Bridget's Nights Ch. 04

Its not often that I am completely tongue-tied, especially after over 400 hundred years of talking at all opportunities. This was one of them. I stood there with my mouth open and my brain in a whirl. Here he was, alive, my god more than alive. "He still looked incredible", remarked the part of my brain that never seemed to sleep and always noticed these things.

"They told me you were dead," Myron said quietly, his eyes not leaving mine.

Oh, boy. I couldn't figure out to break the news to him 30 years ago and I still don't know how to do it. After all, they weren't lying to him, after a fashion. However, someone had certainly lied to the both of us.

"I was told the same thing," I answered him. I don't think I managed to keep my voice as steady as his.

"I suppose it had something to do with your job. Your real one, I mean. Not the UPI one. Nor the one that had to do with entertaining lonely Lieutenants far from home."

If he had slapped me I don't think I could have been more surprised. Or more hurt. I know that I actually flinched at his calm, cold words and probably would have flushed had I been physically capable of such an action. What had brought that on? I knew that the Company, to use an old euphemism, didn't always play well with the Army. But what had I ever done that caused him to act like this?

Regardless, this was not the time to deal with this. I could be just as calm as he was. I smothered my Irish temper and in a voice as cold and as controlled as his, I restarted the conversation.

"Colonel Goldman, if possible, I need to brief a select group of officers and NCOs concerning an extremely unusual threat they may be called on to assist with. I understand there is a conference room here in this building that would be perfect for my purposes. Would it be possible," I handed him a list of names, "To have this group of men available at say, zero nine hundred hours?"

Whatever reaction he expected from me, this was apparently not it. He blinked several times and jerkily nodded.

"Thank you. With your permission I will go there now and set up. Without waiting for an answer I turned on my heel and walked out.

At the appointed time, a group of officers and sergeants filed into the briefing room. Fortunately for me it was windowless, for security no doubt. I waited until everyone had taken their seats. Myron sat at the back of the room, his face expressionless.

"Good morning, gentlemen. Thank you for coming on such short notice. My name is Bridget O'Brien and I am an agent of the Central Intelligence Agency. Before I proceed, I need to verify that all present have a V21 endorsement to their security clearance. Would anyone who does not have that endorsement please leave the conference room at this time."

No one moved. "Okay then, I'm going to pass out a profile and description of an individual that the government wants. Not dead or alive. Simply dead. Maybe 'deader' is the proper word, as in 'deader than hell'. This is a serial killer who could possibly rival the worst ones of all time. For purposes of this type case, the provisions of the 'Posse Comitatus' Act have been excluded by a secret Act of Congress."

A murmur swept through the room as I walked down the center aisle, passing out folders containing all the details we had so far. I returned to the stage in the front of the room. "Please look over this and then ask questions. This is exactly what that security endorsement I mentioned is for. Gentlemen, you may be need to help us, me, take down a vampire."

A powerfully built captain in the third row snorted. "Oh, come on now, Ms. O'Brien. I know that the government, and the spooks in general, come up with some very oddball notions, but this is too much. Vampires? Do you seriously expect us to accept such a ridiculous concept?"

Gosh, if I had planted him in the audience to ask this I couldn't have asked for a better opening. I walked down to where he was seated, on the aisle, even. I smiled at him.

"Captain, how big are you?"

A bit uncertainly, he replied "Six-two, 210 pounds."

"And what would you guess about me?"

"Five foot, three inches maybe. Right around 100."

"Right on the money." I reached down, caught the bottom of his chair with my left hand, and lifted him over my head. I turned and walked slowly back towards the platform, being careful not to drop him. I set him down, still in his chair, on the platform's edge. I looked at him and he turned pale. I knew the effort had caused my fangs to drop. I summoned up my courage and turned to face the rest of the troops. A gasp ran through the audience at the sight of my face.

"And I'm right handed." I refused to let my eyes settle on Myron, although I desperately wanted to study his reaction. Instead I resumed my place behind the podium. "Thank you Captain." Amazement written on his face, he stood, took his chair and went back to his original place.

"Any more questions on that subject?" I guessed there weren't. The silence was overwhelming.

"There myths and there are realities when dealing with a killer such as this. First, they are extremely strong and extremely fast. You all saw that," I gestured towards the captain and at the same time flashed him a smile. "Let me tell you, the killer we are seeking is as much stronger than me as I am stronger than any of you. I'm quite frightened of him, having already met him at close range."

"Shit," came a low comment from the back of the room.

"A lot of what you think you know about vampires are folk tales. We're not deterred by crosses." I reached inside my blouse and pulled out the old silver cross I always wore around my neck. "We can cross running water. We don't sleep in coffins that we must be back to by daylight. We don't have to be invited into a house."

"As against that, we don't have mesmerism as a power to compel people to do what we want. I generally try flashing my legs for that." A chuckle ran through the group and I felt them relax slightly. More importantly, they were paying rapt attention now. "We can't change form. We can't summon other worldly creatures to our aid."

