Encounters with Evil Pt. 05

Fifteen minutes later he was being given a ride back to where he'd parked his motorcycle, the young cop apologizing profusely all the way there.

Guy was bone-weary. He had spent the entire night staking out the church. He'd neither seen nor smelled Valjevo, and he was beginning to wonder if the scent he'd caught in the church was just wishful thinking. Tomorrow night he would sneak into the church itself and search, he decided. It was dangerous; the vampire could easily surprise him. However, he could no longer go into the church during the daytime when the priests were about—they would surely call the police about the crazy man with the gun again—and he was getting desperate. He needed to put an end to this particular job soon.

As he pulled his motorcycle into the garage at the gatehouse, he noticed a very large package leaning up against the wall. It was cylindrical and perhaps ten feet long. Wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, it had been delivered by UPS to a Mr. Smith. He approached it and examined it. Clearly it was a rug; he could smell the new wool. He detected nothing concerning, but ... what the hell?

Just as he was about to go into the house, Consuela came out. "Good, you're home. I need your help carrying this package to your house."

"When ... why?" He was at a loss for words.

"I think Melvin has bought you a rug," she said, watching him with eyes that missed nothing and a small smile curving on her lips. "I think he must be doing some decorating."

"Decorating?" Guy echoed, incredulous.

"Don't worry, I'm sure he has great taste. In any case, I certainly can't carry that to your house by myself. You'll have to help."

Guy felt the blood draining from his face at the thought of facing Mel. That blood didn't have to worry about having nowhere to go; his cock whistled for it, immediately swelling to full size. He suppressed a groan. I can't do this!

Consuela was eyeing him with her, "Don't you dare try to get out of this," look. How that tiny old woman could intimidate him with a glare, he didn't know. "I need to use the bathroom first," he said, escaping through the doorway into her house.

Twenty minutes later he could no longer put off the inevitable. He had jacked off in the bathroom, but his dick had already forgotten. It was stone-hard. He'd also taken three of his little pink pills, but they barely seemed to take the edge off his insane lust. His body thrummed with anticipation, and that ancient presence in his brain had taken up the chant, "Mate, mate, mate!"

Fuck!

He wasn't at all sure that he wouldn't throw Mel on the ground, rip his clothes off, and rape him—all right in front of Consuela. Surely she would stop me somehow, wouldn't she?

Tigger was in the kitchen washing a few dishes when the elevator arrived. His heart immediately went into overdrive. According to the UPS tracking app, the rug he'd ordered had been delivered to the gatehouse first thing that morning. Would Guy be here to carry it in?

The last time he'd seen the man was when he was running naked into his bathroom like the big coward he was. Tigger's emotions were hopelessly conflicted. He was still furious with Guy. His brain wanted to hate him, but his heart disagreed entirely. He felt the loss of the man's presence in his life as keenly as a sharp blade.

He heard Consuela ask a question followed by Guy's deep, resonate voice in response. His body flushed with a sudden heat. Oh my God! How can just the sound of his voice affect me like this? He had an instant boner. Fuck!

Consuela poked her head into the kitchen, her dark eyes as intense as ever, but filled with warmth. "Where does the rug go, chico?" She had been nothing but sweet to him ever since his falling out with Guy.

"It's for the living room," he answered, catching a glimpse of Guy behind her. Carrying the giant rug over his shoulder, he was wearing a tank top that showed off his bulging biceps and beautifully sculpted shoulders. Tigger followed as if there was a string attaching him to Guy. He couldn't keep his eyes off the object of his desire. His eyes slid down to focus on that magnificent butt, which filled out Guy's tight jeans perfectly.

Guy deposited the rug on the floor of the living, turned around, and froze, facing but not looking at Tigger.

"Oh wow! Thank you. I hope you don't mind. I thought your room needed a bit more color," Tigger said, bubbling with false brightness. When Guy had no immediate response, he added defensively, "You said I could buy anything I wanted."

"It's fine," Guy said. His tone was brusque, his voice husky. He spun around and strode toward the kitchen end of the great room. He didn't stop when he got to the entryway and Tigger's heart dropped to his feet.

