by Kit Tunstall
Emily looked around her, wincing as her neck popped when she turned her head. The alley remained deserted, aside from a moving mass in a pile of boxes nearby. It was too small to be human, so she chose not to investigate.
The night sky was darker, but a steady stream of cars and people continued to move down the street. She didn’t have a watch, but estimated she had been out between thirty minutes and an hour.
The pain in her back had almost faded, and she eased herself into a standing position. The throbbing in her head had diminished to a slight ache, and the bone felt firm when she touched it.
Emily blanched when she looked down to where she had fallen. A huge red stain, still glistening in places, marred the spot. Bits of tissue were mixed into the mess, along with bone fragments. She clamped a hand over her mouth to fight down nausea and took a step backward. Even before she had turned away, she saw several rats peeking out of their box camouflage. A daring one—fat and greasy, with dark-brown fur—walked boldly to the stain and sniffed it.
She shuddered and turned away, putting several feet between herself and the rats. A few feet before she stepped onto 6th Street, according to the green sign, she paused. She must look like she had fallen from a four-story balcony. Blood had surely drenched the back of her clothes, and she didn’t want to speculate about what else had matted her hair.
She shrugged off the fleece coat and held it up to examine it in the meager light filtering from the street. Dark stains had soaked through so deeply into the weave that they appeared to be part of a gruesome dying process. She turned the jacket inside out and found it was mildly better. She slipped it on, unable to hold back a sound of disgust when the stained side clung to the fuzzy sweater, and drying blood—the consistency of gel—soaked through to her skin.
After she stuffed as much hair as possible under the hood of the jacket, Emily checked for her fanny pack, then plunged into the foot traffic of 6th Street. She kept her head down, but her eyes moved constantly to watch those walking with her. A cold sweat trailed down her face, and she was shaking with hunger. Their heartbeats ricocheted in her head until she wanted to clamp her hands over ears and scream. She resisted the urge, knowing she was drawing enough attention already.
Ahead, at the corner of Bleecker and 6th, she saw a street vendor with jackets and shirts. She turned west on Bleecker and pushed her way toward his cart, grabbing an “I ♥ New York” shirt at random, along with a black hoodie. The lights were hurting her eyes, and she added a pair of sunglasses to the pile.
The clerk was staring at her, with his mouth half-opened. Two gold teeth were visible among the shining white teeth that contrasted so vividly with his dark skin. “That be all?”
She nodded and avoided his eyes.
“Thirty-seven dollars,” he said.
She didn’t bother to haggle over the price, even though it cut into her cab money. She fumbled for the money and handed him exact change. “Is there a gas station near here?”
He nodded and pointed. “Keep going down Bleecker, ‘til you get to MacDougal. There’s an all-night station there.”
“Thanks.” She gave him a quick smile and took the clothes, not bothering to wait for a sack. Emily hurried through the pedestrian traffic, anxious to be somewhat inconspicuous as soon as possible. It was only a matter of time until Nicholas discovered she had left, and if he remained true to everything he had said, he would come after her. She wanted to be far away from New York City as soon as possible.
The station came into sight, and she started jogging, pushing aside a couple of people in her rush. She heard someone shout obscenities behind her, but ignored them. At the crosswalk, she crossed with several others. Halfway across the street, one of the girls tripped.
Emily almost fell over her, and skidded to a stop, swaying, inches from the girl. She watched as a boy knelt beside her to examine the cut on her knee. She licked her lips when she saw the blood flowing, and her stomach rumbled. With a cry, she hurried around them and across the street, running through the lot to the outdoor bathrooms around the side of the white station.
She cursed when she found the knob locked. Emily looked over her shoulder and saw no one nearby. She grasped the handle and twisted firmly, feeling it slowly give under her hand. With a cracking sound, the doorknob turned freely, and she pushed against the door, stepping inside.
It was a one-person bathroom, without a stall for privacy. She had the room to herself, to her relief. Halfway through breaking the lock, she had briefly wondered if it wasn’t locked by station policy, but because someone was inside.
She looked at herself in the mirror, alarmed to see how pale she was. She felt weak, and her body cried out for sustenance. Emily knew what she needed, but denied it, telling herself it was all in her head while she slipped off the jacket and sweater. She wet a paper towel and washed her face and hair as best she could. Blood had spattered her neck, and she washed that area with a fresh towel.
More blood was on her stomach, where several of her ribs had punctured the skin. Faint lines remained, but they were the only indication of a wound. The bones felt whole and strong under her probing fingers.
She didn’t bother to remove the jeans and wash her legs. She knew her right leg must be covered with blood, because there was a hole in the denim and a bloodstain, indicating her bone had punctured skin and material alike in the fall. It felt fine now, and she had no fresh pants, so didn’t take time to investigate.
She found a small travel brush and hand lotion in her pack. She used the brush to smooth her hair before rubbing handfuls of the raspberry-scented lotion over her body and through her hair, hoping to partially disguise the scent of blood. After returning the items to her pack, she slid on the dark glasses. Her eyes immediately felt better.
