Carlie's Blood

By Dalin Dubois

On a cold dismal night, a two-day-old infant was abandoned on the steps of the hospital, no clothes, no blanket, just thrown away as yesterday garbage. Raised in an orphange until overcrowding put her on the streets to fend for herself at the age of fourteen ... her name is Carlie.

Carlie was a survivor. She learned quickly how to panhandle, eat out of the dumpsters and find shelter from the rain. Love had came her way, fleeing as it had been. Jack was gone, all that was left was his crypt and on the stone had been etched, "Jack Devereaux 1983 - 2003, loved above all by Carlie. Victoria Marie Devereaux, precious daughter of Jack and Carlie 2003 - 2003. Carlie Loroche 1986 - 2003, left behind."

Carlie was dead as Jack, just had not been buried that day over nine years ago. She had tried a time or three to join him and her baby girl. Her hand moves over the broken windowpane as if touching the crypt outside her rundown apartment. "Good night Jack, sleep with the angels. I love you, wait for me."

A mysterious stranger had watched Carlie for longer than humanly possible. It was time to meet ... the black town car slides up to the curb ... the door opens.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dalin Dubois
• Release date: Jun 27, 2014
• ISBN: 9781624880421

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Table of Contents

Title Page

CARLIE’S BLOOD

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Dalin would like to invite you on more adventures from her stories.

CARLIE’S BLOOD

Dalin Dubois

Recommend by Hillel Black, editor and publisher of M*A*S*H

and Lawrence Jordan, The Lawrence Jordan Agency

Dalin would enjoy hearing from her readers:

[e-mail]

ISBN#  9781624880421

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CARLIE’S BLOOD

CHAPTER ONE

Carlie and her friends walked along the dark almost abandoned streets, leaving the movie theater. Her intent had been to go home, feed her cat, Sophie, and get some very much needed rest. Her day job was beyond demanding and she had a few more hours to spend on the project her boss had insisted she finished by the morning. Yet here she was, dragged into the little all night diner for a late night coffee. The movie had been all right, she supposed. I mean really, vampires walking among the living, drinking blood and having incredible sex with humans. Carlie smiled appropriately as she listened to their endless chatter of just how wonderfully romantic it would be to be a vampire, not to mention the intoxicating sex with drop-dead gorgeous men. Carlie’s thoughts were submerged in her sensual, liberating, fulfilling dreams.

Melissa in all her superficial splendor spoke.I mean, to never age and the men, now that would hold a girls attention until the end of time, and the sex, I would save a fortune on batteries. If Rob even knew how to give a girl an orgasm, it would be news to me. I just moan to get it over with. I guess thirty minutes of my time keeps him happy.

Cynthia sighed.Reese thinks the longer it lasts the more I get out of it. I mean seriously, men should have some school they are required to attend about how to please women.

Joanie looked at Carlie, her friend’s eyes staring at nothing particular for a long moment, as the others complained about their relationships and fantasized about sex with vampires.

How about you, sweetie, still having those erotic dreams?

Carlie did not want to answer as she gave her best friend a discontented look. This was a secret she had only shared with her and now they all knew. To tell Melissa anything, was no different from printing it in the newspaper, headlines no less. Just as she had expected Melissa was all too eager to hear everything, every, single, solitary, explicit detail.

Erotic dreams, who with, Carlie, a doorman?

Carlie as always ignored Melissa’s snide, demeaning remarks. They are nothing, I think I have watched too many late night love stories. If my boss would let up a bit, I could get some rest instead of trying to meet her endless deadlines. Everything is a do it yesterday and half of it still lays untouched on her desk.

Are they fulfilling dreams, I mean are they satisfying?

Carlie embarrassed replied. Yes, most of the time. Sometimes I just sleep in his arms.

And this nighttime lover, is he handsome?

Very. Long dark hair and eyes just as black. Huge muscles and a perfect body, soft sexy voice, almost like velvet, just as his touch.

