by Kit Tunstall
Home had never seemed so far away.
She plodded through the grass to the dugout, but instead of crossing the diamond, she settled on the bench inside the dugout and stared out at the empty field. Her heart ached when she realized she and Sara wouldn’t be playing on the softball team this year. Never again would she pitch a curveball while Sara taunted the batter from her position as catcher.
She wouldn’t be doing any of the things she had planned. There would be no welcome packet from NYU in the coming months. She couldn’t ever return to Huxley Junior College to finish out the rest of the year. Her chest ached when she thought of all the missed tests she wouldn’t sit for. What she wouldn’t give to have finals as the biggest challenge she faced.
Tears streamed down her cheeks when she remembered Sara and Ron would miss everything too. Sara would never be the fashion designer she had dreamed of being from the time they were little. Ron’s tenure as halfback had been painfully short. Even Troy, as big a jerk as he had been, deserved to graduate from college and go on to make many women miserable. He didn’t deserve to be dead at twenty-two. No one did.
She hated Nicholas at that moment. Even the dark attraction she felt for him wasn’t enough to overcome the surge of emotions. If she had the chance, she would kill him for everything he had taken from her.
Emily leaned back and propped her feet on the bench so she could rest her head on her knees. The tears seemed never-ending, as did the sobs that soon issued from her. The tears finally dried up, and the sobs turned to hiccups, but the aching sadness remained.
When she lifted her head, Emily found her feet sliding from the bench to the ground. Her body tensed as she stood, and her legs carried her across the field, in the direction of home. She couldn’t walk away without a last look, just as she couldn’t leave without saying goodbye to Sara. She wouldn’t be able to attend the memorial service, but could watch from a distance as officials put her friend in the ground. The image would remain forever in her memory, acting as a constant reminder of why she couldn’t give in to Nicholas.
She slipped easily through the hole in the fence, which had been cut with a pair of wire cutters by her next-door neighbors years ago, before the oldest son went off to college. From there, it was a short walk to her house.
She froze near her backyard. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and a peculiar sensation of being watched swept through her. She looked up at the second-floor windows and saw all were dark.
She hesitated a moment longer, drinking in the sight of her backyard. Her father had removed the Koi from the pond for winter, but the hose still fed the pond with a gentle bubbling sound. Nothing was in bloom. The scene seemed tense, as if waiting for something to shatter the preternatural silence.
She thought about sleeping in the treehouse her father and Uncle Bernie built several summers ago. The two-room Victorian-style was more than spacious enough for her to lie down, and Jeremy probably had a sleeping bag up there, along with his hidden collection of erotic magazines stolen from Uncle Bernie.
She took a step toward the massive oak before freezing. Something didn’t feel right, and she turned around, back toward the fence. Emily paused once more at the hole and lifted her hand, waving goodbye to her family inside, although they couldn’t see her. She whispered a quiet farewell and slipped through the hole.
Emily returned to the dugout and curled up on the bench. The night was cold, and she noticed it for the first time. Had she been preoccupied, or was her tolerance for cold higher now?
She closed her eyes and tried to rest without falling asleep. She had almost dozed off when she heard leaves crackle under someone’s feet. Her eyes snapped open, and she saw a short, slender form approaching. Muscles tense, she didn’t move, hoping the person crossing the diamond wouldn’t see her. She was more exposed than if she had been naked in Times Square.
The other person stopped a few feet from the dugout. He or she wore a coat with a hood, obscuring their features. “Emily?”
She jumped at the whispered query, recognizing her brother’s voice. “Go away,” she said, trying to sound menacing.
He ignored her and walked closer. Jeremy pushed off the hood to reveal dark-brown hair and blue eyes the same shade as his sister’s. “You’re alive.” His voice was a curious combination of relief, excitement, and fear.
She moved to a sitting position, knowing he wasn’t going to leave until he was ready. She patted the bench beside her and frowned when he warily approached. “What’s wrong?”
He shrugged and sat down, wedging his shoulder against the wall opposite from her. He eyed her uncertainly.
“Are you afraid of me?”
He shrugged again. “I dunno. Maybe.”
Emily’s mouth dropped open. “Why? I wouldn’t hurt you.”
Jeremy sighed. “That FBI guy says if you’re alive, you killed Sara and that guy.”
She shook her head vigorously before pausing. She did share responsibility for Ron’s death—for them all, in fact. If they hadn’t been with her when Nicholas found her, they would still be alive today. “I didn’t kill Sara or Troy,” she said in a thick voice, trying to convince herself along with her brother.
He nodded, instantly believing her. “That’s what I thought, pretty much.”
“How did you know I was here?”
Jeremy looked across the field, in the direction of their house. “I saw you from my window. Since you disappeared, I haven’t slept well. I guess I’m afraid someone will take me too.” He sighed. “Those cops parked in front of the house should make me feel safer, but they don’t.”
She froze. “Cops?”
“Yeah. They told Mom and Dad they’re around in case you come back.” His mouth curled. “Dad says the feds are hoping you’ll turn up so they can pin the murders on someone.”
She blanched at her brother’s casually shared information. “I didn’t do it.”
