Dark Secrets Box Set

by Angela M Hudson

  There was a short pause. “It’s five in the morning. Technically, it’s my shift.”

  “Don’t start this again, Da—”

  “Look, I’m not saying you have to go, just—”

  Suddenly, my hand returned; just my hand, with a sharp, cold sensation travelling right through each bone in my fingers. I tensed. It hurt, like holding onto ice or snow a little too long.

  “Just don’t talk about hope, okay? I can’t bear to even hope.”

  The silence lingered a while, and all I could focus on was the deep burn of cold in my bones. I wanted to push it away, to make it stop. It branched out from my wrist, slowly trembling up my arm and along my collarbones. I tried to hold my breath, but my lungs weren’t there, a hollow void occupying my chest instead.

  “Maybe you should take a walk. You look… stressed,” Mike said.

  “You’re right. I’ve been here too long. I’m losing my mind, I—” The cold in my hand suddenly came away, replaced by a warm touch that melted the chill. I knew it was Mike. I remembered touching him once, but not the reason why. I wondered if we were friends or if he loved me maybe. Whatever the reason we’d touched, I liked it. I wanted him to know I could feel him; wanted him to know that, despite the fact that I couldn’t talk to him, I was still here. Somehow, I was still here.

  “Is she… smiling?” Mike’s voice peaked on the edge of excited curiosity.

  “It means nothing,” said the smooth voice. “It’s just a muscle reflex.”

  “No,” Mike said. “No, she is smiling.”

  The smooth voice sighed.

  “I’m here, baby girl. I’m here.” Mike whispered in my ear, the warmth of his breath brushing against my hair. It was pleasant, not at all like the cold that had brought me back into reality. But even without the cold to grab onto, I stayed aware, in this consciousness, still surrounded by the black pit of nothing. I could even smell him now—Mike; he smelled like… a feeling. Like… home.

  I wanted to go home. Wanted to be like Dorothy and find my magic slippers—wish my way back. So I shut my eyes tight and imagined them: red ones, like in the movie, not silver like the book, and clicked my heels together, repeating the words Dorothy used as a spell to get home.

  “What’s she saying?” asked the smooth stranger.

  “Something about…?” Mike paused, then repeated my words. My words. They could hear me!

  “Do you think she’s dreaming?” Mike asked.

  “Perhaps. Or trying to find her way home,” Mr. Smooth suggested.

  I tried harder, cupping imaginary hands tightly together, praying he’d hear me again.

  “Look at her skin.” A hand fell on my brow, a warm one. “She’s pale. Do you think she’s turni—?”

  Silence.

  An empty chill stole the hum of the world and a flat, dense darkness consumed my hope like a vacuum sucking a hole in my belly, leaving me alone in darkness again.

  I was alive, but I was clearly never getting out of here.

  * * *

  An alarm clock somewhere out there woke me. I wanted to reach over and hit snooze, shut it up, but I was so tired my body wouldn’t wake enough to move. I imagined doing it so many times that when the beep lifted me to the surface of my dreams again, I actually thought I’d already turned it off. It was annoying, but somewhere in the back of my mind, as I tried to drift back to sleep, my brain interpreted it as rhythm—reminding me of something I’d forgotten.

  Music.

  I remembered music. I remembered a song that I heard once, in a place that felt like home, with a boy I know I loved but could no longer see when I closed my eyes. His song had the same hollow, kind of sorrowful rhythm as that beep.

  When I opened my eyes, foggy light flooded the room, creeping along the walls and floor like the morning sun sweeping the grass in the early hours. It touched my toes, my ankles, and flowed up over my denim jeans and tank top until, as I looked around me for the first time, saw the orange trees and foliage-covered floor of a forest.

  I knew this place…

  The lake! It was the lake.

  David!

  His face shot into my mind, bringing with it a flood of painful memories.

  Eternity.

  My love.

  The red rose.

  The silky voice.

  It was like I could see him so clearly, sitting just across the way with a blue guitar, his voice so heartbreakingly beautiful. With each note he played, my heart beat double-time, the alarm clock beeping out there in the same rapid pattern.

