Runner: Book II of The Chosen

by Roh Morgon

His blood.

  Nicolas…

  I glance at my car keys on the nightstand.

  A knock sounds at the door, tentative, quiet.

  I take a breath and debate answering.

  “Sunny? You still awake? Can I talk to you?” The hope in Sandy’s voice tugs at me.

  Oh, hell.

  “Just a minute.” I turn off the TV.

  Going into the bathroom, I wipe the blood from my eyes, being sure to get every trace.

  How ironic. Sandy bleeds from her nose, and I bleed from my eyes.

  I look one more time in the mirror and am frightened by what’s looking back at me. I don’t even recognize this haunted thing, her dark blue eyes full of pain and despair.

  “Sunny?” She knocks again.

  “Yeah. Be right there.” Once again I try to embrace the stillness, and thankfully feel its calm take hold.

  I walk out and crack open the door.

  Sandy is standing there, one nostril packed with what looks to be white cotton.

  “I got it stopped.” With relief evident in her voice, still sounding somewhat nasally, she smiles.

  I feel relief as well. At least now I don’t have to contend with her blood glittering in front of my face, dreading the moment the beast decides to raise its ugly head.

  “Can I come in?”

  Staring past her at my car, then at the faint hint of dawn in the eastern sky, I abandon the last clinging thought of racing southward and glance at the girl.

  “I guess. But only for a few minutes. I need to get some sleep.” Stepping back, I open the door wide and gesture her in.

  She walks in and plops down into the chair next to the dresser and TV.

  Since there is nowhere else to sit, I push the pillows upright against the headboard and climb onto the bed.

  The distant hum of the highway forms a backdrop for the silence within the room as I wait for her to speak. She seems to have something to say, but is having trouble getting started. I look at her pale face and note that the bruising now covers half of it.

  “So? What’s up?” I finally ask.

  “Nothing in particular. I just… I just thought maybe you needed to talk. That’s all.” Her green eyes stare at me with concern.

  “Me? Why?”

  “Well, um, you know, you’re all strong and tough on the outside. I mean, look at the way you got my backpack and handled those truckers. Even the waitresses in the restaurant seemed scared of you. You’re pretty badass.” The admiration shining from her eyes startles me.

  “So what’s your point?” Irritation ripples across my skin. Her misplaced hero worship is not something I even remotely deserve, nor desire.

  “Well… I know that’s only on the outside. And what you have goin’ on inside is, well… I think you’re hurting, a lot, and I just wanna let you know that you can talk about it with me. If you want.”

  Still a prisoner to my instinctive need for privacy, I stare at her as resentment over her invasion into my business bubbles to the surface.

  “You know nothing of me.” I stand, my fists clenched. “You don’t have any idea who you’re talking to or what I’m feeling.” I walk toward the door, intending to ask her to leave.

  “But I do. I have this… this weird thing inside that tells me what people are feeling. And I mean, it’s really strong, and sometimes I have trouble being around people because their feelings are so overpowering. I’m not… a… normal person,” she finishes in a whisper.

  Turning, I study her, and begin to think that she sees me as more than just a rescuer. She sees another soul outside the normal human world, whether she recognizes that’s what it is or not.

  I calm myself.

  “So why do you think you’re not normal? There’ve always been people who have a greater amount of empathy for others. They usually become therapists and counselors, and use their gift to help them understand their patients.”

  “Now you sound like everyone else.” Her eyes narrow. “They’re always trying to tell me that I’m okay, that I’m just imagining things, that it’s just a phase. And it’s all bullshit! Because I know that I’m different. I always have been. And nothing anyone says will change that.” She crosses her arms and stares at me, anger shining from her green eyes. Eyes that are also filling with tears.

  I take a deep breath, then walk back over to the bed and sit down.

  “Okay. Then tell me more about it. And just for the record, I’m certainly not like everyone else.”

