Upwyr by Bill Bowler	Table of Contents
Chapter 7: The Count part 3 of 4

Josey came to his senses, standing on the sidewalk with the strange old man. Vladimir’s story had struck him deeply. Listening to it, Josey had fallen into a trance. Dreamlike images had surfaced in his consciousness and the old man’s piercing, almond eyes seemed strangely familiar and commanding.

“Then, we’re related?”

“Yes.”

“But how did you find me?”

“I was guided by the signal your aura transmits.”

“You what? Never mind. Where will you stay now?”

“I don’t know.”

Something in the ragged old man’s story, some quality of Vladimir’s, had hit home and struck Josey deeply. He felt a sudden and growing affinity for his long lost relative from Romania. The urge to help Vladimir lodged itself in Josey’s thoughts.

“Then come with me,” he said. Tricia met them in the doorway.

“Trish, this is my great great Uncle Vladimir. He’s just arrived in this country. I’ve invited him to stay with us until he finds a place.”

Tricia was momentarily speechless. She turned to Vladimir — “You’ll excuse us for a moment?” — pulled Josey into the room and shut the door.

“What’s wrong with you?! What are you thinking?! We don’t know him. He’s a complete stranger! He could be an imposter or a con-artist. He could be a thief, a murderer! He looks as if he might have some horrible disease. If you can’t think of yourself, at least think of Yanosh and me.”

“He’s family, Trish. We’re related. We’re descended from the same line. I can feel it. I know it. Blood is thicker than water. He’s just arrived from Romania and has nowhere to stay. Can’t we put him up just until he gets organized? It won’t be for long, a couple of days, at most. He’ll be no trouble, you’ll see. I’ll take care of him. What do you say?”

“Well...” said Tricia, hesitating.

“I knew I could count on you, honey,” said Josey with a big smile.

“But where will he sleep?”

“He can use Yanosh’s room. Yanosh won’t mind.”

* * *

When Hope rang the bell, an old man with a face like a worn-out glove opened the door. Hope looked at the number to make sure she had gotten off the elevator on the right floor. Glancing over the old man’s shoulder, she saw the familiar interior of Trish and Josey’s apartment.

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” the old man said. His face was covered with wrinkles and scars.

“It’s just that, well, I wasn’t expecting... I’m Tricia’s friend, Hope.”

The old man opened the door wider. “Please come in. My name is Vladimir. I’m a relative of Josey’s, from Romania. I’m staying with Josey and Tricia for a short time until I find a place of my own.”

Hope entered and the old man closed the door. He shuffled across the carpet and settled down into an easy chair in the living room.

“Please, sit down. Josey’s out and Tricia has just run down to the store. She’s expecting you and asked me to entertain you until she returns.”

Hope sat opposite the old man. Hunched in the chair, he looked tired, weak, old and worn, ravaged by age and disease. His white hair fell in thin strands to his shoulders. A stringy white moustache drooped from under his large, hooked nose. His face was deeply creased. His skin was pale and anemic, almost transparent. His hands, gripping the arm rests, were concealed in black leather gloves. But amidst this human wreckage, his large eyes, almond shaped and yellow, flashed from beneath his brows and pierced Hope like knives through sheer fabric.

At that moment, something happened to Hope. Compassion flooded through her. She sensed, she felt Vladimir’s weariness and pain, and wanted more than anything to ease his suffering, to comfort him and to share his burden. She connected to the still powerful soul that dwelt within the decrepit remains of a human body. She wasn’t sure how, but she would help him. She would sacrifice. She would willingly and gladly give of herself to sustain him, whatever it took, whatever was needed. She wanted to reach out to him, to reassure him and soothe his battered spirit.

Vladimir felt it, too, though no words were spoken. His yellowed eyes bored into her and she returned his gaze, serene and selfless, beautiful, and pulsing with life.

Hope rose, walked over to Vladimir and knelt beside him. She ran her fingers gently through his thin hair and put the palm of her hand on his ravaged cheek.

“Are you in much pain?” she asked. “Is there anything I can do?”

At that moment, the door opened and Hope turned.

“Yanosh! You’re early. Your mom’s at the store.” Hope stood up. “This is Vladimir. He’s a relative of yours.”

Yanosh stood in the doorway, a look of disbelief on his face.

* * *

Yanosh, a strapping, handsome young man, had turned eighteen that year. He was a freshman at Columbia, where his father and mother had both gone to school. He took an immediate dislike to Vladimir, as if there were bad blood between them.

“He’s a creep,” Yanosh told his mother.

“To tell you the truth, I won’t be sorry when he leaves,” Tricia confided in her son, “but we have to respect your father’s wishes.”

“I don’t believe he’s who he says he is. I don’t believe anything he says. He’s up to something. And I don’t like the way he treats Hope.”

“You’re very fond of her, aren’t you?”

Yanosh blushed. His mother’s friend was a beautiful and sensuous woman. He had known her his whole life. He had always felt a special bond with her though he had never fully explored his feelings. Something prevented him and he left the nature of his feelings for Hope unexamined and undisturbed, preferring not to know where they might lead.

“The sooner he’s gone, the better.” Yanosh muttered under his breath and looked at the floor.

Tricia watched her son and said nothing. She did not disagree.

