Bag of Blood - Vampire Mystery Romance

by J. O. Osbourne

  "Then he might as well have killed you; he'll have taken your life away either way." Lena stared at the blurry image of her older sibling.

  "Everything hurts so much, Ness," Lena whispered after a very long pause. Vanessa slowly nodded, knowing Lena wasn't referring to her broken body.

  "I'm sorry, honey," Vanessa replied, her voice equally quiet. "I'm so, so sorry. I wish more than anything else that all that hasn't happened to you. But I want you to still live your life; I don't want your life to be ruined because of this. Please, honey, try to heal."

  Lena thought about this long after her sister left to go to school. She stared at the patterned tile floor of the hospital, finding images of animals in the random, dark-green swirls. Feeling was slowly returning to her back; apparently doctors had intentionally delivered numbing shots to the surrounding area of the hole so that they could attach skin grafts. Now she felt it, and it drove away the rest of her pain; it was so eye-wateringly agonizingly. But she made a decision, and she stuck to it: I'm not going to let Robert take away my life.

  Five days passed, and they let Lena out of the intensive care unit and into the regular care unit, where Lena was bombarded with letters from all around the country. Apparently her story had been told on the news. She didn't read any of them, and her mother came in every day to take them away. It wasn't so much that she was against reading them, but she wasn't ready to face the world, not even in the form of letters, right now. "Do what you need to do to heal," Vanessa told her. "Whatever it takes to become Lena Thresh once more."

  She was listening to an audio book her mother had brought in to her one afternoon, when she received a surprise visit from Elliot Franz.

  "Hi, Lena," he said tentatively as he walked into her room. Her eyes widened in surprise as she reached across her bed to turn off the CD player. Instantly, her gaze focused on the sling his right arm was in.

  "What happened?" she asked, without any form of greeting. He looked at his arm.

  "Robert shot me," he told her, not bothering to sugar-coat it. "The bullet went straight through; the bone was broken cleanly with hardly any shards."

  Lena nodded unemotionally. "I see." She wasn't even embarrassed to be naked from the waist-up; her chest was pressed down on the bed, out of view, but so many doctors had seen her body that she was practically immune to it now. His eyes kept glancing, to and quickly away again, from her covered back.

  "They performed skin grafts" Lena told him. "But I'll always have a huge scar there. My sister told me that it looked kind of like a spider the size of a hamburger."

  Elliot bobbed his head agreeably. "Spiders are cool," he said. "And I like hamburgers." The silence following was long and awkward.

  "Do you want to sit down?" she asked him, gesturing to her chair by her bed. He shook his head. "I just wanted to drop buy and say hello."

  Finally, Lena asked what had been on her mind for days now. "How did you know where I was? How did you know I needed help?"

  He laughed. "Isn't it obvious? My little sister is a freaky psychic. I was cooking lunch, and out of the blue my sister starts screaming at me. 'Your blood-girl is dying!' she said. She kept saying it, sounding hysterical. When I didn't do anything, she started punching me. 'Go to the gray room or your blood-girl will die!'."

  Lena raised an eyebrow. "'Your blood girl'?" she asked, bemused. Elliot shrugged. "Hey, she's little. And she was right, although it took me forever to figure out what the crap she meant by 'the gray room'. Basically, I had to bring her with me and have her tell me which ways to turn to find you. It's like having a human GPS system."

  "Hey, don't mock my hero!" Lena scolded, laughing for the first time in over a week. It felt strange, even to her own ears.

  "Still, we were stuck running around the multi-purpose rooms, not sure which one was the right one. It wasn't until we heard the gunshot that I knew. Gah, she's stubborn; I was yelling at her, saying "Get back to the car! The car!" but she just ignored me… That was the scary part, having to go into a room that someone was firing a gun in with my baby sister… I must be the worst brother ever, but I had to save you. When I saw Gabriel on top of you I thought you were dead." His voice had darkened considerably as he spoke.

  There was silence once more in the room, before Lena finally said, "Thank you for saving my life." It felt like such a cheesy line, unintentionally humorous and falling so short of her true feelings.