"Sal!" Consuela said sharply.

He paused in the doorway, but didn't turn around.

"Can you help us unpack and rollout the rug, please?" Her tone was icy. She clearly disapproved of Guy's actions.

Without a word, Guy turned and went to the rug. His mouth was a thin, tight line. He pulled an eight-inch blade out of his boot and deftly sliced through the twine around the package.

Tigger started forward to help unwrap the rug, but Guy stopped him with a sharp command, "No, don't! Stand over there." He pointed to the far end of the room, still not looking at Tigger.

Tigger swallowed the lump that suddenly formed in his throat, but his body automatically followed Guy's instructions. Why is he treating me as if I were diseased?

He watched as Guy and Consuela unwrapped the rug and positioned it in front of the couch. Even Tigger's humiliation and the seething anger that was brewing under the surface didn't prevent him from admiring Guy's form when he easily moved the glass coffee table out of the way and picked up the front of the couch. Under other circumstances he would have been drooling, but as it was, he just felt a painful longing and a detached admiration for the gorgeous muscles on display before him.

The rug was large and plush, resplendent with bright reds, golds, and yellows in a geometric pattern. It matched the colors of the pillows Tigger had already purchased for the couch and chairs.

"It looks wonderful," Consuela said. "It's exactly what this room needed—a bit of bright color and warmth." There was a short awkward silence as Tigger didn't respond and Guy said nothing. The big man was busy moving the coffee table back to where it belonged. If he had an opinion, it didn't show on his closed face.

"Don't you think it's perfect, Sal?" Consuela asked.

He shot her a glance that Tigger couldn't read. "It's fine," he said. Then he stalked into the kitchen, and a few seconds later Tigger heard the swish of the elevator doors.

He felt like his heart was in pieces at his feet. Guy hadn't even looked at him once the entire time he'd been there. Damn him! It's not fair that he gets to break my heart again every time I see him. I would think that once is more than enough.

His emotions must have shown on his face, because the next thing he knew he was wrapped in a comforting embrace. "It's okay, chico," Consuela consoled him. "He is still in love with you. He is just having some issues right now. I will find out what is wrong and get him to fix it."

"No, don't," Tigger said firmly. "It's better this way."

Guy glanced up from the couch where he was sucking on a beer, watching the news, and trying very hard not to think about the encounter he'd just had with Mel. Consuela's face held quiet fury as she moved to stand in front of him.

"I can't believe you are treating that poor boy so badly," she scolded. "What has he ever done to you? I thought you liked him. Are you so afraid of your own emotions that you've turning into un cabrón?"

Guy swallowed. Although he'd tried very hard not to look at Mel while he'd been delivering the rug, he couldn't help but notice the hurt and shame on his angel's face. It was eating him up inside. The last thing he wanted was to hurt Mel, but it didn't seem like there was any way around it.

"We cannot have a relationship," he said coldly.

"Why can't you have a relationship?" she demanded.

Guy shifted uncomfortably. "I don't want to talk about it," he said stubbornly. Consuela didn't know that he was part vampire. He was pretty sure she would slip arsenic into his next meal if she did. "Just believe me when I tell you it would never work, and that it's best that he just forget about me." He met her eye. She glared at him furiously, but he set his jaw and didn't back down.

"So that's it, then? You like him, but you can't have a relationship with him, for whatever goddamn reason you have, and so you're going to treat him like mierda?"

"I didn't mean to treat him like shit," Guy protested.

"But you did. He feels terrible."

Guy hung his head. "I'm sorry," he said quietly.

"Well, don't tell me, tell him."

"I can't—" Guy started.

Consuela cut him off sharply. "Just call him!"

Call him? Guy stared at her in surprise. I could call him. Why didn't I think of that before? "What ... what would I say?"

"You would say, 'I'm sorry' for starters. Then you would tell him that you actually do like him, quite a lot, I would say. Just be honest with him. If you really can't have a relationship with him, for whatever reason your little dinosaurio brain has invented, then tell him that. But talk to him! You're both miserable. You need to talk!"

She picked up his cellphone which was sitting on the coffee table and handed it to him. "Call him."

