time to time. Justine helped herself to a glass of red wine that the poor girl held on a round metal tray. The ornate wall clock read four. Justine shrugged and took a gulp. The man began to play.

  Behind him, she spotted a baby grand piano, bone white and spotless. She remembered it had been one of the first things she’d noticed upon first setting foot in this mansion. It was the only instrument she knew how to play.

  She’d always hated the piano. Her mother had been a natural, or so she’d been told more times than she cared to hear. They started her out when she was eight or nine, when her parents were still technically together. That period reeked of end times, she realized later, with her father hardly ever around. She noticed none of that strain in the moment, but in retrospect it was all so clearly there. What she did notice was that damned piano. Chopsticks and Heart and Soul.

  Justine dropped the hobby until seventh grade. By then, her stepfather had begun to get into her mother’s head. His other kids, his perfect, successful seeds from a previous marriage all had gotten into college in part because of extracurricular activities. They were all members of the tennis team and the school band, all of them secretaries and vice presidents of student government.

  Somewhere along the line, someone got the dumb idea.

  Honey, how about piano?

  Next came lessons and time set aside for practice. She learned the mechanics, the notes. She impressed at dinner parties. God. Justine hated the fucking piano.

  “Bravo, Mr. Spelling. Fantastic.” Jacob Crowe had a distinct, loud style of clapping. He leaned forward, his hands out, and then brought them together slowly and forcefully. Andrew Spelling was an ugly man, truly, but had a great head of brown hair. He must have taken such meticulous care in styling it to get it just so. He bowed his head and those luscious locks gracefully and stood up from his seat beside the harp.

  The entire manor had formed a semi-circle around him. Everything was an event with Crowe. Each week, it seemed they were looking forward to celebrating something. Often it was someone’s birthday or a holiday. Often there was a theme. Masquerade or ocean-themed or black tie. There was always something to look forward to. Always something to keep these people busy.

  Spelling, to his credit, had been fantastic at the harp. They all had. Everyone who stepped in front of an instrument appeared to have been well trained, probably since they were children. Country club kids learn golf and tennis; she assumed they learned an instrument as well.

  Crowe stepped out from the crowd, into the semi-circle. He patted Spelling on the shoulder as he passed, donning a smile. It was hard to tell whether he actually enjoyed this bullshit or not. She’d never spent any real time with the man. He was eternally making his rounds, and only ever spared a moment or two for her. A cheerful hello, a nod of the head, and then he’d tap his cane and be on his way. She assumed this entire setup was a power trip for the old man. This was his place, his people, and he was forever at the center. For better or for worse, he was the ring leader of this plastic circus.

  “Are there any other talented gents or young ladies among us?” Crowe asked. “Come now, don’t be shy.” He craned his neck, searching the crowd. “I didn’t realize we were such a bashful flock. Fine, fine. But, next time I’m choosing at random!”

  The show was over, and things devolved into another party. Great. She remained
off to the side, sipping her glass. Across the room, she caught David’s eye, just for a moment. She wished she could fast forward to tonight. She wasn’t sure of it at first, but she’d begun to realize how much she enjoyed telling David her story. It brought back those old exciting feelings. Adventure, freedom, danger.

  “A toast,” Spelling said suddenly, raising a glass. “To the man who made all this possible. Our protector, our savior in a time of need and most of all, our friend. Jacob Crowe!”

  Someone gave an audible aww. Crowe, seated, both hands on his cane, gave a bashful nod. Beside him, the butler Benjamin began to clap. Suddenly everyone was clapping, misty-eyed. She pressed her hands together three times.

  Justine got a second glass of wine. No big deal. If this were a normal life, this would probably be her wild college phase, where she’d flunk a few classes and contemplate dropping out before getting it together and pulling through next semester. But, there’d be no college for her. She realized in that moment, sipping her glass, eyes suddenly going all foggy. Clean or not, there was no escape from the three towns. She was smart enough to see that. She’d never get a job, never get her own place. Never have Christmas with the in-laws. No Caribbean vacations.

  No white dress.

  She took a deep breath. All of a sudden, she’d had enough of this gathering. She again passed the serving girl, who was holding a tin tray for empty glasses. Justine gave her a nod and a smile and placed her half-full glass on the tray as she walked past. She’d duck out early, as she always did, and wait upstairs until the magic hour had arrived to meet with David. She was looking forward to story time, along with the bath she’d take after, unwinding and forgetting the world.

  “Excuse me, Miss Justine?”

  She glanced up. Benjamin had stepped in front of her. His suit and bowtie was immaculate, as always. Behind that fake, cheeky grin, she imagined the man was a stickler for imperfections, maybe to the point of obsessive compulsion.

  “Master Crowe requests to see you, when all the guests are gone.”

  Master Crowe. As if he were addressing goddamn Bruce Wayne.

  “Can’t he see me now?”

  “Oh, if it were so easy! Unfortunately, Madam, I don’t believe that would be appropriate. Master Crowe still has many guests to entertain,” he said, waving an open palm at the room before them. “Do enjoy yourself. And when it is over, await him in the dining room.” She began to walk away, but he stepped in front of her, leaning in to whisper. “Oh, and please leave the head of the table open. That’s Master Crowe’s seat.”

  “Of course,” she said, through clenched teeth.

  She walked back towards the serving girl, snatching up the glass she’d put down.

  “You know, on second thought, I might need this after all.”

  ~

  There wasn’t much of a conversation. If there had been, the words had hardly mattered. She tried to recall: what had he said then? How had he convinced her? She couldn’t recall what the words had been, but the offer—the real offer—was clear as day. Zeke was extending to her an invitation. Come with me. Let me be your guide. Let me show you this new and wonderful place. All I want is company in return.

  She took his hand.

