‘More like I need some pain pills and a bottle of whiskey. ’ Her eyes opened again, and this time they narrowed when I looked at her, curiosity latent in her stare. I felt the strangest sensation, as though she was crawling around inside my thoughts, but a sudden noise severed whatever connection she had fashioned. Our eyes both shot to the window and my breaths ceased when I heard him walk past our hiding place.
If I had a heartbeat, it would have frozen from apprehension.
“Little vampire?” Julian called as the grit of the pavement crunched under his feet once before stopping altogether. I stole a quick glance up in time to see him bend, but ducked back down before he could line me in his sights. He paused for a few tense moments. I held completely still, refusing to even blink in the event such a thing could give us away.
Finally, I heard him walk at least a few paces further down the alley.
“Now, where did you go?” he asked. A metallic clang resonated, dull at first, then sharper a few seconds later. I envisioned him lifting the lids of garbage cans when a similar sound followed the first one, punctuated by another afterward, as though we would be hiding in the refuse. He lingered, though, despite the failure of his search and while I felt a wall of security enclosing us, I knew it to be flimsy at best. Julian seemed to know it, too.
He took a few steps closer to the window again and chuckled. “They called you Flynn the killer. Isn’t that right, little vampire? The Black Rose Assassin.” Another footfall; another scan I felt circling the basement, looking for signs of life. I took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly as he sighed. “Better they would have called you Flynn the coward. You hide from me, instead of facing your death as a man.”
My jaw clenched, teeth gritted as my nails dug into my palms. The strain of suppressing a retort became a burden for me to bear. How much I wished to say it, masking the privacy of my thoughts. I heard myself taunting him, calling him daft and ignorant and emasculated. I heard myself scoffing at him. Facing death as a man? What did he know of death? Had he encountered the assassin, he would have been bleeding rivers and I would have watched with delight while licking my blades clean. The more I considered it, the more I wished to rip into his flesh and drown myself in the first decent meal I had indulged in weeks.
My eyes shut. Fantasies of sweet revenge played out in all their terrible glory.
Until another thought knocked me back into my senses.
Yes, I would be the foolish immortal and would suffer the ill effects of a protection spell as a result. Incapacitated, I would be vulnerable, and he would end me before finishing the task of killing Monica. I fought back my fangs, sneering at both him and me, while releasing the temptation. Focusing on Julian again, I could only pray the veil surrounding my thoughts had not been compromised.
Julian seemed to be none the wiser. His next step carried him in the opposite direction. “Not going to come out, then?” he asked, but with that question, I knew regardless of whatever suspicions he harbored, he did not know for certain where we hid. For all he was aware, we could have been blocks away and gaining in distance quickly. Just as I started to wonder how we might create a distraction, my salvation came in the form of the mortal populace. Even I startled when a loud shout pierced the night air.
Monica and I looked at each other, both our brows furrowing as we made out the sound of more voices joining in the chorus. I glanced at the window again and risked discovery by standing and walking closer. One indignant man yelled, “I don’t know what the fuck you think you’re doing here,” and another added, “Whatever it is, you better take it up somewhere else, asshole.” When one more added the threat of brandishing a pistol, a sadistic grin tugged at the corners of my mouth. The humans who had watched our dash for safety saw fit to intervene, a boon I was not apt to question. Julian collided with one of the trash cans before the sound of his footfalls marked a hasty retreat.
It took several seconds for me to relax. When I failed to hear any evidence of Julian’s return, I breathed a sigh of relief and motioned away from the window. Looking down at Monica, I finally closed the distance between us. “It would seem the locals scared him away, at least for the time being,” I said as I adjusted my suit coat. The notion of having to mend it now paled in comparison to the sight of the frail woman lying before me. Slowly, I settled myself beside her, sliding close and reaching for her hand. “I am terribly sorry, but I shall have to move you again. We cannot linger here, lest Julian ferret us out at last.”
“I know.” Monica’s fingers closed around mine, her digits so small in comparison. Her voice was barely a whisper and she spoke through intermittent moments of eye-clenching agony. “Let me rest just for a moment first. Tell me what’s been happening the last few days.”
“As you wish.” My eyes became distant with thought. “This is a quick tale, to be honest. Not much to be said for waiting in darkness, or whittling the hours away walking the corridors of a hospital.”
“I’m sure. You know, I saw something in your memories.”
“You were scanning my memories?”
“When I wasn’t busy trying to block the thoughts you practically shouted at our friend with the crossbow.”
I winced, but recovered quickly. My gaze met hers again. “What did you see?”
A timid smile curled her lips in an expression which read far more placid than she had to feel. “You carried me to the hospital. And in some sick, twisted sort of way, it was sweet that you busted a window just to carry me to safety.”
I could not help but to mirror the grin. “We needed to escape.”
“Fair enough. You know you’re going to have to take care of me now, though…” Her smile turned playful. “Dr. Peter Dawes.”
