Drawing Blood

by Mary Lou George

“What happened at the psychic’s? You looked pretty shaken when you walked in here. I appreciate you suppressing it in front of the kids, by the way.”

  “I didn’t want to scare them.” Holly rubbed a hand across her forehead and leaned forward on the couch. She told her friend about what Margaret had said.

  Avery’s reaction wasn’t a surprise. “Oh my God! That sounds terrifying. Maybe you should leave town too?”

  Shaking her head, Holly said, “Wouldn’t that make my father happy? He’d pack me in bubble wrap and hide me away forever like Rochester’s first wife in Jane Eyre. I’d only see the light of day when I felt the urge to set the house on fire.”

  “Just a suggestion. You don’t have to go to your father’s. You could take a trip to New York or something.” Avery smiled at her. “I’d go with you, you know.”

  “Yeah, I know you would and thanks, but I can’t avoid this. I imagine if I left, it would just follow me or wait until I got home. I won’t be that pathetic weakling my father expects me to be. I’m not going to run away.”

  “Well, it’s your decision. Just remember you’re not alone. Stephen and I will help you any way we can.”

  “Thanks.” Holly smiled. “Plus, I’m expecting Alison tomorrow. She left a message on my voice mail.”

  “I wonder what she’ll wear this time.” Avery laughed. Alison and Avery had never been friends. They hailed from worlds and ideals at polar opposites and kept a silent, but tense armistice.

  Holly shook her head and joined her friend’s laughter. “God only knows what hot little number she’ll sport, but you can be sure it will be expensive and uncomfortable.”

  * * * *

  Holly was right on the money. The next day, Alison Seaton showed up wearing a business suit tailored to fit like a glove. Her heels were at least four inches high, forcing her to walk on the balls of her feet. She sank into the ground in Holly’s yard and the moist earth coated the spike heels. Visibly annoyed, she cleaned them off carefully as soon as she walked in the house. Holly wondered why she bothered. They’d just get dirty again when she left.

  “Sorry about the mud,” she said. Surprisingly, she meant it.

  “You really are in the middle of nowhere.” Alison moved farther into the house. She’d tied her bone straight hair in a tight pony tail that fell down the middle of her upper back between her shoulder blades. Holly was reminded of a palomino horse. The thought wasn’t meant as an insult. Holly happened to love palominos. Shaking her head, she decided her observation was best left unspoken. Her sister wouldn’t take kindly to being compared to a horse. Who would?

  “What are you grinning about?” Alison asked, looking over her shoulder.

  “Oh nothing, I’m just admiring your hair.”

  Alison returned Holly’s smile. “It’s okay when the style of the day is straight hair. It still refuses to hold a curl like yours does.”

  Holly pushed her sister’s words aside. “You’re just being generous because I gave you a compliment.”

  Alison looked sad for a second and touched Holly’s dark wavy hair. “That’s not true. I meant it. Just accept the compliment with grace and say, thank you.”

  “I can do that. Thank you.” Holly smiled.

  Alison nodded and moved to the living room.

  “Do you miss us at all?”

  She felt sorry for her sister for a moment. She’d never considered the possibility that Alison might miss her after she’d moved up north. Feeling a little guilty Holly said, “I love it here, but of course I can’t help but miss my family.”

  “Daddy broods about you.”

  That fact came as no surprise to Holly. “How is he?”

  “He’s still scaring all the interns at work and orchestrating deal after deal. He’s fired another cook.” Alison nodded to the bags she’d placed on the kitchen counter. “You’ll discover yet another version of macaroni and cheese. I hope it’s better than the last one.”

  Holly grinned. “Ah, the frying pan of doom.”

  Alison shared her laughter.

  It surprised her when Alison said, “We’re not very good friends are we?”

  “It’s never too late you know.” Holly started to reach out to her sister, but Alison missed the gesture and moved away.

  “Maybe,” she said quietly.

  She didn’t stay long and was on her way shortly after they’d covered all of the things Alan Seaton insisted Alison do when she or Matthew did a drive-by. Holly obliged without complaint and humored them. It was harmless and seemed to be important to her father.

