3. Carmilla

About half an hour later, Pearce found himself in a local Palestinian-run restaurant, enjoying the first of what he intended would be many glasses of whiskey. There were about a dozen or so others dining or drinking in the establishment, but he was the only one sitting at a table alone. He had too much on his mind to be lonely, though, and wished he had the luxury of feeling sorry for himself only for his solitude.

Pearce sat with his back to the wall on the left-hand side of the entrance so he could have a clear view of the rest of the restaurant. He noticed about ten feet away to his right a group of four Arab men at a table, all looking to be about middle-aged, involved in what appeared to be a heated discussion. They spoke in Arabic, so Pearce couldn’t begin to discern the subject matter, but the urgent, fearful, and even despairing tones of their exchange piqued his curiosity. He listened for a few minutes to see what he could make out, but apart from a few mentions of “Allah” spattered here and there, he recognized nothing else. The escalating emotion of the discussion needed no translation, however. There were moments at which he thought a fight might break out, but Pearce came to realize that their intensity was not directed at one another, but at some predicament evidently shared in common. He guessed it probably had something to do with their perpetual conflict with the Israelis.

“They are discussing the recent rash of disappearances,” said a female voice in a slight Arabic accent from Pearce’s left, opposite the four men.

He turned to the source of the voice to see a young, apparently Palestinian woman of striking beauty such as he had never seen before. She wore a lustrous mane of long, raven-black hair, with an alluring dark fire flickering behind doe eyes. They were framed in wide, high cheek bones, with wide, sensuous lips between a narrow, almost aquiline nose and an elfin chin, atop a long, graceful neck. And below the neck, well… thoughts of Grails and vampires and proselytizing octogenarians vanished from his thoughts as the girl filled his eyes. Pearce drank in the sight of her mesmerizing form and felt an attraction he’d never felt before, even in his most hopeless lusts and infatuations.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to disturb you, but I could not help but notice your interest in their discussion,” she said.

“No, no, it’s fine! I could use the company. I’m Lance,” he said, smiling and extending his hand to the young woman.

“I am Millie,” she said, returning his smile and taking his hand.

“‘Millie,’ huh? That doesn’t sound like an Arabic name…” said Pearce.

“I am only half Arab, on my mother’s side. My father is English. And ‘Millie’ is not my real name. It is short for ‘Carmilla,’” she said as she flipped a lock of hair over her ear and looked away in playful embarrassment.

“My father was very interested in old literature when I was born—that is where he got the name. I hate it, though,” she said playfully.

“Ha! Well, I can totally relate to that. I don’t even want to you tell you how my folks came up with my name. But, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Millie, and I think your name is beautiful, and so it’s perfectly suited to you,” answered Pearce as she blushed at the compliment. He noted that her half-English heritage accounted for her otherwise inexplicably fair, almost pale complexion.

“Do you live in Jerusalem?” he asked.

“Only sometimes. I was born here, but I am only visiting now. I am here with my father. He is here on business. What brings you here?” returned Millie.

“Oh, you know. Just vacationing, seeing the sights…” he answered, reluctant to tell this magnificent young beauty before him about his monumental failure and disgrace.

“Are you here alone? You are… not married, then?” she asked to Pearce’s barely-disguised elation.

“No, no, I’m not married. What about you? Married? Boyfriend?” he asked, looking to her ring finger as he conducted a quick, tactile inspection of his own beneath the table with his other hand.

“No, I am not spoken for,” she said, blushing again as she tried to suppress what appeared to be an involuntary, bashful smile.

“Well, I was just about to order dinner. Would you like to join me?” asked Pearce, returning her smile.

“I will join you, but I have eaten already. But please, order something for yourself,” she said.

“Can I get you a drink, then?” he said.

“No, thank you,” she answered as she looked to his glass.

Noticing where her attention went, Pearce said, “Oh, well… this was just an appetizer. I was about to order some wine, if you’d like to share a bottle with me?”

“Thank you, but I do not drink… wine,” Millie answered politely.

Pearce sat in awkward silence for a few moments as he searched for another avenue of conversation to keep her interest. He decided on asking about the disappearances she’d mentioned at the first.

“Yes, you have not heard? In the past month, eleven people have disappeared. Most of them young people, and many have disappeared in the night from their own beds. Two of the men at that table have had children go missing in the past two weeks,” she said, indicating the group of Arabs to whom they had been listening.

