Delicate Thorns

by Miranda Hardy

  I charge him and slam my fists into his chest and scream questions that have been gnawing me raw inside for months. “Why did you do this to me? How do you expect me to live like this? Only a monster without a soul could do this to someone.” I hit his chest over and over, and then fall to the ground in confusion, agony, and exhaustion.

  Without any effort, he picks me up and roughly sets me on the leather couch. He sits on the loveseat and stares at me with once beautiful, now timeworn, blue eyes.

  Finally he speaks. “See, you’re not as dumb as you look, are you?” His smile rises on one side of his face.

  “So, you make me into this, and then insult me?” A tear starts to fall down my face when the realization hits me. “You left me on that island to wither and die. Why?”

  “Well, I couldn’t have you here.” He waves his arm around the room. “Besides, you were a mistake. It should never have happened. You should have never happened,” he states coldly.

  “A mistake.” My lips quiver, betraying my indignation for him. “Why not kill me then?”

  “Aw, finally a good question.” He stands and walks toward the window, looking out at the lighted city below and the sea beyond. “Let’s just say you reminded me of someone I once knew.” He turns to face me. “The resemblance is remarkable. You’re her spitting image.”

  “So, you made me into a damned vampire because I reminded you of someone you knew, and then regretted it, and left me on a deserted island?” The urge to throw him out of the window surfaces, and I feel the rush of blood threatening to erupt from me.

  “Now, I’m afraid I will have to kill you. You’ve been sloppy, and it’ll attract others of our kind to come here. They won’t look upon you in a kindly manner. They will make your death painful, and I’m sure you don’t want that, do you?” He raises one eyebrow.

  His face is hard to read, and I can’t tell if he’s trying to be nice to me or trying to scare the shit out of me. The anger subsides when the threat of death ebbs its way into my thoughts. I’m not ready to die. I don’t want to die, especially not knowing who I am.

  “Who am I?” I ask.

  He steps closer to me, and in a flash he’s next to me, so close that it makes me jerk backwards on the couch.

  His hand grabs my neck and terror takes over. My hands instinctively go to his hand. He doesn’t squeeze, he only turns my head with one of his fingers so I’m looking directly in his eyes.

  “You’re very beautiful.” He moves his hand to my cheek and caresses it. “It doesn’t matter who you were, but who you are right now.”

  “And who is that?” I ask.

  “Mine. You’ve always been mine.” His dark eyes narrow.

  He’s lost it. He’s not normal. However long he’s lived has warped his mind.

  “How old are you?” I ask, but it’s as if he doesn’t hear me.

  “It’s no use, you know? I don’t think I could take your life. It would be like I’m killing her, and I couldn’t do that.”

  “Who?” I try to ask a question that he may want to actually answer, but it’s no use.

  “In order to save us both, there may be only one solution to this situation.” He twirls the edge of my hair between his fingers.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “I can always take you back to the island. You’ll be safe there.” He tilts his head, and I see the seriousness in his statement.

  There’s no way I can go back to that damned island. No way!

  Chapter 11

  Panic rises within me at the thought of being back in Hell, alone with no one to talk to…no one to feed on. My mind throws a million different scenarios around like the ball in a pinball machine.

  He’s stronger than me. He’s faster than me. There’s no doubt in my mind that he can do what he says, but maybe if I play into his little fantasy…pretend to be someone who cares about him? Maybe pretend to be the woman he lost that I resemble? If only I knew who she was and what she was like.

  A long stretch of silence passes between us. It’s as if I’m peering at a statue, trying to understand the reasoning and motivation of the artist.

  “You didn’t tell me your name,” I say, looking him straight in the eyes.

  He moves his hand away from my face, and I try to look pained by the loss of his touch, but I fear I’m failing. Whoever I was, I’m sure I wasn’t theatrically talented.

  “Gil. People know me as Gil,” he says. It’s so great he’ll answer the questions about himself, yet refuses to answer the questions about me.

