Chapter 8
The fawn
The eleven o'clock hour reins in the arrival of Frances' plane into Edinburgh. The plane's wheels screeched onto a rain-lashed tarmac. As she exits the off boarding ramp into Edinburgh Airport the thought occurs to her, "Maybe all this risk taking and all this travel is burning me out."
She looks back at the crowd of passengers that are entering the airport with her. Turning back around, she sees before her, the ebbing throng of travelers surging relentlessly. In that moment of introspection, Frances catches a glimpse of striking blond hair among the sea of anonymity. There is a man who is on a collision course with her. His crisp, blue linen suit, an emblem of cultivated elegance, bore an unexpected clumsiness as he collides with her, knocking her off step. As he hastily puts away his cell phone, as it was likely the reason for his distraction, he apologizes sincerely the entire time. Those eyes are indelible. Her imagination traces over his face in a surreal flash. She imagines him transformed with black face paint coated upon pallid skin, from under his blue eyes on down his tight long neck, falling below his collar.
Embarrassed he smiles with his eyes down cast. He bends down to collect his fallen carry-on, only to rise and meet Frances's eyes with tenderness that defies the moments awkward inception. His expression, reminiscent of an actor performing a well-rehearsed role, awoke in her the concern of suspicion. Frances discerned that this was a performance. Still clearly the act had to be the label of a facade. And if, in fact, this was real than his bare belief would have to be that this is truly how people meet. It is a ridiculous scenario straight out of romantic comedies or fluff books. She has read enough fiction to recognize when a meeting is crafted fiction.
"How convenient," she mused quietly, her inner dialogue echoing with cynical cadence. "Just as I am solivagant, a stranger is drawn to me. Its too convenient… right? It is like, he knows I was with no one, and no one expects me."
He stands up straight and before she can side step him he reaches out his hand and speaks to her. His voice is a bowl of ingredients, teetering on sensual, stirred with sincere contrition, "I'm so sorry for my clumsiness. I'm Barron, Barron Oelrichs."
A battle of thoughts waged within her. An internal monologue, precise and fervently rational, she has a gift for seeing the patterns in chaos.
"The chase is on." she silently declared. "I can feel an undercurrent, perceive an orchestration beyond mere coincidence. I have peered behind the curtain. I know the world for a darker more nefarious machine. No one, not even the Fraternity know, that I know of their darker conspiracies, secrets of the clandestine Fraternity. To them, I am still just the girl that got away. But should this man be entwined with them, a single misstep on my part could betray everything I conceal. I see them outside of their shadowy uniforms. Even if they were wearing plain clothes I would still know what to look for. Starting with his name, Oelrichs, reverberates. That name came up dozens of times in my research. A name of wealth and corrupted grandeur. Guilded Age, old money, buy off senators every other month; kind of wealth. A legacy as murky and potent as the veins of Comstock Lode. Every nuance of his demeanor, his new money attire, his resonant American accent in this foreign country, unsettles my instincts. My intuition is aggressively flipping tables in anger with all the tells this guy gives off."
Their hands meet. "Frances." she replies, the syllable falling like a gentle incantation. "Frances?" he mused, his voice woven of charm. "What a perfect name."
Within her thoughts where strategy and her tender heart conflicts, Frances is alert with discipline. "I must never allow a single lapse, I can't afford to be stupid. This is a sensitive moment in which I have to play the game to serve two outcomes. He is either a man, who, for whatever reason, is truly interested in me, or, he is a Fraternity member. I could seal my fate with a single mistake and I cannot allow a second to pass where I am not playing the game. I need to keep what advantage I have; they don't know that I know their dirty secret. The real vampire exposed them to me. I know what to do, for both a play in the game and for my own safety. I will implore not fight, nor flight, but the cunning viridity of fawning."
Batting her eyes she masks a smile that makes her look as bashful as possible. "Thank you," she cooed, imitating the allure of a charmed woman even as her mind raced through calculated possibilities.
"Do you frequent Edinburgh?" Barron queried, his tone earnest.
"I don't. No, I am a tourist. Just passing through."
"Oh that's great! Let me make up for my clumsiness. I know of an amazing restaurant I can take you to. My treat." gentle in they way he offers and there is a charming appeal, but for Frances there is still something about his established wood like refinement that gives off a druxy about him.
"Wow," Frances says playing coy. "So you come to Edinburgh often? You must be made of money."
"I am fortunate. Yes. But travel is necessary for one to grow don't you think?"
