Amaranthine Special Edition Vol I

by Naylor, Joleene

  “If you want to,” Jorick said nonchalantly. He put his back to her and continued walking. “But I'm not going back.”

  “Damn it,” she stomped her foot childishly. The thought of walking back through the trees alone was out of the question. She’d done enough stupid things for one night. “What about my car?”

  But he didn’t look back. She scowled and hurried forward to fall into step beside him again. “What am I going to do if they trash it?”

  “Get another car,” he answered. “There are a lot of cars in the world.”

  “I'm sure that’s easy for you to say. I mean, you're living out there in the middle of nowhere – you don’t even have electricity. Why would you understand?”

  “Yes, it is easy for me.” He stared straight ahead and didn't bother to glance at her as he spoke. “I’ve owned cars and I’ve been without cars, and either way I always manage. I've lived in houses filled with obscene amounts of wealth, and hovels without even the comfort of a wooden door. That house back there will burn to the ground and I will have to find another. None of it is important. There are only a few things that one needs to survive in this world.”

  “Well, yes, but how am I going to get home without a car?”

  His eyes flicked to her. “I would suggest that you don't go home.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he continued, “At least not until the sun has been up for an hour or more, and then, if I were you, I would go only to save my possessions before I moved.”

  She stopped dead in her tracks and exploded, “Move? I'm not moving! I've lived in that apartment for three years. I like it!”

  “All the more reason. A change of scenery does one good, you know.” His voice was steady and reasonable, and he glanced back at her. “Besides, if they knew where Patrick lived, and Patrick knew where you lived, then ‘they’ know where you live. That's something that you don't want to happen – you never want ‘them’ to know where you live.”

  “You don't really think they'd...” she didn't want to say the next words, though she wasn’t even sure what they’d be. Kill me? Maim me? Hurt me? All of them were viable possibilities, especially right now when she almost believed it all. “They wouldn’t really?”

  Jorick nodded calmly. “Yes, I think they would. You were Patrick's lover, Patrick is now dead. It makes sense you would get involved to seek revenge. You’ve seen the things they're capable of. If they find you it won't be pretty, I can guarantee it. Patrick's death will be tidy compared to what they will do to you.”

  Her hand unconsciously went to her throat. “I thought you said that your house would burn to the ground? Surely they can't survive fire?”

  “Yes, it will burn, and no, they cannot survive fire, but some of them will undoubtedly escape.” He seemed almost resigned. “They’ll get out and take Michael with them and go before Claudius with their story. Maybe Michael will be pardoned, if he happens to know where they can find you.”

  She had nothing left to say. Her feet were already aching but she forced herself to trudge onwards with the reminder that bloodthirsty vampires might be following them.

  She checked her watch to find it was nearly midnight. She sighed deeply and wondered if the night would ever end or just continue forever in a world of darkness and absurdity.

  They walked on in silence out of the trees, across farmland and down gravel roads, until nearly four a.m. Many times she would open her mouth to speak, but the silence had stretched so long that she couldn't think of anything suitable enough to break it. Her mind was far too occupied with the cramps in her aching legs, the pain in her shoulder and the constant barrage of nightmare fears that assailed her from every shadow.

  They topped a steep hill. Katelina gasped for air, and saw lights ahead, tiny beacons in the night that proclaimed safety and comfort.

  “A town!” She called and stopped walking to catch her breath. A smile flitted across her soot smeared features and she felt relief flood through her; there was civilization and reality straight ahead!

  Jorick paused too, his hands on his hips as he surveyed the twinkling lights spread in the valley below them. “Yes, I believe it's called Dunwick? It has a motel, so it will serve us nicely. It's not much, but better than trying to sleep in the street.”

  Katelina was so grateful at the idea of a bed that she didn't bother to think about what would happen when she didn't go to work the next morning, she didn’t even bother to talk. Her only thoughts were bent towards comfort and safety – the vampires would never look for them in Dunwick!

