Jaden's Heart

by Melanie Jackson

  Grabbing hold of the bed, I pulled myself to my feet and staggered to the chair. Fuck! Each movement was painful as I pulled the clothing on, each piece a lead weight. I shuffled down the hallway towards the exit. I was surprised when I was able to leave the hospital and hail a cab without any interference.

  “Cambridge House at One Tower Bridge, Tooley Street, London,” I told the cab driver, weakly.

  What was he saying? Money? “London!” I repeated firmly.

  The car began to move and I laid down on the backseat. My whole body shook. Blood... Need Blood! I could hear the cabdriver's heart pumping thick, warm blood through his body.

  I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists. I need him, I reminded myself and continued repeating the words throughout the hour-long drive.

  Alexis was reaching for me with thin bloody hands, her face covered in tears. “Jaden!” She screamed.

  I was thrown back to consciousness as the cab came to a stop outside of Cambridge House. The driver was saying something again. Money... right. I pulled out my wallet and dropped it onto the passenger seat. Then I stumbled from the car.

  Falling to my knees, I heaved, vomiting dark blood into the snow. Somehow, I managed to pull myself to my feet and walk into the building. A human guard blocked my path to the elevator, his blood calling to me.

  “And where do you think you're going?” he demanded.

  The freezing electric pulses became stabbing blades of ice. “Jaden for Mr. Whitmore,” I said, pointing to the elevator.

  Unmoving, the guard stared at me skeptically.

  “Call him, please,” I begged then leaned against the wall, gasping.

  The guard returned to his desk and picked up the phone. “I'm sorry to bother you so late Mr. Whitmore, but there's a woman down here to see you. I think she said her name is Jaden. She doesn't look so good,” he said.

  My urgency slightly diminished but I knew so much still needed to be accomplished to reach Alexis. The guard's heart pumped sweet blood through his body and the monster within me beat at his iron cage. The burning ice was now working its way through my organs. I collapsed. Warm, blood-filled hands caught me and held me up.

  “Good God! Jaden!” Mr. Whitmore cried. “Who did this to you?”

  “Help, please,” I breathed then gasped as another wave of pain radiated through my body.

  Mr. Whitmore turned and looked at the guard. “Dammit, what is wrong with you? Call for an ambulance,” he screamed.

  “No!” I grabbed his shirt with trembling hands.

  Mr. Whitmore's brown eyes went wide. “B—but you're hurt!” he stammered, his fear clear.

  I shook my head. “No ambulance. I have to get to Los Angeles.”

  “Mr. Whitmore?” the guard asked, holding the phone in one hand.

  “Please, Alexis... kidnapped,” I stammered.

  He swallowed hard and shook his head at the guard. “I'll take her there myself. Have my car pulled around.”

  The guard left. “Before I help you, I have to know,” Mr. Whitmore said, his voice low, fearful.

  My crimson eyes never left his. “Vampire,” I said and then I felt my stomach churn again.

  Mr. Whitmore nodded but I was not sure if he believed me. Slowly, because I was so tired, I gripped the side of the wall I was leaning against and dug my fingers deep into it, peeling away layers of hard concrete. I dropped them onto the floor at his feet.

  He stared at them for a few seconds. “Well, that explains a lot.”

  The guard was back now, the car outside humming softly in the distance. “Come on!” Mr. Whitmore said, then helped me outside and into his car.

  We sped down the streets. I could see lights move past me in a blurry stream. “Don’t you think I deserve an explanation?” Mr. Whitmore’s voice was distant.

  I groaned in pain. Blood! Instinctively I leaned towards him. “No!” I turned away from him and dug the palms of my hands with my nails.

  “No?” His angry words faded into the distance.

  I was standing beside a bed.

  He grabbed Alexis, smacking her across the face. She fell onto the bed and he pinned her down with his large body.

  “Leave her alone!” I screamed, once again unable to move.

  Helpless, I was forced to watch in horror as he tore Alexis's clothing from her small body and forced himself onto her.