  “Is it short for something?” I ask.

  “Gilander.” He rises and heads toward his open kitchen.

  “That’s an unusual name. Is it a family name?”

  He nods, and stares at me with his stony eyes.

  Judging by his dying English accent, I know he’s not originally from the states.

  “What century is that from?” I ask, and wait for what seems like an hour for him to reply, or even acknowledge me.

  “Early 16th century.” He pours himself something out of a wine bottle, and the smell makes its way to me. Blood. A wine bottle full of blood. Did he just pick that up at a store? Do they have a secret vampire grocery store full of different blood types? Why does my maker have to be an old insane man?

  I do the math in my head. The 16th century is in the 1500s. He’s possibly over 500 years old. No wonder he’s so cranky. If they have a grocery store for our kind, then surely they have a retirement home, too. This guy is in serious need of mental help.

  “I’d offer you a glass, but you’ve already fed this evening,” he says.

  He’s right. I don’t even have an appetite for it.

  “So, what’s her name?” I ask.

  He looks at me for a moment, as if the wheels are turning inside that messed up brain of his. He’s deciding whether or not to tell me.

  I shrug. “If I look so much like her, I’d like to know more about her.” I rise and head toward the window to look out at the night sky. “Seems only fair that I know about the person that caused you to do this to me, doesn’t it?”

  He retreats into his own private inner world, where I’m not allowed to enter, and makes me anxiously wait to find out if he’ll be more revealing with his life than what he’s already allowed me to be a part of.

  “Cecilia was her name, and I don’t want to discuss her further,” he says, and then gulps down the entire glass of blood. He closes his eyes and licks his lips. “You are not her, and you never could be. She was a true and genuine lady. Proper. Well spoken. Polite. You are nothing but common street trash I dug out of a dumpster.”

  Even though I care nothing for this monster Gil, the comment stings my very core. I picture me on the street corner in those skimpy clothes waiting for the next payday to come driving up. Surely that wasn’t me.

  “Why don’t you just let me be then? Why not let me go and you will never have to see me again, you inconsiderate ass?” The anger building up gets the better of me, and I can’t hold it in any longer.

  He’s beside me before I can blink one eye, grabbing tightly onto my arm. “You are the problem. You’re not supposed to be here.” He pulls me close to him. “You were my biggest mistake and if you didn’t look so much like her, I’d rip your throat apart and watch you bleed out on my floors, and then sever your head once and for all.”

  He pulls me down the hall and into his bedroom, throwing me onto the bed of pillows.

  “What are you doing?” I scoot away from him.

  He points toward the glass windows. “Night is ending, you stupid girl. We have to make you all nice and comfy for the day.”

  A chill forms at the very center of my body and pushes outward. I do not want to stay another second in his presence, and I certainly don’t want to spend another minute in his prison. I can’t believe how fast the night flew by. It feels like I’ve only been here for a very short time, but then I reflect on all the
moments of silence that we exchanged.

  Even my fear for this man doesn’t match the fear I have for the rising sun. “Where….” I can’t form the question that lingers at the edge of my thoughts. Windows cover his entire apartment. Although they are dark tinted, there’s no way they will block the sun from us.

  He moves to the wall next to the open closet and flips a switch. All of a sudden, large metal sheets descend over the inner windows, blocking out every inch of light of the city. It’s pitch black.

  My eyes focus quickly, but not quickly enough. Gil slides onto the bed next to me and embraces me with his stone arms. He inhales deeply as his face presses against my hair, and begins to nuzzle my neck.

  Oh, this isn’t creepy or anything.

  “Gil?”

  “Shh….” He covers my mouth. “You sound nothing like her. Just sleep and we will take you home when we wake.”

  Never before in my short vampire life have I felt so helpless. Even on the island, I felt more in control than I do at this moment. It’s as if my strength and will defy me at every step along this crooked and wicked path I’m on.