  Jorick allowed her a few minutes to catch her breath. She sprawled on the ground and stared towards the lights while he rubbed his hands in the dewy grass, and attempted to clean the blood and dirt from his exposed skin. As he worked, he eyed her critically. “You might do the same,” he suggested.

  She nodded vaguely and spit into her hand. She rubbed her palms together and wiped them on her jeans. He winced in disgust, but said nothing as she concentrated her efforts on her face.

  They found their way into the town: an old, rundown village gasping out its final breath. As they walked down quiet streets, the windows of abandoned buildings stared dully at them like the eyes of something dead and sorrowful, chipped paint and weedy parking lots reflected in their dingy panes. Katelina had been there before, but she wasn’t sure that it had ever looked as morose – or beautiful – as it did now.

  They made their weary way to the main highway where they found what they were seeking. The motel was a pink, ranch style affair with individual doors to each room, all numbered in faded gold.

  Jorick left her to check in, promising he’d be right back and telling her not to move. She assured him she had no intention of going anywhere, except to sleep. He turned to go and she almost stopped him. Despite his earlier efforts, traces of blood shone dark against his skin. But she decided it was pointless and sank to the concrete curb to wait.

  Jorick returned, a key jingling in his hand and a smile on his face. Apparently they hadn't held his appearance against his money.

  She stood as he unlocked the door and followed him into the room. The warmth felt almost too warm for a moment, but she shut the door. She glanced from the hideous carpeting, to the warped television stand, to the table and chair and then to orange covers of the bed. The one and only bed. She opened her mouth to complain, but he was already gone to the tiny adjoining bathroom, muttering to himself, “Oh yes, this will be just fine.”

  “Oh will it?” Katelina demanded as she glared in the direction of his disembodied voice. They’d been nearly killed by someone or something, and he had saved her, in a manner of speaking, but that didn’t mean she was going to sleep with him!

  He reemerged from the bathroom, looking satisfied, and she snapped, “There's only one bed.” It wasn't too late to go to the police, though she doubted they'd believe a word she said. How could they? She knew that no sane, rational person would.

  “Yes, and there's only one person to sleep in it.”

  “Oh! You got separate rooms!” She felt remorse trickle through her. He’d been perfectly thoughtful and she’d sounded like a bitch, practically accusing him of trying to force himself on her. Her blush deepened as she realized where her mind had been.

  “Nooooo,” Jorick answered slowly. He looked at her blank face and added quickly, “The beds give me a stiff neck.”

  “Oh.” She wasn’t sure how to react. “Are you going to sleep on the floor or…” She had no other suggestions.

  “Most likely.” He glanced towards the tiny bathroom. “Do you want to take a shower?”

  She started to nod; a shower sounded like a wonderful idea. But she was so exhausted she just wanted to drop into bed. It was nearing six a.m. and she’d been up over twenty-four hours. Besides, she wasn’t entirely comfortable taking her clothes off with Jorick in the next room. She didn’t know him. In fact, if she thought about it, she wasn’t sure why she was here with him, or why she seemed to trust him when she shouldn’t.
He could still be a lying psychotic killer.

  But she didn’t say that, only, “No. I'll take one when I get up tomorrow – today, whatever.”

  “Well, I'm going to take one. I suggest you try to go to sleep.” He disappeared into the tiny room and shut the door firmly behind him.

  She flopped on the bed without bothering to climb beneath the blankets. She let her head sink back into the pillows, closed her eyes and listened to the sound of the shower running. Birds began to chirp outside, heralding the sun's impending arrival.

  What a night it had been! She could scarcely get her mind wrapped around it. There was too much for her to comprehend and it was all too strange and confusing.

  Patrick's face swam before her eyes, pale and haunted. That's how he'd appeared the last time she'd seen him alive.

  ‘What's wrong Patrick, you seem... I don't know, weird tonight.’

  He'd faked a smile but the worry stayed in his blue eyes and refused to leave, ‘Nothing, I'm just tired.’

