(92) Trevor Wallace – Dhampir

(Del)

"So this is the first place where someone used his cards," I said, looking at the shops on the main street of Lecompte.

"Yep. At a restaurant called,"—Pete checked the list—"Lea's, and for gas. We should check them out first, to see if it was him or someone else."

"Would they really remember someone from a few days ago?"

"Probably not but it's worth a try. Trevor's pretty distinctive. He'd stand out, especially in a small town like this, so at least we might be able to find out if he actually was the one using the cards."

I had to agree. We went to Lea's first. It was past lunchtime and the place was still busy. Something about their pies, from the sign I read. Pete found us seats at the counter and when the waitress came over he ordered us each a slice of pie, apparently their specialty. Then he asked her if she'd seen a man in here in the last week, tall, long black hair, with a fang earring—explaining that he had gone missing.

She said no but that she'd ask the others. By the time we'd finished she returned to tell us that no one had seen him. He thanked her and we went from there to the gas station.

The owner was an older man, dressed in well worn coveralls. He listened to Pete's description and shook his head.

"What was he driving, that might help."

Pete looked at me and I described Trev's cycle. By the time I'd finished the man was frowning.

"Hate to tell you, young man, but unless I miss my guess, that's the one a couple of punks tried to sell for parts at the scrap yard down the road a piece. From what Bobby Joe told me, it was so trashed there was nothing salvageable on it."

My heart sank. Pete gave my shoulder a quick squeeze before asking if there was a hospital close by. The man told us the nearest ones were in Alexandria, about fifteen miles away.

After thanking him, and getting the address of the scrap yard, we went there. Bobby Joe was able to give us a sort of description of the two dudes who had hauled the cycle in, in the back of their truck. Unfortunately he hadn't noted the license plate numbers, which made Pete growl, though under his breath so only I heard him.

It was Trev's bike, what was left of it.

"If he survived the crash he, had to have been in bad shape," Pete pointed out softly.

"I won't believe that he didn't. I can't believe he died. We have to go to the hospitals." I was close to tears but I wouldn't let them fall. Not yet. Not till we knew one way or the other.

"We'll call first, Del. No sense heading up there without knowing if anyone found him. My opinion, the fact that those punks had his bike says that he managed to walk away somehow." As we got on Pete's bike, he told me we were going to get a motel room for the night at least. Maybe longer, depending on what we learned.

(91) Trevor Wallace – Dhampir

"On the run yourself?" His lips quirk in amusement. Perhaps they have something in common.

Lenny shrugs. "Not the way you mean it. No. As I said I'm a loner. Too many people in my life and I get claustrophobic. I like space around me that's my own. Hence my living out here in the middle of nowhere. I own all of this, several acres actually, and I'm not poor. I don't have to work so I don't."

"Inheritance or good investments?"

"A small inheritance that I managed to increase by putting it to work for me instead of spending it all on frivolities like a fancy residence or lots of toys I don't really need. I'm a simple man with simple wants—a place that's mine alone, my books, perhaps a friend or two to spend time with on occasion."

"And now an unexpected house guest, though not by choice."

"Ah, definitely by choice. I could have left you there for someone else to find. Or taken you to the nearest hospital, despite the fact that I thought that you're carrying such a strange weapon might have brought you questions you'd rather not have answered. Of course at the time I didn't know you couldn't have anyway."

"Which brings up another question. You tossed my clothes, you said. Did you keep the sword?"

Lenny nods. Gets up to go to his bedroom. Returns shortly with it and a long leather coat. "I suspect if you hadn't been wearing this, you'd have been much worse off than you were." Lays it on the sofa. Hands him the sword. "Does this ring any bells?"

"No, not really." He stares at it. Runs his hands over it pensively.

"You're handling it as if it's an old and trusted friend, which I think it is from the age and condition. It's well used and well taken care of."

"But why? Why do I have it? What was I, am I, that I carried this, instead of say a gun or a knife, if I needed protection?"

"That we'll have to find out. I can tell you the blade is silver so it's not cheap, not by a long shot." Lenny's eyes are hooded as he gauges his guest's reaction.

"Silver? You're certain? What am I? Some nut who thinks werewolves exist? Isn't that what silver's for—to kill them?" He pauses thoughtfully, "Though that's silver bullets, usually."

"So you do remember your folklore." Lenny chuckles. "Silver bullets, full moon. I can see you now—stalking them down."

"Right. As if. Well, I hope not, anyways, I hope I'm not that crazy. I'd bet, once I get my memory back, I'll find out I was part of some Ren Faire Group, or hell maybe an actor. Not that that explains the silver blade unless I'm rich and was showing off." He stands. Twirls the sword. Lunges and slashes experimentally.

"You've got the moves. You know what you're doing. Does that strike any chords?"

"No." He sighs. Sits again. Lays the sword down between them.

"Look, don't give up hope. Something you say or do will bring everything back eventually."