  “I know. I can sense it. It’s more than whatever has you so sad and hurting. You’re different, too. I’m not sure why, but that doesn’t really matter to me.” She looks down into her lap.

  Despite being taken aback by what she’s just said, I’m willing to listen, if that will help her.

  “So tell me about it.” I keep my expression neutral. “This… thing you say you have.”

  “Well, it’s hard to describe. I know what people are feeling. A normal person could see it if they opened their eyes, but most of them prefer to keep them shut. But I don’t just see. I can feel it, too.” She glances away, then looks at me, her eyes brimming as she continues.

  “Like you, for example. I think you’re running from something, or someone, and it’s messing you up big time. It’s not only all over your face. It’s inside, too, and I think it will be very bad for you if you don’t go back.” Her voice trembles and the tears run down her cheeks.

  Oh God. This it too much. My own tears well up, and leaping from the bed, I race for the bathroom and slam the door.

  “Sunny? Sunny? I’m sorry, I just want to help. Please. Talking about it might help you.”

  I lean against the wall, then sink to the floor, hugging myself tight, blood carving wet trails down my face.

  “You need to go, Sandy,” I manage to choke out.

  “This is about a guy, isn’t it? I just know it. What’s his name? Please, talk to me.”

  Nicolas. His name is Nicolas. I gave up my world for him. And though he lied to me and betrayed me, I don’t think I can live without him.

  But the words die in my throat, unable to claw their way out.

  “Why’d you leave him?” There is real pain in her voice, as though she actually feels mine.

  Her question echoes in my head, over and over.

  Why did I leave him?

  My body feels as though it’s about to explode.

  “I, uh… had to make a choice,” I rasp out through my tears, not caring if she can hear me or not. “And… I wasn’t ready to make it. I don’t know that I ever will be.”

  “Between him and who? Or what?” Her voices catches.

  Between him and my humanity? The humanity I don’t really have anymore?

  My mind shrinks away from this thought, but it’s too late. The thought that I left for no reason. That I left to keep from becoming a murderer, yet that is exactly what I am. What was the point of leaving then? What was done was done.

  The lid on the black box cracks open. The black box I keep in the corner of my mind, where I shove the memories I wish not to remember, and she peeks out. That tiny human part of myself. I thought I killed her too, back there in the Springs.

  She says, I’m still here. I’m still part of you. You left… to protect me.

  And then I feel myself begin to fade into the black oblivion of the coming dawn. I try to fight it, but, as always, my struggle is useless. Sandy’s voice through the door grows faint and I mutter something about going to sleep, and then the darkness takes me.

  TUESDAY

  CHAPTER 4

  Cold, hard tile is the first thing I’m aware of. The second is Sandy’s scent, and the sound of her breathing, and the feel of her warm soft body curled around mine beneath a blanket.

  Shit.

  I raise my head up and look at the floor. Dried blood is crusted where my cheek had lain, and I reach up and rub it off my eyes and skin.

  Sandy moves, then slowly shifts back and sits up. I push away
the blanket and do the same, keeping my face averted, then stand and step over to the sink. When I’m done washing up, I check the mirror and see her still sitting on the floor, watching my reflection. Her nose has stopped bleeding—there’s no sign of the cotton in her nostril. I take a deep breath and her rich human scent fills the air in the tiny room. I close my eyes a moment, then open them and turn around.

  “Morning,” I say, because there is nothing else I can say.

  “Good morning,” she replies softly as she uses the wall to stand up. The bruise on her pale face is a mosaic of purples.

  Turning to leave the bathroom, I pause when I see the broken doorframe, then continue on out. Sandy follows.

  “You didn’t answer. I couldn’t hear you and… I thought maybe you’d gone out the window. But when I checked it outside, it didn’t look like the kind that could be opened.”

  Ignoring her, I sit on the bed to put on my high heels.

  “You know, you don’t breathe when you sleep. I thought at first you were dead,” she says quietly.

  I am, sort of.