  ‘Do you want me to go?’ she'd started to sit up, to leave the bed.

  ‘No.’ He’d looked like a lost little boy. ‘I don't want you to leave, not yet.’

  ‘Then I won't.’ She'd laughed, and slid back beneath the blankets, wrapping herself around him, wishing she'd known how to make him feel better.

  Katelina opened her eyes and wiped tears out of them. Damn! She’d been doing such a good job of ignoring the ache in her chest until tonight! She’d tried so hard not to cry for him, not to care, but now it wasn't working very well.

  Love. Jorick had said Patrick loved her. The idea still tortured her. Patrick hadn’t loved her, no matter what Jorick said. They’d discussed it so many times. Patrick had wanted her assurances that she didn’t want a real relationship with him. He’d explained that he couldn’t give her one and that he didn’t want to. What was she supposed to feel about that? What was she supposed to say? She’d agreed, and from that moment on she’d suppressed any burgeoning emotion where Patrick was concerned, squashing it before it even began.

  Jorick had no right to go around saying things like that about Patrick! No right at all!

  She raised her fist and slammed it into the bed, wincing as pain reverberated through her damaged shoulder. She should clean it, but Jorick was in the bathroom. A flush crept across her cheeks as the unbidden thought of him naked behind the shower curtain entered her consciousness.

  She quickly berated herself. She didn’t understand how she could even contemplate such a thing, not after the night she’d had!

  She closed her eyes again and yawned. What she needed was some sleep and then a good strong cup of coffee when she woke up. After that, everything would be just fine. She was sure that once the sun was up all this weirdness would disappear and everything would be back to normal. Yet, as she drifted into darkness, she wished longingly that she could really believe that.

  **********

  Chapter Five

  Katelina woke the following day to filtered sunlight splashed across her face. Faint impressions of a dream lingered, like half formed fingerprints in warm clay. Yes, it had been a warm dream – very, very warm. He’d been beautiful and smooth with dark eyes and strong hands. It was the kind of dream she wanted to stay in.

  But, she couldn’t, so she slowly opened her eyes, feeling disoriented and sore. Her head ached and her throat felt thick and raw. Her mind was mushy as it tried vainly to process why she felt so bad, and finally concluded that she must have a hangover.

  She rolled over and found herself staring at a set of heavy orange drapes. A single thought drifted though her consciousness: Orange? Who in the hell has orange drapes?

  Her muscles complained as she sat up too quickly and her eyes darted around the shabby motel room. She scrabbled through a tumble of memories, but the replay stuttered to a stop when a sharp pain erupted in her shoulder. Her hand went to it unconsciously. The hardened blood felt crisp beneath her fingers, a stiff reminder of last night’s events. A strange horror gripped her as she gingerly fingered the wound and remembered it all – blood, fear, fire and… vampires?

  Still reeling from the memories, she climbed out of the bed. Miniature clips flashed behind her eyes, encapsulated events in slow motion: A monster chained to a wall, bodies burning, something attacking her…

  She forced the thoughts away and moved to the window, her mind in disarray. She jerked the drapes back and stared through the grimy glass to the world beyond.

  The sun, in the last throes of the day, drenched the scene in blood – colored light. Cigarette butts littered a dingy sidewalk like crumpled pieces of reality. A random smattering of cars were scattered around the cracked parking lot. Weeds grew at the farthest edges of the pavement where the civilized world dissolved into a dry, muttering cornfield. There was simply no room for vampires here.

  She pulled the drapes closed and clicked the light on. The only thing that really mattered to her was what she was going to do. First, she needed to talk to Jorick and then everything else would fall neatly into place. Unfortunately, as her eyes skipped around the room, she realized that Jorick wasn’t there.

  Her first reaction was a string of obscenities, but she forced herself to relax. The room was already paid for, so even if he’d left that was okay. Still, she’d need some food and a ride. She hated the thought of having no money and being completely dependent on someone else, even if that someone was Sarah. That might be what best friends were for, but still.

