Blood Reaction Saga (Book 2): Blood Distraction

by Atha, DL

  Either way, it remained visible proof of what I’d been party to. It was an awful sight to me, but I couldn’t look away. As decayed as it was, I’d have drank it now if I could have swabbed it from the dirt. My vision blotted red at the sight and smell. Reality lost its focus. I felt confused, and my thoughts were disheveled. My chest got tight, claustrophobic almost. Why had I come here? For a second, I forgot completely. Think, I reminded myself. It’s important. But I couldn’t remember.

  Against the backdrop of mountains in the distance, the tree that I’d staked Asa to stood out. An oak, its thick trunk reached upwards and dissected the night sky as it gave way to thousands of brown leafless tributaries. The surface was marred by a hollow spot where my stake had pierced the trunk, bark scattered on the ground below. I’d let Asa dangle there for a while, his eyes hollowing and sinking in, my hand‐carved stake pinning him in place. And it had felt good.

  I started to turn away from the tree and the memories that it dredged up, but as I did, the ground at my feet began to bubble blood. What had been absorbed from the man the night before ran across my shoes. I stared at it in horror, a silent scream finally becoming real as I tried to take a step back. But my feet were rooted, and I could do nothing but watch the blood as it pooled around my ankles. I was still screaming when the blood turned and snaked up the tree. The trunk went red as the blood traced its path through the branches of the tree like millions of capillaries. The red fluid reached the terminal branches and dropped off in a heavy rain on my skin. I cowered under my hands, using them in a futile effort to protect my face from the blood, but it was no use. It dripped from my eyelashes and ran in rivulets down my cheeks and across my lips. I wiped at it with my hands and forearms, but I couldn’t keep it out of my eyes and my mouth. I shuddered at the taste; the blood was old, dead and not fit to drink.

  “You should not have survived. You should not have killed me,” Asa’s voice whispered from behind me. I spun around, arms flexed to fight, but legs coiled to run. But no enemy was waiting. Just the naked arms of winter’s oak trees. I wiped at the blood in my eyes again.

  “Face me you coward,” I hissed as I turned back towards the blood‐soaked tree. But my bravado was false; I was shaking like a leaf. I guess human reactions don’t simply disappear overnight because my breath was chugging like a freight train. I wanted nothing more than to race home.

  “And do what? Hide in the bed with your mommy? She will not comfort you; she knows you are a monster.” Asa’s voice mocked me from all directions now. He pounded in my ears, which I covered with my hands, my fingers digging into my scalp.

  I searched the shadows for his hidden form and studied the tree limbs, expecting to find him stretched out on one as he laughed at me. But the forest was empty. He was nowhere to be found. You killed him, I reminded myself.

  Logically, I knew that. I searched for calm and closed my eyes against the vision. I thought of Mom back home and Ellie sleeping safely in her bed. I reminded myself that I was a scientist at heart and all of this was a hallucination brought on by the scent of the blood, brought on by my rising hunger.

  I walked a few steps away, taking deep breaths as I did so. The fresh air washed the smell from my lungs, and when I opened my eyes, the blood had evaporated from my skin. The forest floor was the simple browns and greys it had been, and only the small stain remained from the man’s spilt blood. I would be careful to keep my distance.

  I left the oak tree and the blood‐smeared ground and retraced my steps from last night to where I’d buried Asa. After I’d staked him, I’d carried him nearly a quarter mile away before stopping to bury him. I was paying careful attention to the ground at my feet and little else, still in shock at the hallucination I’d experienced when I heard a hard and familiar voice to my left.

  “Looking for something?”

  Oh God, I thought as I recognized it. Some vampire I am. I let a human sneak up on me. And not just any human. That human. And then, When did I begin to think of them as a different species? I wondered.

  I turned towards him, not bothering to hide my irritation.

  “The only thing I’m looking for is a little peace and quiet, Detective. Unfortunately, I find you here,” I answered.