“Were they kidnapped? What do the police think?” Pearce asked.

“That is what the people think. There are always small trickles of bloodstains on the pillows, but few other signs of struggle when they are discovered to be missing. The police do not think anything, according to what these men speak to each other. They complain that the Palestinian authorities are too busy fighting the Israelis, and the Israelis too occupied with fighting the Palestinians for either side to be concerned with simple kidnappings, even though both sides have people missing,” she said.

“I’m surprised both sides aren’t blaming each other,” said Pearce.

“Officially, the Israelis have said nothing publicly about whom they suspect. In fact, I do not believe the Israeli news media has even acknowledged that it is happening,” said Millie.

“I guess they know who butters their bread,” said Pearce sardonically. “They’re probably afraid to scare tourists away if word gets out about it.”

“What about the Palestinians? Do they suspect Israelis of the kidnappings?” he continued.

“No, for once they do not blame the Israelis. Not for this. There are… rumors that it is a ghul—a kind of jinn,” said Millie.

“Many of them are very superstitious,” she added.

“What’s a ‘jinn’?” questioned Pearce.

“It is called a ‘genie’ in the west,” she answered.

“A genie, huh? I’ll bet this one doesn’t look like Barbara Eden, though,” said Pearce.

“Who is Barbara Eden?” said Millie.

“Never mind. I guess that’s before your time. Tell me about this… What did you call it? A ‘ghoul’?” Pearce answered.

“A ghul. It is a kind of jinn, the offspring of Iblis—the Devil, as he is called in Arabic. It is an evil spirit of the desert that can change its form and disguise itself as anyone, or anything. It does this to deceive travelers and lure them into traps, so it can drink their blood,” Millie explained.

Pearce suppressed another shudder as he recalled Harker’s talk of vampires, but he didn’t want to think about it, preferring instead to give his attention to Millie and his hopes of maybe luring her into his own “trap,” of sorts.

“It is just an old story, though. People here can be very superstitious,” Millie added.

“Anyway, I hope they find whoever’s doing this,” said Pearce.

Their conversation turned to less serious matters after that, continuing into the evening. Pearce avoided telling her about his occupation or background, preferring instead for her to fill in the blanks with her own imagination, hoping she might be attracted to and impressed by whomever she imagined him to be, instead of turning her off by telling about the washed-out failure he really was. He also did his best to avoid finding out too much about Millie—her family or childhood or ambitions. Despite this, he did reluctantly learn that she was the only child of a wealthy, widowed father, and often tagged along with him as he travelled the world for his business. He was too busy attending to his work to pay much attention to her, though, so she usually just ventured out on her own to see the sights and mingle with locals and tourists.

Had he reflected at all on his own intentions, he might have felt guilty about the fact that he wasn’t really interested in getting to know her. He didn’t feel himself to be in any state to start collecting more emotional baggage by getting entangled in a relationship. But, she was just far too beautiful not to try to be with, Pearce thought. She was just the kind of escapism he could use at the moment, and she was all but alone in a strange country and seemingly infatuated with him, so he hoped to make the most of the situation before heading back to the United States.

They talked of movies and local tourist attractions and other miscellaneous subjects for the next few hours. As he undressed her with his eyes, Pearce marveled at how much time they were able to fill with so much empty banter about trivia.

As the restaurant proprietors began to turn chairs upside-down to place on the tables so they could sweep up and close for the night, Pearce reluctantly pointed out the time. It was almost one o’clock in the morning.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Millie. Where are you staying? May I walk you home?” he asked, hoping his show of chivalry might position him for the reward he was after.

“No thank you. Maybe I could walk you to where you are staying?” she said, gazing with half-lidded eyes into his own as she half-bit the side of her lower lip, twirling a lock of her raven-black hair between her elegant fingers.

For a slight fraction of an instant, he thought to ask who would then walk her home at this late hour, but he quickly caught her meaning. At that, Pearce’s heart began pounding in excitement as the rest of his body responded in anticipation to the implications of Millie’s self-invitation. He smiled in agreement as he took her hand in his, and began to walk with her along the stone-blocked avenue toward his temporary residence. He only half-noticed that her hand was icy cold as his mind swirled and his blood pumped hot with the promise of what was to come.

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