  “And you’re cold, but not icy cold or stiff, like someone really dead. I touched someone who was dead once, and you didn’t feel like that. So I decided you weren’t really dead. Just in some kind of weird trance-like sleep.”

  I stop. This should be freaking me out. But I don’t really care anymore.

  Fastening the last strap on my shoe, I stand and straighten my dress, then check the clock. It’s 10:08 AM. She probably needs to eat.

  “It’s a form of meditation in which… in which we slow our breathing and lower our body temperature to concentrate better. It helps calm me.” I look over at her. “Now, do you want some breakfast? I noticed a café next door, or we could go back to the diner. Whatever you like.”

  “Yeah, I guess so, if you’re gonna get something.”

  “No, I’m not really hungry right now. I don’t usually eat when I first get up. Maybe later. But you should eat.” I inwardly wince at the parental tone that just came out of my mouth.

  She shrugs, unoffended.

  “I’m not really that hungry either. Anyway, I’ve got my leftovers.”

  “You don’t have to eat your leftovers for breakfast. Wouldn’t you like some… pancakes, or eggs or something?”

  “No, I’m fine for a little while.”

  Though I’m not so sure about that, I don’t feel like arguing with her.

  “Well, since food isn’t a priority right now, how about you and I get out of this dump and go do a little shopping. I don’t know about you, but I could certainly use something else to wear besides this ruined dress.”

  “Okay.” Sandy visibly brightens and walks toward the door. I grab my keys and pouch, then pause a moment before following her outside.

  It’s a good thing the sun doesn’t fry my skin anymore. Otherwise, getting around today would be a whole lot more complicated. Though I’m relieved to be free from my fear of the sun, a new fear has taken its place. The fear that Nicolas’s blood has irrevocably altered my system in other ways, pushing me further into the Change and toward becoming a full Chosen who can no longer be satisfied with the blood of animals. One who must feed on humans.

  Suppressing a twinge of anxiety, I wait by the car while Sandy retrieves her backpack from her room, then we get in and drive around to the front. I ask about shopping while checking out and the clerk gives me directions to a nearby mall.

  We’re driving up the street toward the mall and Sandy clears her throat.

  “So you’re a bleeder, too, huh?” she asks.

  Say what?

  I frown, not sure how to answer.

  “I mean, I saw the blood under your face. Sometimes I wake up like that, cuz I’ve had a nosebleed while I’m asleep.”

  “Bleeder?” I doubt my definition will match hers.

  “You know, you bleed easily. And bruise easily. A lot of people are bleeders.”

  I stay silent, trying to process her words.

  “I mean, it’s no big deal. I’ve had to get transfusions before. And I was on some medication for a while. But I got better as I got older. I don’t need that stuff anymore.” Yet there is uncertainty in her voice, and I glance again at the bruise on her face.

  “Sandy, if you don’t mind me asking, how old are you?” I try to sound nonchalant.

  “Oh, I’m twenty-one. Old enough to drink, and do anything else I want.” She laughs, but it rings false.

  “Sandy. I’m not stupid, and as you’ve mentioned, not quite like everyone else. How old are you really?”

  “I’ll be eighteen next month,” she mumbles.

  Shit.

  Seventeen. She’s the age I was when my daughter was born. She’s the age my daughter was when I… when I was ripped through my car window and into this hellish existence.

  My gut twists as I inwardly cringe from the horror of that night five years ago and the evil creature who stole me away from my Andrea to turn me into this thing that I am.

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath, struggling to keep my voice neutral. “Well, since you seem to know so much about me, how about telling me a little more about you. What are you running from? Where are your parents?”

  “My mom died when I was born, and my dad left a little while later. I grew up in foster homes. This last one was a real loser.” She snorts and stares out her side window.

  An orphan. Like Andrea.

  I focus on the road ahead.

  Sandy smooths back her hair as she glances at me.

  “Yeah, so I decided I could take way better care of myself than the state’s been doing.”

  “What… what state is that?”

