CHAPTER NINE

 

2009

 

Shane Daws had a nervous energy, a desire for excitement, maybe even a little adventure. Instead of returning to his room at the Pulitzer Opera Hotel, he’d decided to check out the Paris nightlife, and so landed at a little club only a few blocks from his hotel. The music was vaguely Latin style, the setting neo-gothic. Three large screens flashed scenes from about the club—couples dancing, beautiful girls giggling and drinking, a band playing on a small, mostly-dark stage, bartenders serving drinks. Shane settled at a small round table in a corner and took in the scene. The place was not large; it was very dark, quite smoky, and too crowded. But aside from that, it was very, very French. It just had that feel. This place was true Paris.

The girl was standing perhaps ten feet distant, talking with a thin, olive-skinned man in a gray beret, and, of all things, sunglasses. Shane wasn’t particularly looking for a girl, but he wasn’t particularly not looking for a girl either. He was in his late twenties, newly single after his second divorce, and seeking adventure. It was only natural that a girl as attractive as this would catch his eye—or had he caught hers? It seemed she may have been studying him before his gaze had landed on her.

Before Shane could contemplate his approach, she’d moved toward him, now smiling down at him as he sat in his little corner. “Bonjour.”

“Bonjour,” he replied. He knew very little French and had just exhausted about a tenth of his vocabulary. “Comprenez-vous anglais?” he added, asking her if she spoke English.

“Bien sur.” She nodded. “My English is passable. You are American?” Her pronunciation was accented, but quite clear.

“Yeah, American. Guilty as charged.”

“You are here alone, an attractive man such as yourself? Do you wait for others—a girlfriend perhaps, or a wife?” She tilted her head coquettishly and offered a wry grin.

“Alone. No wife, not any more at least.” He chided himself immediately for saying the last. “And you?” he added quickly. “Looks to me like you’re with someone.” Shane inclined his head toward the young man with the beret.

“Oh, Eudo. My cousin. Do not concern yourself with him. He is here looking for…someone as well.”

Shane smiled and nodded. Looking for someone as well? Was this beautiful woman trying to tell Shane that she was looking for someone—perhaps a blond American someone? He reached into his pocket, withdrew a stick of spearmint gum, unwrapped it, and slid it between his teeth wishing to God it was a Marlboro. “Well, here’s to hoping you both find what you’re looking for.” Shane lifted his glass in a mock toast.

The girl smiled. It was that wry smile again; a smile that seemed to hint there was another more dubious smile behind it. Though this registered at some subconscious level, Shane was too enamored to pick up on subtleties. In retrospect, he would note that her facial expressions had a somewhat plastic feel about them, that her accent, while French, held something else behind it, something exotic and truly foreign. And of course, the eyes. Those beautiful brown eyes were only as brown as the brown contact lenses she wore. All of this registered, and none of it did. This was a stunning young woman, and she was interested in him. All nuance was lost in a swirl of hormonal haze. “My name’s Shane,” he said. “I’m here on vacation.”

“Enchante, Shane. I am Gisele. And I am not on vacation.” She cocked her head. “You travel alone, or alone only tonight?”

“Alone. I had some time off coming and Paris seemed far enough away from home that I might just relax.” Shane withdrew the gum from his mouth, placed it in an ashtray, and then replaced it with another. He’d picked a terrible time to quit smoking.

“Time to one’s self is very important to the French,” smiled Gisele. “Did you know that the French work only thirty-five hours per week, and vacation for five weeks each year? Attending to personal time is vital to us.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I’m sure there are many things you do not know about us.” A cock of the head, and that coquettish smile again. “You have money to travel; your attire is new and well made. You must have a professional occupation.”

“I sell insurance. I do okay.”

“Insurance. There are licensing requirements, no? Schooling as well. You must have some intelligence.”

A nervous chuckle. “Well, licensing, yeah. Before that, I eked through college.”

A nod, a cock of the head. “And you are healthy?”

“Um… Healthy, uh, yeah. I mean, as healthy as anyone, I guess.” What was this girl doing, screening for a husband?

“No familial illnesses?”

“Wow, okay. This is a little weird.”

Gisele laughed an embarrassed laugh. “Excusez-moi. I am rude. Accept my apologies. It just seemed…” She trailed off as if embarrassed.

“What?” prompted Shane.

“Well, you seem—what is that phrase?—too good to be true. You are handsome. I have friends who would love to have a face such as yours. And intelligent. I’m sure those same friends would benefit from your intellectual capacities. As well, you are well-to-do, and yet, somehow single.”

Shane blushed, but could think of nothing to say.

After an awkward moment Gisele said, “The air in here is stale and it’s too loud to have civilized conversation. Would you like that we step outside, perhaps to where it is more private?”

“Um, sure… More private.” Was this really happening?

Gisele smiled a full smile this time. “Good. Allow me to inform my cousin of what we do. He can become over-concerned.”

“Of course,” nodded Shane. And the course was set.

