Chronicles of an Extraordinary Ordinary Life Read online

  Honestly, sometimes before waking up, I got some really weird ideas. I was unconscious, but it took me a little time to understand that. Eventually a light shone.

  Sheets, a pillow, a soft mattress. Eyes still closed, I let myself smile blissfully. It had all just been a nightmare.

  A horrible nightmare, but one that was thankfully over. I really should stop falling asleep while watching science fiction shows. Whatever. As if a superhuman existed who could hurl two big, luminescent-eyed men into the air!

  Reassured, I snuggled deeper into my pillow. However, I was surprised how much this simple movement made my body ache. Good grief. I must have really been on edge during the night, especially when Velvet Voice uttered his threats. I hoped to never hear him again . . .

  “So, our Sleeping Beauty finally decides to wake up. I was starting to lose my patience.”

  That voice straight out of my nightmare put me on the brink of cardiac arrest. I’d once learned from a news report that in a state of panic, people will do just about anything because their neurons are shot through with a surge of adrenaline. That was happening to me too.

  I tried to scramble out of the bed, but I ended up tangled in the sheets, crashing pathetically to the floor and knocking over all the things that had had the misfortune of being on the nightstand.

  In a thrash of ridiculous movements of legs and arms, I managed to extract myself from the prison of fabric that covered me only to find myself face-to-face with Velvet Voice himself, who was seated in an armchair. My heart was beating out of my chest, and I felt blood rushing back to my face. I could do nothing more than stare at the man in front of me. His eyes, a shade of light blue I’d never seen before, were enough to make me tremble with fear that eclipsed everything else.

  That is, until I noticed his little smirk, which was soon explained by the fact that I was only wearing underwear and a bra. Immediately, my cheeks flushed again, and I’m sure I turned redder than a tomato. Modesty outranked safety in my line of immediate priorities, and I grabbed the sheet and covered myself with it frantically. Good grief. Having no sexual experience whatsoever, I’d never needed to buy lingerie. This was the first time I found myself seminude in front of a man, and I was wearing a pitifully plain white bra and white cotton panties with flowers on them. My cheeks got even hotter—no doubt they were scarlet by now.

  Through all of this, Velvet Voice didn’t make the slightest movement, contenting himself with watching me from his armchair. To defend myself, I decided to go on the offense.

  “Where have you brought me? Who are you? What do you want from me? I warn you, if you try to touch me, I will destroy you—I took karate and I am a black belt.” False and very false, but he didn’t have to know that. “And give me back my clothes, you dirty pervert!”

  I said all that, or rather shouted it, with eyes closed, not pausing to take a breath.

  When I finally dared to make eye contact with Velvet Voice, I had trouble swallowing. The smirk was now gone, replaced with a glacial stare that made me step back against the wall, which I hoped I could melt into, thereby becoming invisible. The encounter with Cruella should have served as a lesson: truly, I impressed no one.

  He, however, hadn’t budged. I looked at him then, avoiding his eyes.

  He was a tall man with brown hair, lightly layered to his neck. A few rebellious locks fell softly on his smooth forehead and brushed against his perfectly arched eyebrows. He wore a well-cut suit that accentuated his athletic build. He looked about thirty years old, but his piercing eyes hinted that he was older. I would have been attracted to him if all my internal alarms, which had never sounded before, were not screaming mortal peril. It wasn’t just his voice that radiated an intimidating power; it was his very person. A truly formidable presence. What was troubling was the absence of the slightest wound on his body. No trace of injury. But the fight in the alley hadn’t been fake. He didn’t even flinch during my evaluation of him, which led to me to suppose that he’d done the same of me but in the space of an instant. He broke the silence, thinking it had gone on long enough.

  “A ‘thank you for saving my life’ would have been more appropriate than that ridiculous tirade. Kentwood has charm, perhaps, but no etiquette,” he said sharply as he stared at me even more intensely.

  He got up and headed to the door.