He stared at the phone in his hand. His heart was beating a rapid cadence against his ribs. "I ... I guess I could call him."

"You do that," she said, giving him the hairy eyeball for a long moment before she turned on her heel and stumped out of the room.

What the hell do I say to him? His fingers were already going through the motions of connecting to Mel's phone. It wouldn't do him any good to delay, it would just make him more nervous.

His heart crept into the back of his throat as he listened to the phone ringing.

"Hello?" Mel's voice sounded confused. Guy had told him that his phone couldn't take incoming calls. It did, you just needed to know the secret number to dial.

"Mel?" His voice came out in a croak. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Mel, this is Guy."

"Guy?" Mel's voice was shocked. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing's wrong. I just..." He paused to swallow the lump in the back of his throat.

He heard Mel draw in a deep breath, and then he launched into a tirade, "What the hell do you want then? I can't believe what an ass you are! What the hell possessed you to call me? You won't even look at me, and then you call me on the phone? You know what? I don't need this. I don't like drama. Don't call me again unless the house is on fire. I don't want to talk to you."

"Mel ... I'm sorry—"

That was all the further Guy got before he heard the distinct sound of Mel hanging up on him. He pulled the phone away from his ear and blinked at it.

"How'd it go?" Consuela asked, coming up behind him. He suspected she'd been listening to his half of the conversation, such as it was.

"He doesn't want to talk to me," he said.

"You need to call him back," she began.

"No! I don't!" he cut her off sharply. "He doesn't want to talk to me, and I don't blame him. Let's just leave it at that."

"Thank you for your hospitality. I'm going to let you have your house back now. I'm sorry I hung up on you.

Tigger paused, tapping the pen on the table. What the hell can I say? He wasn't going to pour out his heart in a note. Guy didn't want him; that much was clear. There was nothing he could say that would change anything.

"I'm sorry I didn't live up to your expectations.

"Please thank Consuela for me. She's the best.

"I wish you much success and happiness."

There! At least I don't sound bitter, he thought.

He signed his name, folded the piece of paper in half, and wrote, "Guy" on it. Leaving the note on the kitchen table, he stood up and donned the small backpack that he'd packed. While he was making sure that his pack was strapped on tightly and wouldn't slide around, he took one last glance around the house that had been his home for the past six weeks. It was a beautiful house. It's too bad he didn't have better memories of his time here.

Letting out a small sigh, he headed for the deck. Even though it was still August, the weather had turned. A stiff, cool breeze blew off the water, ruffling his hair as he zipped up his windbreaker. The day was overcast but the clouds didn't look heavy enough for rain. He was grateful for that because his ascent would be treacherous enough as it was. The deck was rough and cold under his bare feet. He'd packed his tennis shoes in his pack; he would need his toes free to help him climb.

He glanced up at his chosen route. Guy's house was built into the side of the cliff, but the top of the escarpment was only ten or twelve feet beyond the roof of the house, and the face of the cliff angled slightly back there. He was pretty sure he could make the scramble as long as he didn't look down.

Before he lost his nerve and changed his mind, he went to the corner of the deck where the iron railing met the house and climbed onto it, hands sliding up the wall to help with his balance. Standing fully up on the railing, he reached over his head for the edge of the roof of the house. There was a narrow lip, about eight inches wide, where the roof met the stone. Grateful that all the working out he'd done on Guy's gym equipment had strengthened his arms and shoulders, he heaved himself up onto the ledge.

It had appeared wider than it actually seemed to be once he was standing on it with shaking legs. Don't look down. Deep breaths, he told himself. A few minutes later he felt calmer. He inched along the ledge several feet to where there was a fissure running up the face of the cliff wall. He had thought he'd be able to find purchase there to climb the short distance to the top of the cliff. However, now the handholds looked meager and far between.

Setting his jaw determinedly, he reached for the first one and started to climb. The fissure angled away to the left and shortly he wasn't above the deck anymore. He had almost reached the top when the small outcropping that he was clutching in his left hand crumbled away. He tilted away from the cliff, swaying precariously until he managed to pull his body flush to the cliff again and find another handhold.