So does this dream man know what it takes? Maybe you have watched to many vampires movies. You just described Lestat.

I had rather not talk about it. They are just silly dreams. I really need to get going. Maybe if I am lucky, I can catch at least four hours sleep before I have to face the wicked witch in the morning. See you same time next week.

Carlie wrapped her scarf around her neck, pulled her old green sweater about her and walked out. The night had a strange feel to it, as the wind blew out of the gulf, heavy and damp, filled with the scent of salt water.

She shivered with a tinge of fear. I wish someone from the city would fix these lights. It’s like walking through a graveyard. Stupid things have been out for over five months. She crammed her hands farther down in her sweater pockets and began her lonely walk home. It was only six blocks and the cold drove her feet faster. The air had a bone chilling feel about, as she glanced up to see a starless night. Her thoughts turned to Jack, her lost love, as she walked on autopilot. The creaking of rusty iron pulled her back to reality.

The old house with the chipped and peeling paint, and rotting porch was just ahead. How she hated passing it in the dark. In the light, it was just an old abandoned house, in desperate need of repair, but at night, it had caused her eyes to play tricks on her. The broken windows with the ragged windblown curtains hanging in shreds, the dead vines holding on to it like long boney fingers, creeping and crawling across the weather-beaten exterior. The loose shutters banging lightly against the sides of the windows, the rod-iron gate that creaked from the slightest breeze made her shiver. Her feet moved faster and she told herself next time she would cross the street a few blocks back.

Carlie tried not to give in to her fear, but as always, she could not resist and gave the old haunted house a glance. Her feet froze in place as she stared at the soft yellow glow of a candle flickering dimly just beyond the broken windowpanes. Then a dark figure, she was most certain crossed between the flame and window. One scream and her feet dislodged from the quick sand that only moments ago held her in place and she stared to run.

Boots with four inch spiked heels might be attractive to see, even if they had come for the Goodwill store, but to try to use them as running shoes was worthless. Her heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk and sent her flying face down onto the crumbling pavement. She tried to be brave as she pushed her trembling hands under her to sit back up. Her knees were skinned, her brand new pair of stockings ruined. The blood began to form over her knees as she tried to brush the gravel out of the deep scraps. She was directly in front of the old house. Still the candle flickered ominously in the window as she took hold of the iron fence to pull herself up. One step and she was flat on the ground again, her ankle throbbing, bringing tears to her eyes. This is all I need, she thought, a sprained ankle with the gallery exhibition in two days.

Carlie looked up and down the dark street to see if anyone was close who might help her home or at least call her a taxi. She had given up the expense of a cell phone years ago, so calling Joanie was not an option. It was far too late for passersby’s. She would have to figure it out. If only Jack was here, he would sweep her up in his arms and carry her all the way home.

Perhaps if she used her scarf to tie around her foot for support, she could make it the last three blocks on her own. Unzipping her boot and unwinding the old scarf from her neck, she wrapped it around her foot and tied it securely at the ankle. Carlie reached out for the rod iron fence again and hoisted herself up on one leg. She took a minute to get her balance, glancing again at the shadow, this time there were two silhouettes. The blood from her knees now trickled down her legs, inside her boot and soaked into her scarf. She turned in the direction she needed to go, using the iron fence as a crutch, she hopped along its length.

Then she heard the creaking of the front door opening and put more weight on her injured ankle to run. Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle the scream of pain and escalating fear. Two dark figures were coming towards her, they seemed to be hissing instead of speaking, sniffing the air like dogs picking up a scent. Carlie screamed as if her terror emanated from faraway in the distance. They had moved faster than humanly possible, standing over her within a heartbeat. Their breathing was heavy, then the strange clicking sound. As they reached down for her, everything faded to black.

When she woke, she was tucked safety in her bed, Sophie curled up against her. She thought for a moment, did I dream all that happened last night? She looked at the clock, seven a.m., seeing a cup of coffee on the nightstand.