  I need to get out of this place, and I need to get out now.

  It’s in my head, I’m sure of it, but I feel like I’m sleeping with a serpent at the edge of the Garden of Eden, and slimy worms crawl all over my skin. Whoever this Cecilia was, I wonder if he killed her, and regrets it, which is why he’s having a hard time deciding what to do with me.

  The sun rises, and although the light doesn’t greet us, I can still feel its power coursing on the other side of the metal walls. Gil’s grip hasn’t loosened a bit, and I’m sure if I move, he’ll wake and pull me back to him. I’m literally in the clutches of death. If he wakes and brings me back to the island…well, I’d choose death instead of that.

  Exhaustion threatens to betray me, but I will defeat it. I will not sleep in this bed, next to this monster. I will wait until the last possible moment and attempt to flee. I see no other choice, and I would regret not trying and just giving up to this madman. The hours pass slowly.

  My eyes shut for a split second and I picture Dillan’s warm and welcoming smile. Has he searched for me? Did he come by last night to check on me? Does he miss me?

  Right now, I miss his touch and warmth dearly.

  The hours pass and Gil’s grip remains tight. I need to make my move now, or it’ll be too late. I grab the arm that squeezes my stomach, and reposition it carefully onto his leg. It moved a lot easier than I thought it would. He turns onto his back, and I want to let out a huge sigh of relief for being free from his body-hugging clutches.

  Since I’m positioned in the middle of the bed, my movement could trigger him awake. I take the pillow above me and move it to the small space between us.

  With one roll at a time, I work my way toward the edge of the bed and then lower myself slowly onto the floor, as quietly as I can possibly manage.

  Instead of standing and walking out, I decide to crawl. On my hands and knees, I leave through the open doorway and enter the dark living room.

  In a few moments, I near the front door, still on my hands and knees, and then stand to reach the door handle. If my heart could race now, it’d be a contender for a NASCAR championship trophy. The lock clicks when I turn it to release the deadbolt, and I freeze, listening for the footsteps that would end my attempt.

  Nothing.

  I slowly open the door just enough for me to squeeze through, and then shut it behind me. With our superb senses, I know he’ll be able to hear me even behind this closed door if I make too much noise and he awakens, so I’m hesitant to take the elevator. What if that tiny ding wakes him? He’ll be out here before the elevator doors even part.

  The stairs may be a viable option, but Gil could fly down them in far less time than I could, and I’m sure he would check the stairs first for me. Plus, I’m not entirely sure how far down the stairs go. To the parking lot, I’m sure, but the places to hide there from the sun would be minimal.

  That leaves one other option…the garbage chute. I can take my chances and slide down the chute to the garbage room and wait there. Surely he wouldn’t look for me in the garbage, right? He’d check the parking garage first, I’m positive. Once the sun goes down, it’ll be a race of wits and speed. He will wake, and I’ll be exhausted, so if he finds my trail, he’ll catch up, but if I hide and then dash in a more unpredictable fashion, I’ll have a chance to escape.

  I open the metal box, plug my nose and dive in.

  The chute angles like a giant slide. The further I go, the faster I seem to get. Other chutes open up at different intervals along the path, for each floor’s garbage empties down the same one.

  The smell becomes unbearable, even with my nose plugged tightly. This might not have been the best of ideas. After a couple of minutes, the chute ends and I’m dropped into a giant dumpster in a closed room, but the door has a window to the outside, where a burst of sunlight strikes my hand on the way down.

  I cover my mouth to stifle the scream attempting to escape my mouth. Son of a bitch! That hurt.

  I grab the top of the garbage can and close it shut, blocking any further trash or sunlight from entering. Now that I know the door leads to the outside, once the sun sets, that’s my escape path. Now, all I have to do is wait and pray that this isn’t garbage day or I’m totally screwed.