  “Jaden!” Her painful screams cut at my heart.

  “Stop, please!” I begged.

  Alexis’s screams slowly faded into broken, distant sobs.

  Friendly warm hands shook me, pulling me from the vision. “Alexis,” I whimpered, slowly opening my eyes.

  “Jaden?” Mr. Whitmore asked, worry causing the wrinkles in his face to appear larger.

  The passenger side door was open. Mr. Whitmore stood at my side. Gods! I leaned out of the car and was violently sick.

  “Dammit Jaden, you need a doctor!”

  Shaking my head, I breathed deeply—jet fuel, rubber, and cement filling my lungs. I gagged, but I had nothing left to vomit.

  “Jaden!”

  “I’m okay,” I lied.

  “You’re bleeding,” he pointed out.

  Groaning, I put my hand against my side. Peering down at the thick, dark blood covering it. “I need to get to Alexis.”

  Sighing, Mr. Whitmore rubbed his temples. “Come on, the jet is waiting,” he said, then added, “You better not die.”

  “Not yet,” I replied, reaching for him, my bloody hands staining his shirt.

  He flinched at my hard grip on his shoulder as I used him to lever myself out of the car and onto my unsteady feet. Mr. Whitmore helped me up the stairs and into a cream leather-upholstered seat. My blood stained it like an inkblot test. Again, blackness engulfed me and the merciless hands were there again, holding me underwater, drowning me. I fought them, trying to find my way back to the surface, back to consciousness. I came and went, vaguely aware of my surroundings.

  Hours later, Mr. Whitmore helped me from the plane and into another car—a rental.

  He was asking me a question but I did not understand.

  It hurts, just lie down and sleep—NO!

  “Alexis… Alexis…” I cried painfully.

  He shook me hard, his words finally registering. I told him my address and the car moved. It took every ounce of strength to remain awake, giving directions so he wouldn’t get lost. When the car stopped outside the apartment, the smell of her fear hit me in a single crushing wave. I pushed the door open once the car had stopped and stumbled from the passenger side.

  Mr. Whitmore reached for me. “Jaden!”

  “Stay here. I'll be right back,” I growled, slowly pulling myself to my shaky feet.

  Passing the door completely, I headed for the alley. Looking up, I measured the distance from me to my window. Fuck! Gritting my teeth against the pain, I jumped. Glass and wood pieces scattered across the apartment.

  The room had thousands of new scents. I closed my eyes and breathed deep, searching for hers and her attacker. Alexis's scent was the unmistakable jasmine, mint, and crippling fear, stronger than what I had smelled in the subway station.

  Alcohol, a whole slew of drugs, anger and... My eyes widened; his blood had the same strong, distinctive scent as Alexis's, only polluted with years of alcohol and drug abuse.

  I grinned my teeth. How could he do this to his own daughter?

  Cat food and old used litter filled my lungs. My gaze fell upon on a cotton sheet laid over a small body. “Oh, Sophia!” I said, crossing to kneel next to the dead cat.

  With trembling hands, I reached under my bed and pulled the suitcase out. Dumping the books onto the floor, I took the silk sheet from the bed and folded it into fourths then gingerly laid the cat into the suitcase and covered her body with the sheet.

  “Sometimes the biggest acts of courage are from the smallest creatures. Aeternum vale, my friend,” I said, closing the makeshift coffin, a gnawing ache in my heart for the small, fear
less animal.

  I breathed deeply, trying to calm the waves of nausea and pain. Opening them, I turned towards the living room. With shaking hands, I picked up the strands of Alexis's hair, his drunken scent attached to it. I returned to the window and jumped to the ground, but hit the concrete on my side instead of my feet.

  “Fuck!” I swore.

  A soft whimper made me look up. Mr. Valentine's dog sat a few feet from me, his large eyes sad.

  My body throbbed as I sat up. “You poor creature. Your owner was a good man.”

  I winced as I stood unsteadily. “Come on, boy. Come on!”

  The dog whined and eyed me suspiciously. “Come on. I'll take care of you,” I said, trying to keep the pain from my words.

