Penny's Needs
My sister, Penny, being a change-of-life baby, was much younger than I. Indeed, I am quite literally old enough to be her father. When our parents died in a plane crash, I naturally assumed the responsibility of caring for my adolescent sibling. While making every attempt to be a strong father figure in her life, I never lost sight of the fact that I was her brother and hopefully her best friend and closest confidant.
After the death of our mother and father, my own life took a back seat to Penny's. I did not mind the sacrifice, for I believed that, in my thirties, I still had several years ahead of me to meet a woman, fall in love and get married, whereas childhood years pass so quickly. Penny's needs, then, invariably came first.
In retrospect, my greatest mistake as a guardian was giving my sister a boxed set of Anne Rice's Vampire Chronicles one year for her birthday. This introduction to Lestat de Lioncourt and his world fueled an unhealthy interest in vampire lore. Penny developed a voracious appetite for books, movies and television programs about the undead including Dracula, Nosferatu, Buffy, Angel, The Covenant, The Lost Boys, The Vampire Diaries and Twilight.
At first, I saw no harm in her preoccupation with vampires since most teenagers have a fondness for horror movies and scary novels. I, myself, was an avid reader of Stephen King's works. Eventually, however, I grew concerned when my beautiful blond sister died her hair black and began dressing in outfits that looked as though they had been designed for Elvira.
"Where's the funeral?" I teased her one evening when I came home from work to find her sitting in the living room in her macabre attire, rereading Interview with the Vampire by candlelight.
Penny rolled her eyes in a gesture of annoyance and continued reading, without answering my question. So, I tried again to strike up a conversation.
"How many times have you read that book?"
"Five or six. It's one of my favorites. Want to borrow it when I'm done?"
"No, thanks. I've already seen the movie. Brad Pitt and Tom Cruise—interesting casting, don't you think? When I hear the word vampire, Bela Lugosi always comes to mind."
"Bela Lugosi?" my sister laughed. "The list of actors who portrayed vampires is endless: Christopher Lee, Kiefer Sutherland, Gary Oldman, Frank Langella, Peter Fonda, Chris Sarandon, Jonathan ...."
My sister's litany was interrupted by the eerie organ music of her cell phone ringtone.
"Hello?" she answered.
A moment later her face lit up with a rare smile.
"Hold on a sec."
She got up from the chair and ran to the privacy of her bedroom. Meanwhile, I blew out the candles, turned on the lamp and went to the kitchen to make my dinner. As I waited for my frozen pizza to heat in the oven, I could not help wondering who was on the phone with Penny.
* * *
For the fourth night in a row, I arrived home to an empty house. Again, there was no message telling me where my sister might be. I called her cell phone but was instructed to leave a message on her voicemail.
At nine o'clock I made myself a strong cup of coffee and sat in the living room wing chair where I could keep an eye on the front door. The minutes ticked by, and the hours slowly passed. It was after two when I finally heard her car pull into the driveway.
"What are you doing up?" Penny asked with surprise when she entered the house.
"I was worried. You've been out late nearly every night this week. Where were you?"
I had expected an argument, but Penny did not object to my questioning.
"I was at a club with Sam."
"Who's Sam? I don't recall your ever mentioning his name before."
"Just a guy I met in an Internet chat room. We share a common interest in books and music."
"You mean he's into vampires, too."
It was to be expected, I suppose.
"So, what club did he take you to?"
"The Countess Bathory in Boston."
"Bathory as in the Hungarian countess who tortured and murdered young girls and then bathed in their blood? Sounds like a fun place. I'd like to meet this young man."
"Sure," she said. "Maybe sometime next week. Right now, though, I've got to get to bed. I have an English lit class in the morning."
I had more questions about both Sam and the Countess Bathory, but they would have to wait. Like my sister, I had to get some sleep so I could get up in the morning.
* * *
Penny's late nights continued. I rarely saw her in the weeks that followed except for when she woke up in the mornings before I left for work. On those brief occasions, I continued to ply her with questions, which she fielded like a Gold Glove-winning shortstop. And despite my frequent requests, I still had not met the mysterious Sam.
Had I been Penny's father and not her older brother, I might have demanded she cut back on her late hours or insisted she introduce me to her boyfriend, but I did neither. She was twenty-one, after all, and legally an adult; but although she was old enough to lead her own life, it did not stop me from worrying about her.