Sophie, did Joanie find me and help me home?

The cat stretched, yawned, and rolled to her back, as if she had not heard a word.

Her hand went to the coffee cup, it was piping hot. She took a sip, two sugars and cream, just the way she liked. Joanie are you here . . Joanie . . . hellooooo, are you here?

She waited for a reply, but there was only silence and the ticking of the old broken face clock. Throwing back the covers, she looked down at her legs. She was completely naked, all but for the neatly wrapped bandage around her ankle and the gauze taped to both knees.

Sophie, I wish you could talk. It was Joanie, who else, she could have at least put my gown on me. She gave her cat some tummy scratches as she looked around the room for other signs Joanie had been there. Yes, it had to be Joanie, who else could it have been Sophie?

There were still two hours before she had to be at work and decided to finish what she had brought home last night, before the wicked witch dropped a house on her head for not meeting another worthless deadline.

Hobbling over to her desk, she grabbed her bag, and managed to get back in bed. Glad it is just us, Sophie. You don’t mind if I am naked, do you? Silly girl, you sleep and eat, and not much else than catching the occasional mouse is important to you, huh? You are so spoiled. If I had it half as good as you. Oh no, poor baby, you did not get you dinner last night. Let me see if I can get to the kitchen. Only for you, my fat little kitty cat.

Using the wooden chair, she pushed it in front of her using it for balance as she made her way to the dark green dismal kitchen. As she bent down for Sophie’s dish, she found it half full. She smiled. Thanks Joanie and for the coffee.

When she turned, she caught a shadow moving by the archway in the living room. Carlie stopped trying to see in the darkness, her eyes scanning every inch as her heart pounded in her chest. Seeing no one, she shook it off as she pushed her chair back to the bedroom. On her pillow was a single blood red rose. She jumped catching herself on the doorframe. Now I am losing my mind. Joanie I know you are in here somewhere. Now stop playing games and come out. Did you forget my gown is on the hanger in the bathroom?

No one answered as she slid back in bed, she was not alone. She could feel the presences of something as her eyes scanned her room again. She quickly turned on the dim light on her crate she used for a nightstand and looked at the rose. It was scarlet red, red as fresh blood. Carlie get hold of yourself, be strong, she repeated over and over.

The rose was the most perfect one she had ever seen. Its delicate pedals opening perfectly around the full bud in the center. She brought it to her nose, breathing in its fragrance as her earlier fears silently left her.

I will get you for this my sneaky friend, she said aloud. I am still pissed at you for spilling the beans in front of Melissa about my dreams. You owe me a latte or two for that one. What were you thinking? Oh right, you weren’t. How you got me up a flight of stairs is a mystery to me.

Carlie laid out the pictures for the art exhibit on the bed, to organize them for the showing. They had to be perfect. Jean Paul’s were to be center stage with Claude’s to the right and Pierre’s to the left.

Carlie spoke aloud. Perfect balance, really? Not two of these are even the same size. Guys, I think I will give you choices of canvas sizes next time. She rearranged them over and over. Sophie, what do you think, as close as we can get? Guess I am headed for the shower now, don’t think of getting up fatso and helping me. If only Jack was here, he would give me a bath.

Once in the bathroom she unwound the bandage from her ankle, and untapped the gauze from her knees. Well at least, she mumbled, my rented gown will cover up my knees so I won’t look like a total disaster. Now, to figure out how to walk in heels with this ankle. Yeah, right!

She turned on the shower, thankful that old Mrs. Gideon had needed handrails in the bathroom. Bless her heart, she was a nice old lady. Eccentric, but sweet. Remember her Sophie, she would save you tuna when we lived two doors down? Carlie looked around at the dark green walls, and the flowered border that was falling down more than not, thinking back to when she had helped the nice old woman paint the apartment. Mrs. Gideon had been so excited as Carlie painted and listened to her stories of long ago days. Crazy stories about vampires, voodoo and true love, the same day she had given her that odd, old book.

