Part 2 (1/2)
Jordan stiffened at her cousin's tone. She looked down at her hands, counting to ten.
Steven had been dead for over a year. She had accepted the fact. She was not psychotic. At his death, she had been devastated, and she had grieved, and she had been angry, but she had never been paranoid.
She stared at Jared icily. ”This has nothing to do with Steven. Nothing at all. It has to do with last night. Historically, there have been monsters, human monsters,” Jordan said.
”And many of them very rich and exceedingly well positioned.”
Jared let out a snort of aggravation. He leaned toward her.
”Jordan, get it straight. You were tricked, fooled. I understood at first; you were scared, worried sick, but you've been told that the whole thing was a masquerade, an entertainment. If you persist with this, you're going to destroy my relations.h.i.+p with the contessa, and ruin my entire livelihood,” he said, his words beginning with a tone of impatience, and finis.h.i.+ng with a ring bordering on anger. ”Trust me-the contessa is an important, worldly and responsible woman. She gives huge sums of money to charities, and she enjoys entertainment, even scary entertainment. She is not any kind of a cultist.”
The last word stung like a slap, as did the edge in his voice. Jordan chose to ignore his tone.
To herself, she admitted that this morning, seated in the rooftop restaurant of the Danieli, with their attentive waiters polite and cheerful and very normal in their uniforms, she should have been able to let it go. It had all been explained to her.
Yet, she had kept on trying to explain what she had seen the night before!
Even the police had been angry with her at the end of last night. Still, as a book reviewer lucky enough to have earned a large syndicated audience, she'd brought work with her on this vacation. In the pile of advanced reading copies and galleys to be reviewed- including volumes of fiction and nonfiction-she'd happened to have a new book written by a Hollywood producer. The writer had been responsible for some of the most popular horror fiction seen at the movies in the past decade. It was a good book, and it went way beyond the movies, tracing the facts beyond the legends and myths that had sprung up through time throughout the world.
Jordan had listened to the explanations, the patience, the laughter, the anger. She'd witnessed a show they told her. A show! A d.a.m.ned perverse show, and if that had been the contessa's idea of entertainment, she hadn't been in the least amused. Jared, so convinced that his relations.h.i.+p with the contessa was his key to the movers and shakers of Venice, wouldn't even consider the possibility that something evil might have occurred at the palazzo, even without the contessa's knowledge or cooperation. Nor would he support Jordan in her anger that the contessa should never have hired such sick entertainment.
”Jared, you're wrong. Very wrong. I am not letting my imagination get the best of me, I do not believe in ghosts, goblins or spirits, but I do know that bad things happen. And beyond just the bad, there are people out there who believe that they themselves are something supernatural. Listen to this, pay attention, and remember, this is just one of dozens of doc.u.mented cases involving real people. Antoine Leger, a French ma.s.s murderer, was a cannibal-and he drank blood,” she informed him evenly, her finger on the page as she stared at her cousin. ”He went to the guillotine in 1824, a truly horrible man who deserved his fate. His crime? He hid out in the woods, waiting for his prey like a viper. Then he would strike out at young girls, rape them, kill them, drink their blood, and dine on their hearts.”
Cindy, who had been sitting quietly with them at the table, looked at Jordan with dismay. With an infinite patience now lacking in her husband, she reached over and gently touched Jordan's hand. ”You're reading a book. It's just stories.”
”This is not fiction! ”Jordan protested. ”I explained that this man was real-”
Jared set his cup of coffee down with an impatience that threatened to break crockery.
”It's a book of stories, fiction, a work on vampires in film and legend,” Jared said with exasperation.
”It's a book about vampires in films, books and history, ”Jordan corrected, trying not to raise her voice.
She and Jared were both only children. They had been raised together, and usually, they were as close as if they had been born brother and sister. She understood that he loved this city, and that it was important for him to befriend people such as the contessa, yet it was still very hard for her to accept what she had seen as entertainment.
”Jordan-”
”Jared, I just can't believe you won't even consider the possibility that something did happen last night!”
She knew that she was pus.h.i.+ng it, but despite all the a.s.surances that been given to her after the ball, and despite the beautiful, cool, sunlit Venetian morning, and her cousin's current discomfort, she couldn't let it go.
Near her, people drank their espresso and cafe con latte, laughed, chatted, and read their papers with utter normalcy. The world was light now, bright with suns.h.i.+ne, filled with talk, a mult.i.tude of languages, even the very down-to-earth cry of a baby. But no matter what explanations had been given to her, her hours of sleep had been punctuated by vivid, grotesque dreams of the 'show' she had witnessed the previous night.
It had all happened so fast...
She had somehow gotten the startled oarsman to understand her desire to get to a police station, despite the fact that in her horror and fear, she had forgotten every single word of Italian she had known. Luckily, police and polizia were close enough for the man to understand, and she had found herself taken to a station of the local carabinieri. There, she had found a kindly officer who spoke English, and he had a.s.sured her that the situation would be investigated immediately, even though he seemed doubtful when she told him she had been at the palazzo of the Contessa della Trieste. Babbling and close to hysteria at first-deeply frantic then for Jared and Cindy-she had told him about the story-telling and playacting that had ended in real blood and real death, and that there had been a roomful of costumed people turning into monsters who had attacked the others even as they had stood and watched and laughed. Cafe latte laced strongly with brandy helped calm her. She finally spoke with enough reason and conviction to send the officers off en ma.s.se, despite the fact that it was Fat Tuesday and all kinds of charades and masquerades were going on, and she was speaking about the palazzo of a very well-known woman.