  She didn’t confide in her sister about what had been happening in her life. She loved Alison, but hair color wasn’t the only thing they didn’t share. In fact, they didn’t have much in common at all, except that they were both southpaws...not something that tended to bring people together.

  Their family resemblance was next to non-existent. Alison had almost unearthly fair skin. She was tiny, but surprisingly voluptuous, whereas Holly was of average height and average build. Blithely confident, Alison commanded attention. Holly retreated from it.

  Holly couldn’t talk to her sister about the strange man she’d met in the grocery store and her intense reaction to him, nor could she mention the gory sketch she’d created or her visit to the psychic. She’d been keeping her automatic drawings from her family for too long. Her father considered them an aberration, something that needed to be treated with drugs, like a mental disorder.

  Alison invariably sided with their father. She’d mean well, but Holly’s recent experiences would alarm her. She’d report back to their father. He was poised to collect his youngest daughter and bring her home. Holly refused to give him ammunition.

  After Alison said her goodbyes, Holly picked up her pencil and started to draw. Smiling absently, she whipped off a quick sketch of Alison and her Armani suit. Avery would appreciate it. Holly meant no disrespect to her sister. As a gifted artist, she couldn’t help it. She drew every day, sometimes just quick gesture drawings, but as if driven to do it, she had to have a pencil in her hand. Her book illustrations were tremendously successful. She preferred fantasy to fact when it came to her work.

  Avery wrote books about fantastical worlds filled with magic and wonder. Holly illustrated them. It was a symbiotic relationship that proved incredibly lucrative. They loved it.

  Putting her pencil down, Holly glanced at the clock; long past dinner time. She grabbed one of the more promising meals her sister had brought her and popped it in the oven. Filling her kitchen with the aroma of garlic, it was ready in thirty minutes and Holly ate it with relish.

  It was a beautiful night and she spent the later part of the evening out on her porch watching the moonlight glisten off the water. The stars shone incredibly bright, reflecting off the lake so clearly they looked like little beacons gleaming up from deep beneath the calm waters.

  Holly’s imagination took flight. What if the lights weren’t the stars’ reflection? What if an entire civilization existed in the lake, under the water? She made a mental note to talk to Avery about the idea. Maybe they could turn it into something, perhaps a future book aimed at teaching readers about the importance of nature conservation.

  At last, forcing herself to skirt her drawing materials, Holly went upstairs to bed. If she’d stopped and picked up a pencil, she knew she’d be at it all night. No, it could wait until the morning. She needed to sleep.

  She loved her bedroom. It was once the attic in the pre-war house. Before moving in, she’d had renovations done and converted it into a bedroom and ensuite bathroom. She’d even had skylights installed in the ceiling above her bed so she could look up at the moon and stars every night.

  Shutting out the sky overhead and curling up on her side, Holly brought the covers up to her chin. The sheets were crisp and cool. She moved her feet up and down enjoying their smoothness. She couldn’t sleep. Margaret Wickham’s words kept playing in her head. She’d never get sleep if she didn’t drown them out som
ehow. Without conscious will, her mind turned to Stryker Cain. Thoughts of him silenced Margaret at once. Was he in bed looking up at the same sky?

  Holly gave herself a mental shake. Surely she’d exaggerated her reaction to the man. Maybe she’d already been psychically gearing up for her automatic drawing when she’d met him and her own ability complicated her reactions to the man. Yeah, that must be the explanation. There was nothing special about him. There couldn’t be a connection between them and no he wasn’t in bed looking up at the same stars. He was probably in bed having sex with his wife…the drip-sweat kind. Her heart tripped. He seemed the type who would make his partner sweat buckets. Holly gave a huge sigh and reined in her rogue thoughts. Raising her head up off the pillow, she punched it twice and settled down for the night.

