21 Shades of Night, page 379
Le Conseil Cimme is rumored to be a power-hungry vampire cabal, based somewhere in Western Europe. If you believe the rumors, twelve or so years ago, this clandestine investment group allegedly began filtering funds into EU and US coffers and has since built a strong base of political power. The upper echelons allegedly focus massive amounts of resources into finding and shaping paranormal abilities in humans. There's even a lot of chatter out there about other superhuman creatures silently waging a war against these vampires.
It's not exactly typical stuff so far, but the ultimate kicker? Mysticism. A strange combination of the Kabbalah, medieval magic and mythical creatures has led to the bewildering underlying currents of Le Conseil Cimme.
The articles and fact sheets list details at length: midnight rituals, blood wars, internal power struggles, and at least one accusation of vampirism in the White House. It's the conspiracy theory to end all conspiracy theories; the undead exist and they're slowly taking all of our money and power for themselves.
The community of conspiracy theorists grows every day, but many of the accepted foundations make it difficult for even the least skeptical of brains to swallow the theories. In the case of our supernatural overlords, does it seem all that likely? How many people would have to be involved to keep the secret?
Don't wander too far off the beaten path, old friends. There's plenty of weird science out there focused on telepathy and clairvoyance without trying to expand it to the stuff of ancient legends. Let's concentrate on cracking the telekinesis code before we expend too much thought on werewolf power-seekers.
* * *
I STARED AT the article preview on my screen, the black text swimming across my blurry vision. Seventy-two hours had passed since I'd decided to dig a little deeper on some of the notes I'd been keeping for years. I loved the theories about telepathy, and I'd let my fingers do the walking. A far-reaching search across the internet had given me so much more than I'd bargained for, and I started a journal of the stories I found. Some of it had been repeated, but occasionally there was a little glimmer of something unique. It all coalesced around this supposed power group, and way too many people seemed to focus on paranormal abilities.
After missing a night's sleep and going through more coffee than I cared to admit, I'd started writing. I'd been staring at the thing for too long, rewriting and restructuring. After another failed attempt to frame the article without offending at least the major portion of my audience, I decided to throw in the towel. I scrolled through it again, removed a spare adverb or two and clicked "Submit."
One second later, sticky sweat broke out across my forehead and panic sent my heart into a heavy rhythm that rang in my ears. I had done what I'd promised myself. Taken notes, researched theories, tried to find a common thread. But it was all too scattered and strange to form any kind of real cohesive theory to investigate. If I looked beyond the obviously insane theories of global power structures occupied by vampires and tried to investigate any sort of paranormal abilities or supernatural creatures, there just wasn't any strong science to start with. I understood the allure: it was so appealing to think of all the undiscovered things in the universe. No matter how serious most of my readers were about certain aspects of science, there was a lot of love out there for the romantic unexplained. No wonder people thought this was so crazy. It was.
If some of my regulars didn't stop reading altogether, they would bury me under a mountain of scathing emails over it. My palms were slick with sweat and pricks of fear tingled along my spine. I had just wanted to try something different, see if I could find anything worth really checking out. I didn't expect to find nothing.
I also didn't expect myself to be so dismissive about it.
I waited for the article status to change to "public" and took a deep breath. The snap of the laptop lid echoed in my kitchen as I closed it and I pushed myself back from the table. My coffee, untouched and stone cold, sat next to the laptop like a carefully placed prop. I tossed the coffee down the drain and set the cup in the sink. I had spent the last three days on this. It was time to get on with the rest of my life. There were chores to be done. Closets to clean.
Chapter 6
BEN CALLED THE next day, exactly at noon. "How's vacation?" he asked.
"Completely annoying." I dropped the toothbrush into the sink and wiped a rag over the newly scrubbed faucet. "What am I supposed to do with all this time off anyway?"
"Take a vacation, maybe? Garden? I have no idea what people do in their free time."
"See? At least you understand." I wandered out to the back porch and dropped into one of the chaise lounges. Runoff from a morning rainstorm overflowed the gutters and spilled onto the grass in huge sheets.
"Anything else going on?" he asked.
"I haven't heard from Colin."
"That's not what I meant." A hint of annoyance shadowed his words.
I sighed and looked down at my short, ragged fingernails. "I don't know anything new today. My grandfather went back to Park Manor last night, but he remains under observation." I glared out at the yard. "I'm not really sleeping."
"Why?"
"I don't know."
I heard the sounds of the city around Ben as I waited for his reply. I longed to be there. My hometown was okay when I was busy, but the boredom was a great reminder that all I'd wanted for years was to get the hell out of this place. A blaring horn cut across the line. It was a few moments before he spoke again. "I'm worried about you."
"Oh, don't be. I'm getting a lot done at least. Did some more writing today. Even cleaned out one of the upstairs closets." I thought of the aqua travel case I'd come across, filled to the brim with makeup brushes and ages-old cotton swabs. Even the gold stitching on the case had brought back memories.
