Part 4

Part 4 of Jimmy Nore

The night after the party was another sleepless one. I spent the whole time in the little gym in the basement of the apartment punching away at a hanging punching bag. The handful of people doing their laundry across the hall watched me in morbid fascination. I was not weak, I was not a victim, I was strong, I was a modern woman, god damn it! No crazy blood-sucking psycho stalker was going to make me feel weak and victimized. F**k him!
By the time I needed to leave to get ready for work I was in a real tizzy. Full blown bat-s**t crazy woman wrath. Whatever he wanted, I wouldn't do. Whatever he asked for, I'd tell him no. Didn't matter that he would probably rape and kill me later I'd go down fighting!
I made it all the way to the car with that attitude before that stupid little voice in the back of my head started talking about not wanting to die and stuff. It started listing off all the things I still hadn't done, like having kids or painting the Niagara Falls or going cliff diving. It was impossible to hold on to that stubborn, reckless attitude when I thought about actually dying. I may not like him, he may scare the s**t out of me, but being a b***h wasn't going to help me stay alive, even if it made me feel better. Living long enough to escape was a lot better than dying because I refused to think.
Work started out normal. Gordan was at church with his family, Wayate was off doing field work, and the part time girl we had around a few days a week was on vacation with her boyfriend. That guy had whisked her off to Paris for a romantic weekend. Yes, we worked on weekends, but it was optional. Gordan normally never came in, and Wayate had only started to so he’d have more money for his lawyer fees. I, with my lack of a life, was always in, doing the office work that backed up during the week.
I was filing away some finished forms in the closet where we kept our filing cabinets, jamming out to the radio. I was having a grand old time singing along to Lady Gaga when the music died, as if someone had turned the radio off. I took a minute to compose myself, to prepare, before going out in the office.
The office was dark, which was weird. I had opened the shades to let the rare sunshine in the large windows. All the shades had been drawn and all the lights except the lamp on my desk were shut off. The door was even closed. The chair at my desk was also occupied by Duke Puremount, and he was flipping through my planner.
He looked up and gave me that chilling, charming smile. Just like that all of last night’s anger, all of that morning’s determination to survive, went out of my head like smoke on a windy day. All that was left was fear of this crazy, dangerous man.
“Hello, Elanore. It seems you have quite a bit of spare time to fill. That is a very good thing for you. The task I have been sent to give you will take a good deal of your attention.”
“And what would a noble have for a private eye to do?” I stayed by the closet, not wanting to get closer to him. “And why are you calling me Elanore? Only my senile grandmother calls me that.”
“Do not speak of your elders in such a manner, girl. They have lived long enough to at least earn that much respect from you.”
I jumped about ten feet into the air at the sound of a new voice behind me. I spun and backpedaled toward Wayate's desk, which was across the room from mine. The woman who had spoken was tall and thin and gorgeous with a capital G. She looked like a Russian ice queen with her carefully styled blond hair, white and ice blue pant suit, and furry white coat. Her eyes were even that ice blue that is the color frozen water wishes it was. Oh, and she was rocking the heavy Russian accent too, except instead of rough hers was smooth and seductive. Oh yeah she was a fox, a Grade A Babe. I was head editor of a college fashion magazine for a year, so I would know, even if there had been only seven people on the staff and only the cosmopolitan girls from the local beauty school read it.
“So this is your Elanore, Georgi? I admit she smells like a delicious treat but surely this little bit of a thing doesn't warrant so many decades of your focus?” Her every move seemed practiced and controlled while looking natural. It was unheard of. People can't move that way. It was too perfect. “But then again you did hate for a woman to tell you no. You take after your father in that respect.”
“She's special, Babushka. I cannot explain it any better.”
“And if you cannot have her no one can, yes, I know.” The woman glared at Puremount before turning her attention to me again. “Georgi, do not be rude. We are here seeking this young lady's professional assistance. Where are your manners?”
Puremount pouted and my first thought was how cute he looked when he did that. My second thought was that I was a morbid freak for thinking my first thought. Anyway Puremount pouted and got out of my chair, taking one next to Mrs. Perfect. I did not move. I was freaking the f**k out in all sectors of my brain. I was freaking out so hard I was shaking and my thoughts couldn't be forced into anything concrete, nothing solid. My brain was mush.
“Come now, Miss…. Nore, is it? Come and sit and let us explain the work we wish of you.” The woman gestured elegantly to my chair and I was sitting down in it before I realized it.
Mush was the last thing I needed my brain to be. My bottle of Mountain Dew sat next to the computer screen where I had set it before going into the file room. That was something I could concentrate on, that and since caffeine is like my crack a few swings were just what I needed to clear my head.
The woman held up a hand to my stalker and he handed her a folder. She set the folder on my desk and pushed it toward me. I set my drink down and opened it. Neatly written notes were on top of a neat pile of neatly organized papers.
“My name is Galina. To your kind I am one of the Puremount house. To mine I am queen of this part of the world, and thus must serve my people.” My stalker snorted and she gave him a chilly glare. “You have heard of the murders in the older parts of London, no?”
“Wait, wait a second. Look I'm not stupid or anything but what do you mean by 'my kind' and you being a queen?” My brain, while better after the caffeine dose, was still mushy.
She laughed and it was creepy. Creepy the way that only too perfect, slightly maniacal laughs can be. “My dear, you are only human. I do not expect you to understand such things, unlike my grandson. You are simply not fit to understand, but fear not I won't hold it against you.”
It was the human remark that did it. It was like a knot. If you poke at it long enough, all it takes is one loosening piece to let you unravel the whole thing. Puremount wasn't a crazed killer with a bite fetish. He was a f*****g vampire, and so was this too perfect woman.
No f*****g way was I dealing with vampires.
I didn't think, I just acted. I was not going to sit and talk turkey with the walking undead leeches of Christian nightmares. I flung my chair (it was one of those metal folding chairs my new rolly chair hadn't arrived yet) at them over my shoulder, ducking down and darting for the door. I made it around my desk and BAM I was on the floor, on my back, and his face was so close to mine our noses touched. He held me down by my throat. I could still breathe, but it was harder and hurt.
“Now I see your point, Georgi. The girl has certain hostility to our kind.” Puremount leaned back so that I could see Galina stare down at me. Damn she was tall. “You have what information we have. If you have any questions call the number in the file and my human Timothy will assist you. We will visit you again, Wednesday perhaps. I will check my schedule and call you later tonight. Until then, we will be keeping an eye on you, Jeemyma. Do not do anything foolish. We are leaving, Georgi.”
“In a moment, please.”
“Georgi. We need her.”
“I know. I will be just a moment.”
She rolled her eyes and headed for the door. When she opened it and sunlight poured in on her and the large man holding me down. I hoped they would burst into flame like in the movies. I, of course, had no such luck. She strolled out and closed the door behind her.
“Elanore.” My eyes jumped back to his face and I winced as he flexed his hold on my neck. “I could kill you now, but Grandmother is not one to anger. I advise you to be a good girl for her, Elanore. I plan on just killing you when all this is done. Grandmother is not so kind with those that disappoint her. You have three days to decide. Choose wisely.”
He stood and left, the door slamming behind him. I didn't move for a long while, just stared at the ceiling. I could either do their job and die quickly at the hands of my dream stalker, or I could refuse and die slowly probably being tortured by the model perfect Russian “queen.” I couldn't think of anything worse, but something told me there was a third curtain with a prize behind it that made the other two look like perfect birthday gifts. I finally understood the phrase “screwed seven ways from Sunday.” At least, that's how I thought it went.

Author's Note

Same as always enjoy.