  “David.” I covered my mouth with a shaky hand, feeling tears track my cheeks like unfamiliar friends in a home they once knew well. “I’m sorry.”

  David’s song faded then, drowned out by the incessant bleeping of that damn alarm as it got louder, more powerful.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am,” a stiff-sounding man said.

  My body became stiff too, and tight. I could feel gravity again, but couldn’t use it.

  “Once the tube is out, she may just slip away,” he added.

  “But…” Someone burst into tears. Vicki, I think. “She looks perfectly fine. How can she be brain-dead?”

  What? Brain-dead? I’m not brain-dead. I struggled against my confines, trying to get up. What did they mean by brain dead?

  “The tests were conclusive, ma’am. I’m sorry. In some cases, the patient can stay in a coma, on life-support, for years to come. In your daughter’s case, it would be best for her if she didn’t.”

  Wait! No, I yelled. I’m not brain-dead. Vicki. Dad. Please?

  “Wait!” Vicki said. “Just… don’t take it out yet. Please? Give her more time.”

  “Her father signed the forms, Mrs. Thompson. I’m sorry.”

  “Greg?” her voice broke. “Greg, please?”

  “Vicki. Just stop,” Mike said. “She’s gone. Don’t make her suffer any more than she already has.”

  Mike? No. Don’t give up on me, Mike. I’m still in here. They got it wrong.

  “Hand me that tray, please?” the stiff-sounding man said to someone, and in my dark world I clutched my own chin as the feel of muggy, sweaty hands touched it.

  Get off. Stop touching me!

  I felt my body, felt my arms, my face, but couldn’t get his sticky hands off me.

  Please? Don’t let me go yet. Don’t give up on me.

  A tugging sensation snaked up my throat, grating my insides like the ribbed curve of a straw. My lungs felt tight, strained, as if air was being drawn in through a thick cloth over my mouth.

  The room went silent for a breath, then, the alarm sounded in one flat pitch.

  “Greg, please?” Vicki whispered. “Please don’t let her go.”

  The anguished sobs of those around me flooded my heart, making me sad. I focused on the beeps—willed them to move—but they rang out in monotone.

  “Fight, Ara,” a smooth voice hummed, the melody dark with sorrow as a pair of cool lips brushed softly over my eyes…

  Wait! Cool?

  David!

  He was there in that room beside me. Right there where I could touch him if I could just wake up!

  Like a door slamming shut at the end of a long, empty corridor, a dead echo made the space around me grow. I felt myself become whole—felt my fingers, toes, arms, legs, everything was here in this room with me, but I couldn’t see them—couldn’t open my eyes.

  “Tell me how to get out of here,” I yelled up at the uninhabited void. “I know you’re out there. I know you can hear me.”

  An eerie feeling lingered along my neck then. I turned slightly, noticing a thickness to the dark, like a shadow stood right there behind me. But when I tried to focus on it, it was gone.

  Closing my eyes tight and crossing my fingers, I willed the beeps to move again. “God, please. If you’re up there, please…?”

  Then, I heard a sound.

  I opened one eye and looked around, sure it wasn’t possible. Until I heard it again: small, faint,
and such a long, quiet pause between each one.

  My heart skipped excitedly then, and the beep copied.

  “Get the doctor,” someone ordered.

  Vicki’s high voice broke into sobs, while my Dad’s deep, soothing whisper rose above it with comforting words.

  I missed my dad so much. Would give anything to see his smile again.

  “Mike?” Dad said. “Just breathe.”

  “I can’t.” Mike’s voice sounded so heavy with sadness. “I can’t. Where’s the goddamn doctor?” he yelled.

  “It’s just a glitch,” the stiff man said suddenly.

  “It’s not a goddamn glitch,” Mike screamed. “She’s alive. She’s—”

  “She’s gone,” the man said, and Mike’s words ended in heartbreaking cries, disappearing as suddenly as the world had entered my darkness again.

  I held my breath, listening carefully, but there were no voices now, no beeps—nothing.

