My Immortal

by Ginger Voight

  That was how the evidence presented itself on paper. But of course he hadn’t known. In all these years, after all this time, despite how close they had been, he never had any clue that the two people he considered closer than kin had shared such a traumatic history.

  Michael was sickened every time he thought of it. All those years ago Brenda had probably walked down these same streets only to be assaulted and impregnated by an animal. The thought of any man putting his hands on a woman in a violent way made Michael’s blood boil. How Brenda found the courage to give birth to Adele and dedicate her life to her was just a testament to how strong and loving and faithful she really was. And he didn’t fault her for not talking about it, not in the least little bit.

  He didn’t fault Adele for not telling him either. This important bit of information was like the missing piece of the puzzle. Her suicide attempt when she was younger had surprised him and terrified him at the time. He could never fit it in his head how she could go from a normal, happy girl one day to someone so despondent she could slash both of her wrists the next. It was like a light went off in her soul. It was after that she made her decision never to get romantically involved. She folded into herself and never came back out again, and now he knew why. She had a crisis of identity in a way no one could truly understand. It was like two different parts of Adele were at war with one another in a very basic battle of good versus evil. She had spent all these years battling, which spilled over into her tireless dedication to her mother and her causes. All of it made sense now.

  So much sense he was mad at himself for not knowing what it was beforehand. He’d seen a lot of human suffering in his line of work, it was unavoidable. When she stumbled he should have asked. He should have probed.

  He was beginning to think his whole history with Adele was a long string of missed opportunities, paved on an avenue of “Should Have.” And now someone else had come along and ruined everything. Right when she hated Michael the most, someone else swooped in to fill the void he left. It was perfect timing, almost as if it had been carefully calculated.

  The wind cut through his clothes. Michael clutched his jacket to brace against the cold as he pressed on, trying not to think about Adele and Nicholas. It just hurt too much.

  As he passed under a streetlight it cackled and popped, cloaking the street in utter darkness. Michael stumbled a bit stepping off a curb. From the shadows a little girl giggled.

  Michael stopped. He listened. More silence.

  He started off again and the giggling began again. A high pitched giggle of a young girl danced on the wind. The sound came from all around him, echoing in both ears. Again he stopped and peered into the darkness. A shadow danced in the corner of his eye. He whipped around to stare into an empty street.

  “Preacher man,” said the tiny sing-song voice. “What’s the matter, preacher man?”

  Another maniacal laugh joined her chorus of giggles. He wanted to believe it was just a couple of pranksters, but they could no longer take such things for granted. Anything was possible now, and deep in his gut he knew something was terribly, terribly wrong. Michael turned and stalked toward the church. It was maybe a hundred feet away but those hundred feet seemed like hundred miles.

  He pressed against the wind, ignoring the laughter and mumbling to himself. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.”

  His shoes clomped along the cobblestone. As the laughter grew stronger, so did Michael’s voice. “He maketh me lie down in green pastures, he leadeth me beside the still water. He restoreth my soul.”

  As if mocking him the laughter grew more hysterical. Michael began to trot as he chanted. “He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.”

  The girl began to sing again. “Holy man, holy man. Run as fast as he can, holy man. Where you goin’, holy man? Where can you go that we will not find you?”

  Michael didn’t even turn around. He growled his scripture loud enough for all to hear. “Yay though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for thou art with me.”

  More laughter. Michael could feel someone tapping on the small of his back. “Aren’t you going to help me, holy man?” whined the plaintive voice.

  Michael spun around and saw Lily, white as death, her eyes bright yellow, and her bloody fangs piercing into her tender flesh. She opened her mouth and let out a bloodcurdling scream. Michael didn’t waste a second as he made tracks for the church.

  He could feel her clawing at his jacket, tearing it off of his shoulders with phenomenal strength. Behind that he could hear the old cackling voice of a man, telling her, “Feed, child. Feed!”

  Michael tripped all over his own feet scrambling up the steps to the church. Tiny hands clutched at his clothes, at his skin, to hold him back from bursting through the double doors. He wrenched away from them and didn’t stop running until he collapsed face first at the foot of the enormous crucifix.

  The wind howled through the empty sanctuary as the heavy wooden doors fluttered like paper. A green mist hovered at the door.

  Michael staggered to his feet and he found his strength. They were on his turf now. “You want me?” he screamed. “You come in and get me!’

  The wind almost growled as the door slammed shut.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  At her office, Adele flipped through one of the vampire books Vincent had provided. She jumped when Roman knocked on the door. “Could I have a word with you?”

  She pulled folders over the books. “As long as it isn’t ‘no comment,’ you could have two.”

  Roman sat opposite her. “What do you know about Isabel Rocha?”

  She had a dozen responses prepared for a dozen possible questions, but this query took her by complete surprise. “Why do you ask?”

  He nodded his head toward the folder she had opened to conceal the vampire books. It was the serial killer folder, and Lily’s photo was right on top. “She’s a family friend of the Maldonados. She’s taken Mrs. Maldonado a special herb treatment to help her sleep ever since Lily died.”