  “There are clothes for you to change into. Yours were . . . unsalvageable. I expect you for dinner. In twenty minutes.”

  Then, without even a backward glance, he left.

  For a few minutes afterward, I stared at the door Velvet Voice had walked through. I had to get myself together—at least enough to find a way out of this mess.

  I started by inspecting the room he’d put me in, looking for an exit. It was more than a bedroom. It was a suite, soberly but sophisticatedly decorated. The walls were painted a pale blue that gave the room a peaceful aspect; there were, of course, the bed and the armchair, as well as a black leather sofa that matched the chair and an armoire. The shutters were closed and latched. The soft light in the room was provided by a few lamps, minus the one on the nightstand that I’d sent crashing to the floor. No way of escaping. I was definitely a prisoner.

  I checked my body. I ached all over, with bruises on my arms, especially the arm the big blond had grabbed, and there were grazes on my legs and knees. My ribs hurt, and I remembered that I’d been struck twice by projectiles. Well, the second time, I was the projectile. Then I remembered the blood on my face, and I touched my head, but there was no trace of the wound. Impossible.

  In order to avoid the headache that loomed at the memory of recent events and at the whirlwind of questions that they inspired, I chased the thought away and resumed my inspection of the room.

  There was a dressing table against the wall, with clothes laid out on it. I headed toward it, and my jaw dropped as I lifted up a magnificent evening gown that Velvet Voice had provided for me. Again, I wondered what his intentions were. If he’d wanted to rape me, he could have done it while I was unconscious, though certain freaks like to see the fear in their victims’ eyes . . . Why had I watched two episodes of Criminal Minds the night before? The show scared me every time and gave me nightmares. Was that about to become my reality? I shivered . . . then I remembered he’d mentioned dinner.

  Perhaps he wanted to kill me after giving me something to eat, all while dressed as a movie star. What time was it anyway? When I left work, it was ten o’clock, definitely not dinnertime . . . How long had I been unconscious?

  These were all questions to which I had no answers. The one thing I knew for sure was that I had to leave that room.

  There was another door, but it led to a bathroom—spacious and gorgeous, with marble nearly everywhere. Perfect. I’d come across a psychopath with expensive tastes and a full wallet. But I was rather fortunate in my misfortune, seeing as how I really needed a shower. Velvet Voice had provided toiletries, and it was a great relief to be able to soap up and take advantage of the hot water after all I’d just been through. Hair washed and left down to dry, I returned to the table to get dressed. I noticed there was a bottle of Chanel No. 5 as well. Well, better take advantage of that.

  I pulled on the black velvet dress with fine lace and a slightly low neckline. It was down to my ankles and fit me like a glove. When I caught my reflection in the mirror, my unfamiliar elegance made me uneasy, and I was even more uncomfortable when I saw the stilettos that went with the dress. I’ve never had much success walking in high heels. I started to get irritated. What exactly did Velvet Voice want? To ridicule me before doing me in?

  My anger gave me a newfound confidence, and I found the courage to exit the room.

  I didn’t really know where to go, because a series of corridors led to numerous finely sculpted wooden doors, which were locked. I must have been in a manor. I finally reached a staircase that led downstairs, and once I’d gone down, I stared, dumbstruck, at the stately entry hall, which was more than twice the size of
my living room at home.

  I noticed light coming from one of the rooms. I took a deep breath and pushed back my hair as I entered.

  It was the dining room, and what a dining room indeed. Enormous, with crystal chandeliers, wall hangings depicting Renaissance battles, large oil paintings that looked valuable. In the middle of the room, a large, glossy wooden table took center stage, surrounded by twelve chairs, all with high backs that were carved into a curve.

  My attention was quickly diverted to a case displaying a collection of weapons. There was a sixteenth-century French sword, a seventeenth-century musket, and even a Prussian bayonet from the end of the nineteenth century. I gasped in admiration. I loved old weapons, but I didn’t have the means to collect any.