"Perhaps. Unless whatever I don't want to remember is too bad or too painful. If that's the case, I suppose I'll just invent a new me and hope I don't run into someone who wants me in custody for some horrible crime. Or worse, dead."

Lenny looks at him. Pity in his eyes. Then grins. "Or a fiancé that you're running away from because you found out she was just after your fortune. It broke your heart and you've buried the pain by forgetting who you were."

"Oh, now that I like. Someone who wants me only for my money, not for this fabulous, if somewhat battered, body. People are like that. They're...they're only after... Shit. That sounds too familiar. Too damned familiar."

"Like something you'd have said?"

He nods slowly. "Yeah, I think so. But why?" 

(90) Trevor Wallace – Dhampir

“You need a name. I can’t keep calling you ‘boy’.” Lenny looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I suppose.” He thinks about it. A name flashes in his mind. He tests it out. “George.”

Lenny laughs. “So you’re the smart one and I have the intelligence of a child.”

He frowns. Puzzled.

“Of Mice and Men. A great book by John Steinbeck. I take it you haven't read it, if you don't get the reference."

"Not that I remember." Said with a tight smile. "But that's a given. Hell, I don't even know if I've had any schooling."

"I'd say you have. You're too erudite sounding not to at least some education beyond the basics." Lenny goes to a shelf. Finds a book. Hands it to him. "Here. See if this rings any bells. It might be that you chose that name because of mine or it could just be coincidence."

He chuckles. "You're hoping this,"—he takes the book—"might push some button and make me remember something."

"You never know. Stranger things have happened. It's been a week and nothing else has triggered anything."

Nodding he asks, "Do you want me out of your hair, now that I'm back to normal? Well mostly normal. I guess the accident wasn't as bad as we thought, as fast as I've healed."

Lenny frowns in thought for a second. Smiles then. Shakes his head. "Not unless you want to. I sorta enjoy having company. It's been a while."

"Loner by choice or necessity? You've never said."

"A bit of both I guess. What with my bad reaction to the sun, and a general tendency not to like people all that much anyway, I prefer to be by myself most of the time."

"Speaking of which, I take it you have some sort of job to support yourself. But if you really meant it when you said I could stay, I should look for one too."

Lenny eyes him carefully. "Doing what?"

"Hell, I don't know. I don't even know what kind of area this is. But there has to be something. Maybe at a fast food..." His voice fades. He frowns sharply.

"Did that trigger something?" Lenny sits down. Watches him.

"For a second it did, but it's gone. Damn I hate this. I know things but not...specifics. I know about fast food joints and motorcycles and I realized immediately that it was strange that you didn't have a TV, but there's nothing in here," he taps his forehead, "that connects me to them. Even about bikes. I obviously rode one, since I crashed it, but I don't remember that, or where I was headed, or what happened that I ended up in the ditch where you found me. There's a whole world out there that I know about as if I'd read about it but never experienced it for myself. Why? Why?"

"If I had to guess," Lenny said, "I'd say you're running away from something and the crash is giving you the perfect reason to forget what that is. You did bang your head badly and your mind is using that as a defense against remembering, like it or not."

"That makes me feel just wonderful. If it's that, and not just crash-related amnesia, then it must have been something pretty damned bad." He rests his head in his hands. "Any reports of especially gruesome murders or some other criminal activity on the...oh, you wouldn't know without a TV or radio."

"No, but I do get into town. And since you showed up, I've actually been checking the papers for that—just in case. Harboring a serial killer isn't on the top of my list of things I particularly want to do."

He nods. Glances up as something hits him. "You've lost that Southern sort of backwoods way of speaking that you had when I first got here."

"Yes. Well that's because I don't need to pretend with you any more, the way I have to around the people I generally deal with. I don't want to stand out as different, and in this neck of the woods, unless I'm in Alexandria proper, speaking the King's English, and with a Northern accent, might draw unwanted attention to me. Does actually, as I found out when I first came to this area."

(89) Trevor Wallace – Dhampir

(Del)

The steaks were sizzling, and Mychael and I had made salad, by the time Pete returned. From the look on his face I knew he'd found something. I just hoped it was enough.

Despite my impatience to know, Pete made us wait until we'd all gotten food and had found seats before telling us what he'd found.

"Trev's actually quite organized," he said, sounding a bit surprised. "He's got files for all his bills including the credit card ones. Once he gets back, Del, tell him to get a shredder though. There's info on them he probably wouldn't want getting out to some identity thief. But in this case, it's a good thing he doesn't have one. He's go two cards, both in his name so we now have the numbers. All we need is for Mychael to work his magic and see if he's used them since he left."

I had to smile when Mychael almost bounced in anticipation as he held out his hand for the copies of the statements Pete had brought back.

"Not till you eaten all your supper," Pete told him with a straight face.

With a roll of his eyes, Mychael went back to eating, muttering "Yes Daddy" under his breath, evoking laughs from the rest of us. He practically inhaled the his meal and then snagged the statements and headed inside.