  They walked out the door together, Zeke leading the way. He halted at the top of the library steps. She fell in line beside him.

  Out in the road, her father was waiting. He held a knife in one hand. He was calling up to her, screaming her name. Beside her, Zeke was a statue. He turned to her.

  “Wait here,” he said, and casually walked down the steps, towards her father.

  Jeff was still yelling. He was asking who the stranger was. He was calling for him to step away from his daughter. Threatening him, berating him. Justine couldn’t help but think of their shouting matches beneath the trapdoor. That hole he put in the wall, that crazed look in his eye.

  Knife in hand, Jeff attacked.

  She seemed hyper-aware in that moment. Her senses were on fire, every pore screaming for this to stop. Jeff stabbed and hacked, his movements clumsy. Zeke was anything but. He let her father draw close and then sidestepped his slashes, dodged his thrusts. Four, five times, Jeff tried, his movements wild and uncoordinated. Zeke dipped away from one horizontal strike and then, when her father was completely vulnerable, he smacked him across the face with his gun.

  Poor Jeff left his feet immediately. He was on his back, dazed, on the ground. Zeke, calm and silent, took a step closer, standing over him. He flipped the weapon over in his hands, finger by the trigger now instead of the barrel. Casual as could be, he aimed, ready to end her father’s life.

  She screamed.

  Zeke froze. This powerful figure, this slender vampire of a man, glanced back. She didn’t remember consciously making the decision to walk down the steps, but a moment later she was out in the road with them, standing beside the stoic man and his stunted gun. She shook her head no.

  He listened.

  They left her father there, nose bloodied, in the road. He continued to yell out to her, but she wasn’t listening. She was off chasing another thrill, following another mystery. She and Zeke said next to nothing to one another that night. With Zeke, most everything went unspoken. There was simply a primal, basic understanding. You either spoke his language or you didn’t. Right from the start, she liked to think that she did.

  ~

  Jacob Crowe was late. She sat at the foot of the table, tapping her fingers, listening to the tick-tick-tick of the grandfather clock that stood against the far wall. She had the sudden urge to reach for her cell phone, an old habit that had only recently begun to wane.

  He was red in the cheeks when he stumbled into the room. He waddled forth with his cane in front of him, one arm wrapped around Benjamin’s bicep. They walked by at a snail’s pace. Crowe mumbled something to Benjamin as they passed and the butler threw back his head in over-the-top laughter. He helped the old man into his seat at the head of the table, some ten feet away from her. Almost an entire room between them. Benjamin set down a glass of brandy, which Crowe sipped.

  “Darling, sit closer,” Crowe said. “I can barely see you. I’ve got old eyes, you see.”

  Justine stood. She made her way to his end of the table, eyeing a chair one seat away from his. Instead, Benjamin pulled out the chair just beside Crowe’s. She had no choice but to accept it.

  “Much better,” Crowe said. She could smell the liquor on his breath. Benjamin took his place at Crowe’s right hand, folding his own arms behind his back. “It’s been nearly two months now, hasn’t it, dear? How are you getting along?”

  “Fine. Things are very good.”

  “You haven’t made many friends.”

  Immediately, she thought of David. Her one secret ally.

  “I’m not really the social type.”

  “Nonsense. A pretty young thing like you. It should be effortless. You could use a little fattening up, though,” he said, playfully poking at her shoulder. “You’re all skin and bone. Have you been eating?”

  “Yes. The food’s great, I-”

  “Benjamin, have Everett fix something up for our friend here.”

  “Mister Crowe, that’s not necessary.”

  “Please, call me Jacob. And hush. A good meal is exactly what you need.” He turned to Benjamin. “Go now. Go.” Behind him, Benjamin shot Justine a dirty look, and then scampered away. When he heard the door close, Crowe sipped his brandy again. They were alone now, with only the ticking grandfather clock to break the silence. “I don’t know what to do with that one. Overzealous types like that, they’re usually over-ambitious. I can only hope he’s not planning a coup,” Crowe said, chuckling. “But, tell me about yourself. You haven’t grown bored of us, have you?”

  “No. No, of course not.”

  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. I know the look. The wandering eye. These little gatherings are to keep morale high, but I understand that they can be a drag to some people. Especially those who don�
��t buy in, and join the family.” Again he poked her shoulder with a finger.

  “I will say, I wish we could spend more time outside. Being cooped up in here-”

  “Crack a few windows, you’ll get plenty of fresh air. Easy peesy. It’s simply not worth the risk to have people out and about. They’re likely to run into savages, like that one we found you with.”

  “Zeke wasn’t a savage.”

  “Darling. So young,” he said, sipping his drink. “Zeke the Dollface was a killer of the highest order. A wild man.”

  “He was my friend. He protected me.”

  “Don’t be silly. No one can protect you. Not out there.” He licked his lips. “What I’ve constructed here is the last true sanctuary in the three towns. I’ve seen what it’s like out there. The raw brutality of it. We’re safe, and this is the price of that safety. What we’re doing here is important.”

  “What we’re doing here?”

  “Listen…would you rather spend your whole life looking over your shoulder? In the company of thieves and killers?”

  She lowered her eyes, voice hardly more than a whisper.

  “…You didn’t know him.”

  “I knew enough.” He placed a hand over hers, staring at her with foggy red eyes. “I saw what you were. My dear, you have to understand, you were never his equal. He used you. He got you under his spell and he used you. Until we came along.”

  She slid her gloved hand from underneath his.

  “I disagree.”

  ~

  They didn’t say much after that. The food arrived and Crowe took his leave of her, again using his old age as an excuse to head off to an early slumber. Benjamin, sensing that something was wrong, shot daggers at her as he led the old man from the room. Justine ate alone at the long table. When they were gone, she slid into Crowe’s seat at the head of the table.