  “Ara!” David’s hand swept my brow, bringing the world back again, desperation rising up in his controlled tone. “S’il te plaît, mon amour, lutte, bats toi pour vivre.”

  It was no good. I couldn’t wake my mind. I couldn’t reach over and press snooze. I couldn’t even understand what he was saying to me.

  I’m sorry, David, I whispered with weakened resolve, finally ready to let go.

  And as if David felt me give up, his cold hand slipped behind my neck and lifted my head. “Ara? My love, please be in there.”

  “Mate,” Mike said. “Don’t move her. They said not to move her.”

  David’s arms wrapped me tightly, his hands searching, touching every inch of flesh as if to caress me back to life. Then, as the panic reduced to realization, his hands slowed and a cold drop of liquid fell onto the bridge of my nose.

  “Please fight. I can’t lose you.” He took a deep, strained breath and pressed his lips to my brow. “Je vous en prie, Dieu, sauvez-la.” Another jagged gasp made his chest rise. “S’il vous plaît, ne l’enlevez pas loin de moi. Ne me l’enlevez pas.”

  His words hung in the back of my mind, resonating with a tone of understanding, and as I felt a touch of fabric on my cheek, they became suddenly very clear. “I’m begging you, God, save her. Don’t take her from me. Don’t take her away.”

  His devastation broke my heart.

  I’m so sorry, David. I love you. If you can hear me, please know that. Please take care of Mike—tell him I love him too.

  He didn’t answer. I wanted him to answer just once; just so I knew he heard me, knew how much I loved him, knew he’d heard the words I wished I’d said when he asked me to change for him.

  David? Please?

  Nothing…

  David? My throat hurt.

  “Ara?” Something moved under me as he spoke. My body, I could feel my body, feel the bulky, uneven surface I was laying on. A cold grip tightened ever so slightly around my waist. “Ara?”

  “David?” I tried again. I could hear the terror in my cry, but it was real—my voice—it came from somewhere different than it had before.

  David laughed from behind me, his lips on the side of my face. “Yes. Yes, my love. Yes. You’re talking. Open your eyes.”

  Gravity pulled my skin, dragging it down. I fought against the push and lifted my eyelids, blinking rapidly.

  Bright.

  Light.

  Tears rushed to my irises to protect them from this new experience, burning my vision into a white blur. I couldn’t focus on anything, but I loved it more than the breath I could suddenly feel through my lips.

  “David?” I smiled. “Am I… am I out?”

  “Oui, mon amour, oui, you’re safe.”

  “You… you saved me. You pulled me out.” I held his hand tight over my belly as the gift of sight was restored and I felt his arms become the cold that was restraining before. His chest quivered beneath my spine, tears dripping from his chin and falling onto my shoulder as I took in the room: a white room, a bed, a chair, a glass window looking onto the corridor of a hospital.

  “What… happened?”

  “I,” he started, but couldn’t finish.

  “We lost you, baby,” said Mike.

  Oh, Mike! That’s when I felt my heart—it was still beating, and it was strong. “Mike?”

  “I’m here, Ara.” He appeared by my side, his warm hand closing around mine. “I’m right here.”

  “I don’t understand. What am I doing in a hospital?” I asked, rubbing my face.

  David looked at Mike, then they both looked at me. “You lost a lot of blood. They had to put you on a life support system.” Mike’s eyes narrowed slightly.

  “Okay, but what happened to me?” My memory hit the foggy wall of perplexity. I didn’t even remember getting up this morning.

  “It wasn’t this morning.” David answered my thought.

  “When?”

  “Ara, you’ve been in a coma for three months.” Mike’s voice cracked and he turned away so I couldn’t see his face, but I only had to see his shoulders shaking to know he was crying.

  Three months? I tried to look around the room to get my bearings. Three months?

  “Okay.” I took a few deep breaths, bringing myself to terms with this new information. “So, a coma—but why? How did I get in a coma?”

  Mike’s shoulders rolled forward even more.

  “Mike?”

  He just shook his head, refusing to look at me.

  I looked down at my hands, felt my face, my throat, checking for something, anything that would give me a clue. Then, I noticed the silky, lumpy rise of gathered skin on my neck, and as I looked down to nothing in particular, saw the horrid parallel lines of raised pink skin down the length of my forearm.

