Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 191

Kristi had never seen the play before but had read it, or part of it, in high school. The gist of it was that Everyman, symbolizing all men and women on earth, was too caught up in worldly goods and had lost his soul. When called upon by Death, Everyman had nothing. He confronts other characters including Good Deeds, Knowledge, Confession, and more in his quest to take someone with him to the afterlife.

What interested Kristi was not so much the play itself, but the actors who represented the roles. She recognized Lucretia's friend Trudie, listed as Gertrude in the playbill, as Death. Zena, of course, was emoting all over the stage, and some of the other characters looked familiar, as if she'd seen them in cla.s.s but couldn't quite put a finger on their names. One of the characters, Angel, was indeed played, albeit unconvincingly, by the girl who had sold tickets. The audience was also filled with students in some of Kristi's English cla.s.ses, and she thought for a fleeting moment that she caught a glimpse of Georgia Clovis lurking in the alcove of a side exit.

What would she be doing here?

Kristi's eyes narrowed on other attendees. A number of her teachers had shown up as well, a regular Who's Who of the English Department. Dr. Natalie Croft, head of the department, was seated next to both a man Kristi didn't recognize and Dr. Preston, who still looked as if he were ready to catch the next big wave. He, in turn, was seated next to Professor Senegal, Kristi's journalism instructor.

Didn't these people have lives?

Or was this a command performance?

In the dark, she pulled on the chain around her neck, lifting it upward so that the vial was now on the outside of her sweater. It was still partially hidden by her jacket, but when the houselights went up, she planned to talk to a few people and see if anyone commented or noticed. The play went on, with only minimal flubbing of lines, and the guy in front of her who reeked of musk and weed started to snore. His head was bent forward and the woman next to him jabbed him in the side.

He snorted himself awake, sounding like a ripsaw, and the woman shushed him but good.

Kristi sat on the edge of her seat. Nervously she waited, and when at last the play was over and the cast had come out for a group bow, she was ready. As the applause died down and the lights went up, she stepped around the snorer and caught up with O as she filed out.

"You're O, right?" Kristi said, as if she'd just seen her that second. "I think we have a cla.s.s together."

O rolled one bored eye at her. "Which one?"

"Maybe Shakespeare...or...Grotto's vampire cla.s.s."

"Yeah. Well, maybe."

"I'm looking for a study partner."

"I'm not."

"Do you know anyone who is?"

O turned to face Kristi as they reached the doorway to the anteroom. "Do I look like a f.u.c.kin' counselor?" she demanded. Then her gaze landed on the vial at Kristi's neck. "What the h.e.l.l are you doing?" she said, blanching. "Hide that thing."

"Why?"

"Why?" O repeated. Her eyes narrowed. "You are part of..." At that moment Father Mathias began heading their way and O widened her eyes in silent appeal.

Kristi quickly tucked the vial under her s.h.i.+rt again.

"Enjoy tonight's performance?" the priest asked.

"Immensely," O said, though it was an obvious act.

"Good, good!"

"Father Mathias, congratulations!" Natalie Croft made her way through the crowd. She was beaming at the priest. "Job well done," she said, though Kristi disagreed. No one in the cast of tonight's performance was going to make any Academy Award thank you speeches anytime soon, or probably in Dr. Croft's lifetime.

"Everyman is my favorite of all the morality plays, though I'm looking forward to exploring others as well as the mysteries and miracles. I hope you return. Oh, and for those of you who want another viewing, we'll be adding another performance tomorrow night. Thank you." is my favorite of all the morality plays, though I'm looking forward to exploring others as well as the mysteries and miracles. I hope you return. Oh, and for those of you who want another viewing, we'll be adding another performance tomorrow night. Thank you."

Father Mathias exited the back of the theater as the houselights went up and everyone began picking up their belongings. O was out the door in a flash and Kristi tried to follow her, but got caught in the crush and held up retrieving her cell phone, which was, as promised, ready and waiting for her. She handed another attendant, a girl who had played Knowledge in the play, her claim ticket and was given her phone without any eye contact. Kristi then made her way out the door and into the night, hoping for a glimpse of O. But the girl was gone. As were the others she'd recognized in the audience.