Hoping to remain on good terms with my sister, I held off the inevitable confrontation. Then one day I received a phone call at my office from Dr. Sarah Ryerson at the emergency room of the Puritan Falls Hospital, notifying me that Penny had collapsed on her way to class. I immediately left work and rushed to the hospital.
I did not need a doctor to tell me Penny was unwell. When I saw her lying on the emergency room bed, I was taken aback. Why had I not noticed how much weight she was losing?
"What's wrong with her, Doctor?" I asked the attending physician. "Is it an eating disorder?"
"I don't want to make a diagnosis until I've run a few more tests, but I can tell you she's severely malnourished and suffering from anemia. We're going to admit her for a few days. I'll keep you posted on her condition."
I thanked Dr. Ryerson and sat beside my sister's bed. The sight of her small, frail, limp form looking so helpless brought tears to my eyes.
"You're so pale," I cried, reaching my hand out to touch the dark hair with the blond roots.
As I brushed the long locks off her shoulder, I noticed two distinct marks on her neck. Upon closer examination, I determined they were puncture wounds.
"Is this what goes on in that damned club?"
The severity of my sister's condition prompted me to finally act. I had procrastinated long enough; it was time for me to meet Sam and find out what he had done to my sister.
My first instinct was to check her cell phone. Since Penny had no Sam in her list of contacts and a canvass of the recently called numbers in her phone log failed to turn up any useful information, I realized my only hope of finding the young man was to go to Boston and try to locate the Countess Bathory. Yet even with the address I found on Penny's Facebook page, it was no easy task locating the club. I drove through the general vicinity three times without any luck, so I parked my car and continued the search on foot.
"There's 318 and 320 next to it," I said with frustration as I stood outside a large decrepit building, probably only days away from being condemned. "Where the hell is 319?"
I was about to abandon hope altogether when I saw someone walking toward me from the rear of the building. Either Halloween had come early or the young woman was a patron of the vampire club.
"Excuse me," I called. "Could you tell me where I can find the entrance to the Countess Bathory?"
Beneath the dark eye makeup and the nearly white foundation was a face as young and pretty as Penny's had once been. The girl looked at me with suspicion, eyeing me from head to toe. Apparently, she concluded that I was harmless, perhaps because I still looked like I was under thirty.
"It's the unmarked door in the rear of the building. Just turn right at the end of the alley."
The interior of the Countess Bathory resembled a set from a Tim Burton movie. The décor was early Transylvania; the color scheme was predominantly black with purple and red accents. It was far too early in the afternoon for the place to be crowded. Other than the slightly cadaverous man behind the bar, there were only three other people in the room besides me. Dressed in my khaki Dockers and white polo shirt, I stuck out like a Yankee fan at Fenway Park.
"Can I help you?" the bartender inquired.
I had previously decided to play it cool, not to go barging in like Joe Friday demanding the facts.
"Yeah, I'll take a Sam Adams."
When he came back with my beer, I jumped into my act.
"I was supposed to meet someone here about half an hour ago. It looks like I missed him. Do you know a young man named Sam?" I asked.
"I know a lot of men named Sam, young and old. What's your friend look like?"
Damn it! I struck out in the first inning. Unable to think of a plausible lie, I took the gamble of telling the truth—at least an abridged version of it.
"I don't know the guy personally. He's a close friend of my kid sister. She's in the hospital, and I wanted to let him know. She told me the two of them came in here all the time."
"Okay, what does your sister look like then?"
"Young college kid, hair dyed black, wears dark clothes all the time. You know who I mean?"
The bartender laughed and waved his hand in a circular motion, indicating his surroundings.
"You've got to be kidding, right?"
I smiled lamely.
"I'm not sure how to describe Penny so that ...."
"Did you say Penny?" the bartender asked, recognizing the name. "I know her. Nice kid. Lives up north in some little town called Pilgrim Falls."
"Puritan Falls," I corrected him. "Yes, that's her."
"I'm sorry to hear she's in the hospital. Nothing serious, I hope."
"So do I. Do you know the young man she's been coming here with?"
"I'd hardly call him a young man. He must be sixty if he's a day."
