Dark Corner Part 2

Franklin arched his eyebrows.

"I might as well tell you," David said. "My father and I didn't exactly have a good relationship. He was a stranger to me, to be honest" He swept his arm across the kitchen. "Then, when he pa.s.sed, he gave it all to me. Everything he'd owned"

"Which perplexes you, and understandably so," Franklin said. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, David. Richard Hunter was an enigma to me. I don't pretend to understand his motivations."

"Neither do I, and that's why I'm here. I want to piece everything together-as much as I can, anyway. I won't be satisfied until I get some answers"

David was surprised by how openly he spoke to Franklin. He'd told his mother, and no one else, about his purpose for moving to Mason's Corner. His family and friends believed that he was there because he wanted a temporary break from Atlanta.

"I wish you G.o.dspeed in your mission," Franklin said. "I suspect you'll find life in Dark Corner to be an enjoyable change of pace"

"Dark Corner?"

"The locals call the town Dark Corner. Do you think you know why?"

"I've no clue."

"Because the town is over ninety percent AfricanAmerican, and has been for generations. Dark Corner was originally a slanderous name, actually think of the derogatory term, 'darkie'-but over time, it acquired a certain charm and became part of the shared language of the residents. I suspect Edward Mason would be aghast if he were alive today to see what had become of his lovely corner of the South. The Negroes have taken over the plantation!" Franklin laughed.

David laughed, too. "Was Edward Mason the town founder?"

"Correct. Around eighteen forty-one, Mason established an immense cotton plantation here. Have you seen his estate, Jubilee?"

David thought about the mansion he had spotted from the window upstairs. The place that had given him a chill.

"Is it one of those antebellum houses, with columns out front?"

"That's the one, you can't miss it. It's perched on a hill at the eastern edge of town, like a castle. Edward Mason liked to stand on the veranda of Jubilee and survey his cotton kingdom, and glory in his achievements."

"Does anyone live there today?"

"Certainly not. Jubilee is reputed to be haunted. Townsfolk won't go near it."

David's hand was curled around the cold gla.s.s of tea; the iciness in the gla.s.s traveled up the length of his arm, and spread throughout his body.

"Haunted?" David said. "Are you serious?"

Franklin shrugged. "That is what the stories claim. I've never seen evidence of it myself, but then, like other townspeople, I avoid Jubilee, too. It has an aura about it that ... well, it disturbs me, to be frank."

"I felt the same thing when I saw the house earlier. A chill."

"Trust your instincts," Franklin said. "I'm a man of reason and logic, but the more I learn, the more I realize that there is much in our world that resists easy cla.s.sification."

"I don't plan to visit the place anytime soon," David said.

"Wise choice." Franklin nodded. "One of these evenings, you must join Ruby and me for dinner. I'll share some of the tales with you. There are many. Mason's Corner is a small town, yet claims a colorful history."

"I'd like that," David said. A yawn escaped him.

Franklin hastily pushed away from the table.

"You need your rest, you've had a long day," Franklin said. He retrieved the empty gla.s.ses. "We'll talk more soon. And you're welcome to come over anytime."

"Thank you again for your help." David accompanied Franklin to the door. Franklin crossed the street, a bounce in his step.

David smiled. What a guy. He had made his first friend in Mason's Corner.

But he'd had enough activity for one day. Tomorrow, he'd finish getting settled in and would begin exploring the town.

He dragged himself upstairs. In the master bedroom, King lay across the bed, snoring loudly.

"King, I think that's my spot"

The dog raised its head, groggy.

"On the floor, buddy," David said. "The rules haven't changed"

Groaning, King hopped onto the floor, and slumped on the rug.

David lay on the mattress and sank into a deep sleep.

"Now David seems like a nice young man," Ruby said to Franklin. She was in the kitchen preparing dinner. "He's a spitting image of his daddy, too"

"That's the first thing I noticed." Franklin put the empty gla.s.ses in the sink. "For a moment, I thought I was seeing a ghost."

"I hope you invited him to dinner."

"I extended a dinner invitation for the near future, but I'll wait a few days before I mention it to him again," he said, thinking of David's purpose for moving to Mason's Corner. The boy was on a mission to learn about his father, and Franklin didn't want to hound him, though he would like to spend more time in the Hunter house, exploring.

"He's a friendly kid, quite open, not at all like his father," Franklin said. "We'll be spending more time together, chatting."

"Don't you go digging through his family's possessions," Ruby said.

"The Hunters have lived in Dark Corner for generations. They must have books, photos, relics-"

"Like I said, Professor Bennett. Respect the young man's privacy."

"Am I that intrusive, my dear?"

She smiled. "Sugar, when you've got something you want to find out, only G.o.d Himself can hold you back"

Franklin leaned against the counter. He stroked his chin.