His heart pounded frantically in his chest as adrenalin flooded his system. That was too damn close! He glanced down instinctively and nearly lost his grip again when he saw the jagged rocks several hundred feet below him. At least it would be a quick death, he thought. Christ, I must be desperate to be doing this. That thought reminded him that he was indeed desperate to leave. Guy's cold demeanor earlier in the day, followed by that ridiculous phone call, had been the last straw for him. He couldn't stay there a moment longer.

With that thought firmly in mind, he looked up. Three more feet and he'd be at the top. You can do this, he encouraged himself. Bracing himself with a deep breath of the lake-chilled air, he cautiously continued his climb.

A few minutes later had him letting out a huge sigh of relief as he once more had a horizontal surface beneath his feet. He sat down near the edge of the cliff and put on his tennis shoes, letting his heart return to a normal rhythm. He could barely make out the edge of the deck. The color matched the gray of the stone cliffs perfectly.

His gaze shifted to where Mt. Rainier would be in the distance. It was hidden today by the low cloud cover, but he knew it was there, immutable and enduring. He became aware of a deep ache in his chest. At that moment he felt insignificant and empty. The sooner I'm over him, the sooner I can start to feel better, he told himself. No one should have the right to make you feel worthless.

His phone chimed and he pulled it out, grateful for the interruption to his depressing thoughts. Glancing at the text, he saw that Jon was already on Mercer Island and would be there to meet him on the road shortly with his sister's car. Perfect! He jumped to his feet and started up the wooded hillside toward where he knew the road would be.

Chapter Sixteen

Guy's first impression as he pulled himself out of a deep sleep was that something was terribly wrong. As soon as he realized this, he sat bolt upright in bed and looked around. It took him a second to orient himself. It was always disconcerting to wake up in Consuela's guest bedroom.

The feeling of impending disaster didn't fade as he came fully awake. If anything, it got stronger, causing the hairs on the back of neck and his arms to stand on end. He leapt out of bed and into his clothes from earlier in the day. It seemed to take an eternity to pull on his socks and boots. Not stopping to shave or even comb his hair, he raced out onto the front lawn, looking around frantically and scenting the air.

It was twilight but the overcast skies hid the setting sun behind a blanket of gray slate. A stiff breeze blew off the water, and Guy knew that it would quickly whisk away any scents. He couldn't detect anything wrong but that didn't lessen his apprehension.

Storming into the garage, he jumped onto his cycle and waited very impatiently for the floor to lower into the tunnel. The platform was not fully settled when he gunned the bike and roared toward his house. Ten seconds later the elevator doors slid open and he burst into the foyer of his home.

He knew immediately that Mel was gone.

"Mel!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs. "Mel!" He didn't smell the vampire, but that gave him no measure of relief. He could still detect Mel, but the scent was fading, at least several hours old. He started his search in the kitchen and noticed the note on the table immediately.

As he read it, the bottom dropped out of his stomach; it was a good-bye note. "I'm sorry I didn't live up to your expectations." What the fuck is he talking about? He's perfect. He thinks I'm disappointed in him? The note was short, but it was clear that it was a good-bye note. The physical reaction he had when he realized Mel was gone was strong and unexpected. He gasped in pain and curled over as a massive cramp twisted his gut.

Get your shit together, he told himself. You don't have time for this. You need to fucking find him before Valjevo does.

How the hell did he get out?

Panting through clenched teeth, he strode into the great room, seeing right away that the red lights on the security panel were lit, which indicated that the alarm was deactivated and the deck door was unlocked. When he stepped outside, he saw some small stones scattered across the end of the deck. Turning around and looking up, he surveyed the house and the cliff above it. Mel had clearly climbed out. Guy spotted some smudges on the side of the house, as if left by dirty feet, and above on the cliff face he could see that some of the stone had been disturbed.

He voice-connected to Central. Trying to keep the panic out of his tone, he explained to the dispatcher that Mel had disappeared, and he needed them to track him through the device he had given him. He prayed to God that Mel was still wearing it. The dispatcher assured him that they could do that; it would take a few minutes to pinpoint him and he would call him right back.