  “I see you have an interest in antiques.”

  I hadn’t heard my kidnapper approach, and I jumped at the sound of his voice, staring at him without daring to speak.

  “I hope that gown is to your liking. I live alone, and I am not in the habit of keeping women’s clothing here. One of my acquaintances forgot to take that with her.”

  What? Who would leave such an expensive thing behind? He likely killed her, buried her somewhere, and kept her belongings as a trophy.

  I must have gone pale. Given the mocking smile that took shape on his face, it seemed clear he’d caught on to my train of thought.

  “My acquaintance is a woman who attaches no importance to material things, given the size of her bank account. When she left, she forgot to gather her things from the evening before, and she has not reclaimed them since. The latest news on her is that she is as well as ever.”

  Reassured by the health of dress’s owner, I remained no less furious at being the prisoner of a pervert.

  “So you made me put on the dress that your ex-lover was wearing during your last night of debauchery?” I hissed.

  Gross. I hoped he had at least washed it.

  “Perhaps you would have preferred to keep me company in your undergarments? That is rather fashion-forward of you.”

  Pig. He’d said that with such irony that I wanted to slap him. I burned with shame and anger, but mostly shame.

  “I didn’t give you permission to undress me! Who do you think you are? You kidnap me, you hold me prisoner, you terrify me, and then you find it amusing to ridicule me before killing me? And I should accept all that? What is your problem?”

  When he answered me, he lowered his voice to a threatening whisper.

  “Has no one ever told you that it is better to avoid angering the person who is going to kill you? That is, if you do not want him or her to torture you first in order to teach you some decorum?”

  Frightened, I responded with a pitifully high squeaky voice. “And to top it all off, you lecture me as if I were at fault when all that I did was be at the wrong place at the wrong time! I have the right to be afraid and to scream when the person in front of me is a pervert capable of ripping someone’s head off without any effort at all and who forces me to wear castoffs from a lewd soiree before murdering me!”

  Success. I’d made him angry.

  He stepped closer, grabbed my arm in his steel grip, and marched me toward one of the chairs in the parlor that adjoined the dining room—all before I’d even had the time to say a single word. He pushed me down unceremoniously, and I found myself seated, shocked and terrified by his eyes staring daggers at me from above.

  “If I had wanted to kill you, you would have died yesterday in that alley, and no one would have ever found your body. And yet, you are still here, and you are alive. That is, unless you decide to make me lose my temper by calling me a pervert. So I suggest staying silent unless you are answering my questions. Have I made myself clear?”

  I nodded my head to indicate my acquiescence. He couldn’t have been clearer. Having a good sense for witty comebacks is all well and good, but in some circumstances, it’s better to shut up if you want to live.

  “Let us start from the beginning. Who are you?”

  “My ID is in my bag—you didn’t look?” Gulp. “OK, OK, sorry. My name is Samantha . . . Watkins . . . I’m a librarian at Griffith High School.”

  “What were you doing near that alley?”

  “I had a long day, I let my mind wander instead of paying attention to my feet, and I found myself there. I wanted to turn around and get back to the main road, but I ran into you and those two other guys.”

  “What do you remember exactly?”

  “I passed in front of the alley, and when I came to, I’d been hurt because a man landed on me, who knows how. The second man arrived just after and . . . good God, it wasn’t a dream, their eyes glowed and they wanted to eat me! You said so yourself. Then you killed the muscled one, and the other one confused me for a cannonball. I think I’m going crazy. All that was just a nightmare, and I am going to wake up.”

  Reliving that horrible episode brought tears to my eyes.

  “It’s the truth.”

  He said that with something akin to sympathy, but I wasn’t about to let my guard down.

  “Even if you say otherwise, I know you’re going to kill me.”

  “You are either more stubborn than a mule or else you understand absolutely nothing,” he said.

  Nope. He was not going to start that again.