* * * *

 

Shane and Gisele strolled south from the club. She had her arm hooked in his, giggled like a teenager, and laughed—perhaps a little too hard—at his jokes. It was drizzling now, a thin mist that wafted through the air, adding a fresh scent to the urban environment. Gisele directed Shane around a corner to the left. Two or three blocks later, they angled right at an intersection. She continued probing, asking about his close acquaintances and family, if anyone in his family had ever had this disease or that. She threw in vague facts about herself, enough, Shane later supposed, to deter him from feeling like he’d been given the third degree. As well, she named streets as they wove from one to another. “We’re now on Rue Montorgueil. The bars are wonderful—very friendly. Oh! This is Rue Cler. The best cheese shops in Paris. Ah, Shane, Rue Poncelet. There is a tea room you must try someday.” It seemed to Shane that perhaps they had been walking in circles. But, he was a foreigner here. Everything seemed different and everything seemed the same. He wasn’t sure, at this point, if he could even begin to backtrack. And as it turned out, this was exactly as Gisele had intended. She’d named several frivolous boulevards, none of which were even in the same arrondissement, or neighborhood, as they traversed. This way, when Shane was released—assuming he survived—he would be disoriented and confused, and in no way capable of directing authorities back to Gisele and her companions.

Eventually, they made their way to a small, brick, two-story apartment building that sat near the top of a rolling avenue. “This is my home. If you are interested, you may come inside.”

Shane was interested, and followed her down the two concrete steps and in through the narrow wooden doorway. The entranceway was dark, the smell musty. Paint peeled from the plaster walls, and a single flickering bulb illuminated the space from a narrow corner alcove. A young man wearing too-large clothing squatted against one wall smoking a filterless cigarette. He stared at Shane and smiled as the couple crossed the threshold. The lighting was poor, but there was something about the man’s eyes. Something that seemed…

“My apartment is on the second level,” said Gisele before Shane could complete his thought. Then she led him up the steep staircase. For the first time, Shane wondered if perhaps this hadn’t been such a great idea. Here he was in a foreign city, essentially lost, and following a stranger into her apartment. Gisele was beautiful. She was exotic, exciting, but also somewhat odd. It was now that Shane began to think about her oft-peculiar or forced facial expressions, about her numerous questions concerning his health and finances, about the circuitous route they’d taken to her apartment. He opened his mouth to offer some lame excuse as to why he should leave, but she was already pulling the door open, smiling back at Shane with that oh-so-beautiful smile. She took his hand in hers and drew him in.

It was then Shane knew without doubt that he should have fled when he had the opportunity.

There were five of them—four men and one woman, all very peculiar in their bearing, all staring at him with eyes that might just as easily have been pearls. In addition, the young man Shane had seen in the entranceway now stood behind him blocking his exit.

“These are my friends.” Gisele stepped away from Shane. “They are pleased to meet you.”

Terror seized Shane as he gazed from one to the other to the other and each stared back at him as a lion would an injured gazelle.

All were young. All wore loose-fitting clothing, nothing stylish, nothing that would draw attention to themselves. They were thin, hungry looking. A couple seemed too pale to be healthy. Of course there were the eyes, those strange, strange eyes staring at Shane through pupils barely larger than flecks of pepper. One of the males, an unshaven youth with straggly brown hair and a missing front tooth smiled at Shane from the old threadbare couch on which he reclined. “Bon soir,” he said. Good evening.

Eudo, Gisele’s “cousin” from the club, was the first to approach. He no longer wore his sunglasses and his white soapy eyes confused and frightened Shane. Eudo was not tall, nor was he bulky. Shane was athletic, and felt he may be able to “take” Eudo in a fair fight. But the odds weren’t fair, and Shane knew better than to aggravate the situation.

“This will hurt,” said Eudo. The voice was heavily accented and not without compassion. “I apologize.”

Shane made to move, to bolt from the scene, but the one in the doorway anticipated his move and grabbed him from behind in a fierce bear hug. Eudo stepped closer, his murky white eyes intent on Shane.

Even as Shane screamed and thrashed, Eudo seemed to contemplate his face, to study his features. “Gisele was right. I would like to have your face.” With an almost boyish smile he then extended his right arm, reached behind Shane’s neck. There was a sudden puncturing sensation, the quick snap and burn as something penetrated his spinal column…

And there was most definitely pain.

* * * *

 

Shane found consciousness a very dubious commodity. It would come, and then flee. It would tickle at the edge of his mind, but never come fully into being. It seemed red clouds swirled before his eyes, drawing near, and then dispersing into haze, then reforming at the edge of his vision, only to repeat the process. A single dull tone sat in his ears, neither increasing nor decreasing in volume, simply remaining, unceasing, maddening. Strange scents tickled at his nostrils, something of the sea it seemed, oysters perhaps. But no. Something more peculiar. Something unknown. His entire body ached. Even the slightest movement seemed beyond his ability. But worse, he could not…seem…to…stay…awake.

His eyes fluttered open, perhaps for the twentieth time. His stomach knotted. He retched, but there was nothing to expel. Someone sat beside him, patting at his forehead with a cool damp cloth. She came into focus. Gisele. But a different Gisele. Her eyes were as white as had been her companion’s. And her face was…different. Not much, just… The lips, perhaps a bit fuller, the ears, a tad larger.

Shane chided himself for stupidity. He was delirious. A person’s features don’t change. Not without surgery or with the passage of time. She patted his head again and smiled her black widow’s smile. “Ca va?” she asked. “How are you?”

Shane attempted to respond, but could accomplish nothing more than a grunt, which was probably for the best. For if he’d had the ability to speak, the words would have been less than gracious. Once again, she patted his forehead with the cloth, and then Shane was gone.