“No one who knows you really thinks you did, sis.”
She breathed a small sigh. “Just a little doubt?” she asked, so softly he didn’t hear.
“What happened to you?”
She almost bit her lip before remembering her fangs, as she considered how much to tell him. “I can’t tell you.”
He frowned. “Are you really a vampire?”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
He dropped his gaze. “A couple of guys at school say you and Ron are vampires.”
“Ron’s dead.” Her voice cracked. “I don’t know what I am.” Copout, her inner voice admonished. “All I know is I can’t come home. Not right now anyway.”
Jeremy’s blue eyes welled up with unshed tears. “Why not?”
He surreptitiously brushed at the tears while she pretended not to see them. She didn’t want to embarrass her thirteen-year-old brother. “It isn’t safe.” The threat posed by the FBI paled in comparison to the haunting presence of Nicholas, who had sworn to follow her anywhere. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t considered what he might do to her family if she led him back to her home. He was ruthless enough to do anything to ensure her cooperation.
“When can you come home?”
She forced a confident smile onto her face—a confidence she was far from feeling. “Soon.” She ignored the disbelief in his eyes that she knew must mirror her own. “You need to go home now, Jeremy.”
He shook his head. “I want to stay with you.”
“No. Go home. I promise I’ll see you soon.” Her heart stuttered at the lie, but she forced her voice to remain steady.
He slowly got to his feet. He stood before her for a long time, just staring, as if he was memorizing her face. “Hurry home, butt-breath.” His voice broke on the insult. “Mom and Dad miss you.”
She forced a smile. “Don’t even think about moving into my room, twerp.” She waved at him as he turned and walked away. Emily watched him until he slipped through the fence, wondering if she would ever truly come back, or if that author whose name she
had forgotten was right about not being able to go home again.
* * * * *
She spent the rest of an uncomfortable night in the dugout, waiting for the sun to rise. As the sun peeked over the horizon, she left the park and walked to the cemetery, moving with cautious paranoia, convinced the police were watching the entire town. To her surprise, she made it to the cemetery without anyone stopping her. It was so early in the morning that few people were up and stirring yet.
At Huxley Cemetery, whose simple name fit well with the identical marble markers flush to the ground, she searched for a hiding place. The only structure around, aside from the mortuary across the street, was the groundskeeper’s shed. She tried the door and found it locked. The flimsy pushbutton handle was no deterrent for her. She turned it once with a burst of strength, and the knob fell into her hands. She cursed under her breath as she opened the door.
Emily put the handle back in the door as best she could, attempting to hide her presence. She hoped Mr. Grinden wouldn’t be doing any upkeep until after the funeral, because there was nowhere to hide from sight in the shed.
It had a dirt floor, and the earthy smell filled her nose like a cloying perfume. Gasoline from the can near the lawnmower mingled with the scent, causing the air to take on an acrid tinge she probably wouldn’t have noticed last week.
Emily lifted a bag of mulch from the rickety shelf against the back wall and dropped it on the ground. She used it for a makeshift seat and sat down to wait, ensuring she could see the position of the sun through the small window before trying to get as comfortable as possible.
* * * * *
She had planned to tell time with the sun’s position, but forgot she had no idea how to do that. Emily managed to steal a couple of hours of sleep without dreaming, before the sound of car doors slamming and the sudden swell of heartbeats in her immediate vicinity woke her.
She rose and stretched her tight muscles before slipping from the shed. Emily hovered near the building, watching as nearly the whole town gathered near a plot halfway across the cemetery.
She looked up and saw several people were walking too close for her comfort. Emily ducked around the side of the shed and searched for the sunglasses in her jacket pocket. After putting them on and hiding her hair and as much of her face as possible under the hood, she slipped back around the shed to watch the service from a distance.
Her newly improved vision aided her in seeing just one coffin near a mound of dirt covered by a blue tarp. She could make out the droning words of the Episcopalian minister as he said a final blessing for Sara, but tuned him out. Her gaze remained locked on the white coffin, as she envisioned the white dress Sara had bought for the Christmas dance during their last shopping trip into NYC, just a few days before the carnival.
Her focus shifted at the sound of someone breathing nearby. She jerked her head up and saw a blond-haired man in a dark suit staring at her. He wore large sunglasses that hid his eyes and obscured his expression. Emily ducked her head and took a step away. When she looked back, he was following her, so she broke into a run, obeying her body’s order to escape.
She ran into the street without looking and screamed when a car stopped inches from her. Emily’s sluggish heartbeat seemed to be pounding in her ears, and she had barely regained her breath when the door opened and Nicholas leaned out enough to see her.
“Get in,” he said in a crisp voice. “You’ve stayed away long enough.”
She cast a glance over her shoulder at the man who had paused at the side of the road, then back at Nicholas. It was clear that her immediate future lay with Nicholas, so she walked to the passenger side and slid inside. He pulled away quickly, and she turned her head back in the direction of the man in the dark suit. His head remained turned in their direction until Nicholas turned a corner. For a moment, she felt safe, before remembering who sat beside her in the driver’s seat of the black Subaru Forester. She wondered what her punishment would be for escaping him. He was not a forgiving man.