  But Stryker Cain only followed her into her dreams. Asleep at last, she snuggled deeper into her pillow and smiled. In her mind, a sunny glow surrounded him and he smelled like sunshine. But like a coin, on the flip side there was a darkness that she couldn’t quiet bring into focus. Try as she might, she couldn’t get a handle on what important bit of information he kept from her. He was adept at all kinds of manipulation. One stroke of his hand and she was beyond caring. He leaned over her and almost took her lips with his own. Holly longed for the touch of his mouth but he teased her, staying just a breath away. The anticipation became sweet agony. When skin finally met skin it was well worth the torture. He was gentle, and waited for Holly to get accustomed to his lips on hers. When she responded eagerly, he ran his tongue along her bottom lip then pulled away. He wasn’t gone long though, as a second later his mouth took hers with a little more aggression.

  His kiss was exquisite and Holly felt her limbs become liquid as she opened to him. She gladly offered up her soul as a sacrifice. She didn’t care about the unknown darkness. He could take whatever he wanted. Still he hesitated.

  Pulling his head away from her, he looked down at her willing and waiting body. Her skin burned wherever his eyes paused. His head dove and she moaned as he nipped the curve that joined her throat to her shoulder. Instinctively, Holly turned her head to give him easier access. Again, he didn’t take what she offered. Instead he traveled down her body to where his lips and tongue found the puckered tip of her breast. He smiled at her with a triumphant look in his eyes and he touched the crest with his tongue. Pleasure shot through her and she groaned. He didn’t stop there though. A gentle touch wasn’t enough. He opened his mouth and used not only his tongue but his lips and teeth as well. She unraveled.

  Crying out, she tried to lift her arms, use her trembling hands to force his lips to hers, but she had no control over her limbs. Her body had turned to liquid and it ignored all commands from her brain.

  He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled her head back again, arching her neck. His lips feasted on what he found there. It wasn’t enough for Holly. She wanted to feel his teeth. She yearned for the pleasure and the pain that somehow she knew only he could give her. Lost in sensation, she felt completely at his mercy, but he held back.

  Her body writhed beneath his. His hardness against her yielding flesh was a promise unfulfilled and she begged him to put her out of her sweet misery. He didn’t, instead he moved down her body stopping to tease one pleasure point after another until Holly wanted to scream. Still, he didn’t release her. He moved back up her body and kissed her deeply. His tongue found a spot beneath hers and he drank.

  He moaned. “Your essence, my love.”

  Somehow she managed to wrap her legs around his waist and press him to her.

  All tenderness forgotten, he took what he wanted, driving her beyond reason. She engulfed him…flowed around him…cupping him tightly, surely. It didn’t end. Holly reached one peak just to reach another and rise higher and higher again. The tension in her body drew tighter and tighter. Would there ever be a release?

  Inside her body and her soul, he became liquid too. They joined, becoming one, indistinguishable from each other.

  His eyes were blue/black as he looked down at her.

  She threw her head back and panted. “Please. Take it. Do it now.” His white teeth gleamed in the dim light, his head swept down. Would she feel pleasure or pain? Holly screamed.

  Chapter 4

  The sound of her own scream finally tore her from the dream. Breathless, she looked around the room…her bedroom. It seemed so real. The sheets were damp with telltale sweat and her heart pounded loudly in her ears.

  Holly’s skin burned. She threw off the covers and tore at her nightgown. Total nakedness was the only thing that offered any relief. She stood under the skylight and watched a shooting star.

  Her heartbeat eventually returned to normal as her skin chilled. Her nightgown lay in a ghostly white pool at her feet. Still damp from her perspiration, the fine cotton was cool to the touch. She tossed it in the hamper and pulled another one from the closet. Completely drained, all she wanted was sleep, but the damp sheets would provide no comfort, so she hauled them off the bed and replaced them with fresh ones. Finally, she collapsed on the mattress, pulled the sheets up and slept.

  Fatigued from the incredibly erotic dream, she hadn’t noticed how badly her arm ached or the detailed sketch that floated off the bed and landed on her slippers as she drifted off.

  * * * *

  Holly wasn’t usually a sound sleeper but when she woke the next morning to the sound of the doorbell, she knew she’d been dead to the world. Rolling out of bed, she staggered over to the window and with a scowl looked down at the person disturbing her sleep. Standing on the porch with a scowl all her own, Avery waved her arms urgently.