My protective instincts went on red alert. What had my sister gotten herself into?
After leaving the Countess Bathory, I went to a nearby Goodwill store and purchased clothing more fitting to the club's environment. Then I went to a GNC and bought energy boosters to help me remain alert during my late-night spying mission. Finally, after a quick meal at McDonald's, I returned to the club just as the sun began to set.
As I had expected, darkness brought with it a crowd of black-clad youngsters seeking the company of others of their own kind. I slipped in with a group of college students and took a table in the far corner of the room. The same bartender was on duty, as I knew he would be. I signaled to him, and he nodded. He had agreed to point out my sister's mysterious friend should he come to the club that night.
I manned my post for several hours, drinking Diet Coke and keeping an eye on the bartender. Just before midnight, my patience paid off.
The bartender came to my table, put a bottle of Samuel Adams Boston Lager in front of me and announced, "This is from the old gentleman at the bar."
"Thanks, I owe you," I said, keeping my voice down.
"My pleasure. I hope your sister feels better soon."
During the next forty minutes, I never let Sam out of my sight. Thankfully, he was not a night owl. He left the club before 1:00 a.m.—alone.
* * *
When the late-model Mercedes turned into the driveway of a magnificent home on Marblehead Neck, I pulled my Subaru to the curb and turned off the engine.
So, this is where he lives, I thought. He must have money.
His affluence gave me further cause to worry. What did such a man want with my sister? Every scenario I imagined caused me to cringe.
Making a mental note of the house number, I started my car and returned to Puritan Falls. I had just gotten into bed when the telephone rang. As was usually the case with late-night phone calls, the news was not good. Penny had slipped into a coma.
Despite my exhaustion, I dressed quickly and drove to the hospital. My silent vigil at my sister's bedside ended shortly before ten the following morning when the heart monitor flat-lined. Despite the efforts of the cardiac arrest team to resuscitate her, my precious sister passed away.
With Penny gone, there were dozens of things I had to do, not the least of which was to phone D'Agostino's Funeral Home and arrange for her memorial service and burial, but I could not face such a painful chore yet. Instead, I returned home and went directly to sleep.
I woke to the morning sunlight peeking through my bedroom curtains. Moments after I opened my eyes I was rocked with the memory of my sister's death. My heartbreak was so intense as to be almost physically painful. Tears did little to assuage my grief, but I found some relief in being angry.
"I'll find out what happened to my sister if I have to wring that old man's neck to do it," I cried.
Then I got into the Subaru and drove to Marblehead. I was in luck. The Mercedes was in the driveway.
When Sam answered the door, he looked like he had just gotten out of bed.
"Who are you?" he asked, stifling a yawn.
"I'm Penny's brother. She died," I announced, nearly choking on the words.
"I'm sorry to hear that, but what has that to do with me? I don't know you or your sister."
"You can stop the innocent act. I saw you at the Countess Bathory."
"Oh, I assume then your sister frequented the club."
"Like you didn't already know that," I said angrily.
"I didn't. How many times must I tell you I didn't know your sister? Not by the name of Penny, anyway. Most people in the vampire subculture create fictitious identities. Such is the case with the youngsters I talk to at the Countess Bathory."
"What I'd like to know is what's a guy your age doing in a club like that in the first place?"
"I go there to pick up background information," he explained. "My name is Lamont Helms. I'm a writer."
"You're not Sam?"
"Sam? The bartender? Good heavens, no."
The truth struck me with the force of a speeding locomotive. What a fool I had been! I apologized profusely and took my leave of the writer.
* * *
The Countess Bathory did not open until noon, but the door at the rear of the alley was unlocked. I walked into the dimly lit club and heard Sam's now familiar voice.
"You don't give up, do you? Christ, you've got the tenacity of a rabid pit bull."
"What happened to my sister?" I demanded to know.
"I presume from your raging temper that she expired."
"Yes, and I won't give up until I learn why she died. If need be, I'll go to the police or hire a private investigator."
"Your sister told me she was an orphan. She never mentioned having an older brother."
"Someone killed Penny. Was it you?"
"No, not me."
"Who was it then?"
"The man I work for, the man who owns this place."
"Is he here?" I asked hopefully.