  "Well, I do love you." Elliot said, shrugging his shoulders and speaking so casually, so matter-of-factly, that Lena almost missed it.

  "What did you say?" she whispered. He approached close to her bed, kneeling to look at her in the face. Leaning forward, he pressed a tiny kiss to her lips before leaning back.

  "I said I love you. I wasn't going to tell you, because I know you don't feel comfortable hearing it, but when someone you love almost dies, you remember how important it is to say the words before it's too late. So I wanted to tell you as soon as possible. I love you very, very much, Lena Thresh."

  Flustered, Lena stared into his green eyes, looking for the truth, feeling a little sick. "Robert told me he loved me when he was smashing my head into the wall," she whispered, tears brimming into her eyes. "He said he loved me, and then he held a gun to my head."

  Elliot reeled. "That bastard…" he snarled, and then focused back on Lena. "I would never hurt you," he told her. "Even if you don't love me back. You'll always be very special to me."

  Memories flooded Lena's eyes, the way Robert held Lena's hand during Sarah's prayer, and how he bought her breakfasts and drove her to the hospital after her father.

  "I don't know if I can trust people who love me anymore," Lena said very quietly. Her bottom lip trembled. "It scares me too much."

  Elliot looked at her, his gaze unreadable, and then he nodded. "I understand," he said. "Just know, you can call me any time and I will be there for you." He touched her wrist gently as he left the room, swinging the door closed behind him.

  Burying her face in her pillow, Lena sobbed.

  Chapter Eighteen

  February 15

  "Hold still, Lena; you're not making this easy." Megan tightly gripped Lena's chin in her hands, squeezing her cheeks to make her lips stick out.

  "Tha' hurtsh, Megan," Lena complained, her voice coming out funny due to being currently unable to move her jaw.

  "Your lawyer said that you have to look nice. You're pretty, Lena, but by 'nice' he meant 'professional'. Let me help you out with something." The girl focused intently as she applied bronzer with a frilly brush along the upper half of Lena's face.

  "I don' like makeup," Lena complained. "It feelsh funny."

  Megan had not been doing very well the past few weeks; she had lost thirteen pounds on her body which really didn't have any pounds to spare. Her hair had started to come out in clumps; finally, her parents had forced her to regularly see a therapist. She seemed to be doing a little better, but she still could barely stand to look at Lena's face.

  "I can't believe he did that to you," she whispered, the one time she chose to talk about it with Lena. "Did you know that I was crazy about him? Seriously. I would daydream about our wedding, for Heaven's sake. His name was drawn in all of my notebooks."

  Megan was the only one who understood exactly what Lena was feeling; others would sympathize, but Megan had lost what Lena had lost; even more, in fact. Lena had lost her oldest friend; Megan had lost her only love.

  Rifling through her makeup bag, Megan pulled out a container holding several shades of blush. Holding up the compact to compare against Lena's skin, she shook her head.

  "You're too pale; this will still be a little dark for you," she mumbled to herself, trying to dilute some of the blush with a lighter powder. To Megan's credit, though Lena was wearing only a sports bra and a pair of shorts, she didn't once pause to stare at Lena's red puckered scar, which still had to be covered with damp sterile bandages; the skin was still too raw and open to be exposed to the elements without risk
of infection. Lena still wore a brace around her elbow, but it was small enough to be hidden underneath any long-sleeved shirt. As for her face and head, while they were very tender to the touch, there was no need to be cautious. The bones had knitted back together, sealing the cracks, and even the largest bruise had faded to a yellow, which Megan had carefully covered up with facial powder.

  While waiting for the damp facial creams to dry, Megan took a wooden hairbrush and began gently running it through Lena's long hair, working out the tangles carefully.

  "I can do that part, Megan; I do brush my own hair, you know." Lena snapped, and then looked down. She had been exceptionally emotional the past two months, angry one moment and weeping the next. Her family had been very patient with her.

  "Let me do it," Megan responded in her quiet, understanding way. "I have something special in mind."