"Handsome and deep? I would love to join you for dinner." she smiles. This girlish, and delicate masking is giving her a sense of monichopsis. In this moment, every gesture was a calculated play. Although her heart fluttered with a bittersweet yearning, the sooner she makes him feel like he got what he wanted she will do everything she can to ignore him afterwards. Even if he truly is a normal guy, it isn't in her interest now to see such a commitment through.
"May I have your number?" he persisted gently.
"Just for dinner?"
"Just for dinner," he clarified once more. With a languid tilt of her head, she gazes upward at him. A subtle brush of her hand tucks her hair behind one ear, a performance honed by years of intricate social observations.
He hands his phone over to her, ready for her to enter her number. Frances slowly dials her name & number in, meanwhile telling herself that she will block him as soon as she gets the chance. she returns his phone with a poised smile, pushing this narrative that he is making her day.
"See you tonight," she says as she grabs the handle of her luggage and looks him over once more before they part ways. A peculiar disquiet nagged at her finding it odd that he did not bother to send a text or call her to ensure that she gave him the correct number. She's seen the type before, arrogant people who had never considered the prospect of not getting what they wanted. It's a gesture that speaks volumes to his character while also holding an array of possible intentions. He could be so conditioned to getting his way that his mindset doesn't allow for a scenario where someone would give him a false number. Or it is a display of trust, which is an admirable quality in a first impression. She doesn't spend too much on the thought, as the likelihood of someone earnestly trusting a stranger at an airport is unfortunately low.
Frances checks into a hotel for the night and the next morning arrives softly. After checking out, Frances hailed a taxi to the heart of Edinburgh, where she was to claim a quaint apartment on Thistle Street. She is soon to meet the landlords, Mr. & Mrs. McAllister and while in the back of seat of the taxi, Frances looks the address over for the fourth time, having memorized it already, but still insisting to read it over in case a number or letter had changed on her. Though the amount of sleep should have sufficed, exhaustion is creeping itself into. Soon she stands before an apartment building. After pulling her luggage out of the back and paying her driver she hears, "Frances? Hi. I'm Mr. McAllister. The landlord" He says in a charming Scottish accent while reaching his hand out to shake hers. Mr. McAllister is a kindly, reserved man, tall and blond whose wrinkles in his smile ripple with a warm parental demeanor. Frances steps off the cobble stone street onto the side walk as she shakes his hand. They stand together before an apartment building. Beautiful architecture that has been preserved since the 19th century now reconstructed into apartments and converted businesses.
"You are the American I spoke with, yes?" Frances smiles big, shutting her eyes as she nods enthusiastically. "Great." Mr. McAllister continues. "Let me give you a walk through of your new place before you get settled in. If you will follow me, dear."
Inside, the halls are narrow and the carpet is a dark emerald green. They walk up two flights of stairs before reaching the third floor, all the while Frances is wheeling a case of luggage behind her. They come to the matte blue door of the apartment.
Once inside, Mr. McAllister explains, "We renovated it a few times since 2013. It had 1 bathroom but we made it a 2 bathroom. All the bedrooms are En-suites." Amused by the thought for some reason Mr. McAllister lets out gravelly laughter, "As you may have noticed we are in the center of Edinburgh. So there are a lot of shops near by which make for convenience." Frances nods attentively, already having researched the area and thoroughly selecting this apartment with convenience in mind beforehand.
Lit up by all the natural light that is beaming in through every window, Frances stands in the middle of the magnificent sitting room. She is almost quite minuscule in the dual aspect design that makes for a huge amount of floor space. Tilting her head back, she looks up at the double height ceiling, to then take notice to the mezzanine office space. Like a loft that hangs over the living room.
"It's beautiful." She says as she sets down her duffle bag and back pack, looking around in approval. A thin woman who is nearing her 60's walk in and introduces herself to Frances as Mr. McAllister's wife, Felicity.
Felicity's warm tone as she continues showing Frances the sanctuary of polished wood, antique wallpaper and the view down to the cobbled street leaves Frances feeling calm and docile. Perhaps this would be a place where she could someday settle down. Most of the time she feels overwhelmed. In their gentle introductions, Felicity and her husband made her world, which usually is so abstract and chaotic, seem momentarily tranquil.
"Right then. I'll leave you to settle in and rest up. If you have any questions or concerns feel free to come by, we're right next door," Mr. McAllister says as he hands her the keys and gives a final nod, gently closing the door when him and his wife leave.