"Killing a vampire is pretty much what you think you know. A stake through the heart. I don't know why it has to be wood. Decapitation. The wounds caused by fire don't heal, so a flamethrower works just fine. And not at all least, exposure to direct sunlight does indeed cause us to end up as a pile of ashes. Indirect sunlight causes weakness and pain. I can't simply throw a blanket over my head and run around without harm."

"Bridget," Myron started. I cut him off.

"Ms. O'Brien, if you don't mind Colonel." Damn it, he started it. I could be just as snot-nosed as he could.

"Ms. O'Brien," he acknowledged. "You've made your case and given us a lot to think about. What exactly do you want from us? How can we help?"

"The primary responsibility for taking this guy down is mine and the FBI's. Their HRT practices for this. However, Delta Force is a designated backup. I plan to find this creature, but I can already tell you I can't handle him by myself. If I need to call you at all, well, in the back corner of your arms room is a sealed pallet of ammunition. Except for the fact that the actual bullets are wood, its identical in performance to your regular loads."

"Should you have to back me or someone else up, do what they tell you. Should you actually encounter this killer unexpectedly, well, what would you do if you suddenly came face to face with a terrorist?" There were smothered grins around the room. I nodded. "Shoot first, aim for the chest." I tapped my breast. "Right there. Destroy his heart and he's dead. This time for good. Even if you're using regular bullets, shoot a lot of them. It won't kill him, but it does hurt and enough can slow him down."

After a pretty lively question and answer period the meeting came to an end. I gathered up my materials and stuffed my briefcase. I snapped the catches and tried to think of how I was going to spend the next few hours. It wasn't like I could go anywhere. And come to think of it, I didn't have anywhere to go. If Robert had come up with any leads he would have called me already.

I felt him behind me before he spoke.

"Bridget, I'm sorry." He repeated himself. "I'm sorry. A lot has happened since that night in Saigon but I had no right to say what I did. Seing you brought back some memories I thought were buried. I lashed out at you. You didn't deserve to have me treat you like that."

I shrugged my shoulders without turning around.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Now I turned. I wasn't angry anymore or looking for a fight. "Tell you what? About what I really am? Oh, Myron, I thought about it. But what was I going to say? 'Hey, I'm a 400 year old woman who happens to be a vampire. But its okay because I'm really one of the good guys and I love you.' Maybe I should have. But I was so happy with what we had that I didn't want to take the slightest chance with it."

"You loved me." Damn, trust him to cut right to the heart of the manner.

"Yes I did."

"I loved you too." He sat down on the table, his legs dangling from it. "It hurt a lot when you were reported dead. It took me a long time to get over you."

I sat beside him. "You did though, didn't you? Once I realized that it was you, I looked around your office. I saw the pictures. You, a woman, the two of you with children." I took his hand in mine. "I'm glad for you. Really," I assured him when he looked at me in surprise. "So," I smiled. "Where is she today? You all must live on post to have come as quickly as you did when they called you."

He was silent for a moment. "I live in the BOQ."

"The Bachelor Officers Quarters? But why?" The look in his eyes answered me. "Oh GOD. Myron, I'm so sorry."

"Twice," he said heavily. "Twice in one lifetime I lost the woman I loved." He passed his hand over his face. "Again, I'm sorry for acting up earlier. It wasn't you, it was just some bad memories of working with the CIA. And those memories in turn brought back ones of Ann. Not the happy ones, but the ones of when I lost her. I couldn't help but think of you at the same time and wonder what I had done to deserve it happening to me again."

"Nothing Myron. I know you. For whatever reason she was taken from you, it wouldn't have been for anything you did."

He pulled out his wallet. "I still carry her picture." His wallet was stuffed. Pictures of the two of them. Pictures of her. Pictures of their beautiful children.

"She was very lovely Myron," I said as gently as I could. I strove to keep the natural jealousy I always felt out of my voice when I looked at the pictures of his children. "You can see her in all of them."

I guess I didn't do a very good job of keeping my voice under control. He looked at me in surprise. "Goodness Bridget. If I didn't know better I'd think you were jealous of her. She's dead and you're, well, I mean you are, but you're still here. How could you possibly be envious of her?"

I couldn't believe I felt so damn sorry for myself. "You're damn right I'm jealous of her! She had it all, a man she loved and who loved her. Three beautiful children to watch grow up. She got to see the sunrise and the sunset." Tears spilled down my face. Why in God's name do tear ducts still work after death? Maybe its simple, maybe its because he knew we would still have to cry.

"I've been alive, or some facsimile of alive, for over 450 years. I've seen a lot; by moonlight, by candlelight. Never by sunlight. I've enjoyed the pleasure of the flesh, those that I can appreciate." I dashed my hand across my eyes. "Tear ducts work, taste buds don't. At least not well, anyway. What I eat I can't savor. What I drink I barely taste. Oh, that's right, except for blood. That comes in a delicious assortment of flavors and vintages."

I had not raged like this since I had slipped back to my house, years after being driven from it, when I found out my father was dying. My mother had gone on long before. I had desperately hoped for one last word from him, one hint that he knew that under what I had become was still his Bridget.