When she had cleaned up as best she could, Emily slipped on the white T-shirt and black hoodie, and then tucked her hair inside the hood. She stuffed the ruined sweater and jacket in the trash before leaving the bathroom.
Emily crossed the street again and got back on Bleecker, hoping to hail a taxi. One sped by, but ignored her raised arm. She continued walking, and Il Mulino caught her eye. She was starving for a plate of spaghetti. Just from the scent wafting from the restaurant, she could almost taste the warm marinara, paired with perfect al dente noodles and plump meatballs.
She gagged when her imagination changed the meal to worms wriggling in her mouth, covered with blood, and served with eyeballs. She lost all appetite for Italian food as she continued on her way, spotting three taxis in a row in front of the building housing Terra Blues, and sprinting the half-block distance to ensure that at least one remained available.
She chose the first one and slipped into the back.
The cabbie craned his neck to look at her. He was in his forties and of Mediterranean descent. “Where to, miss?”
“Can you take me to Huxley? It’s about forty miles from Goshen.”
He whistled and looked at his dash clock. “I’m due to go off-duty in twenty minutes. That’ll take a couple of hours, one-way.”
“Please? I really need to get there.” She opened her fanny pack and counted the money. “I’ll give you one hundred forty-three dollars and seventeen cents.”
He chuckled. “You can keep the three-seventeen, miss.”
She relaxed against the seat, not realizing how stiffly she had held herself. Her back gave a twinge as she settled, then quieted. She noticed her headache had gone too. If only her hunger would dissipate.
He merged into traffic and turned on his radio. He didn’t look back or try to engage her in conversation during the slow drive through the city. She found her eyes closing and struggled to ward off sleep, not wishing to have another dream in the back of a taxi. She wanted to remain alert in case Nicholas caught up with her before she reached home.
When they joined the traffic on 87, she wondered why she hadn’t gone straight to the police. The thought caught her by surprise, and she nibbled on her lower lip, win
cing when her fang broke through. It was a habit she would have to break, or her lower lip would be constantly sore.
Why hadn’t she called the cops or had the cabbie drive her to the nearest station? It wasn’t to protect Nicholas, she assured herself. She couldn’t think of a logical explanation for not going to the police and opened her mouth to tell the driver to take her back. Her tongue refused to move. She frowned and tried again, with no success. She couldn’t speak the words.
She tried something else. “How long until we arrive?”
He looked up briefly in his rearview mirror. “About thirty minutes. You’ll be there in plenty of time to get settled.”
She frowned. “What?”
“Before the memorial service and funeral tomorrow.”
“What funeral?” Even as she asked, her heart seized with dread.
He looked straight ahead again, but answered her question. “Sorry. I assumed you were going to the service planned for tomorrow morning. Apparently, two kids were found dead in an abandoned funhouse at the Homecoming carnival. Two more kids are missing.”
Her voice emerged as a croak. “How did they die?”
He shrugged. “I ain’t sure. I heard different versions. Someone said a maniac cut them up with a knife. Someone else said some wacko with a vampire complex drained their blood.”
“And the two who are missing?”
“Ron something. I don’t remember the girl’s name. Most of the police figure they was kidnapped, tortured and murdered elsewhere.”
She blinked. “They don’t think they’re alive?”
He shook his head. “Don’t imagine so. The crimes were vicious. I imagine if one of them kids did surface, they’d be questioned pretty thoroughly.”
“Uh…” She cleared her throat. “Why is that?”
“Some jackass FBI agent thinks the two missing kids are the killers.” He snorted. “Announced at a press conference that any survivors would be tested to see if they drank their friends’ blood.”
She blanched. Had traces of Sara and Troy’s blood remained in Nicholas when she fed from him? If not, she would still have Ron’s blood in her veins. They may not figure out it was his right away, but they would know it wasn’t hers. Her throat tightened, and she struggled to breathe. What kind of physical proof would there be of the change? Altered cells, failure to produce her own blood, and sensitivity to light were just a few she could think of. If they discovered what Nicholas had made her, she didn’t know what they would do to her. What if they blamed her for Sara, Troy, and Ron’s deaths? It was certain they would, if they investigated her physiology. The most she might be able to hope for would be years of experimentation in some government lab, as opposed to a life sentence.
“You okay?”
She blinked and looked up. “What?”
“Are you okay? You’re awfully pale and sweating. You sick?”
She nodded. “I’m anemic.” Emily bit back a hard laugh that wouldn’t hold any amusement. Anemic, yeah, that was one way to look at it. “I’ll be fine.”
He nodded and returned his attention to the road.
Emily turned her gaze out the window, watching the highway as they passed. Her stomach cramped with mingled hunger and nerves. She couldn’t go home. If she saw her parents, everyone would know she was alive—until they discovered how non-alive she was.
She could feel Nicholas’s silk-covered iron fist closing around her. His trap was perfect, leaving her no escape with her family and friends. Had he planned it, or were Sara and Troy convenient, as he had said?
“What about the funhouse?” she asked abruptly several minutes later. “Did they trace the owner?”