  Lena allowed herself to close her eyes, lulled by the rythmic tugging on her hair. Her mind ran through everything she had to say today; the lawyers had promised her that she could testify today and then be done with everything; she didn't even have to attend the rest of the trial if she didn't want to. And she didn't. She didn't want to be there at all, to have to speak, to have to tell her story and answer questions, with hundreds of people staring at her.

  But that paled in comparison to how much she didn't want to see him. Having to relive that day in December, the butterflies in her stomach stepped up their wild dance, and she groaned.

  "Cheer up," Megan said, automatically putting her hand over Lena's closed eyes before spraying her head with hair spray. Lena gave a little smile; all of Megan's actions were attributed to the fact that she had two younger sisters and two younger brothers. She was so motherly sometimes.

  "What's to cheer up about?" Lena asked, opening her eyes again to survey her reflection in the mirror in front of her, from where she sat at her bedroom's desk. "I don't want to do this. And you can't talk; you're not even going."

  Megan's only reply was to slip Lena's new glasses over her nose, adjusting strands of Lena's hair to settle the metal frames over her friend's ears.

  "My mom said that I wasn't allowed to go," Megan told Lena. "She thinks it'll make my nightmares worse. I still don't know everything that happened that day, but what I do know is enough to send me running in the opposite direction. She says I can't handle any more stress in my life right now."

  Dabbing a tinted balm onto Lena's lips with the tip of her finger, transforming them from light pink to a sophisticated reddish-brown, Megan nodded her head.

  "That's perfect. Don't mess it up." Holding out her hand, she helped Lena stand from her seat, watched as Lena gathered up the clothes her lawyer had picked out for her.

  "You'd be surprised how much lawyers pull the strings behind the scenes," Lena had explained to Megan." They tell you everything. What to wear, how to act, what to say…" Megan politely turned her head to the side as Lena slipped out of her current clothes and began adjusting the outfit over her body. It was simple, a navy-blue dress with white buttons down the side, and white trim.

  "I feel like a five year old," She complained, relieved at least to find that the dress had long sleeves. "Please tell me the shoes aren't Mary Janes."

  "No," Megan replied, holding up a pair of pumps. Lena rolled her eyes. "Great. Even worse. I knew that guy was a sadist; does he want me to fall face-first and break something else?"

  "Just wear the shoes," Megan replied, her patient voice losing its edge as Lena adjusted her nylons. "And then look at your hair and tell me I'm awesome, already."

  Lena gave a little laugh, angling her head in the mirror to see the back of her head. An intricate bun interwoven with a tiny braid transformed her hair, and she shook her head, amazed. It was very simple, but had a lacing of elegance to it.

  "Yes, Megan," she said. "You are awesome."

  "I know," Megan replied, sounding chipper. "I was thinking about trying to get into the beauty industry, like your mom."

  Lena nodded, making the appropriate responses, but Megan's idle comment regarding Lena's mother brought back memories of recent financial stress between her parents; her mother's salon business didn't seem to be making ends meet anymore, despite intense saving and coupon cutting. And speak of the devil…

  "Lena, honey, it's time to go." Her mother tapped a finger against the open door. Lena turned to see her mom standing next to a bean-sprout of a man with a pencil moustache and a gray suit.

  "Hey, Thresh," her lawyer growled out in his gravelly voice. Lena scowled.

  "What are you doing in my bedroom?"

  "Don't be so hostile, Thresh," he replied, not answering her question. "Judges don't go for hostility."

  "Does it matter what the "judge goes for"?" Lena replied, even as Megan forcefully tilted Lena's head back to dab some frou-frou smelling perfume onto her neck. "I'm not the one who's done anything wrong. It's my job to testify, not to convince, not to sentence. It's your job to be on the offensive."

  "Well then do me a favor, kiddo; make my job easier; play the simpering victim that'll tug at the jury's heartstrings."

  Lena was about to launch into a full-blown argument, but to her surprise, her mother beat her to it.