"Ruby, as much as I've learned about this town, I feel as if I'm missing something. I know all about Edward Mason and his vile plantation; I know sordid tales about many of the families here; I could draw a timeline of every major incident that's occurred in this town over the past one hundred and sixty years. But my intuition tells me that I am missing an integral piece of the puzzle. The Hunters always have been a private clan. I believe that there's a reason why."

Ruby clucked her tongue. She opened the oven and checked the progress of the roast beef.

"I'm not befriending David only because I want to discover his family's secrets," he said. "You know me much better than that. I genuinely enjoyed speaking with him and hope to develop a friendship. However, if I can discreetly uncover a few historical gems in the process, that would please me immensely."

"You know how I feel about digging into people's business," Ruby said. "But I know your ways. You won't be satisfied until you find the dirt."

"It's not dirt. It's only data"

She smiled. "What do the kids say these days? Whatever, man"

He kissed her on the cheek. "I'm going to feed the hound."

"Dinner will be ready in ten minutes," she said.

A large bag of Purina dog food stood near the back door. Franklin took the big scoop that lay on top of the bag and dug it inside, filling the cup with the brownish nuggets.

The dog waited for him at the foot of the steps. It was a mutt, a mix of a collie and another breed he couldn't place. He'd discovered the hound rooting through his garbage one day, and he had adopted it as his own. He never brought the canine inside the house or threw a leash around its neck. He let the dog roam throughout the town as it wished. It came to him when it was hungry and wanted to be petted, normally at the same time every day.

He'd named the mutt Malcolm, because on the day he found the dog he'd been re-reading the autobiography of the famous civil rights leader.

"Hey, how're you doing, Malcolm?" Franklin scratched the dog behind the ears. It whined in pleasure. He poured the food into the large bowl that rested at the base of the steps. He refilled the water bowl, too.

As he watched Malcolm eat, he considered what he and Ruby had discussed. He had been honest with his wifeafter being married for over forty years, he'd learned that it was simply easier to be honest. He was convinced that the Hunter family possessed information that could deepen his knowledge of the town's historical background. After living across the street from the notoriously taciturn Richard Hunter for seven years, Franklin had almost given up hope of learning what secrets the Hunters might be guarding. But David-now he was a nice young man. And Franklin suspected that David did not know his family's history himself. The two of them could, if David allowed it, learn together. Indeed, he might very well be a great help to David.

Life in Dark Corner, normally predictable and quiet, was going to become a lot more interesting, very soon.

Chapter 2.

r 'yle Coiraut could not relax on the airplane. L~ LAlthough he sat in the first-cla.s.s section of the Boeing aircraft, in a comfortable leather seat, and though the seat beside him was vacant, ensuring abundant elbow room, since he had boarded the plane at Charles de Gaulle, in Paris, he had been fidgeting. He tried to read the book he'd brought along, a Mississippi travelogue, but he could not focus on it for any longer than a few minutes. Attempting to read the airline magazine and the Wall Street Journal brought the same disappointing result. When he slipped on headphones and switched on the portable CD player to listen to one of Rachmaninoff's peerless piano concertos-music which usually turned his thoughts away from his troubles-the notes drew his nerves as taut as piano wire.

He drummed his long fingers against the armrests. He understood the source of his unease, of course: he could not tolerate sacrificing control of his safety. The fact that he had placed responsibility for his welfare in the hands of a human, the pilot, tortured him. Humans were fallible and ac cident p.r.o.ne. Airline crashes were not common, but they happened with enough frequency for this transcontinental voyage to thoroughly unsettle him.

A window was beside him, and he'd pulled down the plastic shutter, shutting out his view of the clouds. He did not ordinarily fear heights, but looking through the portal made it frightfully easy to imagine a fatal plummet to the earth.

The flight attendant, a striking blond woman, strolled along the aisle, checking on pa.s.sengers. She smiled at him and asked, for perhaps the third time, whether he required anything else to enhance his flight experience. He smiled briefly and responded that he was fine. He had not eaten anything and had drunk only water, and had asked her for nothing. She continually approached him, he suspected, because she believed him to be a celebrity.

His clothing might partly explain her curiosity. His entire wardrobe was black: boots, slacks, shirt, leather jacket, and hat. He wore tight, black leather gloves and aviator sungla.s.ses, too.

His skin was a rich chocolate-brown, and he was tall, about six-feet-five, with the build of a track runner. Draped in his elegant, ebony garments, he cut an impressive figure.

The flight attendant likely thought he was a professional athlete; perhaps a famous basketball player seeking to avoid attention. Or maybe a famed fashion model. He routinely encountered similar a.s.sumptions whenever he swam through the pool of humanity during daylight hours. In actuality, his heavy, dark clothing was a matter of necessity: vampires did not endure sunlight well.