“Dr. Peter Dawes.” I drew a deep breath inward and exhaled it slowly. A ghost crossed my grave, a sensation so familiar, yet so far removed at the same time. “I remember him vaguely. Unfortunately, he passed from the mortal realm.” As my eyes met Monica’s again, I could not help but to think of Chloe. “There are those who fancy they see his shadow every now and then. I believe it might be a myth.”
“Not as much as you’d suspect.” Her lids shut again, the hand holding mine tightening once before relaxing into a looser hold. “If you see him, tell him I have faith in him. I think between the two of you I’m in good hands.”
“Capable ones, at the very least.”
“We’ll argue that one later.” A grimace lingered on her face until she stilled enough to sink into the makeshift bed. I waited until a light snore passed through her lips before gingerly lifting her into my arms again. A short trek through the house brought us up to the main floor and a much less daunting stroll through the front door. I was taken aback when I spied the neighbors yet on their porches, but their response astonished me more than it left me feeling threatened. They glanced at Monica and nodded toward me. I could not help but to furrow my brow while nodding in return.
The remainder of our journey was blissfully bereft of any further incident. We arrived at the safe house a few hours later, my strength and stealth put to the test when I chose a meandering path back to our sanctuary. I eased Monica into her bed, shaking out the folds in one of her blankets before draping the fabric over her body. Her eyelids fluttered once, and a soft voice murmured, “Thank you, Flynn,” before being quieted again.
“It was the least I could do for you, my dear.” Bending at the waist, I touched her forehead and smoothed her hair away from her face. Memories crept softly into my mind, but I was well aware of how exhausted the entire debacle had left me. “Rest, my dear,” I said, as apt to follow the advice as I was to give it. “We have much to talk about, but that will come in time.
“When we are both in a better position to do so.”
Part Two
A Being Divided
“… Why I’m so sympathetic to the monsters.
The answer is simple. Because I am one.”
Laurell K. Hamilton
Chapter Six
Being an orphan has the unfortunate side effect of making the topic of families depressing. When one has lost the two people dearest to them, they find themselves not asking much about friends’ relations for fear of being consumed by jealousy. Still, it inevitably happens. The complaints will pour forth, or tales of some exploit will spill from their lips, their eyes sparkling as they talk of parents and grandparents, brothers and sisters. My parents long since perished – and my aunt gone, too, by the time I met Lydia – I did not even have siblings.
The subject came up between us, however, as these subjects are oft to do.
Seated at her dining room table one evening, I thumbed through a photo album I had seen grace Lydia’s coffee table in recent days. While the addition had been a curiosity, the photos each page contained only made me more confused; the subjects she captured were all relatively normal-looking, a contrast to Lydia’s eccentricities. And I did not recognize a one of them from any time she had introduced me to friends from school. Looking up from the album, my gaze settled on Lydia through the doorway leading into the kitchen. “Who are these people?” I asked. “They’re not your relatives, are they?”
Lydia glanced at me, momentarily taking her eyes off whatever she had been preparing for dinner before turning her attention back to the meal. “Oh, they’re just folks I’ve known through school and work and places like that. Some I’ve never met before, too.” She paused. “I like collecting pictures of people. It sounds kind of strange, but I’ll snap shots of them even if I don’t know them.”
I chuckled. “So you photograph strangers just for the hell of it?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact I do.” She smirked mischievously without taking her focus off the cutting board in front of her. “And you, Peter Dawes. How about when you ask your patients about something more than what hurts and why? Do you have to know them to be interested in them?”
I shrugged. “No, perhaps not. But there’s usually a reason why I’m asking them about their lives.”
“Well, I have a reason, too.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s humanity in action. They’re laughing and crying. Lovers kiss and then they fight. The pictures are all about life.”
I raised an eyebrow and continued flipping through the pages in an effort to see what Lydia was talking about. After a while, a panorama of the human experience became evident as pages full of one emotion or another took shape. I saw pictures of couples embracing one another in moments both warm and passionate. I saw the young and the old, the sick and the whole; but nothing struck a chord with me more than seeing pictures of families emerge in the closing pages.
I barely noticed when Lydia walked up beside me. “What is it?” she asked as she set a plate of food down onto the table. She peered at me, curious. “You look like you have a lot on your mind.”
I did not answer at first. Part of me was still trying to piece together what bothered me about seeing happy families; or even looking at the ones where marital discord was evident and the kids were crying over some sort of malady. They had something I did not have and was not certain I ever would. After a moment of silence, I looked at her. “Lydia, why are these pictures all of people you’re either barely acquainted with or don’t know at all?” I asked. I could not help but to frown. “You act as though you’re as solitary as I am.”
She hesitated, allowing her eyes to drift down to the photo album before they returned me. “Peter, there’s a lot about my life that you’re not ready to hear about yet. We’ve only been together for a few months and it’s going to take a while for me to feel comfortable laying it all out for you.”
“And yet my life has been an open book.” A foreign poison bubbled into my veins, a wave of resentment cresting over the normal cheer and calm her presence inspired. For a moment, our relationship seemed unjustly lopsided. I swallowed hard and attempted as neutral of a comment as I could muster. “You know everything there is to know about me and anticipate what I’m going to say as though you can read my mind. But I barely know anything about you.”