  The dog crossed over to me. Patting him gently, I said, “Good boy. Come on, we have to save Alexis.”

  He followed me to Mr. Whitmore's car and climbed into the backseat. “You have a dog?” Mr. Whitmore asked, eyeing me.

  I slumped into the passenger seat in too much pain to answer. “What now?” he asked.

  “The Flowing Desire,” I said, and then rested my head on the dashboard, my world spinning.

  Mr. Whitmore sighed and then the car was moving.

  I began to shake uncontrollably as ice pierced my heart. It was a feeling I knew all too well. I had felt this pain before, the night Annora turned me.

  “Are you okay?” Mr. Whitmore asked worriedly as he drove.

  Gasping, I dug my nails into the palms of my hands. Unable to hold back the pain any longer, I screamed as ice tore through my heart and burned it through and through.

  “Hang in there,” he said, and the car's speed increased.

  By the time we arrived at the club, the mind-numbing pain had lessened but was replaced with the beast’s ravenous hunger.

  “Get Sam. I need blood,” I instructed through gritted teeth.

  Mr. Whitmore left, the car door closing loudly behind him. The little saliva I had left was glue, my throat tight—dry with a thirst I had only know once before. It gnawed at me, tormented me and I could think of nothing else, and to worsen matters, it felt as if the demon was trying to claw his way out of my body. Warm, thick, sweet, coppery blood reached my nose. Blood! My mouth watered. Mr. Whitmore had returned, Sam in tow.

  “Jaden?” Sam's voice filled my ears and then his face filled my blurry vision.

  I barely registered their conversation. “What's the matter with her?” Mr. Whitmore asked Sam.

  “I'm not sure. She might have silver in her blood. If left untreated, it could be fatal,” Sam replied, concerned.

  Sam held a glass filled with the sweet, needed liquid to my lips. “Drink,” he ordered.

  I drank deeply then coughed hard. “Alexis. Sam, where is she?”

  “Had a feeling you would want to know, so I monitored what was going on. Also ran your credit cards—very smart of you to give her one. It was just used. A motel off route ninety-three near Utah.”

  “I need to get to her,” I said, breathing hard.

  Sam frowned. “The council has everyone looking for you. I'll run interference but it won't take them long to figure out where you went off to.” He held another full glass of blood to my lips.

  As I drank it, some of my strength returned. “Thank you, Sam,” I said, trembling.

  “I will also send a cleaning crew over to the motel. I'm guessing you'll need it,” Sam said.

  I nodded.

  “Take this.” Sam placed a blood pack into my still trembling hands.

  “Thanks again, Sam.”

  He shut the car door. “Go on, hurry!”

  Mr. Whitmore's car raced down the road, moving closer to her. I looked up to the heavens. Gods and Goddess of heaven and earth, long have I been from your altar and lifetimes have passed since I have burned a gift in your honor. I have no right to ask, but please wrap your arms of protection around Alexis and guide this undeserving servant to her lover’s side. I prayed for the first time since my mortal life had ended. I prayed to the Gods who had remained silently absent through my rape, enslavement, torture, and turning. I begged them for her life.

  Twenty-Six

  my strength returned slowly, as Mr. Whitmore’s rental car flew down Highway 93. The pain had subsided and I was now able to remain conscious. I took in my surroundings, my mind fixed on its target. Mr. Whitmore shifted in his seat and I could feel his uneasiness.

  “I'm sure you have questions,” I said, staring out the window at the lightly snow-topped mountains in the distance.

  “Many,” he said, frowning. “When did you become...?”

  “In eleven nineteen when I was nineteen years old,” I said.

  “The stories are true, then,” he said mostly to himself.

  “Some,” I said, focusing on the desert scrubland creeping past us.

  “What happened to you?” he asked.

  “I was injured when the summit was attacked by other Immortals.”

  “Vampires shoot each other?”

  “Sometimes,” I replied.