  "My daughter is not going to 'play' anyone, Mr. Fulmer," her mother said in a haughty tone. "My daughter is going to tell her story, she is going to answer the questions asked of her, and then she is going to return home. What happens from that point onward is none of our concern."

  As the man turned stiffly on his heel to leave the house and climb into his car, headed towards the courthouse, Megan gave out an appreciative whistle.

  "Go Lena's mom!" Megan declared appreciatively. "Stick it to the man." Mrs. Thresh didn't reply, but the corners of her lips turned up in a grin. "Come on, Megan," she said, leading the two girls to the garage. "I'll drop you off at your house."

  Lena shuffled her note cards on her lap as mother and daughter drove their way to the courthouse. She wished there were more people in the car to talk to and distract her, but Vanessa's boss was strictly insisting that if she missed even just one more day at her job, she would be fired. As for her father, this was the week that he had tried to return to his own work. Because he had been at that company for many years and was well-respected among all the employees, they were very understanding of his condition and did not require him to work more than half a day, but he was still using that time to work very hard to make up his absences.

  "Don't be so nervous," her mother told her as they pulled into the crowded parking lot. "What you said earlier is 100% true; you are not in any way, shape, or form to be blamed for what happened to you. All you have to do is tell the truth; it should all be over by lunch time."

  It was, as it turned out, not over by lunch time. In fact, it seemed as if things had barely gotten started. There were so many things for other people to say and do, so many hoops to jump through; Lena hadn't spoken once in hours, and her stomach was growling, when they finally brought him into the room.

  Robert was nicely attired, dress pants and a matching jacket with a white shirt underneath. Lena's stomach gave a funny jolt when she saw him. To distract herself from his face, her eyes zeroed in on the tie he was wearing, and she felt a little sick. It, like her dress, was navy with white trim. That bastard lawyer; he must have known. I don't know why he did it, but he must have had some sort of angle. His fair hair was cropped short, his face freshly shaven. He didn't look at all like he'd spent the past two months in solitary confinement at a juvenile detention center.

  When Lena finally looked at his terribly familiar eyes, she was shaken to the core when she realized that he was looking right back at her. Of course, her seat was fairly prominent; there was no one in the courthouse that couldn't see her. A little distance away from her sat Elliot Franz and Gabriel Metcalf; too far to easily whisper to, but close enough for Lena to feel acutely aware of the blonde vampire's presence. But it was Robert's eyes on her that made her sweat. I can't do this,
she thought, feeling sick. She glanced at Elliot, and he offered her a warm smile, and one by one, the butterflies in her stomach settled down to rest.

  Finally, finally, after a million seemingly-pointless things were said, Robert was called to the stand.

  "Robert Patrick Dwane," a severe-looking woman with eyes so blue they seemed violet read off of a paper. "You are called to court this day on February fifteen, 2014, with the pressed charges of the kidnappings of Gabriel Metcalf and Lena Thresh, as well as the murdering of Rebekah Knight, Valarie Sorenson, and Anastasia Gray. How do you plead?"

  The room was hushed, the hundreds of spectators in the seats leaning forward to hear his answer. The case of Robert Dwane, a sixteen year old, who killed three people and tried to kill his best friend, had received much discussion in the media as of late. Robert stared into the crowd, his eyes stony, and in a clear, ringing voice, he said "Guilty."

  Lena felt her mind begin to wander as expert after expert stood to explain in great detail the occurrences over the past three months. On a projected screen, crime scene photographs flittered by, showing corpses, as doctors and forensics professionals pointed out various things. The audience displayed emotions arranging from excitement to horror, but all Lena felt was sick. She averted her eyes from the screen as Valerie's blue-green gaze stared out from the camera, her body crumpled unnaturally in on itself in her pretty party dress. It was when she distinctly heard Elliot's gasp that her gaze returned to the screen and she immediately regretted it. It was an image of her own face that covered the wall, blown to twelve times its natural size. Her cheek was so swollen and purple that it completely covered her eye; blood was matted in her hair and streaked across her face. She hadn't remembered anyone taking a picture; it must have been while she was unconscious. She looked down, feeling every set of eyes in the house alight on her.