  Rumsfield watched me from a thicket of trees to my left. He was well hidden, his back ringed by the scratchy limbs of cedar trees, and he looked more than a little nervous. While his body was glued in place, his eyes darted back and forth as he searched the forest around us. His pupils were dilated in the darkness; he smelled of anxious sweat and fear. A leather bag was slung across his chest, the strap melding the leather jacket he was wearing to his body; his right hand was poised above his gun.

  “You a little trigger happy tonight, Detective?” I asked. I was hoping he’d put the handgun away. How would I explain it if he shot me and I walked away, alive and well tomorrow night.

  “Do not bother with explanations. Just kill him now,” Asa whispered. I jerked towards the sound of Asa’s voice, studying the forest behind us.

  “What?” Rumsfield questioned. “Did you hear something?” He jerked his gun from the holster.

  The clarity of the hallucination was astounding. I reminded myself again that I’d killed Asa. That’s why I was here and most likely the same reason the detective was here. “I thought I heard a voice behind me. It’s nothing. Probably just nerves,” I answered.

  He nodded and swallowed, his held breath pouring out in a rush and then sucked in slowly as he struggled for control of his voice. “Did you hear that sound a few minutes ago? Sounded like a banshee screaming.” The gun hovered above the holster, and I couldn’t help but be impressed at how little his hand shook.

  “I didn’t hear anything, but I would have no idea how a banshee would sound,” I answered. But I know what I sound like, I thought, remembering the blood curdling screams from a few minutes back.

  “That was the God‐awfullest sound I’ve ever heard, and I’ve spent a lot of time out here in these woods.” He swallowed hard, looking past me and into the woods again. Finally, he re‐ holstered his gun and slid his palm down his jeans, wiping away the stress sweat.

  “Maybe it’s the same animal that got that man last night,” I said.

  His eyebrows lifted slightly as he cocked his head to the right. “Which makes me wonder why you’re out here, Annalice. Don’t you agree it’s a little odd that you’re wandering around in the woods with some wild animal on the prowl?”

  “No odder than you, I guess.”

  “Don’t play stupid, Annalice. I knew you’d come, eventually. If I waited long enough, I knew you’d come for it. Turns out, I didn’t even have to wait that long. Mind you, I’d have come every night if that’s what it took.” The detective’s low voice drifted across to me on the night breeze, each sound wave exaggerated by the stillness of the evening. I could hear the knowing in his voice, and I hated him for it.

  “You knew I’d come for what exactly?”

  “Come on, Annie,” Rumsfield murmured. “I have to admit, I’ve never understood the criminal psyche. The evidence is right in front of their face, and they’ll lie like the devil, come hell or high water, every time. Looks like it doesn’t matter how educated the criminal is; they’re still too stupid to just come clean. Sure save a whole lot of time and taxpayer dollars if you’d hang up this charade.”

  From the bag on his shoulder, he pulled a plastic bag, slapping the side of it with one hand. The sound popped in the air. Inside, I could see the outline of my hand‐carved stake. I raised my eyebrows and aimed as condescending a look at him as I could muster. “What are you going to do, Detective? Stake me? Won’t they question that down at the station?”

  “There’ll be a lot of questions, ma’am, but they won’t be directed towards me because this is evidence.” He lifted the bag up to look at it while he spoke.

  “Evidence of what precisely? Wait. Let me guess,” I said, holding my hands up in the universal language of back the f‐up. �
��The same kind of evidence that you collected from my house? Oh, wait a minute. You didn’t actually find anything at my house, did you? The search warrant got you nowhere. But you came back later that night. Collected a few fingerprints. Stuff like that. Any of it pan out?”

  He started to speak but changed his mind, one hand lifting to run his fingers across a couple‐days‐old scrape on his forehead. “Wait a minute. How did you know about that? You weren’t home. I knocked on the doors. Unless… unless you were watching me.”

  He was looking at me expectantly for answers, and I didn’t have any. What was I going to say? Yeah, I watched you get attacked, and I did nothing to help you. But don’t worry, Detective, it was only because I was being held hostage by a vampire. Otherwise, I would have come to your aid right away.

  “I have a security system with cameras. I check it every night,” I lied. “You came back that night after the search warrant and took fingerprints. Checked the house out. Again.”

