The Dark Proposal (The Claire McCormick Trilogy)

by Megan Cashman

  Shuddering at having another arm around her shoulder, albeit a more gentle one, Claire let her father guide her downstairs to re-join Zachary and Kristina in the living room.

  For the rest of the four day weekend, Claire tried to pay attention to her family. She played and took care of Ava, who grew more relaxed around her. Claire sang songs to the now seven month-old, talked to her by using her stuffed animals, and encouraged her to crawl. While doing all this, Zachary and Kristina left her alone so she could bond with her niece and goddaughter. After all, she rarely saw her.

  While spending time with Ava, Claire was amazed by her happy innocence. Her blue eyes were wide with wonder and excitement. Her giggles came too soon and not often. The little girl was elated to be in the world, with each gesture, tone, and echo making her react with total delight. Those reactions made Claire wonder why she didn’t see life and the world around her the same way. She always thought that kind of advice was impossible to do, but if she could, she would laugh and widen her eyes much like her niece at every given moment. Life was certainly short and worthy of being celebrated, clichéd as that sounded.

  But also, as Claire watched her niece watching a children’s cartoon show, she absorbed the baby’s wonder, and vowed to never let her eyes enlarge in horror or sadness; let them widen with wonder forever.

  When Claire wasn’t spending time with Ava, she was with her brother and sister-in-law, mostly dodging holiday shoppers at the nearby mall. Kristina was the type to shop on Black Friday, so Zachary and Claire joined her for the fun and the stress.

  Downtime for Claire meant spending quiet time with her parents or eating dinner at Zachary’s house across town.

  She barely spoke about Daniel during the remainder of her four-day weekend, and no one seemed to notice.

  But not far from her mind was what he told her and what she came across that night before he’d called her. When she was alone in her room at night, she would do more research on her phone. There were plenty of people in the world who believed in vampires and had some evidence to prove it. Despite being labeled as conspiracy theorists and nut cases, they connected online and shared their information.

  That Sunday night, Claire sat up in her bed, going over those websites she had bookmarked. One of them talked about people suspected of being vampires, mainly because they kept to themselves and hardly ever left their homes. While the owner of the site admitted that while such accusations were carelessly made, there were genuine suspicions going around in major cities in the world. It seemed like vampires preferred metropolitan areas for more anonymity and to hide behind high crime rates.

  That same site had a series of pictures, taken from various times since the invention of photography, as proof of someone being a vampire. As she scrolled through the site, Claire came across a few photos that made near-panic set in on her. One photo, taken in the 1920s, showed what appeared to be Michel and Hilde posing before the Coliseum. Another one showed Anthony, Yvette and Jessica on the dark streets of San Francisco in the 1960s. And finally, there was a photo taken in the 1890s in London. A group of men were gambling with others watching over them. One of them, with his head turned sideways, watched them intensely. His shoulder length hair was light and his cheekbones high.

  She felt her heart stop as she remembered seeing that photo once before. At the photo exhibit a month earlier. She remembered how eerily the man and Daniel resembled each other. And how he shrugged it off like it was no big deal.

  It was a big deal. Because the man in the photo and the man she was dating were the same person.

  Sitting up in her bed and hugging her knees for some sort of comfort, Claire felt like waking up her parents to tell them what she had found. But they would think she had lost her mind. She thought about calling her roommates, but they would think the same. What should she do? What could she do?

  With her panic rising, Claire fought to remain calm. Fear was dominating her very being and she could not focus. The man she was involved with was clearly something immortal, a vampire even. She had seen his fangs and his eyes turn impossible colors. He hesitated to enter her apartment and likely had erased her thoughts a couple of times. Yes, Daniel was definitely a vampire.

  Her mind raced as she rocked herself back and forth. Being a vampire meant drinking blood for survival, which meant killing people. Was it really possible that the man she loved and took for a good person spent the night ending lives?

  Her hand shaking, Claire picked up her phone again and went back online to go back researching.

  New York had had vampire-related deaths since the early 19th century, and their numbers varied over time. Sometimes it was two a night, or eight a night. These days, it was between seven or ten. It was not easy to figure out the exact number of deaths since the 1980s because the vampires appeared to have gone underground, as some said, and began killing the homeless, prostitutes, drug addicts and runaways. Killing more preferred members of society had become more uncommon. One writer on a website said it might be because of the increasing surveillance security in the city.

  A blog brought that up in one post, and suggested that while the city’s police and detectives would cover up any death by a vampire by saying they were caused by a slash to the throat rather than a bite, the authorities knew full well that there were supernatural beings in the city and all over the world, committing these murders. They had top secret detectives working on the cases and were using the latest technology to hunt down anyone suspected as being a vampire.

  The blogger mentioned an incident back in 2005 where the New York detectives were closing in on a suspected vampire. He was drinking from women he took home after meeting them at bars, instead of drinking from those living in alleyways. More than once did those women died or ended up in the emergency room, bite marks on their necks. The authorities ordered the hospitals and coroners to not reveal the actual cause of the death, thus beginning the slash to the throat explanation that continues to this day.