Carlie stood on one leg using the shower wall to brace herself in order to wash her hair. I guess, she decided, shaving my legs today is out of the question.

Wrapping a towel around her, she held on to the tub and counter to get to the sink, inching slowly along the way. She wiped the steam from the mirror with her hand just as she caught sight of the dark shadow again. Carlie gasped and turned to look behind her. She called out, Joanie, if that is you I could use some help getting dressed. Now stop sneaking around like a cat burglar. Still there was no reply, she giggled to herself. Carlie, you have to stop watching those vampire movies.

The streets were coming alive with people on their way to work as she jumped from step to step to the bottom and the front stoop steps to hail a taxi. Saint Armoire Gallery, please.

She was hoping the taxi driver would at least get out and open her door as she juggled her purse and bag in one arm, perched on one leg and opening the back door with the other. Thanks for the help.

I drive where you want to go, now you expect me to play doorman?

Whatever, I would have tipped you for your trouble. Chivalry did die. You just made that loud and clear.

The smell of jambalaya, fresh shrimp, mixed with funnel cakes and honey filled the air, just making her all that more hungry as the taxi made its way along the back streets of the French Quarter. The air was crisp, yet the morning sun was warm peering though the overly smudged window of the taxi.

This time the driver got out, opened her door and offer her his hand.

Thank you.

Thanks for the tip. A whole two dollars. Now I can retire.

If I was rich, I would hardly be riding in a taxi. I would just have my chauffeur drive me around. Carlie dug threw her purse. Here, how’s that? Now you have three, more than what I have left. Have a nice day.

He helped her up the steps and held the door open. She turned and waved. Now that was gentlemanly. If you are in the area around seven, I could use a lift home.

Sure, just for you, lady.

She did not know if that was a yes or no, as she slowly climbed the steps to the second floor, a heel on one foot and her tennis shoe on the other. Do I work in the only building without an elevator? She drew in a deep breath as she looked up the flight of stairs. Carlie you have got to stop talking to yourself, before someone tries to commit you, again. She chuckled. See, just like that.

The wicked witch of the west had not arrived yet and for this she was more than grateful. She opened up her laptop and entered the arrangement of the art she had done last night. Crap, it looks like it is running down the wall. Claude what is it with you and all the blood you like to paint. You have some serious issues.

Just then a hand moved onto her shoulder. Now that was not nice coming from my favorite critic.

Sorry Claude, this is defiantly not my finest hour.

I can see that. What on earth did you do to your foot?

Fell and twisted it last night walking home.

I have told you countless times, a lady does not walk alone in the streets. I will be right back. I think I still have my crutches from my skiing accident.

Carlie went back to trying to get the pictures balanced, sincerely hoping she would have it done before Ms. Dolliole came stomping into the gallery in all her glory, yelling out orders in that fake French accent of hers. Really who was she trying to fool? Carlie giggled to herself, opening out the portfolio. A scrap of paper floated to the floor as she looked down, picking it up. She opened it and saw a perfect diagram lain out. She entered it into the computer and smiled. Thanks again, Joanie, not bad for a paralegal that can’t even get her shoes matched. She smiled. Well, my mismatch was on purpose.

Just then the dreaded voice echoed inside the gallery, so shrill it vibrated the paintings on the wall she was positive.Carlie, the art arrangements, in my office now?

I think I will just throw myself out the window today, she snorted to herself. She gathered the papers and her laptop as she hobbled into the boss’s office.

What took you so long?

I twisted my ankle.

I would highly suggest that you figure out how you can still serve and seat the guest at the exhibition. Just because you are clumsy, I have no intentions of hiring someone to cover for you.

Yes ma’am, I will be fine. I sent the arrangement to your computer.