  She fished through her pockets and gave a small cry of triumph when she discovered a wrinkled twenty–dollar bill. Everything was going to be all right after all. It might not be much, but money was money – a real, useful, tangible object she could hold in her fingers.

  She stuffed the money in her pocket and decided to take a shower before she called anyone. She paused at the bathroom door, in case Jorick was inside. She cleared her throat loudly and, that failing, she called his name. There was no answer, so she cautiously stuck her head inside. The room was tiny and painted the same boring shade that most of the commercial world used: white enough to be sterile and unimaginative, yet off – white in a failed effort of homey – ness. The place was tidy; the shower curtain was even pulled shut, but there was no Jorick.

  She decided it was just as well that he was gone. She didn’t need him, after all, and she’d begun to suspect that the man in her dream looked a lot like him. She wasn’t sure she could look him in the eye with that still clinging to her mind.

  She paused by the sink and her eyes strayed to the mirror. Her pale skin was streaked with dirt and traces of blood. Her sweater was torn at the shoulder with threads of frayed yarn slowly unraveling around the edges. Her blonde mane was still pulled back in a ponytail. The memory of her bathroom and yesterday’s scramble to get to work seemed a world away.

  She peeled her sweater off and washed the heavy scab from her shoulder to uncover two slits about an inch apart. Jorick’s words returned to her mind yet again: “…you’ve gotten quite a bite”.

  Pushing away the macabre thoughts, she kicked her shoes off, then moved to the bathtub. She jerked the shower curtain open and reached inside to turn the water on. Her fingers brushed the knob just as her eyes landed on the contents.

  She screamed.

  Jorick lay in the bathtub – clearly dead. His skin had the ashen, bloodless color of a corpse. Both his eyes and mouth were closed. His hands rested on his chest and stomach, perfectly still. His black hair fell over his shoulders and spread out to fill the space between his head and the chipped white porcelain.

  Katelina stared helplessly. She knew she should call the police – but she had no idea what she’d tell them.

  Fighting to maintain logic, she chewed her lip thoughtfully and began to pace the tiny room in circles. She had to do something. She couldn't just ignore this – or could she? She reasoned it out logically. What if she just got dressed and left? Could they find her? Would they try to pin his death on her? Would anyone
believe that she didn’t know what had happened to him, or that she didn’t even know him? Would they say she’d done something to him? Would they find a way to blame her for his house burning down? And there would be bodies in the ruins, wouldn’t there? After all, with the stress of Patrick’s murder investigation, the detective didn’t like her very much. They’d be happy to get her for something.

  The questions ceased and she came to a single conclusion: this was a very, very bad situation.

  She made two more circuits of the room, then knelt by the bathtub and studied Jorick again. As she stared at him, a strange thought flitted through the chaos in her mind: He was very good looking – maybe even beautiful – and dead as a doornail. A beautiful corpse in a chipped bathtub. Just her luck.

  She leaned over him and tentatively reached a trembling hand towards him. She’d never touched a dead person before. Reluctantly, she pressed her fingertips to his neck, imitating what she’d seen on television. His skin was ice cold and she winced as she searched for the faintest hint of a pulse. Her brows furrowed in concentration and she was forced to admit that she didn’t even know what she was feeling for, but, she decided, it hardly mattered. One look was enough to pronounce the man beyond aid of medical help.

  She took her hand back and studied him, wondering what had killed him. She didn’t think people just died sporadically, unless there was something seriously wrong with them to begin with. Maybe he’d had a heart attack, or died of a drug overdose. That sounded like something that would happen to one of Patrick’s friends.

  She poked him again. If he had drugs on him would they arrest her, too? She’d just decided to search his pockets when his eyes popped open; dark orbs that stared straight through her.

  With a horrified scream, she fell over backwards and sprawled across the floor on her butt. She propped herself up with her elbows and stared in disbelief at the bathtub as he drew in a shuddering gasp, like he’d been drowning and had only just escaped.