“Fair enough.” Lydia sighed, lowering herself onto my lap and hooking an arm around my shoulders. “Ask away, then. I’ll try to be as honest as possible.”
“Alright.” I stole a moment to determine the most pressing question I had, and laughed as it sprung to mind. “You’ll have to forgive me if this makes me sound jealous or possessive, but what do you do when you’re not at school or with me?”
Lydia chuckled. “I assist with research studies on the paranormal.”
I raised an eyebrow. “The paranormal?”
“Yes, the paranormal. Metaphysics. I study things that deal with the supernatural and try to figure out why they happen.” She smirked. “That stuff you call superstitious bullshit. Well, it kind of interests me.”
What kind of an ass did that make me, then? “I didn’t realize that. I might not have been so blunt about saying it had I known.”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t want you to know.” Lydia patted my shoulder. “I know you’re a skeptic, Peter. I never wanted you to pretend to be something you’re not ready to be yet.”
“You say that as though I’ll change my mind one day.”
“You will, but that’s something we can discuss another time.” Lydia winked at me and leaned in to give me a quick peck on the lips. When she pulled away, the smile returned to her face. “Next question?”
I reached up to play with a piece of her long brown hair. “Favorite color?”
“Green.”
“Have you ever owned any pets?”
“Two, both dogs. I had to give them away when I got this apartment.”
“Your favorite kind of food?”
“Chinese.”
“Your hometown?”
“Seattle, Washington.”
I nodded and followed the question with its next logical leap. “Tell me more about your family.”
Lydia’s smile evaporated. I furrowed my brow upon seeing this reaction. “Sore subject?” I asked, afraid I had committed my second faux pas for the evening.
“Um, no…” He gaze fell toward her lap. “No, I…I just don’t talk about them that often.”
I waited for her eyes to find mine again before continuing. “Do you want to talk about it now?”
Lydia hesitated. “Peter,” she said, visibly struggling with the words. “I have a…very peculiar family. They…” She paused again. “Well, my mother died when I was very little. She was killed by…Well, she was killed. Very suddenly and very tragically. My father remarried. I have a younger sister and everyone lives in Seattle. That’s where it ends with me.”
My curiosity was piqued all the more. “I had no idea you lost a parent.”
“Well, I did. When I was two.” She sighed and looked away once more. “Her death is one of the reasons my family got interested in the supernatural. Dad especially, but then the rest of us were almost forced into studying occultism.” She looked back at me. “The…thing… that killed my mom…You could say it was tied to the supernatural.”
“Thing?” All of my skepticism aside, I saw the same fear in Lydia’s eyes that was present the night we met, when she collided into me as though running for her life. She still had yet to tell me what sent her fleeing. “It scares you, doesn’t it?”
She nodded, tears welling in her eyes. “Yes, it does. I don’t sleep with my lights out and I don’t walk alone in the dark unless I have to.” She frowned. “I kind of envy you in that way. You don’t see any of it yet, so you’re not afraid. I’ve lived with it since I was a little girl and I’ve feared the same thing that got my mother would get me too. Dad did the best he could, but my sister is a lot better at this than I am.” She laughed. “She’s the one who should be talking to you right now, not me.”
“You sister studies the supernatural, too, I take it?”
“Oh yes. Some families have vacations to Disneyland – we took trips to sacred monuments and watched ritu
als. Sis could soak it in like a sponge and I just wanted to run the hell away.” She laughed. “This is why I find it ironic that I’m the one who...”
I furrowed my brow when she trailed away. “Who what?”
She smiled wanly. “I don’t understand how destiny works, I guess. How I found you when I shouldn’t be the one gifted with something so precious.”
The compliment caused me to smile. “I ask myself the same question about you all of the time.”
Lydia chuckled and touched my chest. “You have no idea what I mean yet, Peter,” she said with a wink. “But thank you. One day you’ll understand what I mean when I say that while I’m glad I’m the one who got to love you first, it would have been better for you to have met my sister. I’m sure you will someday, and maybe it might click why I’m telling you all this. She’s fearless; she could teach you much more than I could and…” Lydia’s smile faded as an odd mood swing overcame her. “I don’t know. For all I know she may have to someday.” Her eyes shifted back to me. “I’m sorry, Peter. None of this is making any sense, I’m sure.”
Needless to say, she had grossly understated the truth. Baffled, I blinked at Lydia and tried to make sure I was dealing with a rational person as I spoke. “Lydia, I’m sure your sister is an intelligent woman, and the resident go-to girl for all things supernatural, but you’re the one I fell in love with, and not for any reason regarding the otherworldly.”
Lydia waved her hand dismissively. “Forget I said all of that stuff. They’re words for another time. Just trust me when I say that if anything happens to me I’ll make sure you’re taken care of and let’s leave it at that.”
I had started to comment, but was cut off by Lydia when she reached forward and gave me another quick kiss. She stood and retreated back into the kitchen, further ending the discussion by saying, “Dinner’s ready. Let’s talk about something else while I pour us some wine. I’m sure that you don’t want boring and depressing stories about my upbringing to make the mood somber in here tonight, do you?”
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