  “The state of none of your business,” Sandy snaps.

  “Fair enough.”

  I say nothing further. I can’t. I can’t talk about this anymore. I don’t need to add to my pain. I have more than enough already, both old and new.

  The road leading to the mall thankfully appears and we cruise the parking lot, checking out the various stores. As we pass the entrance to Macy’s, I turn and pull into a parking space.

  “Macy’s? Awesome!” Excitement erases the pout on her face.

  As I get out, I watch her slowly stand and my earlier concerns for her resurface. She looks paler than she did last night. No telling how much blood she might’ve lost from her nosebleed.

  “Are you feeling okay, Sandy?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.” She flashes me a quick smile and picks up her backpack, then closes the door.

  “You don’t need to take that in. Just leave it here. I’ll lock it in the trunk.” I walk to the rear of the car.

  “No, that’s okay. I’d rather keep it with me.” She slings it over one shoulder and heads toward the store entrance.

  Fear lurches through me as I consider what lies on the other side of that door.

  People. Lots of them.

  Though uncomfortable with crowds, I’m usually able to maintain control around people long enough to shop and take care of any business I might have.

  But now? After draining someone to the point of death last night?

  I have no idea what’ll happen.

  With a deep breath, I tightly leash the hunter and the beast inside me and follow Sandy into the mall.

  My new cell phone reads 12:51 when we leave the mall and walk to the car loaded down with packages. In spite of Sandy’s excitement over her updated wardrobe, she looks tired, and I’d ended our little adventure earlier than I’d intended. She hadn’t eaten much of the meal I’d bought her at the food court, claiming she just wasn’t hungry. She’d drunk a lot of water, though.

  Aside from my worries about Sandy, the day hadn’t been the ordeal I’d feared it would be. I didn’t know how I’d react to being surrounded by so many humans, but something about Sandy seems to help me keep the beast in check. I’m not sure what it is. Maybe it’s that she reminds me of Andrea. Not in looks. A little in personality, perhaps. But mostly I think it
’s her age and the silliness that can go along with it. And she seems, for all her toughness, somehow fragile, and it makes me want to take care of her.

  Opening the trunk, we pile in the bags and boxes. Sandy utters a cryptic comment about our haul, and I can’t help but smile. I’ve been doing that a lot today, more than I would’ve expected under the circumstances. It occurs to me once again that her intrusion into my life couldn’t have come at a better time.

  We get into the car and Sandy takes out her new cell phone. Mine rings from somewhere within the leather shoulder bag I’d bought, and I dig through its depths, grumbling about too many pockets. Finally locating the persistent phone, I glance over at her and answer it.

  “Yeah?”

  “Hi!” She flashes me a quiet grin.

  “Hi.”

  “Thank you for taking me shopping and for my new phone.”

  I didn’t just do it for her. I did it for my own peace of mind. She needs to be on her own as soon as possible. Just in case something happens and I need to leave in a hurry.

  Something like me getting hungry.

  “You’re welcome.” I end the call and start the car.

  An idea pops into my head, and before I can change my mind, I throw it out there.

  “Sandy, what do you think about getting a hotel for one more night? That way you’ll have a good night’s sleep before you get back on the road.” And I’ll have a little more time to make sure she’s really okay before I hit the road as well.

  Sandy looks down at her lap, then nods as she puts away her phone.

  “That sounds good.” She looks over at me and smiles. “Hopefully it’ll be a little better than the one we had last night. That one was kind of a dive. Their floor was too hard, and pretty dirty, too.” She snickers.

  Glancing sidelong at her, I shake my head. I still can’t believe a human slept with me and lived to joke about it.

  Her smile fades and the exhaustion creeps back into her face. She leans against the door and closes her eyes.

  Poor kid. She had rough night and not much sleep. It’s no wonder she’s tired.

  The Hampton Inn is just a few miles down the road. Sandy doesn’t move as I park and quietly get out. I head toward the lobby to get us registered.