  “And?”

  “And she’s now missed three days.”

  “I’m not sure why you came to me,” Adele started, but stopped short when Roman tossed something on her desk. It was a plastic bag that contained the bloody handkerchief Nicholas had wrapped around her hand. Her eyes met his. “I mean, I only met her a couple of times. She’s supposedly psychic and I thought… well I thought she could tell me something I didn’t already know.”

  “Was she all right when you last left her?” Roman probed.

  Adele didn’t like his tone. “What are you asking me, Roman?”

  He grabbed the plastic bag as he stood. “I’m asking you to call me if you remember anything unusual about the last time you saw her.” He moved the folder off of the vampire book. “Something real, that is.”

  The moment after Roman departed Adele referred back to the book, specifically the back cover with the information for Vincent’s store. She punched in the number on her office phone.

  “This is Vincent,” said the voice on the other line.

  “What do you know about Isabel Rocha?” she asked.

  He didn’t even ask who she was, which made her stomach sink. “Meet me at the store,” he instructed tersely. With that, the line went dead.

  Without a second’s hesitation she grabbed her coat and rushed from the office, never noticing Roman in Duncan’s office, hanging up the extension.

  Vincent was in the back when she arrived. She didn’t stand on ceremony this time, she rounded the counter and went to find him. Much like Isabel’s room, the walls were cloaked in red velvet, and candles cast a golden hue against their design. Vincent sat cross legged at a small table, a pot of tea in front of him, his hands raised in meditation.

  Adele fell to her knees in front of him. “Tell me.”

  He didn’t even open his eyes. “Drink the tea first.”

  “I don’t have time for your stupi
d tea party! What do you know?”

  His eyes opened. “What you will know. If you drink the tea.”

  She let out a frustrated sigh before throwing her things aside and grabbing a cup. She went to pour the tea but his fingers curled around her arm like a claw. “Not too much,” he warned. “You’re not ready.”

  She poured a tiny bit which seemed to satisfy him. He leaned back in his former position. Gingerly Adele sipped the pungent tea that tasted strongly of dirt… so much so it nearly made her vomit. If she had taken more than just a sip, that was exactly what she would have done.

  She took deep breaths, unconsciously matching the behavior of the odd man who sat across from her. He simply nodded at her and waited.

  Within a few minutes her vision began to warp and blur as the room around her seemed to vibrate. Before she could freak out by the psychedelic reaction she was experiencing, fragmented images from the past few weeks sped before her mind’s eye in fast forward, mixing fantasy with reality. First she was in the forest with Lily. Just as she descended on her with fangs bared, the little girl morphed into Dani. The next vision had her dancing with Nicholas at Gerard’s. When he bent to kiss her, his face morphed into Michael’s right as their lips met. Then she was in the alley with the Creature hovering over her where she lay unconscious in the street. As he opened his cloak to envelop her, her face turned into her mother’s. The last image was Isabel Rocha, on her knees in the dark soil of the forest, her eyes white with terror and a sword slicing easily through her neck, sending her head swiveling toward the ground.

  When it hit the hard earth, she turned into Vincent.

  Violently Adele wrenched herself out of the hallucination. Vincent was watching her as she came back. “Who are you?” she demanded. “What are you?”

  “The same as you,” he whispered.

  “And what is that? What is it with you bloody con artists and your endless riddles? Tell me!”

  “Did you read the books?”

  “I read one book,” she spat out. "The book with my photos and the photos of my family. Want to tell me what the hell you are doing with them?”

  “I told you,” he said, much too calmly for Adele’s liking, “I’ll tell you everything when you read the books.”

  Her head was still spinning from his funky tea. For all she knew this was just another part f the hallucination, and he was just toying with her to make her squirm. “To hell with the books!” she exploded. It was painfully clear she was wasting her time with this infuriating man. Whatever information he shared with Denise he clearly wasn’t going to share with her. She’d have to find another way. There had to be another way. “And to hell with you.”

  She grabbed her coat and jumped to her feet. Before she could exit the small room, Vincent’s voice halted her. “Adele.”

  Reluctantly she turned back to face him, her chin tipped defiantly.

  “Whether you realize it or not, your heart has already decided you can trust me. Listen to your instincts. They will never steer you wrong.”

  He looked so sincere that she actually wanted to believe him. “How can I trust you?” she asked. “When you refuse to trust me?”

  She turned and slammed out of the store, followed unbeknownst by Roman, who closed a notebook as she left.

  Without even thinking about it, Adele’s feet led her directly to the Church of the Holy Sacrament. Now that rationality had deserted her, she had no choice but to step out on faith. And there was only one person on the planet that could help her do just that. “Michael!” she hollered.

  Her voice echoed off of the walls. No one answered, not even the stinking voices in her head. All she heard was all she felt: empty, hollow nothingness. It was the first time since she was ten that it felt so acute.

  Michael had always been there to buffer it before. No matter what she did to push him away, no matter what she’d done to hurt him, and she knew damn well that she had, repeatedly, he had always been there. He completed her life and filled a hole in her world. Now that hole was torn anew and she felt bitterly and utterly alone.