  “‘Watch your back, Phoenix, and don’t forget—no witnesses.’ Don’t take me for an idiot. That’s the truth. I know what I heard. You’re under orders to kill anyone who gets in the way, most likely to conceal your identity. You think I’m stupid? A human is incapable of tearing someone’s head off with bare hands. Who are you, dammit?”

  There, again, I’d raised my voice, but the panic that was taking over wouldn’t let me stop. Velvet Voice stood up to his full height and looked at me with absolute scorn. The silence seemed to last an eternity, but I was waiting for an explanation.

  When he answered me, I knew that my ordinary life was over and everything had changed.

  Forever.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Second Life

  “I am a vampire.”

  I should have laughed, but I didn’t. In my head, a voice, a voice of terror, was shouting at me that vampires didn’t exist; they were only figures from legend that emerged from the deepest of our societies’ fears. Another voice, this one belonging to reason, was whispering to me that recent events obliged me to believe his declaration.

  Appalled, I looked at Velvet Voice, and in the space of a single moment, I believed I detected a flash of pain on his face before he recovered his indifference.

  “I believe you,” I said calmly. “What now?”

  He was no longer looking at me with disdain. He just seemed weary.

  “Let us begin by introducing ourselves. My name is Phoenix. I have been a vampire since the age of thirty.”

  Phoenix. Good vampire name. A dead man who returns to life.

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Five hundred years, give or take. I became a vampire around 1510. At that time, no one kept good birth records.”

  I must have looked ridiculous, with my mouth hanging wide open and my eyes bulging. But the man in front of me had experienced centuries of human life. Suddenly the Renaissance touches in the decor made sense. The librarian in me, passionate about history, wasn’t able to set things straight in her head; tons of questions jostled about for attention. The me who was also a prisoner was trying to silence those questions so as not to offend this monstrous drinker of blood.

  “Hm. That’s a very long life.”

  He sat down on the chair facing me.

  “Yes. And it is the secrecy of it that allows my race to survive,” he said, studying my reaction.

  “People have always been afraid of vampires. You would’ve been exterminated if people had known that you weren’t just characters created by Bram Stoker. So you prevent humans who discover your true nature from divulging it to others. I suppose you kill them,” I said. “Which leads me to ask, why am I her
e discussing this with you?”

  He had listened to me very attentively, his inquisitive eyes aimed right at me.

  “After five hundred years, I have seen enough carnage. Killing innocents disgusts me.”

  Then I had a chance.

  “Are you really obligated to kill them? I mean . . . don’t vampires have powers of suggestion to erase compromising memories?”

  “That is only in films. In becoming a vampire, we acquire a strength that increases with time, but no power of suggestion.”

  “But then . . . why are you sparing me?”

  “Contrary to what you may think, murder is not the only option. Vampires appreciate forms of manipulation, like blackmail, quite a bit. When we are discovered, we can allow some human witnesses to live, as well as their families, in exchange for some services and great discretion. You could be useful to me.”

  “Me? I don’t see how.”

  “I am a practical man, and I abhor paperwork, but my employers, to my sorrow, like detailed reports. I need an assistant.”

  If I hadn’t already been seated, I believe I would have needed a chair.

  “You’re joking.”

  He didn’t answer me, and he really had no need to. It was not a joke.

  “No way,” I said. “I have a life, and I want to get back to it.”

  “Your former life just ended. Turning back now is impossible, unless you wish to die.”

  His monotone, detached voice unhinged me completely. Rising from the chair, I exploded. “So that’s it! You spare me just so I can become your slave! You made me come here, you dressed me up as a starlet just so I would be just dazed enough to give up my freedom. Well, you’re mistaken. I don’t want this life, or rather this death. Because that’s what you are, right, a walking corpse? Kill me! Because I won’t be a monster’s plaything!”

  I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my cheeks while I was saying all that. My life may not have been exciting, but all that I wanted at that moment was to get back to it and forget that vampires existed at all.