Frances takes the opportunity to sink into the nearest seat. Her body feels as though it's vibrating on a frequency she's never experienced before. Had she done something stupid? Was she too impulsive? She distracted herself with the excitement of traveling, or seeing something new, or seeing… "Him". A sinking feeling began to take place. Like mist in her mind, curling it's way into her thoughts, "What the hell have you done? What are you even doing?!" She forces out a breath to try and center herself, expelling the doubts. Frances scans the area, debating if she has the energy to push herself and keep going, beginning her investigation on The Fraternity's patterns in Edinburgh. After a moment of contemplation her eyelids feel heavy. This was enough to push herself to get up and crawl into one of the beds. She justifies it by telling herself she is no good to anyone if she's too tired to function. She repeats "It's okay. You're okay," softly to herself until she drifts off.
A few hours pass before a knock at her door startles her awake. She goes to answer the door and standing there is a woman with a lively sparkle in her eye. "You must be Frances," she says, stepping inside with the smell of freshly baked scones fuming from the plate she carries. "I'm your down stairs neighbor. I'm Riley. Felicity told me we had a new tenant in the building and I had to come introduce myself. We're having a party this evening. It might be nice for you to come along, meet some faces, and share a laugh or two."
A vibrant neighbor whose presence burst forth like a melody amidst the quiet dissonance of the apartment. Frances's heart flutters with whimsy and the vivid senses of being overwhelmed. This aggressively kind woman is as delicate as the chime of bells. Strangely it was like an answer to long made wishes to possibly meet such lively personalities.
Frances hesitates. Riley has irrepressible kindness that clashed delightfully with Frances's ingrained reticence. Riley's invitation was tempting but it's one thing to mask for a complete stranger for a few moments but social interactions were unpredictable, longer, and sometimes even a simple hello could ripple into tidal waves of uncertainty. She knew it wasn't the unknown that scared her. It was watching the people she could freshly meet be disappointed with her as they watch her social battery deplete and it then becomes obvious she no longer can hold interest, to then fade into the background like she always has in her life.
Making friends, finding her people, this wasn't her top priority anymore. She only wanted to find the vampire, and The Fraternity. But even if she was lying if she said yes, it doesn't change that Frances is a sucker for the wholesome and this woman, Riley, has a smile that the word wholesome was invented for. Few people have ever made Frances feel this warmth. Overcoming her hesitation, she agrees with a timid smile.
"Wonderful! Here. I baked these scones for you." Riley responds in an upbeat tone. In freeing up her hands Riley immediately turns and grabs Polaroid photos off the coffee table. There are a few Frances took in New York and some from this morning in Edinburgh, including one of a rat she saw on the street to which she has written in black sharpie on the bottom:
ME
Riley laughs, her eyes pinched shut. "I can already tell we are gonna get along Frances." Riley sees herself out, "See you tonight!"
As the sky turned a bruised purple with dusk settling over Edinburgh, Frances is now out scouting the city. Frances's keen attention to detail and her deeply analytical mind sensed layers beneath the surface. Armed with a notebook and a small camera, tools to document her observations, she ventured. The winding, narrow alleys of Edinburgh led her to a sprawling abandoned warehouse district, where ivy-choked walls and shattered windows bore the melancholy of time. As she approached one imposing four story structure, a chill of anticipation and uncertainty pulled at her like her conscience pressing for her to resist exploring.
Inside, the air was stale. Silent, decrepit and crumbling. She roamed each floor of it's rusted metal beams and scattered leftovers of a once living business. Always analyzing, always in search of patterns and connections, she buzzed with possibilities. "This could be it" she thought. Historical brick walls, dark grime filled chambers, a remnant of a time before surveillance and technology. It's almost predictable that this is going to be the next stage for The Fraternity's rituals. She'll return. Tonight. She will survey the building from a distance. Knowing full well that possibly nothing could happen. At least having those type of thoughts help avoid examining what could be the threads of peril, and the emotional expedition they bring. She'll return anyway.
Back at her apartment building, Within the hallowed passages, Frances nervously steps into the rhythmic bustle of her down stairs neighbors' party. Passing through the open door she see Riley has made her apartment into a lovely, bright and cozy home. Light pink furniture, blue pastel table runners, turquoise and off color yellow walls. All of it could only be so carefully picked by a soft, darling creature such as Riley. Even with guests it was spacious and airy providing a comfort like an infants safety blanket, fresh out of the dryer. Dim luminescence casts dancing shadows of guests upon walls. The upbeat tempo of poppy jazz music lowly travels in the air. Riley flags Frances down upon her entering and darts over to take her by the hand. She walks her through what to expect from the guests whom of which are an eclectic mix. "We have everyone! We have artists… we have dreamers… everyone!" Frances amused, laughs with Riley, like they are both cut of the same humorous cloth. But it is quite strange because Frances isn't masking what turmoils and fears lay under the surface. How easy it is to feel freeness when the loudness of our minds can be quelled by the comfort of kindness.