  Sadder still, she had done it to herself. Michael hadn’t betrayed their friendship. She had. Nothing could hurt worse. In a weak, defeated voice she finally said the words she should have said days ago. “I’m sorry.”

  Just as she turned to leave she heard, “That's the first time I’ve ever seen you repent in a church.”

  She turned back to see Michael. There were tears in his eyes as they stood just a few feet apart, so close and yet so far. Words hung in the air that neither of them could muster. Ultimately, words were not needed. When he opened his arms she flew into his embrace, shedding a few tears of her own. She never knew how much she missed him until she held him again. He was her rock. Always had been. Always would be. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered into his neck. “I was so stupid.”

  “I know. I graded your high school history exam, remember?”

  With a snort her sobs turned into laughter. She gave him a smile through her tears. “You always could make me laugh.”

  He shrugged. “A guy’s got to have a hobby.”

  She touched his face with the palm of her hand. “Michael, I’m sorry for all the horrible things I said...”

  He cut her off. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, Addie. I’m the one who should apologize, for not being there when you found out so many years ago. I could have helped you.”

  She shook her head. “No one could have helped, Michael. But having you for a friend made things a whole lot better than they would have been.”

  He nodded. It always came back to that. Only this time, he knew that it was the best gift of all. He knew now beyond all doubt he couldn’t lose her again. He’d rather die first.

  “That was why I could never tell you,” she said softly. “I thought if you knew the truth about who I was, it’d ultimately drive you away.”

  He took her hands in his and made her look him in the eye. “Hey. I’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “Ever. Got it?”

  She nodded. “Got it.” They both smiled and shared another hug.

  And just like that, they were back.

  She apprised him of the situation as they made their way to Isabel’s parlor. It was locked up tight when they got there, and no amount of knocking would bring any life to the deathly still place. She wanted to break in, but Michael convinced her not to. He was still a priest, after all, and he was sure the church wouldn’t look too kindly on a breaking and entering charge.

  They finally gave up and headed to their favorite haunt, the local diner. The food was greasy and held no nutritional value, and the coffee was so strong it could serve itself. It was exactly Adele’s kind of place.

  She was on her second cup by the time she finally told Michael about the second and final time she met with Isabel.

  “And what was the word?” Michael asked.

  “I don’t remember,” Adele mumbled. “It was a strange word. A foreign word. I wouldn’t even know how to spell it.”

  “Are you sure it didn’t start with a V?” She gave him a look. He sighed. “I saw Lily, Addie. But it wasn’t Lily anymore.”

  “I saw her, too,” Adele admitted. “Or an incredible facsimile.” She hesitated a moment. “I also saw Dani’s neck. The wounds are gone. And I know that’s because of you.”

  He shrugged. “I threw some holy water on it. It seemed like the thing to do.”

  “So what do we do now? How do we fight this if it really is… you know?”

  “You’re the one reading the books. According to your friend Vincent, the answers are in there.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know if he’s my friend, Michael. There’s something very odd about him.”

  “Scary odd?” Michael asked and after a moment she shook her head again.

  “It’s stupid but I don’t think he’s the dangerous one. Just infuriatingly unhelpful.”

  “You said he has our photos, though. That’s creepy on a
good day, but downright terrifying when there’s a serial killer on the loose.”

  “It may sound silly but… I get the feeling he’s here to protect us, not harm us. A serial killer would likely keep photos of trophies or targets. We don’t feel the victim demographic.” She sighed. “I don’t know if we’ll ever find the answers, Michael.”

  “We’ll find them,” he assured her, taking her hand into his. “Together.”

  She was still smiling to herself when she made her way back home, only to find Nicholas on her doorstep. Everything else seemed to melt away when she looked into his eyes. It was like coming home.

  He found some soothing classical music on the radio and they snuggled together on the couch as they listened. It reminded her of her dream brought about by his magical tea. Softly she began to tell him about it, watching his hand link together with hers as she spoke of a beautiful engagement ball from a time long ago. He held her close and she got lost in his eyes. “It sounds beautiful,” he whispered.

  “It was,” she agreed. Her gaze drifted to his full mouth, close enough to kiss her for real. “But this is better,” she confessed. Slowly his head bent towards hers and his warm, full mouth covered hers. She tingled all the way to her toes as his tongue penetrated her lips. Their hearts beat as one, thundering in her ears as he kissed her passionately and possessively. She didn’t protest as he laid her gently against the cushions.

  His fingers danced lightly over her skin, his lips gentle and moist against the nape of her neck. His breath was hot against her ear, which chipped away at her inhibitions a little bit more. She started to unbutton his shirt but he captured her hand and moved it. He kissed away any questions or protests so she simply wrapped her arms around his neck and drew him closer into her chest.

  His mouth traveled along the bared skin of her shoulder where her shirt had slipped away. He lifted up to lean on one elbow, silently questioning her if this was what she wanted. She understood the question and began to unbutton her own shirt in answer.