* * *

“I’ve found a place of my own.” Vladimir smiled proudly. “In Brooklyn. It’s tiny but it suits me fine.”

“That’s wonderful,” said Trish.

“Yeah, that’s great news,” said Josey.

Good riddance, Yanosh thought.

Vladimir looked at him intently, as if reading his mind. “I can move in the first of the month.”

“We’ll help you, of course,” said Tricia.

“I don’t have much,” said Vladimir. “Only the clothes on my back and the small bag with the few things I managed to bring from Romania.”

“This calls for a celebration,” said Josey. “We’ll miss you but you’ll be happier on your own.”

“I’ve already imposed on you longer than I would have wished,” said Vladimir.

“Don’t be silly,” said Tricia.

“You’re welcome any time,” said Josey.

Yanosh said nothing and made no attempt to conceal his dislike for their uninvited guest.

Vladimir smiled. Lately, the color had come back to his cheeks. His pale, anemic skin had taken on a new glow. It seemed as if even the wrinkles in his face were smoothing out. His thin hair and moustache had grown thicker again and streaks of black had appeared in the white. He looked stronger, more vigorous. Trish suspected he was dying his hair but that could not explain his amazing recovery and his new vigor and vitality. Whatever it was, she was glad he was leaving, and so was Yanosh.

* * *

After the move, Trish and Josey dragged Yanosh along to see Vladimir’s new place in Brooklyn. It was a small one-room studio apartment on the ground floor, facing the alley in the rear of a tenement on Atlantic Avenue. There was no light except through the rear windows from the alley and all the curtains were drawn anyway. The dark, brick-walled apartment reminded Yanosh of a cave.

They were surprised to find Hope there when they arrived. She seemed right at home, lounging in the small space while Vladimir watched television.

“Hope! What are you doing here?” Tricia laughed.

“I’m helping Vlad organize his new apartment.”

In the dim light, Tricia looked more closely at her friend. Hope did not look well. She seemed thin and pale. She was losing her roundness. Her arms were skin and bone. She looked weak and frail. Tricia could not help but worry and wonder what was going on.

A week’s time, and many questions would be answered.

* * *

“Hope is sick,” said Tricia.

Madame Sonya and Professor von Holzing exchanged glances.

“I don’t think she’s left her bed for a week. She looks so tired and pale, with dark circles under her eyes. She sleeps most of the time and has no energy. I’m worried about her.”

“Let me gather my things,” said Sonya. “I may have something that will help her.” Sonya selected several jars of herbs and potions from the display case and put them in her traveling bag. “Abraham, would you come with us? We’re going to see Hope.”

“Of course, dear. I’d like to examine her.”

* * *

Hope smiled wanly at her friends.

The poor thing, thought Sonya. She doesn’t look well at all. “Do you have any appetite, my dear? I’d like to make you some broth. Do you think it will stay down? I’ve brought some medicinal herbs that should make you feel much better.”

“Thank you, Sonya. That’s very sweet of you. I’m sorry to cause you such trouble.”

“Don’t be silly.” Sonya adjusted Hope’s pillows and then went to the kitchen to find a kettle. Von Holzing sat beside Hope’s bed.

“You look a bit peaked, Hope. How are you feeling?”

“OK. I’m very tired.”

“Do you have any appetite?

“No, not really.”

Madame Sonya came back into the room with a cup of healing broth. A pungent aroma, like cinnamon, filled the room.

“Here you go, my dear. You’ll feel much better if you try a little of this. It’s an old family recipe.”

Von Holzing saw that Hope was pale and listless but her eyes were sparkling with some inner glow. He put his hand on her forehead. She was warm with a low grade fever. He brushed her hair from her forehead. As Hope sat up in bed to take the cup of broth, her hair fell away from her shoulders and von Holzing saw the two red pin pricks on her neck.

* * *

They had a council that night to discuss Hope’s condition. Professor von Holzing and Madame Sonya had come to Trish and Josey’s. They sat around the kitchen table and talked over what they had seen. The mood was somber. Yanosh sat in his room with the door open, listening.

“Upwyricus Vampyrae,” said Professor von Holzing. “Exceedingly rare. A true vampire.”

“Upwyr? You mean it’s one of us?” asked Josey.

“Shhh,” Tricia hushed Josey and nodded towards Yanosh’s room.

Professor von Holzing lowered his voice. “Yes, that’s what I mean, someone like Sonya, and you, and Yanosh. But someone who has gone beyond potions, beyond shape shifting and reincarnation of the spirit, someone who drinks human blood as a means to extend the life of his own physical body.”

“It’s Vladimir.” Yanosh was standing in the doorway.

No one said anything.

“Have you seen how much younger he looks now,” asked Tricia, “while Hope is wasting away? His sores and scars are gone. His skin is smooth now. He’s getting stronger.”

“It’s my fault,” said Josey. “I’m the one he came to see. I’m the one who believed him and took him in.”

“You had no way of knowing,” said Sonya.

“We can’t leave Hope alone,” said Tricia.

“We had better keep watch on her,” said von Holzing. “We can take turns. I’ll take the first shift. Josey, you relieve me at midnight.”

“I’m coming, too,” said Yanosh.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Josey. “You’re staying here with your mother.”

* * *

Proceed to part 4...

Copyright © 2009 by Bill Bowler