Hillary Kanter - Dead Men Are Easy To Love by Hillary Kanter Page A
Authors: Hillary Kanter
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lit up again he was gone.
That was around 3:00 a.m. After tossing and turning for half an hour, I decided a warm bath might help. I put the stopper in the tub, and turned on the faucet. Nothing came out. I tried the handles both directions, producing squeaks and groans from the pipes, until water appeared with a brownish, rusty tint. It flowed darker and darker, till it poured the color of blood.
I fled the bathroom, ready to dial the front desk for help—and this time I really woke up.
It had been a nightmare within a nightmare.
What an ordeal. I am exhausted.
Dalv will be here soon, and judging by the pink tinge of sunrise, it looks to be a beautiful day.
***
Ariel’s journal—
Nov. 2
Dalv and I roamed the Transylvanian countryside today, hiking into the Carpathian Mountains with a bottle of wine and a picnic. Dalv knows so much about this region’s history, and I enjoyed hearing about it.
I am also learning more about my friend. He’s forty-four years old—my guess was pretty close—and he’s never been married, which is a surprise. Then again, there are plenty of bachelors in New York City who are in their forties. And you know the warning about that .
Dalv is old-fashioned and proper, much different from the men back home. He hasn’t even tried kissing me yet—except on the cheek. He is sensitive and seems to know what I want without my asking, almost as though he can read my mind. He asked about my life in New York City, what it is like living there. How can one explain it? He says he dreams of going there someday, but his research at the hospital is so important that he can’t leave—even for a few weeks.
When I asked more about his family, he told me his mother and father died in a car crash five years ago. His one brother, a twin named Rion, lives in Brasov, a town we visited briefly this afternoon. With its quaint cobbled streets, it is much like Sighisoara, lined with houses in faded colors of pink, green, and ocher.
Dalv held my hand as we walked through Brasov. I feel drawn to him more and more. Oh—and I told him of last night’s nightmare.
He cast if off with a laugh. “I imagine the trauma you suffered in the graveyard and visiting Dracula’s castle could give anyone some strange dreams.”
We shared dinner again. He took my hand across the table and asked how long before I went back to New York. I told him I was not sure.
***
Dalv Lucard’s Journal—
Nov. 2
It’s Sunday, and the fascinating American girl and I shared another enjoyable day together. What a fiercely independent woman she is. She looks younger than her age by a decade, and has a quirky sense of humor. It especially comes out when she talks of the bizarre men she has dated back home. She appeals to me, being so different from the serious Romanian girls.
I sense that she likes me, by the look in her eyes. I only wonder how much about myself I should reveal. I have a deep desire to tell her things I have never told anyone, but I mustn’t move too fast. Her length of stay here is uncertain, and for now the operative word is “caution.” She asks many questions about my past, and I have given her whatever information I can, without saying too much.
***
THE TRANSYLVANIAN TIMES
Blood Missing from Local Hospital
Nov. 2, Bistritz—The mystery continues regarding vials missing from the blood bank at St. Agnes Hospital. This supply had been tested for infectious diseases, and awaited delivery to needy recipients. Yesterday, a health official reported a second batch of missing blood. Authorities remain puzzled, as no fingerprints were found at the scene.
***
Dalv Lucard’s Journal—
Nov. 6
Yesterday I met with my brother. I told him about Ariel, and of course he already knew of her—just as I figured. It was he who flew into her head that night in the German Cemetery. He is a troublemaker and likes to show off his powers by doing stupid things for sport. There was no reason for this, and I
That was around 3:00 a.m. After tossing and turning for half an hour, I decided a warm bath might help. I put the stopper in the tub, and turned on the faucet. Nothing came out. I tried the handles both directions, producing squeaks and groans from the pipes, until water appeared with a brownish, rusty tint. It flowed darker and darker, till it poured the color of blood.
I fled the bathroom, ready to dial the front desk for help—and this time I really woke up.
It had been a nightmare within a nightmare.
What an ordeal. I am exhausted.
Dalv will be here soon, and judging by the pink tinge of sunrise, it looks to be a beautiful day.
***
Ariel’s journal—
Nov. 2
Dalv and I roamed the Transylvanian countryside today, hiking into the Carpathian Mountains with a bottle of wine and a picnic. Dalv knows so much about this region’s history, and I enjoyed hearing about it.
I am also learning more about my friend. He’s forty-four years old—my guess was pretty close—and he’s never been married, which is a surprise. Then again, there are plenty of bachelors in New York City who are in their forties. And you know the warning about that .
Dalv is old-fashioned and proper, much different from the men back home. He hasn’t even tried kissing me yet—except on the cheek. He is sensitive and seems to know what I want without my asking, almost as though he can read my mind. He asked about my life in New York City, what it is like living there. How can one explain it? He says he dreams of going there someday, but his research at the hospital is so important that he can’t leave—even for a few weeks.
When I asked more about his family, he told me his mother and father died in a car crash five years ago. His one brother, a twin named Rion, lives in Brasov, a town we visited briefly this afternoon. With its quaint cobbled streets, it is much like Sighisoara, lined with houses in faded colors of pink, green, and ocher.
Dalv held my hand as we walked through Brasov. I feel drawn to him more and more. Oh—and I told him of last night’s nightmare.
He cast if off with a laugh. “I imagine the trauma you suffered in the graveyard and visiting Dracula’s castle could give anyone some strange dreams.”
We shared dinner again. He took my hand across the table and asked how long before I went back to New York. I told him I was not sure.
***
Dalv Lucard’s Journal—
Nov. 2
It’s Sunday, and the fascinating American girl and I shared another enjoyable day together. What a fiercely independent woman she is. She looks younger than her age by a decade, and has a quirky sense of humor. It especially comes out when she talks of the bizarre men she has dated back home. She appeals to me, being so different from the serious Romanian girls.
I sense that she likes me, by the look in her eyes. I only wonder how much about myself I should reveal. I have a deep desire to tell her things I have never told anyone, but I mustn’t move too fast. Her length of stay here is uncertain, and for now the operative word is “caution.” She asks many questions about my past, and I have given her whatever information I can, without saying too much.
***
THE TRANSYLVANIAN TIMES
Blood Missing from Local Hospital
Nov. 2, Bistritz—The mystery continues regarding vials missing from the blood bank at St. Agnes Hospital. This supply had been tested for infectious diseases, and awaited delivery to needy recipients. Yesterday, a health official reported a second batch of missing blood. Authorities remain puzzled, as no fingerprints were found at the scene.
***
Dalv Lucard’s Journal—
Nov. 6
Yesterday I met with my brother. I told him about Ariel, and of course he already knew of her—just as I figured. It was he who flew into her head that night in the German Cemetery. He is a troublemaker and likes to show off his powers by doing stupid things for sport. There was no reason for this, and I
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