Chapter Four
Lexy woke up in total darkness, surrounded by the dank odor of freshly unearthed soil while lying flat on her back with arms crisscrossed over her chest, palms down. The area felt very restricted in that she was barely able to move, when suddenly she barked up a mouthful of dirt.
Funny, but I don’t remember dying, she thought, while feeling an odd sense of peace.
The sweet smell of lilies tickled her nose, as she raised her hands inside the confined area to feel soft, satiny fabric overhead. Total affirmation…she was dead! But wait, she thought, do they have cell phones in heaven? “What the hell is going on?” she mumbled.
She dug into the dirt around her, found her purse, and fumbled to pull out the phone. The caller ID confirmed an unknown caller.
“Hey Lexy, it’s me.”
She immediately recognized the deep, sexy voice. She wriggled around in the dirt. “Victor, thank heavens you called. Someone kidnapped me and they’re trying to bury me alive!”
Victor let out a low laugh. “No, no, gorgeous, no one’s kidnapped you. You’re at my house.”
“Your house? But…um…I think I’m locked in a coffin.”
“Now, just don’t worry your pretty little head over it. I’d never hurt you.”
“So I am in a coffin?”
“Sweetheart, the whole ritual is just part of the process.”
“Ritual? Process? I thought we were a perfect match! How could this be happening?”
“We are a perfect match. I’ll explain later. Love to talk longer, but have to finish my act. See you in—”
“Victor? Victor!” With her phone battery dead, she tried to remain calm, as hyperventilating would use up too much oxygen. This was the kind of stuff she’d read about on the internet—psychos who prey on women and lock their victims in boxes and dungeon-like rooms, and do God knows what to them. Then when they’ve finished, they dump their victim’s lifeless bodies in the desert where they decompose very quickly.
She placed the palms of her hands squarely on the lid and pushed up with all her might, while trying to recall how she’d gotten herself into such a predicament. But she drew a blank. She loosened her legs from the dirt and kicked at the coffin, while pounding with her fists and swearing that if she ever got out, she’d march right over to Anonymous Dates Inc. and get a full refund. But the first thing on her mind was escaping, and calling the cops to lock the sick bastard up before he kills someone.
While hyperventilating, she told herself to keep a level head and that maybe Victor wasn’t an axe murderer. Probably just part of some silly underground cult, people who think they’re vampires. She’d heard of them.
After ten minutes, she gave up trying to fight her way out, then heard a soft click and the lid popped open. A refection of light flickered directly overhead. She slowly sat up in the coffin. Situated on the floor in the shape of a heart were lots of lit candles in red votive cups. She wasn’t touched by Victor’s sentiment.
As the flicker of candlelight sambaed across the basement walls, she pulled herself out of the coffin, removed her shoes, and shook out the dirt. Okay, this really bites, she thought, as the heel fell off her brand new pair of shoes. When she brushed the dirt from the bodice of her black dress, it smeared like damp clay.
“Ugh! The dating service is so going to pay for my dry cleaning, and a brand new pair of shoes that took me a whole year to save up for.” Her voice sounded loud in the dead quiet of the room. The moon cast an ethereal glow through a small, narrow window up high.
I don’t believe this, she thought, the bastard stuffed me into a coffin in his basement. Okay, so it’s a finished basement, but still. How the best date of her life could turn out so bad, she didn’t know.
She felt weak as she climbed the stairway to the first floor, and thought Victor must have drugged her, put something in her wine. She shuffled through pitch-black rooms trying to find her way out, when she bumped into a table with a lamp and quickly turned on the light.
The one-storey ranch, decorated in mid-century modern, except for the 70s disco ball that hung from the living room ceiling, had deep, dark burgundy painted walls. A framed sepia-toned poster of a man hung on the wall. It looked like an antique. The man had piercing eyes and wore an eerie expression. A signature at the bottom read, To Vincent, Best Regards, Bela Lugosi.
While wondering who the creepy Bela Lugosi was, she peeked around the corner into the kitchen. The counters were neat and tidy, everything in its place. In the breakfast nook was a window. Outside, under the glow of a lamppost was a street sign. “Desertscape Avenue,” she whispered to herself. It quickly clicked in her head that she was in Southern Valley, about fifteen minutes from the Strip.
It was difficult for her to understand how she could have been so wrong about Victor. He seemed like a man out of time, a hopeless romantic living in a cynical age, and not at all jaded like the other guys she had dated.