I didn't get that word then, I didn't expect it now. Then Myron's arms were around me and my head was on his chest. Again. It had been a long time. It felt good.

"Its okay. Shhhhhh." For several minutes, he wordlessly rocked me. "Bridget, I need to ask you one question."

"Why don't I walk out into the sunlight?"

He was embarrassed. "Yes."

"Maybe I'm too Catholic. Suicide is not my answer. When I don't stop and think about it too much, life is pretty good. I really do accomplish things. I'm a pretty good intelligence agent, have been ever since I first went to work for Allen Pinkerton during the Civil War. I like to think I'm serving my country, this country. And," I hesitated, "I'm one of those people who believe everyone has a reason to be, something to accomplish in life, or in my case, after life." I blushed. "And I do enjoy the pleasures of life."

He tipped my face up to his. He brushed the tears away and kissed me. It brought back memories. Memories of warm nights and romance amid the destruction of war. Memories of a place of escape that was just the two of us.

He let me go and stood. I just had time to feel abandoned as he walked to the door before he looked over his shoulder and grinned. In that grin I saw the young man I had fallen in love with so long ago. I heard a bolt lock as he turned a knob on the door. He slipped a switch and walked back towards me.

"Now the sign is lit." He smiled. The uncertainty of it tugged at my heart. "It says 'No Entrance'." He paused. "Bridget, so much has changed."

I slid from the table and walked to him. "I know. But for right now, let it all go Myron. Its 1968 again and its just us." I put my arms around his neck, stood up on my tiptoes and kissed him. "Maybe we still can escape for an evening." Our kiss became open mouth and his hands began to roam over me.

This wasn't the wild love-making of our, of HIS, youth. This was slower. It was not the exultant sex of two young lovers, but rather the calm, almost unhurried movements of two old friends.

Once again we stripped the clothes from each other. This time it was slow as we savored each moment. His body was thicker, more heavily set than it was in days gone by. His arms circled me and pulled me against him with a strength I hadn't known from him before. His kiss was warm and inviting and I welcomed his tongue as it explored my mouth.

He grasped my hips and boosted me up onto the table. My butt just barely on the edge, I reached between his legs and grasped his cock. Since it was already stiffening, I leaned back just slightly. I lifted my legs in the air and drew him to me.

Once, twice, three times I rubbed the purplish head up and down between my lips. Then he simply leaned towards me and his cock slid home inside me as though it hadn't been 30 years. I boosted myself up, my arms still around his neck. Then I settled down, letting my weight impale me right down onto him.

Once again he leaned forward, trapping me against the table, its edge creasing my butt. I braced my feet on his hips, spreading myself completely for him. He braced his arms on the table and began to move in and out of me. Slowly at first, his shaft withdrawing until only the tip remained in me, then filling me on the downstroke, until he was fully within me. I could feel his cock throb against my slick walls.

Little by little his speed increased. His thrusts became more forceful. My breasts were plastered against his chest as the tempo of out love making became faster and faster. I could feel his heart pounding in his chest. I tried to match it, gasping for breath that I didn't need.

"Myron, ohhh, Myron. Please, please," I begged him. I felt him plunge all the way up into my cervix. He pounded me against the table. I bit his shoulder to keep from screaming. I bit him without my fangs. No matter what, I could never, would never, lose control with him.

"Bridget, oh dear god, Bridget," He drew my name out in one long deep moan as I felt a spasm in my body that matched his. He thrust one more time into me and held as our bodies molded into one and he emptied his seed in me.

The ringing of my cell phone woke me. I was stretched out on the table, covered by Myron's BDU BDU jacket. I pulled it on as I went in search of my phone. I managed to get up and find my purse. I looked at the number and sighed.

"Yes Robert?"

"Nothing new. Hostage Rescue is training for our situation. I do have," I could hear him swearing under his breath while he apparently fumbled for something on his desk, "I do have some vague reports of recent disappearances in an area of West Virginia."

"Okay, I'll be on my way after dark."

There was a pause. "Bridget, its after dark already. Just what are you still doing at Fort Bragg?"

Well thank goodness. I finally seemed to be someplace and with someone he didn't know all about. "I was taking a nap after the briefing." Forestalling any questions I added, "It went really well. I'll talk to you later." I hit the 'End' button and for good measure turned it off.

I turned around. Myron was sitting in a chair in the front row. Damn but he still looked so good. I was happy to see that there appeared to be a little smile in his eyes.

"I was watching you sleep. I used to do that you know." He sighed. "I guess its not 1968 anymore, is it?"

"No, but it was again for a few hours and I'll take that and hold the memory close."

He watched me dress and put his shirt back on when I handed it to him. He laid his hand on my cheek and I turned my head slightly and kissed it.

"Be careful Bridget. You have the emergency number here, right?" I nodded. "Call if, no when, you catch this guy. I have faith in you. I'm sorry I lost it for a bit."

I walked to the door and unlatched it. My eyes drank him in as he stood at the other end of the room. As I left I somehow knew that I wouldn't see him again.

I never did.

(To Be Continued)