  He rubbed his forehead a second time, wincing as his fingers grazed the broken skin. “Did, um… well did you see anything really strange on the footage by any chance?”

  “Besides you acting a fool? Or maybe you were drunk, the way you were stumbling around my pasture. Nice cut you’ve got there on your head by the way. What were you expecting, Detective?” I asked hatefully. Of course, I was lying. I’d never set the cameras on my security system. They were as blank as the day they’d been installed.

  He dropped his police guard momentarily, looking slightly vulnerable. “Did you see anyone else? Anything else… I’m not sure what I’m asking. Just anyone else on the footage?”

  I aimed another condescending look at him. “Who’s the detective here anyways, and what are you asking me, exactly?”

  His patience was wearing thin. I could see it in the way he rubbed a hand roughly through his hair. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days, and he looked tired. I felt sorry for him, knowing what it was like bearing the brunt of Asa’s handiwork. Having seen things that made no sense and having no one to tell them to. But pity was for someone who had the luxury to care. And I didn’t.

  “There was no one there except you, Detective. I guess you tripped over your own feet. Served you right being where you weren’t supposed to be. Did you find anything, by the way, on your little illegal run?” I laid the sarcasm on thick.

  Vulnerability wasn’t an emotion he was used to. He wiped it away quickly and put on cocky again. “Yeah, you might say I found something. I found some fingerprints that night. From a fifty‐three‐year‐old cold case, and I found them on your doorknob and in Ms. McElhaney’s house. Don’t you find that odd?”

  I laughed out loud at the question. “I’ve found a lot of things odd about you, Rumsfield. Aren’t you starting to feel a little stupid yet? Or have you always been the laughing stock of the station?” I was being hateful, but I didn’t care. It was in his best interest. The more insane this whole thing seemed to him, the better off the both of us would be. He needed to forget those fingerprints.

  “No one’s laughing at me, Annalice. I’ve got lots of evidence, and you know that. That’s why you’re out here in the middle of the night, right? You didn’t come all the way out here just to take a walk and commune with nature. You were hoping that us ‘good old boys’ wouldn’t find this. But this good old boy did,” he said, pointing to himself.

  His voice was confident, but I could detect a little hesitancy; more anxiety colored his scent, and it wasn’t a pleasant scent. Like sweat on steroids. So I’d hit a nerve. Maybe he was getting a little more ridicule at the station than I realized. And then, I finally saw the truth staring me in my face.

  “Well, if that’s true, Detective, why isn’t that little piece of evidence in the hands of the state crime lab right now instead of in your hands?” I asked, making quotation marks as I spit out the words.

  The tinge of anxiety became stronger as my question hung unanswered. It was going to be hard for him to explain. Beads of sweat ballooned on his hairline, and his heart surged forward as he struggled to come up with a plausible explanation. Oh, the scents and sounds of lies.

  “There’s plenty of reasons I haven’t turned this little beauty in yet,” he said, pointing to the stake. “I tested it myself already. Your fingerprints,” he said, jabbing a finger in my direction, “are on here. And I found clothes in a hole in the ground with a stab wound in the chest that is the same size as the end of this wooden stake. And a wedding ring. The shirt’s pretty ripped up. In fact, I bet the person wearing that shirt was in a lot of pain. Want to explain that? It’s a grave, isn’t it?”

  He was really getting worked up now. Pacing back and forth and pointing to the hole where I’d buried Asa. But there was nothing there now except more unanswered questions for the detective. I laughed again as if all this was ridiculous. “I don’t have to explain anything, but I sure as hell don’t have to explain some old trashed out clothes in a hole in the woods. Calling it a ‘grave’ is really going overboard.”

  He stopped pacing, his hands on his hips, one hand still holding the evidence bag. It rocked back and forth a few times on his hip when he swung towards me. He nodded his head slowly as he stared at me. “So you admit it. It’s yours.”

  “I’m admitting nothing. I’m just saying if it was my handiwork, it wouldn’t mean a damn thing.”

  “You killed him,” Rumsfield said. He crossed his arms like Superman surveying the evil plot he’d just foiled.