The driver’s brow furrowed. “I think it was something like Tremont Amusements, but the trail led back to a bankrupt company. FBI thinks the owners were running the business on the sly of the government and got scared when they discovered the dead kids. They just cut and ran, probably.”
“They aren’t suspects?” she asked with disbelief.
“I guess they are. I don’t know. The news doesn’t cover much about that. They spend all their time replaying the interview with the missing kids’ families, begging for the return of their kids.” His disgust was evident. “Damn media goes straight for the jugular.”
She nodded and once again subsided into silence, searching for a way out. During the last twenty minutes of the ride, she came up with nothing. When they entered the small town of Huxley, population four thousand, she had him pull over to the curb in front of Huxley Grocery. The lights were out because the business had closed at nine.
He frowned and eyed the area. “Are you sure this is where you want to stop? I’ll take you wherever you’re headed.”
“This is it,” she said quickly. “I’m meeting someone.”
He shrugged and took the seven folded twenties before driving away.
Emily watched the taillights of the cab until it disappeared by turning off Main Street. Once the street was quiet again, she hurried around to the back of the grocery store, fishing in her fanny pack for the employee key given to her when the manager hired her three months ago for cleaning after hours.
A privacy fence to lessen the noise disturbance to homes nearby during deliveries surrounded the back of the store. She went to the back entrance without fear of being observed and slipped the key in the lock. It turned easily, as always, and she entered the stockroom.
Emily flipped on the lights and moved through the dusty back room. Boxes were stacked against one wall, and a large table and several folding chairs sat in the opposite corner. A coffeemaker was on the table, and the area passed for a break room.
She exited through the swinging doors and turned to her left, heading for the butcher’s department. She didn’t know if cow blood would nourish her properly, but hoped it would take off the edge of her hunger.
She entered the meat area and went to the tubs of beef livers stacked in the coolers. She opened one and fished out the liver before draining the blood in three quick swallows. It was cold and slimy and slid down her throat without the same rush of pleasure she had previously experienced. Her stomach was less empty, but her heartbeat was still sluggish. She drank two more containers before her hunger faded to a persistent ache.
As quickly as possible, Emily tossed the livers back in the containers and took them behind the counter to the industrial sink in the corner. She threw the raw livers down the garbage disposal and tossed the empty containers in the trash. With any luck, Chuck would assume one of the evening employees had disposed of spoiled liver. The last thing the town needed was rumors circulating of someone drinking blood and leaving the livers in the containers. Vampire paranoia must be running rampant as it was.
After her impromptu meal, Emily left the store and stepped into the quiet night. She heard a cat meow from two blocks over, followed by a hissing growl from another cat. Within seconds, a trashcan lid clattered to the ground, making her jump.
Spurred on by the cats’ fight and the subsequent fright, Emily walked away from the store. Within a block, she decided Main Street was too visible, even at four in the morning, and cut down Elm Street. As she passed Mrs. Johnson’s house, she saw several candles displayed in the window. Each burned in candleholders with crosses embedded in the glass.
She looked around and saw most of the houses had crosses on their doors, candles in their windows, or flowers tied to their doorway. Almost every house had a wreath of garlic around their door or fence latch. She didn’t know whether to interpret the candles and flowers as a vigil for the dead and missing, or if they were some obscure way to repel vampires. Emily had never been a fan of vampire books or movies, but now wished she had paid more attention. Jeremy was obsessed with all things supernatural, so she’d had many opportunities to learn from her brother’s interest—if only she had known she would end up as a vampire herself. Her mouth twisted at the bitter thought.
A thick ball lodged in her throat when her brother’s face poppe
d into her mind. She had been so certain escaping Nicholas would be the end of her worries. She would return to her family, who would help her fix whatever he had done to her. She hadn’t expected life to be the same with Sara gone, but had really believed she could go back to being Emily Swesso.
She swallowed heavily and turned onto Fourth Street, surprised to find the heartbeats of Huxley had muted to a dull roar. As soon as she thought of them, they returned to a cacophonous level. The more she tried not to think about them, the louder they grew. It was several minutes before they faded, when she was distracted from the sound of the heartbeats by the sound of arguing from a house as she passed it.
She wandered aimlessly through town, wanting to cut across the park and head home. She knew her parents would be relieved to see her, but didn’t know how to explain what had happened to her.
She paused on Sycamore and leaned against a wooden privacy fence, a few inches from their wreath of garlic. Emily’s hand shook as she reached out to touch it, curious to know if it really was a repellent. She touched a bulb, but nothing happened. Emboldened, she leaned a bit closer and took a cautious sniff. A loud sneeze escaped from her, breaking the quiet on the street. Her nasal passages burned from the strong odor the garlic gave off, making her sneeze again.
Behind the fence, a dog started barking. It sounded large and angry, with a deep growl that was sure to wake its owners if it continued to bark. Emily stood up and hurried down the block. Her feet guided her to the park, where she hesitated.
Emily looked behind her, then at the expanse of the park that covered an acre. She stepped onto the damp grass and took a few tentative steps in the direction of the shortcut. If she turned at the dugout and cut across the baseball diamond, she could be squeezing through the hole in the fence just a minute or two later. She was less than five minutes from home.