“Hello, Lexy.”
Startled, she spun in a dizzying three-sixty. “Victor, how did you…where did you come from?” Lexy felt breathless, her heart pounded in her ears.
“What does it matter?” he said. “I’m here. Now we can be together.”
“Well, about that. I don’t think we’re quite right for one another.”
Victor drew her to him, enveloping her in his long cape, like a cocoon. How was it possible, she wondered, that all at once, she felt safe, she’d become unafraid of him? He was a psycho; he’d locked her in a coffin. Yet, she felt powerless against him.
He took the shoes from her hand and placed them on the floor. “Can we sit and talk? There’s something I have to tell you.” Victor led her into the living room. They sat down on a vintage turquoise leather sofa that felt cold on the back of her thighs.
“Listen, I shouldn’t have lied to you Lexy. That’s no way to start a relationship, but I didn’t know how to tell you the truth,” Victor said, as he took her hand in his.
“The truth?”
“Lexy, I can offer you the assurance of eternal life.”
“Ha! So, you’re not even a magician. You’re a life insurance salesman?”
“What? No, that’s not what I said. Just look into my eyes. What do you see?”
“That they’re bloodshot?”
“No, look again. What else?”
Lexy shrugged her shoulders.
“Come on Lexy. It’s love. Can’t you see it in my eyes? That’s what I feel for you.”
Just hours ago, she had wished for Victor to fall madly in love with her. Had she known she had such powers she would have wished for something more sensible—like winning the lottery. “Victor, you don’t even know me.”
“I do know you. I know you like your ears nibbled and you can’t resist having that little spot right behind your ear licked. Oh, and you love a good foot massage, especially your little toe.” Victor gave her a wink.
One perfectly arched eyebrow shot up. She wondered how he could have known all that.
“I’m not from Brooklyn, New York and I don’t have an Italian uncle. I’ve lived a lonely existence in my native land of Romania. For the past two hundred years, give or take a few, I’ve been searching for my one true love, a woman I met long ago who had died a tragic death. I tried to save her—I mean, save you. One more taste and she—you would have been mine. Then one day I read about a place called Las Vegas, and there in the magazine was your picture in the Viewpoint section. I traveled here to find you.”
“First of all,” said Lexy, “your story isn’t making any sense. Secondly, you saw my photograph and traveled thousands of miles to find me? Why?”
“Because you’re my Madeline, don’t you remember? Oh, and I also read the article you wrote on the research of bats in southern Nevada—it really moved me.”
And she thought Jack was odd. “I’m not whoever this Madeline chick is.??
?
“You’re an old soul Lexy. Given time, you’ll remember.”
“No, really, I’m very young, and speaking about time, it’s late. I have to leave now.” Lexy stood up and felt dizzy, and her neck was stiff. “Ouch!” she yelped, while rubbing an area of her neck that felt sore. She pulled a mirrored compact from her purse to check the soreness.
“My God, is that a bite mark?”
“Sweetheart, it’ll be fine. I promise.” Victor reached for her, but she pulled away.
“Please sit down, Lexy.”
“No, this is not normal. You’re not normal!”
“Ha! Normal,” Victor said, while sitting on the edge of the sofa staring down at the floor. “You have no idea how much I long to be normal like everyone else. I dream about wearing bright Hawaiian shirts, instead of always looking like a damn maître d’. I want to experience the taste of ice cream on a hot sunny day, instead of a liquid protein diet by the light of the moon. I want to know what scotch with a twist of lime tastes like, instead of a glass of blood with a wine chaser. I want to be normal, but more than that, I want to be the man you love. I want you to love me Lexy like I love you.”
She didn’t know why, but looking at him tugged at her heartstrings. She wanted to touch his beautiful face, crush her lips to his mouth, but it was wrong on so many different levels. “Victor, I’m sorry, but I’m not into the vampire cult thing.”
“You think this is a joke!” His eyes turned steely gray. Clearly, she had angered him. But he couldn’t possibly think she believed in vampires, which was weird since Jack had tried to convince her there were such creatures. What are the odds? she asked herself.
“I’m depressed,” he said as he stood up from the couch. “I’m going to rest. I won’t be going out tonight.”
“Victor, I’m sorry I don’t—”
He put his fingers to her lips to shush her. “It’s okay, we’ll talk tomorrow evening.”
There was something unexplainable, something wonderful about him, she thought. But as soon as he disappeared down the basement steps, she ran out of the house.