"I came across some things of my mother's yesterday and I couldn’t stop thinking about her." I blurted the words, heat rising in my cheeks. I hated talking about my mother. "She used to call me by my full name all the time–I hated it. It was like a sign, you know? That's when I knew she would be out of it for a while. I remember the first time she did it." Even though he was far away and on the phone, it felt like he was right with me. I usually avoided talking about my mother, but there was something about Ben that made it feel safe. I knew he wouldn't judge me for what she'd been like.
"After your father left?"
I looked out across the yard, watching the steady rain that blotted out the woods. "Before. There was this one night; she was getting ready, waiting for him to come home. They had dinner plans that night and she was showing me this new lipstick. Showed me how she put it on. Handed it over and told me try it out. She snatched it right out of my hands, before I'd had even a chance…." I trailed away, thinking about the golden tube she had given me. The bright pink makeup inside had been one of the most beautiful things I'd ever seen.
Ben was silent, the background noise going in and out. "She was sick."
I sniffled, feeling a line of moisture on my lower eyelids. "I just didn't understand it back then. She used to tell me all sorts of things while she was getting ready to go out with him...anecdotes about finding a husband or a boyfriend. Silly things. That night, I got a lecture about playing hard to get."
"How old were you?"
"Nine. She didn't wear makeup for three years, you know."
"After he left?"
I nodded, silent. My throat had knotted up as I thought about it again.
"Allie?" His voice was cautious and I felt a flare of affection for him.
"I don't even know why I told you all that." I took a breath and changed my tone, as if it was all some big joke. "This is why I hate vacation. Too much time to reflect."
Ben chuckled on the other end of the phone. "You're okay then?"
"Getting there," I replied, feeling suddenly isolated from him. I stood from the chaise lounge and walked back inside, looking for something to keep my hands busy.
"I should probably get going," he said, after a moment or so of awkward silence.
"Thanks for checking in on me."
I dropped my phone onto the counter and wandered into the living room. My laptop sat on the coffee table, and I stared at, hoping it would deliver some inspiration to get me out of the funk I was already sliding into. My resolution to change things up was still floating around in my mind, but I didn't know where to start. The column had been a bust. My stats showed the usual number of readers and a few comments had been left, but it wasn't anything like the deluge I'd expected. So much for shaking things up.
I closed a few orphan browser tabs before I noticed a small email alert flashing in the system tray at the bottom of the screen.
From: "carter, nate" nate@paraline.org
To: biogirl@madscientia.org
Subject: Conspiracy Theories ARE Taking Over the Internet
Ms. Stuart,
My name is Nathan Carter. I've been a long-time reader of your column, but I've never taken the time to write before now. I hope you don't find me forward in contacting you via email instead of leaving a comment on the website.
I run a small website called ParaLine. You may have come across it in your search for Le Conseil Cimme. We keep the public portions of the site on the small side, but our forums are very active. Once a month, some of our members meet in purpose to discuss matters that are better left unrecorded on the internet. I would love the opportunity to talk more about what your research uncovered about our "vampire overlords." I think I may have some information you'll find useful. If you could find the time, we would love to have you to a meeting. Our discussion last week revolved wholly around paranormal abilities. Might be a nice tie-in to future articles.
Looking forward to hearing from you soon.
Nate Carter, President, ParaLine.Org
I grinned, in spite of my ambivalent mood. The feedback on my article had been surprisingly mundane, but this was exactly what I'd been hoping for. I wanted to hear from someone who actually believed everything I'd written. These ParaLine people deserved a closer look.
* * *
MY PHONE RANG in my purse as I wrestled a large microfiber mop into the backseat of my Honda. I reached between the seats and managed to answer before it went to voicemail.
"Hello?" I resumed my battle with the mop.
"Hey, got a minute?" Harding's voice was quiet and urgent.
I stopped my battle with the mop. "What's going on?"
"Any chance you can come up here? I need to talk to you."
I stared at the mop as dread blossomed in my chest. "I'll be there in ten."
I smacked at the mop handle again as I hit the door with my hip. Cargo secured, I dropped into the driver's seat. I clicked my seatbelt and mentally began working my way down the list of possible catastrophes.
* * *
WHEN I ARRIVED on my grandfather's floor, I was surprised to find Harding waiting in the sitting room, accompanied by the head nurse, Rosemary Benton. The distance between us stretched as my mouth grew dry. My grandfather had been back at Park Manor for less than twenty-four hours.
"Allie, we need to talk," he said, his tone calm and quiet, as soon as I was in front of him.
I nodded and felt my face grow hot. I knew it. Something had happened. "That's why I'm here."
I was pretty sure I knew what was coming, and followed Harding and Rosemary out of the room. We walked in silence to one of the small, private cubicles situated around the main sitting area. I made a detour to the coffee stand. I’d need the caffeine to survive the rest of the day.
"Rosemary, do you mind if I fill Allie in?" Harding asked, looking at the nurse. She nodded, once, and I felt a great deal of respect for her self-control. Her purple scrubs and tall, curly hair-do were misleading. Underneath the Southern belle attitude she carried so well, Rosemary Benton was capable and strong. I knew the other families at Park Manor appreciated all she did for their loved ones.