  Something was up. Holly glanced at the bedside clock and frowned when she saw that it was after 10:00. She’d overslept. She hadn’t done that since moving up north. Avery hit the doorbell again with impatience. Holly waved and hurried down the stairs to the door.

  “Sorry to wake you, sleeping beauty, but you have to turn on the Moose.” She hurried to Holly’s stereo and pressed the power button. The Moose, named after the quintessential, Canadian icon, was Avery and Holly’s favorite local radio station. Music was playing and with a sound of exasperation, Avery changed the channel.

  Holly said, “Can I make you some coffee?”

  “Had some already. Stephen dropped the kids off at camp. I called you, but when your voice mail picked up, I got worried. Do you know I’ve been pounding on your door for about fifteen minutes?” She looked at Holly with concern. “I was just about to go home and get the spare key. I thought something had happened to you.” She continued to change channels until she got to the news.

  “Here,” she said, “listen to this.” She dropped her long, lean body on a stool beside Holly’s kitchen island.

  The reporter’s voice didn’t sound familiar. This wasn’t a station she usually listened to. At first, she looked at Avery with confusion then she heard what had her friend in such a state.

  In Muskoka, at a home not far away, police had found the body of an elderly woman. So far they hadn’t released the cause of death.

  Holly looked at Avery and shook her head in denial. “No…it can’t be her. She said she was leaving yesterday. Didn’t she?”

  Avery nodded. “Yes, as long as she got a few errands out of the way. I didn’t bother to ask her what those errands were. She seemed to get the urgency. I don’t know what kept her from leaving, but it sounds like it cost her her life.”

  “Wait a second.” Grasping at the proverbial straw, Holly said, “They didn’t announce the woman’s name, so we don’t know if it’s Irene O’Neill.”

  Avery treated her to a withering look that had Holly reluctantly admitting, “I know, I know. What are the chances of it being someone else? What do we do now?” Holly leaned her forearms on the kitchen island and unconsciously lifted one foot then the other, taking turns raising each and warming it on the opposite calf.

  “We can’t just sit around and wait to find out if it was Irene or not.
Oh God.” Her eyes widened and she looked at Avery in horror. “What if it isn’t Irene, but someone else killed in her place? I’m responsible.”

  Avery looked at Holly sternly and used her firmest voice, the one that always made the kids stop dead in their tracks. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not to blame any more than I am. We didn’t murder anyone. What else could we have done?”

  “I could have taken the sketch to the police.”

  Avery reacted with spirit. “We talked about that. They would have dismissed you immediately, especially the cops around here. I doubt there’s ever been a murder up here. They might have blamed you for it. As it is, the gossips are going to dine out on this for weeks.”

  Holly had to admit her friend was right. What else could she have done? Still, that didn’t alleviate her feelings of guilt. “They’ll release the victim’s name in good time, but how do we find out now who it was? I don’t think we should wait.”

  “I’ve got an idea,” Avery’s eyes gleamed.

  Holly shook her head and grinned for the first time that day. “You’ve always got an idea. Call me Ethel Mertz to your Lucy Ricardo. So start s’plaining, Lucy.”

  “Janice Owen. Her husband is a cop.”

  “Who is Janice Owen?”

  Avery waved a hand. “You know, Jeffrey’s mother? Connor’s friend Jeffrey?”

  Holly nodded. She could picture Jeffrey’s mother’s face. “Does her husband work in this county?”

  “Who cares? He’s a cop. If there’s been a murder, he’ll have more information than we do. I’m going to call Janice and see what she can do for us.” Avery moved to the phone.

  While her friend tried to remember the phone number, Holly poured a glass of orange juice. She lifted the jug in Avery’s direction. Avery shook her head and showed her straight white teeth. Holly smiled at her iconic gesture for having just-brushed-teeth. Orange juice after toothpaste was most unpleasant.

  With nothing to do while she waited for her friend to finish, Holly recalled a little of her dream the previous night. She could feel her blush start at her chest and move upward, warming as it went. Holly wondered if something as natural as a blush could set her hair on fire. It sure felt like it.