  I sucked in my breath at his accusation. Hearing the words out of someone else’s mouth was even harder to accept. Luckily, he was still basking in his own glow and didn’t recognize my “oh shit” moment. “I killed who, Detective? So you found my fingerprints on that piece of wood. What else did you find? Any blood? Any body tissue? If I’d killed someone, wouldn’t there be some blood? And who do you propose that I killed by the way? Where’s the body? Do you actually think that I’d have been any match for the young man who died out here last night? That I could have shoved a wooden cross through him? And what exactly would have been my motive?” I shot back, sneering in his face.

  His eyebrows lifted in mock surprise as the corners of his mouth turned up in a feigned smile. “Whoa. Simmer down, Annalice. Interesting how that little tidbit shot out of your mouth so quickly. I didn’t mention anything about the man that died last night. Strange that you brought that up. They ruled it an animal attack, you know. And Ms. McElhaney’s cause of death was ruled the same thing. Don’t you think it’s strange this many people dying of animal attacks around here, and all of them so close to you. What, with your neighbor being killed and now this kid attacked practically in your backyard and all. In my entire career, I have never filled out a report of a death from an animal attack. Have you? I mean you are a doctor. How many death certificates have you filed as a result of animal attacks?”

  Smart aleck. I’d verbally linked myself to the crime. Had I learned nothing in malpractice class in medical school? Number one rule, keep your damned mouth shut. Had I just hung myself by getting angry?

  He waited for me to come up with an answer, his smile getting bigger. “Oh don’t strain your brain if you’re trying to think back, Annalice. I checked with the Arkansas State Health Department. You’ve never filed a death certificate with animal attack as cause of death. Which was a relief by the way. It did cross my mind that I’d stumbled across a doctor serial killer.”

  “Again, what’s my motive in all of this, Detective?” I asked, ignoring his jabs. He’s just trying to get me riled up. Don’t let him. “I’m not sure. But you can bet your bottom dollar I’ll figure it out. The man in the restaurant with you the other night, your old flame, this is his grave. There’s no body but these are his clothes. I know that because they match the description from Lisa at the Screamin’ Eagle,” he said, pointing to the smoothed‐over hole behind him. “Not that I blame you for killing him, mind you, because by all accounts, yours included, he must’ve been a real son of
a bitch. But I didn’t write the law; I just enforce it whether I agree with it or not. And you were out here when that boy died last night. I’m not sure why yet, but you were there. Your footprints were all around the crime scene. The two of you followed that kid. We’ve got casts of a woman’s footprints and a man’s. Both followed that kid out here but only the woman walked away.” He pointed at me again. “You. Now everybody else, they can’t see past all the signs of an animal attack. Makes them think those footprints don’t mean anything. But you’re not fooling me.”

  I shifted angrily in my place. A rage was brewing. I could feel my very unnecessary breathing pick up further. My hands clenched at my sides.

  “Exactly how you fit into that man’s death last night remains a mystery.” He rubbed a hand through his blond hair as he continued, “But you had some part. Tell me, Annalice, what really happened to your neighbor? Did you get in over your head with that old flame of yours? A cult maybe? Drugs?” Staring at me, he waited a few moments before throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I just don’t get it, Annalice. I really don’t.”

  He didn’t seem to understand how upset I was getting. Was he so lost in his evidence that he was missing what was right in front of his face? I tried to calm down as I opened my mouth. “Let’s get back to the evidence and drop your insane questions for a moment, Rumsfield. You know they’re my footprints because …” I let my voice drift away to silence. “Oh, because you found my matching shoes, right? Yeah, it’s all making so much sense now. De. Tec. Tive.” I emphasized each syllable hatefully.

  He took a step towards me, his handsome features warping with anger. “I’m not just some country bumpkin, ma’am. I’ve lived here my entire life, and I know these woods. I’m a damn good tracker, and I followed those footprints all the way back to your pasture. If I’d gotten there sooner, I probably could have seen your trail in the dew. But nobody’s perfect, and we didn’t find that kid’s body until around ten this morning. So I made it to your place around noon and the dew was already gone. Interestingly, so were you. I bet I rang your doorbell for an hour. Wouldn’t mind telling me where you were, would you?”