Sun rays did not affect vampires as dramatically as the popular media portrayed. He wouldn't catch fire, or melt as though he were made of wax. But exposure to ultraviolet light caused his skin to itch terribly. According to Mother, a vampire who habitually courted daylight would accelerate the aging process, too. Needless to say, vampires only ventured outdoors during the day when it was essential.

His journey to the United States was essential. He had been waiting for this trip for his entire life one hundred and sixty-eight years.

He shifted in his seat. They had been airborne for only thirty minutes. He had at least eleven more hours in the sky and a connecting flight ahead of him. An eternity.

This was not his first airline trip. Throughout the past few decades, he had traveled the globe via air. But he had taken his previous journeys in Mother's private jet, piloted by an especially gifted human agent. He regretted that he had refused Mother's offer of taking the family aircraft to the United States. Now, he paid for his arrogant refusal with extreme discomfort.

His black leather bag lay on the seat beside him. He unzipped the top compartment, and retrieved a cool aluminum packet.

The silver vacuum-sealed packet contained sixteen ounces of human blood-though no one watching could discern the precious fluid contained therein. When enjoying a meal in the company of humans, discretion was vital.

He and Mother procured all of the blood they required from blood banks, as did many vampires these days. He had not fed on a living creature in ages. Mother, ever concerned about risk and attracting dangerous attention, had insisted that they learn to sustain themselves through safe, nonviolent means. The emergence of blood banks was a boon for vampires; the wealthy ones had forged confidential arrangements with a small, trusted network of blood banks throughout the world.

There was no need to ever hunt for food again. Indeed, hunting human prey seemed primitive to him, an activity pursued only by uncivilized vampires, or those who were poor and had no alternative. The few prosperous vampires who chose to hunt did so for sport, under carefully controlled conditions-the vampire equivalent of game preserves.

Kyle removed the black straw from the back of the carton. It took three stabs at the perforated hole for him to puncture the surface and slide the straw inside.

He restrained himself from sucking dry the entire packet in a greedy gulp. He had fed only a few hours ago, and was not genuinely hungry. He sipped only to soothe his nerves.

The cool, thick blood flowed over his tongue: delicious.

He leaned back in the seat, sighed.

A pleasurable warmth spread through his body.

The blond flight attendant appeared at his shoulder and asked if he would like a pillow. He accepted her offer.

Smiling flirtatiously, she asked him to bend his head forward. She slipped the pillow behind him and gently pushed him back against the cushion.

"Let me know if you need anything else, sir." Her fingers brushed across his shoulder. Her tongue flickered briefly between her glossy red lips.

He smiled. "Thank you. I certainly will."

He watched her walk away, her tight hips undulating under her skirt. He loved human women, and they invariably found him irresistibly attractive. Some of the fictions about vampires were true: vampires were considered to be s.e.xy.

His head resting against the pillow, Kyle closed his eyes. For the first time since he had boarded the airplane, his thoughts unwound, and his muscles relaxed.

Not surprisingly, as his mind drifted, he thought about his last encounter with Mother ...

Silvery beads of afternoon rain streamed down the tinted parlor window as Kyle gazed outside at the green hills of their country estate.

Behind him, Mother said, "I do not approve of this trip. I understand why you wish to leave, but I do not approve"

Kyle turned. Mother reclined on a chaise lounge, frowning. Even in her distress, she was indescribably beautiful. Her skin was dark and flawless; her l.u.s.trous, midnight-black hair cascaded to her shoulders. Six feet tall, she possessed a lean, exquisitely proportioned figure. She was dressed in a silky lavender wrap, and matching shoes.

Mother's true name was Lisha, but amongst humans she used many aliases, to maintain her privacy. To a human, at first glance, she would appear to be no older than forty. In truth, Mother was the oldest living vampire in the worldand the original mother of their race. Her true age was a mystery, even to Kyle.

One look into her eyes confirmed that she was far older than she appeared to be. Almond-shaped, obsidian, and gleaming, her eyes reflected a depth of knowledge and wisdom that few living beings would ever attain. She had mesmerized countless creatures with her compelling gaze, including him.

Meeting her eyes and voicing his decision to disobey her wishes was one of the most difficult steps Kyle had ever taken. Perspiration coated his face.

"Mother, I must go. When you told me the truth, you foresaw what I would decide to do, didn't you? You should not be surprised."

A month ago, Kyle had resolved to leave his mother's French estate and establish a home of his own in another region, perhaps in western Africa. His resolution was born of a restlessness that had plagued him for years. Like a child, he had spent his life under the protective arm of his mother, and though he lived in luxury and absorbed her endless store of knowledge about vampires and mankind, he yearned to break away, to live his own life. Mother had known that he would want to leave one day, and she was not startled. But what startled him was when she told him the truth of his father.