Sam nodded his head toward a door behind the bar marked EMPLOYEES ONLY, which opened onto a flight of stairs that led to an old cellar beneath the club. I carefully made my way down and saw a three-inch-thick, solid oak door at the rear of the storage room. When I entered the dank, dark, cavernous chamber behind it, my senses were assaulted by the foul stench of decay.
The bile rose in my throat, and I had to force myself not to spew the contents of my stomach on the earthen floor.
"What died down here?" I exclaimed.
It took several moments for my eyes to adjust to the darkness, and when they did, my good intentions not to vomit vanished. Several moments later I straightened my body, wiped my mouth with my sleeve and stared in horror at close to a dozen bodies in various stages of decomposition. Yet it was the figure lying in repose in an open coffin in the center of the chamber that evoked my terror. The gray, emaciated beast with sunken features and leprous, decaying flesh was certainly no Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt!
"Meet my boss," Sam said from behind me.
"He's a ... a ...."
"A vampire. And not one of the posers that come to the club in Hot Topic apparel. He's the real deal: one of the undead, an ages-old creature that feeds on the blood of the living."
"You know this thing is down here? That it's killing innocent girls?" I asked with disbelief. "Why don't you do something about it?"
"I do. I search the Internet chat rooms for girls who have no family, who aren't likely to be missed, and I lock them down here with him. Somehow your sister got away, but, alas, she died anyway. Just as you will."
Sam shoved me forward and then backed out of the chamber, pulling the door shut behind him. My heart sank when I heard him throw the bolt, locking me inside with the sleeping monster. I fell to the floor, defeated and broken, aware that when the sun went down, I would die.
Just as I had given up all hope of ever seeing the light of day again, I heard the door being unlocked and opened. I turned to see Lamont Helms, the writer from Marblehead, standing on the threshold.
"Quick," he urged, "we've got to destroy the fiend before Sam gets back."
Without asking any questions, I jumped up and went to his aid.
"Take his shirt off," the writer shouted, as he removed a croquet stake and mallet out of the Red Sox duffle bag he had brought with him.
The ancient rag the vampire wore easily shredded in my hand. The skin beneath it was white and clammy, like the underbelly of a fish. The stench of the repulsive creature made us both gag, but all the other smells were mild compared to the odor that escaped from the vampire's chest when the writer hammered the stake into its heart.
* * *
"What do you think Sam will do when he returns to the Countess Bathory and discovers his boss is dead?" I asked Lamont as we sat in a Starbucks, surrounded by nice, normal Bostonians who had no idea that a centuries-old vampire had been hiding in their midst.
"With his master gone, he'll probably get as far away from Massachusetts as possible."
"How did you know he was down there?"
"I didn't. When several young women who frequented the club went missing, I feared there was a madman at work, a human killer who pretended he was a vampire. After you came to my house this morning, I was afraid you would put your life in danger, so I followed you back to the club."
"And the croquet mallet and stake?"
"I brought them along with me to intimidate the killer, never suspecting I would actually have to use them on a real vampire."
* * *
Exhausted, I opened the door to my house, walked inside and collapsed on the couch. It had been quite a day! I lost my sister, barely escaped being the main course for a blood-sucking monster and helped a bestselling horror writer kill a vampire.
Little did I guess it was only going to get a lot worse!
I forced myself to stand up, shower and eat something light. Then I pressed the PLAY button on the phone answering machine. After several messages expressing shock and offering condolences on my sister's passing, there was a message from Shawn McMurtry of the Puritan Falls Police Department, informing me that Penny's body had been taken from the morgue.
I spent the last remaining hours of daylight browsing through the old family photo albums at pictures of my parents and my sister. How I missed them all!
When the sun began to set, I walked upstairs to Penny's bedroom, opened the windows wide and lay down on her bed. I did not have long to wait.
The sound of flapping bat wings alerted me to her presence. I closed my eyes as she flew in through the window, not wanting to see the changes death had wrought on her pretty young face. I kept them closed as she leaned over me and her hair brushed my face. I opened them temporarily when I felt her elongated incisors pierce the skin of my neck but then closed them again as Penny drank the blood from my body. I did not mind dying since my death was tantamount to her survival, and I had long ago grown accustomed to putting Penny's needs before my own.
I always put Salem's needs before my own, since this is what he looks like when he's in need of a chocolate "fix."