  As they came close to arresting him, the vampire decided to end his life by climbing to the roof of his Upper West Side apartment in the middle of the day, when the sun was high. Within an thirty minutes, he turned to ash, indicating he was not old enough to survive the sunlight long. That was the first and last time detectives knew they had a true vampire in their radar, but had not been successful since, though there were suspicions.

  Claire was shivering as she read this blog. She clicked on the author’s profile and found that he called himself NYCHunter. He claimed to be a policeman who sworn to secrecy about vampires, as part of the job, but had to voice his beliefs somehow. He had seen too many deaths linked to vampirism.

  As she read his profile and saw the words “slash to the throat”, her heart stopped beating almost instantly. She had heard that term before, very recently.

  Swallowing hard, she typed in “Colin Willis murder” into the search engine and quickly examined the results on the website. Most of them said the same thing. The professor was killed by a slash to the throat despite no sign of a struggle, a break-in or even foul play. Same old stories.

  But as she went through the results, she came across one from a Brooklyn blog about Williamsburg, the neighborhood Willis lived in. The blog claimed to have the latest gossip about the area, and it had a few entries about the murder. As Claire read them, she grew cold.

  There were rumors that the professor did have two small holes on the side of his neck, right at his veins. The story of him being found on his bedroom floor were not true; he was actually sitting up in bed, watching TV when the killer came. At the same time, there was not a lot of blood found on the scene. Instead of having his bed literally dyed red, Willis’ had a few stains. It was as though he didn’t have enough blood in him to begin with.

  Police were careful to only allow certain people inside the apartment, so no one would see the lack of blood or Willis calmly sitting in bed. Detectives used a code to cover up the vampiric death from reporters and anyone w
ho wasn’t supposed to know. The blog even said the detectives also told the undertaker for Willis’ body to use special make-up to hide the fang marks. No one was supposed to know how the professor, but whispers managed to go around.

  Claire had her knuckles in her mouth, biting down hard on them. She was preventing herself from screaming, whether in fright or anger. So that was why there was never any developments in Willis’ murder for so long, and why there was no sign of a break-in or foul play. Her favorite professor, the one who had inspired her to do what she wanted with her life, was murdered all for the sake of a vampire surviving another night. Chances were, someone in Daniel’s circle of friends did it. Most likely it was one of The Black Roses since they lived in Brooklyn, and Daniel knew about it all along.

  All along. He fucking knew it all along.

  She told him on their first date at the French restaurant how much Colin Willis meant to her. He acted like he shared her sentiments, and went along telling stories about the likable professor. How could he? Was blood so important to vampires that they -

  Claire froze, letting out a yelp that managed not to wake up her parents.

  A couple of weeks earlier, they were standing outside the overcrowded pub after the play. Daniel was in a lousy mood over something trivial. And in his mood, he made a callous remark about Willis’ death. About how he should be promoted to better classes because one professor no longer existed.

  Did Daniel actually do the killing himself?

  Claire felt her muscles tighten ferociously together, causing a pain she didn’t notice because her rage was so strong. Her teeth gnashed, almost cracking. She had never felt so angry before in her life.

  He was heartless. He can kill without remorse. His previous gentle ways were all an act just to lure her to him so he could have a companion for his existence. He was not capable of love. This was the real Daniel Bertrand all along.

  But what could she do about it?

  Roughly exhaling, Claire lowered her head and released her muscles. Panting, she allowed a mournful feeling come over her. She already had experienced what Daniel can do if she ever questioned him. The bruises on her neck had faded, but she could still feel his steel hand pressing on it. She had never thought someone would actually assault her like that, let alone someone she dearly loved. Or used to, anyway.

  The thoughts in her mind started to slow down, replaced by the same words over and over: Daniel is a vampire, he can kill you if he wanted to. It was like a mantra, though it did not offer her any peace.

  Finally, she was able to focus a little, and wondered what she should do. Daniel had revealed he was a vampire. He had been violent toward her. He had apparently killed her favorite professor for whatever reason. He had told her he wanted to make her a vampire so they would always be together. If she were to refuse, she would regret doing so.

  That last part alarmed Claire. That certainly wasn’t much of a choice. And what did he mean that she would regret saying no?

  Would he kill her? There was no way he would simply allow her to turn down his proposal and let her go. He definitely would harm her.

  Was there a way out of this? Was there anyone she could turn to?

  There was no answer right away. She had to wait until Monday night.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The drive back to Staten Island made Claire’s heart pound more with each passing exit number. The fast-paced highway driving seemed too eager to throw her into the clutches of the nightmare that awaited her at the end of the trip. Wasn’t there a slower way to travel across New Jersey?

  Claire had started off chatting a bit with Zachary but as he drove closer to her home, she was more quiet as her anxiety rose. Her brother noticed her odd behavior and asked what was wrong. She told him it was the two assignments she had due later this week, and the pressure to do them well was beginning. While the first part of her answer was true, the second part was not. Claire used to always handle stress well because she thrived under pressure. But this was a different kind of pressure.