The carabinieri had returned with Jared and Cindy-and the contessa. They had all come in worried, but the contessa had also been amused from the beginning, even though she seemed to be apologizing-she hadn't expected such gullibility from such a lovely and sophisticated American girl. Actually, she had been d.a.m.ned condescending. At that point, however, Jared had acted like her older brother, showing his deep concern for her panic and fear, holding her, eyes worried as they probed hers, his tone very gentle as he explained she had been caught in a bit of elaborate theater, scary Carnevale fun, and that there had been nothing really violent or gruesome in what she had seen, and certainly, nothing murderous had taken place.
He hadn't known about that particular piece of scary fun the contessa had planned, and the contessa hadn't known about Steven. It was probably even natural that Jordan had been so terrified at what had really been no more than a haunted house display. But now that she knew ...
Jordan had persisted then. She tried to convince the contessa that some of her guests had been madmen, and that perhaps she'd had no idea of what had been happening at her own party, but murders had taken place. The contessa shook her beautiful head with sorrow and regret. The kindly English-speaking officer cleared his throat, and told Jordan that they had searched the palazzo. All they had found were costumed guests, a few still wearing their fake blood, all contrite that they had frightened her so badly.
”But I'm telling you, I saw people die,” she said. ”Go back-they've cleaned it up. I don't know much about police procedure, but perhaps if you were to use Luminal-”
It was then, Jordan was certain that the contessa got angry, for she began speaking rapidly in Italian to the officers, inhaling deeply for patience, then speaking to Jordan again. ”My dear, as you are Jared's cousin, I will forgive this terrible affront, but you must simply forget all the silly movies you Americans see and accept the fact that we, too, have a sense of fun and the macabre. And,” she added quietly, ”what happened to your fiance.
Jared has explained to me, of course, about your past, and so, dear child, I do understand, and my heart goes out to you. My palazzo remains open to you. You are dear to me, as the cousin of Jared, and you must come anytime and see that the festivities and the amus.e.m.e.nts are over, and that we did nothing but provide a party and a charade. Dear, dear, Jordan, poor dear. I am so sorry, but please! You must be sane and rational about this!”
”Yes, and we must let the contessa go home,” Jared said firmly, and before she could protest longer, the police were apologizing to the contessa and ushering them out to the street. The contessa had kissed Jordan's cheek with cold lips, urging her again to come by at any time. Despite their growing impatience, the police had remained kind to her throughout, far kinder than Jared when-after the contessa had departed in her private launch-she had kept trying to explain that she had seen real blood, nearly perished herself, and been rescued by a man in wolf's clothing.
”Where is this man?” Jared had demanded.
”He leaped with me from the balcony, then .. . disappeared into the fog.”
They stared at her as if she had entirely lost her mind. Yes, poor Jordan. G.o.d knew, maybe she needed to be committed to the closest facility for the insane.
Back at the hotel, Cindy had managed to find a concierge who made Jordan tea, and then offered to sleep in her room. Jared's sigh of impatience had caused her to decline.
But alone in her handsome, antiques-laden room in what she truly considered to be one of the most beautiful hotels in the world, she still had not been able to sleep. It had been the words of the contessa that had caused her to dig into her pile of work, and find the book written by the movie producer. She tried to read before realizing that Cindy had slipped a Valium into her tea. She had fallen asleep with the book in her hand, but the Valium hadn't stopped her dreams. She had witnessed the events time and time again; she dreamed that she awoke, that a huge silver wolf guarded her window. He was framed in the shutters that opened to the pedestrian walk and ca.n.a.l where just hours before, the last sounds of laughter and revelry had faded into the darkness and shadows of the moonlit night Okay, so the party and the Valium had caused her some serious nightmares. That didn't stop her belief that maybe ...
She broke off her own thought painfully, then continued with it.
Yes, maybe some cultists or some wretched coldblooded murderers had been at work.
Jared leaned toward her, at the rooftop restaurant of the Danieli, all attempts at patience suddenly lost. ”Jordan, please, I am begging you-you've got to stop. These are people I work with. The contessa is incredibly important to my job, my position here in Italy, to my career, my life! If you keep up with this, you will destroy me. Can't you understand? A party, masks, costumes, a haunted house, special effects, elaborate, yes! The contessa likes to have the best ball, the most talked-about. Leave it-leave it alone.
All of Venice will be talking as it is. You will destroy me, don't you understand?”
”Jared, I'm telling you-”
”And the police have told you. And the contessa left her party to come to you, because you were so frightened. Everyone has bent over backward to explain what went on to you, and you refuse to accept it!”
”Jared, you weren't there-”
He got up, throwing his napkin on the table. ”I have to go. Jordan, get a f.u.c.king grip before you ruin my life!”
”Jared!” Cindy protested, speaking out again at last ”Jordan is your cousin, your flesh and blood-”
”Which she seems to have forgotten. You sit here and listen to her make up wild stories and convince herself that monsters exist.” He stared hard at Jordan, placing his hands on the table to look into her eyes. ”I'm sorry, so sorry about what happened to Steve.
We've tried to be with you. To support you. And you've been good, Jordan. Sane. But Carnevale has apparently touched off something inside you. Again, I'm sorry, but I've had it. I'm tired-and guess what? I have a lot of bridges to mend today. I have to see a lot of people and apologize for my cousin behaving so insanely.”
He turned and left, striding angrily from the terrace. Cindy, standing awkwardly, stared down at Jordan where she was sitting. ”I know he doesn't mean to be so . ..”
”Cindy, you don't need to apologize to me for Jared,” Jordan murmured.
Wrong thing to say. Cindy instantly became defensive. She sat again and stared at Jordan.
”Jordan, you've got to realize that you are risking his job, that he's friends with these people, that the contessa is very important to his work.” Cindy sighed. ”Honestly, Jordan, I know that you were really scared, and we should be there for you, but it's true, it was all explained to you. With concern, care, and a great deal of empathy. And you have this foolish book with you, making it all the worse.”