At a corner table Riley introduces her husband Caleb, whose voice is friendly and full of genuine interest. She then meets Mary Beth, her hand shake is soft, a woman as fragile as porcelain and just as beautiful too. Their dialogue was punctuated by laughter and moments of shared understanding. A rare moment is found by Frances as she is generally enjoying herself, when the chaos of her intricate thoughts begin to find solace in the gentle order of camaraderie.
As the night unfolded, she accidentally found people she'd longed for. With every shared joke, every story swapped over steaming cups of herbal tea, the often chaotic highways of her thoughts began to feel more ordered, more accepted by those who cared.
Later, she retreats to the quiet of the balcony where the cities lights spilled into the moonless sky, and Frances reflects. "What cruel irony," she mused softly, "I have nothing here and no one. An ideal position to be in since my chase is dangerous and reckless. But I needed this. The tantalizing joy of connection. It pisses me off that the moment I gave up on trying… it came to me of it's own accord. Beautiful people, accepting people… and I wont even be able to sustain it. I am terrified to truly embrace it." Her thoughts, a secret litany.
Before the depths of her ruminations could yield further pity, the sound of a measured voice pulled her from her reverie. "Beautiful night, isn't it?" The timbre was unmistakable. Turning, she finds herself face-to-face with the man from the airport. His presence is bordering on frightening.
"Barron?" she queried, words trembling in disbelief. "What are you doing here?"
A rueful smile softened his features. "I found myself invited to join the party after a dinner plan fell through," he replied, his voice steady.
"Oh my god. I'm so sorry. The jet lag and getting settled into the new place. It all happened without a moment to rest."
"Frances. It's okay. I am a man who is not without mistakes. I surely would hate to never be redeemed of them."
"I truly feel bad." She lied. Barron questions, "Do you? Well if you really feel that bad about it, you can make it up to me and maybe we can try for dinner again later this week. Redeem yourself." He proposed. Frances, cautious, cloaked her internal tempest with a veneer of agreement. "Yes," she replied, her voice light despite the intricate calculus of self-preservation racing within her. Despite his kindness, despite his charm, despite his calm demeanor, Frances reserves her true feelings.
She has flash backs of the slender men of The Fraternity grabbing at her, pulling at her. The pain of mere water washing over her body. How she held her self in the shower. Crying as she was curled up on the floor tiles. Just as it is possible there is a malicious elite secret society that commits vampiric acts, an opposite is possible that Barron is making an honest attempt to woo her. That doesn't change that she is still more afraid of the agenda of real men more than she is of an existing vampire. Once again she plays this game. If he is trying to manipulate her than she will act like it is working, when really it isn't. Lead him on, feed him shit, even if it is an honest man who is eating it. She doesn't want to take that risk.
"Yes! Please, I wont let you down. In fact, why wait till the end of the week? Lets meet tomorrow."
"Are you sure? It's not too much?"
"Not at all. Tomorrow. Call me early with a time and place and I will be there."
She is all smiles masking the anxiety he brings out in her. Their conversation continues. Playful and flirtatious, sharing a laugh now and again. She finds out they have a lot in common. He is from San Diego just like her. They both love literature but he prefers fantasy, being a fan of George R.R. Martin's works. Frances allowed herself a fleeting indulgence in light-hearted banter. Yet beneath the surface, the ever-lurking threat of the ominous Fraternity burdens her. Stealing her attention, finding herself focusing on the shadows passing along the walls. Tricks of the eye taking the form of shadows among the shadows baring their fangs.
As the hour gets late Frances bids a gentle farewell to Barron, her final smiles convincingly concealing her doubts that churned inside her. Walking the halls and stairwell back to her apartment, she is depleted mentally. She has no plans to ever see Barron again. All of her act was a means to protect herself lest The Fraternity try to inch themselves closer to her. Or at least that is what her intuition tells her. But even intuition can be wrong. It doesn't matter. She can't make one wrong step. She cant make a mistake. Fraternity or not, Barron is a casualty necessary for her safety.
THANK YOU FOR READING!
Check out the playlist that inspired book 1 & book 2.
Mood music You can find now on Youtube.
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