  Chapter 12

  The smell in this tiny confined space reeks of rich seafood. My senses are in overdrive, and I’m waiting for that feeling of his nearness to overcome me. Surely he’s noticed by now that I’m not next to him, since the sun nears the western horizon. It’s almost time to race for my freedom.

  It was a very distinct sensation that reverberated throughout my entire body…his approach while I was making that kill. If he feels the same way near me, there’s no amount of fish smell that will hide me well enough.

  The fear emanating through me keeps the fatigue at bay. There’s no way I can sleep knowing my life depends on being alert and able to run at a moment’s notice. My time on the island helped with that. There were countless days that I’d stay awake knowing the people had come for the day. I concentrated on their smells and their words…and now I concentrate on the sounds echoing throughout this apartment building, like the ding of the elevator or the staccato tap of heels against the tiles.

  It’s time. Darkness fills every inch of my smelly hiding space, and the overhead lights blink on. I throw the top of the can off and dash out of the room as quickly as my legs can take me. The salty, fresh air hits me and I’m grateful for the smell I’d once come to despise on the island, but this smell mixes with the city adding in the pollution from the vehicles, and the sweaty smell of its inhabitants.

  Without thinking, I race through the streets, passing the humans at a faster pace than what they call normal, but I’m not worried about what they think I am. I trust my internal instincts and wait for the sensation of my maker to pop up, but it seems I’ve escaped him…for now.

  Once I reach the intra-coastal waterway, my body’s tenseness eases a little. Of course, I don’t know how the connection between Gil and me works, but I’m praying it only works if he’s near me. I follow the waterline north until I find that familiar bridge leading to Dillan.

  The overwhelming feeling that I need an ally takes control. I need someone to talk to, someone on my side…someone to comfort me and tell me it’s all going to be all right. Right now, that’s Dillan.

  I hurry through the back porch and into the apartment I’ve been accustomed to hiding in, and leave through the front door, heading straight to Dillan’s door. My knocks sound forceful, and Dillan’s delightful smell reaches me before he even opens the door.

  “Jasmine?”

  I rush into his arms and he hugs me.

  “Oh God! You smell like rotten fish,” he says and tries to back away from the hug, but I hold him there a little too long.

  “I’m sorry,”
I whisper into his ear, and then step back and into his apartment.

  He closes the door behind us, and turns toward me.

  “What happened to you?” he asks, and I know he’s not asking about me leaving in such haste after we slept together. He’s literally asking about my smell, and seemingly, awful appearance. His eyes move up and down, assessing me.

  “It’s a long story, and I want to share with you, but do you mind if I get a shower first?” I ask. The smell, I can no longer bear myself.

  He nods. “I need to go out for a minute, but when I get back, we’ll talk, all right? You tell me everything. No more secrets.”

  I nod and head toward his room, where the shower is. As I undress, I hear him leave the apartment.

  This gives me a little time to think things over clearly. I can’t tell him what really happened. I can’t tell him what I am. He wouldn’t understand, and it may put him in danger. It’s an inherent feeling I have to preserve that secret. I’m not even sure I’m capable of coming out and telling him the truth.

  The water massages me with each passing drop cascading over me. He’s going to want answers though. He’s going to want to know what happened to me, and I want to tell him so badly. I want to tell him of my time on that damned island, and I want to tell him how happy and normal he makes me feel, but most of all, I want to tell him I have no idea who I am and that I’ve been living a lie. He deserves to know all of it.

  Once the filth and grime washes off, I fill the tub with clean, fresh warm water and soak. The last thing that pops into my head as I doze off is Dillan’s smiling face.

  ***

  “Jasmine?” The light, soft voice of an angel asks for me.

  “Jasmine?” The voice becomes deeper, and more demanding.

  A pair of arms grabs my shoulders and tries to lift me up. Water splashes over my face and I open my eyes to stare at Dillan’s terrified face. “Dillan?”

  “Jesus!” He grabs his chest and falls backwards onto the bathroom linoleum. “Jasmine, for a minute there, I thought….”