  Mr. Whitmore gripped the steering wheel tighter. “Who are you?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

  I looked at him. “Brian, we've known each other for ten years.” I said, putting my hand on my chest. “You know me.”

  “Do I?” he asked, pointedly looking at the blood that stained my clothing and seat.

  Looking down at my clothing, I closed my bloody hands then met his eyes. He quickly looked away.

  “I'm still me, your friend and business partner,” I replied, surprised by how much his reaction stung.

  I had considered telling him on several occasions but always talked myself out of it. I did not want our relationship to change.

  “It feels like I've never known you. Was everything you told me about yourself a lie?”

  “I told you what was necessary—a half-truth. The other stuff is not important, a past long dead. The person you know is the only one who matters,” I replied.

  “I thought I knew you, that you were my friend.”

  “I am your friend!”

  He shook his head. “After everything you’ve kept from me. All the lying—pretending to be something you're not. I just don't know how I can trust you anymore.”

  “I didn't tell you because I was afraid. Our friendship, our business, are important to me and I didn’t want you to fear—hate me,” I defended.

  “Maybe you should've given me the benefit of the doubt instead of hiding who—what you really are,” he said harshly.

  “Dammit, Brian! How could I have told you? When could I have? Gods, if I had blurted it out the day we first met you would've had me committed or laughed at me.” I said, crossing my arms.

  “After—” he started.

  “When do you think would have been a good time to tell you? Between clients, trials, or maybe during our late night cram sessions? I know we're alone in this office building but hey, could you pass me my thermos of human blood?” I said, holding out my bloodstained hand.

  Mr. Whitmore laughed. “I suppose it would have been an awkward conversation.”

  I grinned. “Besides, being immortal doesn't make me a monster. I'm still me.”

  He shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. I thought you helped me create Forever Trust & Holdings to help people, but it was only your cover.”

  I sighed. “The Immortal Council requires us to have an occupation and place of residence. It helps us blend in better with mortals. However, I really did listen to you and your plans to help people. Your sales pitch was good and I really think we've made a difference in people's lives.”

  “People you kill,” he murmured.

  “I don't kill people haphazardly,” I said in defense.

  He scoffed in disbelief.

  “We don't go around killing people—well, not anymore. We want the human race to go on believing that we don’t exist. Large piles of bodies are counterproductive to achieving this goal. We have the ability to compel humans to
forget things. This ability is what has allowed us to remain hidden for so long.”

  “And this immortal council won't be mad at you for telling me?” he asked, glancing out the rearview mirror.

  “The council encourages us to have mortal friends and relationships, as these make us seem more human. Normally, we keep our origin a secret but a few of us choose to tell our friends and lovers. So long as they can be trusted to keep it,” I explained.

  “And these people just accept everything?” Mr. Whitmore asked.

  “No, not everyone can handle the truth.”

  Mr. Whitmore changed lanes and passed a slow beater car then returned to the right lane. “The ones who can't handle knowing, you make forget.” His attention flicked back and forth between the mirrors.

  “It doesn't harm them. They only lose a few hours, sometimes a day. It's very rare to take more than a single day from a human,” I said, scanning the winding road ahead.

  He was silent for a moment and I let him mull over the many questions I was sure he had.

  “Alexis is human and she knows what you are?” he asked at length.

  “Yes, but our relationship is still very new.”

  “Was her kidnapping your fault?”

  “No, of course not,” I said, surprised that he would even think that I had something to do with this. “It’s entirely a human matter. She's been hiding from her father for sometime; I don't know how, but he found her.”

  “What will you do when we get to the motel?”

  I looked at him then. “If he gives me no choice, I will have to kill him,” I said bluntly and Mr. Whitmore flinched.

  Watching the road ahead, he whispered, “I can't be involved in murder.”

  “He’s already killed one innocent man trying to take Alexis back. I wouldn't let you get any more involved even if you wanted to,” I said. “As soon as we get half a mile from the motel, you'll drop me off and return to London.” I flexed my fingers to test my strength. I was still weak, but the pain was bearable now.