  I drew a breath, tracing the scar with wide eyes, afraid to touch it—not sure if it was really there or if this was some nightmare.

  “Did I do this to myself?”

  Mike released the sob he’d obviously restrained, and David held his breath, pressing his cheek to mine with the same intensity as his grip around my waist.

  Then, with a wash of cold trepidation, the memory hit me.

  Jason did it?

  David squeezed me tighter.

  I rubbed my head, my eyes burning with tears. Jason. He hurt me. The cold. The dark. I remember.

  “Shh, hush, my love, it’s going to be okay,” David said.

  “What’s happening?” Mike leaned over me, studying my face as I fell apart inside. “Why is she breathing like that?”

  David stood up and laid me flat on my back.

  “Get the nurse,” Mike ordered, moving a pillow from under my head.

  “No!” I held my hand out, taking deeper, more controlled breaths. “No, I’m okay. I’m okay.”

  “Ara, you’re as white as a ghost.” Mike folded himself around me, and the warm smell of home reminded me that I was safe, that I was okay now and the darkness was gone. Jason was gone. I rested my chin in the curve of his neck.

  David?

  He looked at me, his emerald-green eyes shining out under his low-pulled brow.

  Did he find me, David? Did Mike find me? I clutched Mike’s shoulder tightly, studying David’s face, trying to feel my heart beating—to steady it—but after months of sensory deprivation, everything was so loud and so bright.

  David closed his eyes, nodding, and looked away.

  I knew what Mike would’ve seen. I knew what David would’ve seen in Mike’s head, because even he couldn’t look at me.

  “I’m sorry, Mike,” I cried. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”

  Mike let out a gust of air and his sad gaze drew me in as he pulled back. Tears streamed down his bearded cheeks in thick lines, his eyes falling stunned into the silence that stopped on his lips. “Ar, I…”

  I turned my face away.

  “No.” Mike took my chin in his fingers and made me look at him. “You have nothing to be sorry for. You did nothing wrong. This is something that was done to you.”
/>   “He bit me.” I touched my neck.

  “Yes.” Mike’s eyes met mine. “Do you remember anything else?”

  I looked at David, who lifted his head when he read my thought: He bit me, does that mean I’m a…?

  He shook his head.

  I’m not a vampire?

  He closed his eyes and shook his head again.

  My breathing slowed entirely. I lowered my head and rested my hand across my lips, not sure if I was relieved or devastated.

  Why? Why aren’t I dead then? He bit me. I should be dead, right?

  Our gazes locked again, and David nodded.

  “I wish I’d never let you out of my sight,” Mike said. “Just a split second was all it took. I just… I was watching you. I was right there and…” He bit his knuckle for a second. “I tried to get to you, but he was gone.”

  “It’s not your fault, Mike,” I whispered. It was all I could do to console him. My throat hurt and the muscles under my jaw felt strained.

  “I should’ve protected you. It was my job, Ara.” Mike looked at David for a second. “They… the doctors say you have the same mark on your neck as that kid who died—Nathan?”

  What? I looked at David. Nathan died from a vampire bite?

  David nodded.

  A vampire? Not you, David? You didn’t do it, did you?

  He closed his eyes.

  Mike studied the both of us, no clue we were exchanging our own private words.

  I looked past Mike, my wide eyes studying every inch of David’s face. There was no way David killed Nathan. I couldn’t believe that. I wouldn’t believe it. He might have killed Rochelle, but that was fifty years ago. He’d changed. I was certain of it.

  David looked up, his warm eyes softening as he muttered, “Thank you,” under his breath.

  “They just can’t understand why—if it was the same guy—why Nathan didn’t report an attack,” Mike said. “Ara, you shouldn’t be alive right now. Your attacker was carrying some rare tropical disease. You died!”

  “I died?”

  “Yes. They said you were brain-dead. You flat-lined when they took out the breathing tube and your heart stopped! But then”—he looked at the small screen behind me—“somehow, you found a way to keep going.”