Chapter Seven
She didn’t want to be the first to break the tense silence, so Emily stared out the tinted windows of the Forester, waiting for him to lash out at her.
“There’s sunscreen in the glove compartment.” His tone was bland. “It should protect your arm by the window until we get back to the city.”
Her eyes widened. Sunscreen? His first words to her were about sunscreen? As she fumbled for the sunscreen, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye, out the side of the thick sunglasses.
He looked different in the sunlight. His gleaming black hair had been pulled back into a loose ponytail at the back of his neck. He wore jeans and a white polo shirt with long sleeves. He could have been any other driver on the road. His relaxed posture and one-handed grip on the steering wheel suggested he was comfortable driving. His very ordinariness made her even more frightened of his response to her running away. Would he be so calm and at ease when he tortured her?
“Would you like music? I usually forget to turn it on.”
She licked her lips. “Uh, sure.” Anything that filled the silence had to be good.
They reached for the dial at the same time, and their hands brushed against each other. Emily immediately jerked away and pressed herself into the seat. He looked briefly in her direction before turning on the radio and returning his attention to the road. Was this part of her punishment? Did he intend to drive her mad with fear and worry before he hurt her?
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said in a conversational tone.
She cursed herself for forgetting he could read her thoughts.
“Not all of them. Just your strongest emotions.”
“Oh.” Her voice was a hoarse croak. “Why?”
“That’s when our connection is strongest—”
“No. Why aren’t you going to hurt me?” She forced the words through the thickness in her throat, suddenly anxious to have it done with. “I ran away. You must have searched for me for hours.”
He shook his head. “I knew exactly where to find you.”
“How?”
“I sent you here, Emily.”
Her mouth dropped open, and a strangled sound emerged from her lips. “What?”
“I allowed you to leave. I’ve guided each of your movements since you broke through the balcony door.” He looked at her for a second, and his mouth twisted. “I’m surprised you fell, I’ll admit. I should have remembered you aren’t used to your new abilities yet.”
A million questions rushed through her head, but only one emerged. “Why did you take away the ladder then?”
“I couldn’t make it too easy for you to leave.”
“I don’t understand.” Emily clutched her hands in her lap. “Why would you do this?”
“So you could see for yourself there’s no going back.” He stopped speaking as he merged into the exit lane. “You wouldn’t have taken my word for it.”
She pushed back the hood of the jacket as sweat coursed down her face. “How do I know any of it was true? You could have set up everything—”
He nodded. “I arranged for that particular driver to pick you up and relay the news of your friends.” Nicholas chuckled. “Didn’t you wonder why he was willing to take such a low fare for the drive to Huxley?”
She frowned, realizing how small a fee one hundred forty dollars was for a cabbie driving that distance, round-trip. A small flutter of hope stirred when it penetrated her thoughts how he had manipulated her. “The rest is an illusion too.”
“Even what your brother said?” He shook his head. “The FBI agent chasing you was real, Emily. Everything you discovered last night is the truth. I knew you had to see your past before we could move on to the future.”
“We aren’t moving anywhere,” she snapped. “I want nothing to do with you.”
He seemed unconcerned by her defiance. “You’ll change your mind.”
She lapsed into a sullen silence as they reentered the city, ref
using to even look at him as he negotiated through traffic and turned down Bleecker. A few blocks later, he pulled into a parking garage. Curiosity caused her to break the silence. “What are you doing?”
“There’s no parking near the apartment building.” He rounded the corner of the first level and parked beside a red Cadillac. “We walk from here.”
She got out of the Forester reluctantly, unconvinced he wouldn’t turn violent as soon as they entered the apartment, and the car seemed moderately safer. She resisted when he picked up her hand, struggling to pull away. Emily hissed with pain when he tightened his grip. With a glare, she submitted to his hold as they walked to the elevator.
Two other people were in the car when the doors opened. They were glued to each other and whispering softly, punctuating every few words with breathy giggles. Both seemed oblivious to sharing the elevator with Nicholas and Emily as it whisked them to street level.
They stepped out of the elevator and left the small building housing it. The sidewalk was full of activity, and the autumn sun burned high in the sky. Emily’s skin felt hot, and she put up the hood of her jacket. She glanced at Nicholas, who seemed unaffected.
“It’s all in your head,” he said softly. “Yes, the sun is stronger to us, but it isn’t really burning you beyond a mild sunburn. You’ve been influenced by too many years of exposure to the media version of our kind.”
She shivered when he said “our kind”. She wanted to protest she wasn’t any kind, but it would be a waste of breath. Last night, she had accepted what she was, but wasn’t ready to hear a reminder every time he spoke.
He moved with fluid grace, seeming to dart through every small opening between the other pedestrians. Emily felt like a graceless klutz next to him, as she tried to mimic his movements. To her surprise, her gait grew smoother when she concentrated on the way each muscle moved. She was keenly aware of every aspect of her body, from the sluggish heartbeat in her ears, to the muscles in her legs bunching as she walked.
“Beautiful.” Nicholas gave her a tender smile. “You’ll soon be able to move like this without thinking about it.”