"The report from the night staff didn't reach me until lunchtime, but the nurse's notes were pretty clear: Harold had another rough night,” Harding said. His professional demeanor slipped as his annoyance peeked through.
I groaned and covered my mouth with my hand.
"It wasn't nearly as serious as what happened over the weekend, but one of the nurses submitted a request for a formal resident evaluation. Dr. Billings approved the request." He shifted in his chair, still clutching my grandfather's chart in his hand.
"What happened?" I asked.
"He woke up screaming around three a.m.," Rosemary replied. Her tone was clinical, but warm. "When the nurse on shift, Ginny Parks, got to his room, he had already removed all of his bedding from the bed. She discovered him trying to move the mattress."
"Did he say why?"
She exchanged a glance with Harding. "Vampires," answered Rosemary. "He was going to block the door to keep out vampires. And werewolves." Her voice was quiet, as if she was embarrassed to even tell the story.
“Keep in mind his mental condition, Allie. Hallucinations, confusion, agitation. This isn’t unusual.” Harding gave me a reassuring smile, the kind of thing I assumed doctors practiced in front of a mirror.
I rubbed my hands over my eyes. What a fucking nightmare. I took a deep breath and looked up at Harding. "So, he's going to be moved again?" My mind raced. I knew the facility's protocol well: if his current level of care was judged inadequate, he'd be moved. No way around it.
"Not necessarily," Harding replied. "They may decide to let him stay."
"He reacted so badly last time..." My grandfather had moved to his current room a year ago and it had been a terrible transition. He'd repacked all his clothing at least twice and kept screaming the new nurses were trying to poison him. I shuddered, remembering the endless phone calls.
"We know," Harding said. "I would prefer he be allowed to stay where he is, but at least two of the nurses on this floor feel they're unable to provide the proper care."
"And what exactly is the proper care for someone like him? What do you think is going on?"
"He needs better supervision and he needs more one-on-one interaction," Rosemary said. "But it's not something our fourth floor staff is equipped to handle."
I looked down at my hands. These cubicles were designed to give families a modicum of privacy to speak with doctors or each other. Countless people had sat in this very chair, this hard blue chair, and had countless similar conversations, all while sipping scalding hospital coffee. The implications of Harding's words were dizzying.
I struggled to find words and, after a pregnant silence had settled over the room, Harding spoke. "I'll let you know as soon as I know something."
That was the cue our conversation was over.
Nurse Benton left the room first, but Harding seemed to be waiting for me. Leaving the coffee untouched, I followed him out. My stomach churned and I was surprised when he walked me back to my grandfather's room.
"Don't you have any other patients?" I tried to infuse some lightness into the situation, but my brain was overloading at the notion of moving my grandfather and learning an all-new staff. Again.
"Of course, but this is where I'm needed most today." He smiled down at me as we walked.
The door stood wide open when Harding and I arrived at my grandfather’s room. I looked the room over, relieved to see few traces of his rough night of bogeymen defense. Vampires? Really. You'd think a man with an imagination like that would come up with something more original–like a banshee, or a Yeti. It did creep me out a little, though, after the hours and hours I'd spent reading about the myths surrounding the undead.
He was sitting in his old recliner, watching a movie with the volume turned up too loud. A nurse I didn't know bustled around him, dropping off his afternoon pills and tidying up the sitting area. A small table was pulled up next to the recliner and perched upon it were a large mug of tea and a plate of cookies. Harding hung back in the doorway but gave me an encouraging nod. I took two steps into the room.
Papa's attention snapped to me as soon as I started moving toward him. “Annie, you were supposed to bring Rose to see me.”
I grimaced. Papa had been asking to see my mother more and more lately. It didn't matter if I brought her or my dead Aunt Annie did, but he wanted to see her.
I froze halfway across the room, still a bit gun-shy after the events of Saturday. “I’m not Annie, Grandpa,” I replied. “I’m Allie." I didn't look anything like my aunt, or my mother.
“You’re too tall to be Allie,” he replied, his eyes clouding somewhat. When he'd first spoken, he wore a clear expression, so very sure of his thoughts. Now, that look had faded and he seemed confused, even worn. It made him seem older.
“Don’t I know it? That kid was a pip squeak,” I said, in an attempt to lighten the mood. The nurse left the room without comment.
Harding stepped forward and his voice dropped. “Allie, listen. I'm going to do everything I can to prevent him from being moved."
I was too tired to think through all the implications of the last twelve hours. "I appreciate that."
"Let me know if there's anything I can do."
“You can tell me who the hell you are, that's what you can do!" My grandfather said, raising his voice and glaring at Harding.
"Papa, this is your doctor. Don't be rude." I dropped my hand onto his shoulder and gave it a small squeeze.
"It's alright. Sir, I'm Dr. Fields."
"If you say so."
Harding laughed and pointed to the name stitched on his jacket. "They put it right here to remind me." He nodded at me. “Allie, I’ll talk to you later.”
"Let me walk you out."
As soon as we were in the hallway, I led him into a small alcove. "You'll let me know if you come up with anything?"
"Of course."