I was beginning to worry that maybe Trev hadn't used his cards, which would still leave us at a dead end. Then Mychael returned with a puzzled look on his face.

"What's wrong," Vik asked.

"He's used them, or someone has. Honest opinion, I don't think it's him from the purchases that were made—all in the last day and a half. And not in one place or rather one town either." He rubbed his forehead between his fingers and thumb as he looked at what he'd printed out. "The first ones were made in a small town called Lecompte, about half a day's drive north-west of here, for food and gas. Then he, or someone, headed further north to Alexandria then Shreveport and beyond."

"What did they buy, besides what you said," Pete wanted to know.

"Umm, a couple of guns and ammo. There was a stop at a video store. It doesn't say what DVD's he bought, but there were ten of them, and then,"—he checked the list again—"a stop at the Alexandria Wal-Mart for an expensive camera and a few other electronics. In Shreveport it was more electronics." He listed them off.

"Then I know without a doubt it's not him using the cards," I told them. "He hates that kind of junk, or what he calls junk. I know most people don't think like that. Besides, why would he be heading north and not back here?"

"Good question Del. So we can presume that while he was in or around Lecompte, he either lost his wallet or it got stolen, or at least the cards got taken from it, since he's smart enough to report it if he knew they were missing. Or..."

Vik looked at me and I knew he didn't want to say what else was on his mind.

"Or," I said quietly, "he wasn't able to handle the Vampyre he was after and he's dead."

Vik nodded. "I'm sorry Del but that is a possibility."

"Well I won't know until I go there."

The men looked at me and shook their heads. "You're going to stay here. One of us will go instead," Pete said firmly.

"I'm not going to sit here and wait and wonder. If he is alive, and I can't believe he's not, in spite of the evidence, I need to find out what happened. Why he hasn't called."

I could see them trying to decide how to argue with me. I stared at each of them and restated adamantly that I was going to Lecompte.

"Alright Del. I can understand why you need to. Pete," Vik looked at him, "will you go with her? I would but I have something I need to do, and breaking Mychael free from his job right now would be difficult, with all he's dealing with there."

"Not a problem." Pete turned to me. "We'll leave first thing in the morning, and I mean early, like six. Pack up enough for a couple of days just in case, in a backpack. We'll take my bike."

I was almost tempted to salute him as he tossed out his orders, but nodded instead, glancing at Vik.

He smiled and shrugged, muttering, "That's our Pete."

Pete started to say something and then chuckled. "OK, so I'm in planning mode, shoot me. I get bossy when I am. Anyway, please,"—he stressed the word—"do as I asked, Del."

"Not a problem but you keep on giving orders I'm liable to slap you up side the head," I replied, grinning slightly.

"Now that I'd like to see," Mychael said, earning him a laugh from all of us.

(88) Trevor Wallace – Dhampir

(Del)

Mychael leaned back, looking at me. "Does he have and use credit cards?"

I had to think about that. Most times when we went out, Trev paid in cash but... "Yes, I know he does because he bought a couple of my paintings with one."

"I don't suppose you know if it's in his name, or even better does he keep receipts?"

"Gods, Mychael, I don't have a clue. If he does, they're at his place."

"Do you have a key, Del," Pete asked.

"Sure. Why? Oh, you're going to look?"

"No, I just wanted to add it to my collection." He grinned, holding out his hand. "Any particular place I should be searching? A desk, a lockbox?"

"The desk probably. Oh." A thought occurred to me. "Or in his closet. I've seen him get stuff from there, like his gun, so maybe there's a safe or something."

"Good deal. I'll be back soon. Meanwhile you all...do something." Pete laughed as he left.

"Is he usually that cheerful," I asked.

Both men grinned. "Only when he gets to do something at least vaguely illegal that won't get him dead in the process," Vik replied. "Or when, umm, well never mind on that. Back to Trev. Does he have any friends you know of that he might have told where he was going?"

I arched an eyebrow in amusement at the 'never mind' then shook my head at his question. "As far as I know only the four of us are his friends here in town. Well and Dagger but I don't think he counts."

"Dagger? Trev has a pet I take it, unless he's naming his weapons."

"Dagger's a ferret that a friend gave him. Cute as a button but Trev wouldn't let me name him that. So, anyways, that's it on the friends list, I'm afraid." I frowned. "That's rather sad when you think about it."

"Yeah, it is but given what he does, it's not too surprising. How about out of town? Anyone you can think of? Because it's possible that was the one who called him."

"There's another Dhampir named Daniel, I think, but honestly Vik I doubt it was him, because Trev would have said so. He knows I know the name. Besides, even if it was I don't know where he lives." I was getting closer to tears with each question he asked, realizing how little I knew about Trev and that none of it was any help.

Vik must have known how I felt because he gave me a hug, saying, "We were just about to grill some steaks when you called. Why don't you come help? It'll help take your mind off things for bit, until Pete gets back."