Great, she thought, slinging the strap of her purse over her shoulder. All the girls who had been abducted had attended Father Mathias's plays, so she'd hoped she'd find some connection, but she was at a loss. Standing in the dark, buffeted by the cold wind, she watched as other attendees left the theater, some heading to the parking lot, others toward the heart of campus. The professors who had shown up had all left, beelining out of the theater as if they couldn't escape fast enough. she thought, slinging the strap of her purse over her shoulder. All the girls who had been abducted had attended Father Mathias's plays, so she'd hoped she'd find some connection, but she was at a loss. Standing in the dark, buffeted by the cold wind, she watched as other attendees left the theater, some heading to the parking lot, others toward the heart of campus. The professors who had shown up had all left, beelining out of the theater as if they couldn't escape fast enough.

The few stragglers who'd stopped to talk or smoke or just hang out weren't people she knew. So what about the people in the play? Didn't she suspect they might all somehow be connected?

Face it, she thought, discouraged, she thought, discouraged, you should leave being a detective to your father. you should leave being a detective to your father.

On the way back to her car, she walked past Wagner House. Dark, angular and looming, it looked even more forbidding at night, with only the faintest of light coming from the windows. She checked the gate again, and of course it was locked. Then she noticed a flicker, just the tiniest bit of light, coming from a bas.e.m.e.nt window.

Was she imagining it?

When she looked again, the glimmer of light was gone.

Had it been a reflection? A figment of her imagination?

Flas.h.!.+

She saw another bluish light through the dirty gla.s.s. It too disappeared quickly.

Storage area, my a.s.s, she thought. Who would be sorting through old crates at night? And why had Father Mathias been down there the other day? He really hadn't explained himself, except to say that he'd seen evidence of rats, but maybe that was just an excuse to make her stay away. Well, it d.a.m.ned well wasn't working. She'd been beaten and chained, dealt with snarling, vicious dogs, demented psychos, lost her mother and her biological father, and nearly died. A few rats were nothing. she thought. Who would be sorting through old crates at night? And why had Father Mathias been down there the other day? He really hadn't explained himself, except to say that he'd seen evidence of rats, but maybe that was just an excuse to make her stay away. Well, it d.a.m.ned well wasn't working. She'd been beaten and chained, dealt with snarling, vicious dogs, demented psychos, lost her mother and her biological father, and nearly died. A few rats were nothing.

Skirting the building, she tested the back gate and found it locked as well. Screw it. Screw it. She was going inside. Climbing the wrought iron fence was a simple matter and she knew there were no cameras. Hadn't Georgia Clovis admitted as much? She was going inside. Climbing the wrought iron fence was a simple matter and she knew there were no cameras. Hadn't Georgia Clovis admitted as much?

Though the fence itself was comprised of black wrought iron spikes, the top of the gate was decorated in scrollwork. Kristi pulled herself to the top of it and vaulted over, landing in a crouch on the inside brick walk. Glancing around to make sure she wasn't noticed, she hurried up the steps of the porch and tried the back door.

Locked solid.

d.a.m.n. She'd never had any luck with the credit card trick that seemed to work so effectively in the movies, and she had nothing with which to pick a lock.

So now what?

A window?

She tried all of the windows on the porch but they didn't budge, nor could she reach any from the ground. Maybe she could somehow squeeze through a bas.e.m.e.nt window? She walked around the huge Gothic house, but not one window she reached, nor the front door, would budge. Unless she came back with a crowbar, she was effectively locked out.

And the flickering lights she'd seen?

Flashlights?

Candles?

Penlights?

The illumination had disappeared. The bas.e.m.e.nt was now dark as a tomb.

Disappointed, Kristi climbed back over the gate and walked to her car. As she did, she felt those unseen eyes watching her every move. A bit of wind stirred, causing the wet leaves on the ground to lift and brittle branches of live oak to rattle.

As she reached her car she thought she heard a voice...a soft voice, the barest of whispers quietly crying.

She stopped short.

"Help me," it called.

Kristi spun, searching the shadows. "Is someone there?" she responded, looking across the parking lot to the house. She strained to listen but heard nothing over the sough of the wind.

