A Face Made For Daylight

1920: Revel in Nostalgia

She was out like a light, laid out on his couch next to a lit fireplace in the living room of his mansion. He can sense her vitals and knew she was still breathing. He took off his leather jacket and used a nearby tea towel hanging in the guest bathroom to clear the blood trickling down from her wound carefully, making sure it doesn't touch him.

He stepped back into the bathroom and disposed of the towel. Turning on the faucet to wash his hands, he brought the cold water up to his face. His gelled hair was now tousled with loose unraveled pieces framing his face. He ran his hand through his hair and took a look in the mirror. Turning off the faucet, he made his way back to her.

The clicks of his boots echoing through the empty dark hallway. When he approached her, he let out a sigh of frustration. He wasn't sure what his next step was going to be. He then turned his attention to her purse laying on the ground near the couch. He made sure to bring the purse back with them, not wanting to leave any traces of their encounter in the woods.

He stood over her rummaging through her purse. He opened a small wallet and found her license. "Stella." He uttered her name to himself. He turned his gaze back to her.  He smirked lifting his brows, "Stella.... darling, you really should work on your social skills. Here let me show you. Hello." He whimsically stretched his arm forward in a circular motion to make a gesture of a small royal bow. "Nice to meet ya. I'm Alistair." Smiling, amused with himself he continued looking through her purse. He pulled out an open envelope, a piece of mail from the credit collectors with a red "final notice" stamped across the front. "Tut-tut, you've been a naughty girl Stella." He shook his head. He then found a small black notebook with an elastic band wrapped around it, concealing its content. Intrigued he unwrapped it and turned to a random page. It looked like a day planner. His noticed a scribbled note on the corner of the page:

"Dr. Stoker 8:30-Van Helsing Institute - Wednesday"

He then caught a glimpse of a familiar shape at the bottom of her purse. He reached in and pulled out a silver key chain with a silver Eiffel Tower charm hanging from it. He rubbed the tower replica between his fingers, his brows furrowed, pouting at the instant memory flashing before him.

"Sir?  Will your guest be staying the night?"  Alistair was snapped back to reality by the voice of the man standing at the door.

"hmm?..yes Marcus. And here, I need you to do something for me."  He took her license out the wallet and walked over to Marcus. "Send Jackson to this address and see if anyone else lives there.  I need to know if they'll be looking for her.  And find out all you can about a Dr. Stoker at the Van Helsing Institute."

"Yes sir."  He left with his orders.

Alone again, Alistair walked back to the side table near his seat eyeing the Bourbon glass decanter. He poured himself a drink and sat back down facing her letting out a sigh. His gelled hair tousled; the buttons of his shirt deeply unbuttoned revealing his glistening bare chest. He took a sip of the devil's nectar. Licking his lips to savour the flavour, and that's when he heard the far and muffled echoes of notes playing on a grand piano harmonizing with the melody on a trumpet. Then the familiar words followed:

"East of the sun
And west of the moon
We'll build a dream house..."

It was a tune that made him think of her and it played on repeat whenever his mind wandered to that place.  The words echoed in the distance all around him as if he was standing outside of a large concert hall.  The images played on a film reel all around him, so vividly. And just like that, the memories flooded his reality and he was standing on that stage:  the year was 1920.

Alistair stood up from the piano smiling happily as he took the hand of the beautiful lounge singer.  They took a bow and she blew kisses at the crowd, her sequin dress shimmying with every turn as she smiled at the applause.  She loved the attention and reveled in the power she had over the crowd. Men in their finest suits, and women with feathers in their hair and fur coats over their shimmering dresses raising their drinks for the golden couple. They played their set four nights a week and were a crowd favourite. It was another night of entertainment at the Cabaret de l'Enfer in Paris (Cabaret of Hell).