  She got home to the apartment in the early afternoon. Monica was substituting so Samantha welcomed her home. Even she noticed something was off about her. After pestering her about what was wrong, Claire gave in a bit.

  “Daniel and I had a big fight. I don’t know if Monica told you, but we’re having disagreements over whether we should move in together.”

  “You’re not going to, are you?” Samantha said. “You haven’t been dating long enough.”

  “Yes, that’s what I told him,” Claire fibbed. “But he’s being a bit of jerk about this. He practically said he won’t take no for an answer.”

  That’s when Samantha lectured her on how some guys were not worth it and she had to set her priorities straight. In the end, she left the decision up to Claire, but made no secret she wanted her to not leave the apartment for someone who was being pushy.

  That evening, Claire sat on a bench outside the building where Daniel taught his English 101 evening course, mindlessly playing games on her phone. It was just something to do while waiting several minutes before class let out.

  While it was mild for a late November night, she was shivering. She tried to breathe the way yoga instructors taught her while she was still a student, but the anxiety was still with her. She was however, able to think her situation over a little. Reflecting on what Samantha had told her earlier, she decided that would be a great way to talk sense into Daniel. It was too soon for such a commitment. He would have to accept that. And if he dared to hurt her again, she would contact the police. She knew it was something she should have done before, but back then she had been too overwhelmed with shock to even think properly. But now, despite her nerves, she was thinking carefully.

  Loud footsteps suddenly sounded inside the building and Claire looked up. The evening classes were done and the students were leaving. Putting her phone in her shoulder bag, she waited for the crowd to thin out before entering. She walked down one of the halls to the small classroom where she found Daniel packing up his satchel. No one else was in the room.

  She cleared her throat and he looked up. She forced a smile and said, “Hey.”

  A more genuine, or perhaps secretly sinister, smile came to his face. “Hello there! A bit daring tonight, aren’t we?”

  “Well, it’s been a while.” Claire was amazed at herself. She almost never came to his classrooms after the students left. Perhaps the anticipation and anxiety made her do this.

  “Indeed,” he said. He snapped shut his bag, put it on his shoulder and began leaving the room. Claire followed along side of him.

  As they left the campus for the bus stop, they chatted about their long weekend. She mentioned her family, while he talked about spending time with his friends. She knew this was all an act before they went to his TriBeCa apartment, and then the real Daniel would show himself.

  The express bus arrived and they boarded it. This bus was to take them straight into Manhattan instead of to the ferry. Daniel graciously paid for both of them since money was tighter for Claire.

  When they sat down in the back, he put his arm around her and kissed the side of her head a few times. The kisses felt heavy and cold.

  During the hour long ride, he kept his arm around her shoulders and they barely spoke to each other. Claire leaned her head on his shoulder to give total strangers the impression all was well.

  Once in Manhattan, they got off in TriBeCa and began walking toward his apartment, hand in hand. Flashes of what happened Wednesday night were going through her mind and she fought to remain in control. This was going to be a difficult night and she was going to have to survive somehow.

  Inside, Daniel removed his leather jacket and tossed it on the couch. Claire took off her coat and placed it on one of the dining room chairs. They turned to face each other.

  There was a pregnant pause with both waiting for the other to speak or make the first move. For a second, she wondered if this was going to be the moment he would make he
r like him or kill her instead.

  “No, Claire,” he spoke suddenly. She jumped, startled. “It’s up to you to say yes. And remember I did tell you I can read your thoughts.”

  “Then please stop, because you’re freaking me out,” she said.

  He arched one eyebrow, and for a moment, she feared he would attack her. But instead, he crossed one arm across his chest and put the opposite hand under his chin, as though contemplating something.

  “I see you’ve accepted somewhat of what I revealed to you,” he finally said.

  “A little.” She felt like she preparing for war.

  “What?” He sounded curious. “Is there something else you can’t comprehend?”

  “Yeah,” she said in a shaky voice. Her eyes were downcast, and when she was ready, she lifted them to look right at him. “I did some research while in New Jersey. There’s a lot of websites about real vampires.”

  “Yes?” Daniel raised his eyebrows.

  Taking a deep breath, she said, “I think you killed Colin Willis.”

  His face expressionless, he lowered his arms and closed his eyes, shaking his head. He ran one hand over his face as Claire continued.

  “I read a blog about his murder. There are rumors going around that he had two holes on the side of his neck. There was no blood in his body.” She swallowed and asked, almost pleading, “Did you really do it? Honestly, Dan?”

  Removing his hand, he looked right at her and said, “I think you know the answer to that question.”

  She did, and whatever hope she had that he did not murder Willis quickly dissolved. She began to pant in horror at first, but then in anger.

  “I mean, you knew as everyone else that there was no evidence of foul play,” he was saying, nonchalantly watching her. “Plus, there were no suspects -”