All in your head, she told herself, but she waited again, listening, skin p.r.i.c.kling, feeling as if her every move were being scrutinized. Measured. Second-guessed. she told herself, but she waited again, listening, skin p.r.i.c.kling, feeling as if her every move were being scrutinized. Measured. Second-guessed.

"Is anyone there?" she tried again, rotating slowly, her heart hammering in dread, her fingers unzipping her purse and closing over her canister of mace. "h.e.l.lo?"

Nothing.

Just the drip of rain from the downspouts as the chapel bells began to peel the hours. Goose b.u.mps rose on her skin and she glanced up to the roof of Wagner House. Was someone in an upper window staring down at her? A dark figure in the shadows, or was she truly imagining it all? She half expected some deranged creatures with b.l.o.o.d.y fangs to swoop down on her. The vial at her neck felt like it weighed a hundred pounds.

"Get over yourself," she admonished once she was in the car. She reached for her phone, turned it on, and listened to two messages. One from Jay insisting she call him, the other from her dad, who tried his best to sound like he was just checking in, but there was an underlying gravity to his voice that couldn't be missed. "...so call me when you can," he said as he signed off.

"Will do, Dad," she said, putting the car into gear and glancing once more toward Wagner House.

Vlad watched from the bell tower of the church chapel. Kristi Bentz was becoming a big problem.

Elizabeth was right.

It was time to leave, before they got caught. There were other hunting grounds, but they would take some time to establish, so it would be necessary to sacrifice more than one tonight and again tomorrow. Then they would stop for a while. Make the blood last.

The taillights of the Honda faded in the distance and he licked his lips at the thought of Kristi Bentz and her long, supple neck. He imagined sinking his teeth into her as well as doing all sorts of things to her body.

So Elizabeth wanted to watch.

Who better to start with than the girl who was trying so desperately to unmask them? Wouldn't there be sweet irony in Elizabeth viewing it all?

Yes, he decided, there was a poetry, a symmetry to it.

As if the taking of Kristi Bentz's life had been preordained.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

First, there were others to attend to. Beautiful girls who had already pledged their souls.

Tonight, one would be taken.

Tomorrow, if all went as planned, there would be two.

Their images came to mind and he felt a hot l.u.s.t run through him. He imagined their surrender.

But first, tonight, one was waiting....

Ariel was groggy, couldn't lift her head, and she was cold, so d.a.m.ned cold. The room was dark, but somehow familiar, as if she'd dreamed it. And she was naked as she lay upon a couch of some kind, the pile soft against her bare skin.

You know what's happening.

You suspected this, didn't you?

Why were you so desperate for friends?

Dazed, she sensed a change in the atmosphere and knew she wasn't alone. She was on a stage of some kind, it seemed, a raised platform, and she felt as if dozens of eyes were watching her, though she saw no one.

She tried to say something, but her mouth wouldn't form words, her vocal cords seemed paralyzed, just as her body was. Fear screamed through her and she tried like h.e.l.l to move, to roll off the couch, to do anything.

She'd only wanted friends, had gone out for a few drinks, ordered the "Blood Martini," which had seemed fine...at first, and she hadn't really bought into the whole thing, but she'd been intrigued and her newfound friends had a.s.sured her the "drinking of the blood" was all part of the ritual, all part of the fun, all part of this whole funky vampire craze.

But now she was sick with fear and the rising mist that slowly seeped through the floor gave her the creeps.

What was going on?

Where was she?

How had she gotten here, in this dark, cavernlike room?

Who, dear G.o.d, who were the people she felt watching her, their eyes caressing her?

Men?

Women?

Both?

Oh, Lord, what were they going to do to her?

She heard a footstep and tried to twist her neck, but failed.

Another footstep.

Her blood ran cold through her veins.

Help me, she silently prayed. she silently prayed. Please G.o.d, help me. Please G.o.d, help me.

Frantically she tried to see who was approaching. One person or more?

"Sister Ariel," a male voice intoned.

Sister? Why would he call her that? She did remember foggily some mention of an initiation rite...that must be what this was. But why did she have to be naked and G.o.d, oh, G.o.d, why couldn't she move? Why would he call her that? She did remember foggily some mention of an initiation rite...that must be what this was. But why did she have to be naked and G.o.d, oh, G.o.d, why couldn't she move?