Ms. Dolliole gave her a disgusted sigh as she opened the document. She studied it for some time. It will do, I suppose. Did Claude or Pierre help you with this? You are no where this talented.

No ma’am.

Fine. Go to the caterer and check on the menu, it must be perfect. The crab was nowhere fresh enough last time, and the pastries, I will not have them soggy. They must be flaky.

Yes ma’am.

Carlie tired her best to walk without limping and was thankful Ms. Dolliole was still staring at the computer screen, as she made her exit.

Crap, another taxi. She dug around in her purse and top desk drawer for loose change. Six bucks. Now how do I get back?

Hopping down the steps on one foot she made it all the way to the front door, and to the curb to hail a taxi.

1709 Canal St. Can you tell me how much that will be?

Five eighty, round trip.

I have six dollars, I am sorry I will not have a tip for you.

The taxi pulled away from the curb, leaving her standing there. Shit! Maybe the next one will at least possess a small piece of humanity. She hailed another one. A black town car swung in front of the taxi, cutting him off, immediately the driver opened the door for her. I am sorry, you must have made a mistake. I did not order a limo.

Please get in, Miss Carlie. My name is Jacques. I was sent to pick you up.

By whom? I cannot afford a taxi let alone a limo. Did Claude do this?

A man, I have already been paid.

With no time to argue, Carlie got in. 1709 Canal St. I have six dollars for your tip, is that enough?

No need for you to pay me twice.

Excuse me.

A gentleman gave me two hundred dollars to take you anywhere you needed to go. I will park the car and wait for you.

A man paid you to drive me around. Was he about five nine, brown hair and a goatee?

Across the street there. Not the man you described.

Carlie looked out the back window seeing nothing but people going about their lives.

If you see him again, tell him thank you for me.

Sure thing.

He helped her up the three steps into the caterers and stood waiting for her, even finding a chair for her to sit.

My, two hundred dollars does buy a lot of attention. The driver only smiled and nodded.

She sampled the menu, repeated all the instructions from Ms. Dolliole and signed the approval form.

Thank you, Clifford. It is wonderful as always. See you tomorrow.

Back in the limo and at work way too quickly. I do not mean to impose on you sir. If I gave you money would you please get me a croissant and orange juice from the street vendor?

Your lunch is being sent up.

I have six dollars, just the croissant and juice, please.

You don’t understand, it has already been ordered to be delivered.

I do not have money to pay for delivered food.

Yes ma’am. The same gentleman took care of it.

The man that paid you to drive me from across the street?

He nodded as he helped her out and all the way back to her desk. Sure enough her favorite sandwich, fries, cold slaw, and a large sweet tea from her favorite café was laid out on her desk and again a single blood red rose.

Ms. Dolliole came storming out of her office like a bull on a rampage, after getting a whiff of her lunch. Carlie, there is no eating in the gallery. Now get that foul lunch of yours out of here before we never get the stench out. Have you forgotten the exhibition is tomorrow night?

Yes ma’am, right away.

Claude was back with one crutch. Sorry Carlie, this is all I could find.

Thank you, Claude, it is better than nothing. Can you please help get my lunch outside to the garden, before you have real blood to paint with, being mine.

Claude chuckled. She is on her high horse today.

And yesterday and will be tomorrow and the next.

Why do put up with her, Carlie?

Unlike some of us, I need a job, Claude.

You can paint.

I can smear colors on canvas, I would hardly call that painting.

Claude unknown to Carlie had more than a huge fondness for her. He was always hanging around, lurking like a tiger after the wounded gazelle to pounce on and devour. He was not that bad looking, well above average, at least he was a gentleman and his bank accounts come hardly go unnoticed. He did like to flaunt his money. He dressed like a nobleman from Louie the XVI, and that car, a Bentley no less.

Thanks, care for half? I could never eat all this. Even if I could I am sure Cruella De Vil will be making a coat out of me, if I did not fit in my dress tomorrow night.

You ordered this on your salary?

"Not