Wednesday, July 22, 2009

Blood is Thicker than Water: Simpson versus Shalimar

Doyle and Simpson had skirted the proceedings at Lake Ponchartrain. Simpson had been certain that if any action were to happen that night, it would happen at the LaVeau home. Doyle had fretted over the fate of the voodoos, but Simpson contested that in order to help the poor wretches in any way, they had to reach the root of the problem. Simpson continued to be pale, and he perspired greatly; Doyle began to worry about the health of his friend rather than his relapse into addiction.

Simpson’s plan was to lie in wait for Shalimar. They entered the house through the front door and met no resistance. “Just as I thought,” Simpson said. “Everyone is too busy outside tonight. We should have a relatively easy wait in front of us.”

Doyle nodded, but fingered the holy water in his pocket nervously just the same. They climbed the stairs. Simpson knocked on the door of the study, just for form. “No one home,” he said. He sat down in the giant chair behind the desk gratefully. “We have time to wait.”

“No,” said Shalimar, drifting in the window. “I always attend to my guests promptly.”

Simpson made a move toward Shalimar, but had to clutch at the chair to steady himself. Doyle moved to Simpson.

Shalimar laughed. Finally, the old man was being worn down! “I thought you had left the city. To what do I owe the honor of such a visit?

Simpson steadied himself against the desk, motioning Doyle back. “You’re finished. I have the intent of destroying you, and keeping this vampirism from spreading any further.”

“You?” Shalimar said with mock amazement. “You are a tired old man. You look like, well, the undead. And,” Shalimar stared past the detectives, “two of you are hardly a match for the two of us.”

Doyle watched Marcus come in. He debated flinging the holy water at Marcus, but knew that Simpson could not run once Doyle did. The detective was looking more ill by the second. Marcus grabbed Doyle quickly. Simpson chose that inopportune moment to collapse. Shalimar hovered over Simpson.

“Stay away from him!” Doyle yelled.

“The tables have turned, eh, detective?” Shalimar nodded at Marcus. “Things have not gone well. We don’t have much time. Take them upstairs.”

Marcus thumped Doyle on the head and the room faded away.

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