Not to mention, the last thing she wanted was to lose Emma in all this. At that moment the maybe from her conversation with Rachel earlier became a definite yes.
Ash came back from her spare bedroom. Emma was crouched next to the corpse. “I have a comforter I haven’t taken out of the packaging; so if the body is found at least my DNA won’t be all over it.” Emma nodded, and reached for the comforter, but Ash pulled it back. “What about you?”
Emma smiled, and took the comforter from Ash. “I don’t shed dead skin, follicles - and any fluid is difficult, if not impossible, to characterize and analyze.”
Ash nodded. She remembered the Garrett crime scene where there wasn’t even any of Ela’s skin under the dead man’s nails even though he had clearly tried to fight her off. “What will you do with him?”
Emma spread the comforter out on the living room floor. “When was the last time you vacuumed?”
Ash frowned. “Are you suggesting -”
Emma looked up and shook her head. “No, I’m not making a passive aggressive comment on your cleanliness. But I am wondering how much of the standard dirt and dust from your apartment is going to get on this blanket.”
“I vacuumed three days ago, and have hardly been in the place since.” Ash answered, her embarrassment lessening with Emma’s explanation.
“Should be acceptable then.” Emma flipped the large man over and effortlessly lifted him up and onto the comforter. She ran her hands over his stomach, hunched over him, and took several deep breaths in through her nose.
“Ah, Emma, what are you doing?” Ash cringed.
Not answering, Emma’s hand came to rest over a swollen area to the left of the man’s navel. She stuck her index finger and thumb into the pliable flesh, rotating her hand around in a semi-circle, then stopped. “Come on, where are you?” A second later she removed her fingers. Pinched between her bloodied digits was the shell from Ash’s Glock 17. “No need for souvenirs.” She put the bullet in her pant pocket. “He didn’t have time to expel it before I killed him.”
Ash had trouble reconciling Emma’s slight frame with the strength she was exhibiting, along with her casual attitude toward corpse removal. “What are you going to do with him?”
Emma wrapped the ends of the blanket around Dorsey’s feet. “Bury him.” She reached to her right, and without looking, picked up the severed head and dropped it on the corpse’s chest. “Deep.”
Ash swallowed. “I assume you don’t need my help with that. I would only be in the way?”
Emma stood up, having completely encased the dead body in the comforter. “I wouldn’t want to risk it.”
Ash was relieved. “Ready for that shower?”
Emma looked at Ash. “Yes, thank you.”
As Ash walked Emma back to her spare bathroom, she was struck by how proper and polite Emma managed to be even in this crisis. The manners must be intrinsic to the woman, regardless of whether she was a vampire or human. “Here you are. Towels and whatnot are in there. I’ll get you a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, and leave them in the spare bedroom for you.”
Ash looked Emma up and down. “I’m a bit taller, but we’re about the same size.”
Emma smiled and went into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door. Ash went to get the clothes from her closet. She laid out a pair of jeans she hadn’t worn in nearly a year, and a beige long sleeve t-shirt on the spare bed. She heard the shower come on. Instead of going back into the living room to sit awkwardly with a dead werewolf, she walked to her bedroom, and lay across the bed.
A few minutes later, the shower stopped, and Emma came out wrapped in a towel, her hair pulled up higher on her head then before. “Do you have any bleach based tile spray?”
Ash sat up and looked puzzled. “I assume you’re asking because a gallon of lycan blood just went down the drain, and presumably some splashed on the walls?”
Emma grinned. “Yes. Otherwise, your bathroom was immaculate.”
“I’ll take care of it while you get dressed.” Ash was trying desperately not to look at the swell of Emma’s breast just above the hem of the towel. Images of her naked from the night before, and how amazing she felt, shot through Ash’s mind.
Emma was blocking the doorway. “I can do it.”
Ash stopped, and glanced at the floor. “It’s no trouble.”
“Ash I think-” Emma was getting agitated.
“Emma, please, my self-restraint is waning here.” Ash glanced at Emma quickly and then back at the floor.
Emma looked perplexed, her eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t –” Her eyes widened. “I thought that-”
Ash sighed and managed to make eye contact with the beautiful woman. “You thought the attraction would just stop?”
Emma nodded. “I assumed the idea would be – unpleasant.” She swallowed hard, and picked nervously at the towel.
Ash walked toward Emma, and pushing past her, grabbed her hand, squeezed it and released it. “Shows what you know.”
***
Ash sat on her sofa, nervously drumming her fingers on the arm rest. Emma had left nearly an hour ago with Dorsey’s body. There was a loud knock on the front door, and Ash jumped. She was edgy, and who would blame her, given the situation? She looked at her watch. It was nearly midnight. Getting up, she walked to the door, and looked through the peep hole. The walkway was deserted.
Turning to walk back to the couch, an even louder knock echoed through the apartment. “I don’t have all night, Detective Haines.” A man’s voice, deep and with a hint of a Cockney accent, came from the other side of the door. Minus the accent, it reminded Ash of her Uncle George. He had smoked for nearly fifty years, and by the end of his life the raspiness of his voice made it painful to hear him speak. Looking through the peephole again, Ash squinted at the still empty walkway.
“Look, I know your kind can be a bit slow on the uptake, but I spoke with Emma and she said this was supposed to be a quick job. Are you going to let me in or not?”
The man was getting increasingly agitated, but the mention of Emma gave Ash enough confidence to crack the door, chain still attached. She looked out and then down. A man barely five feet tall stood in front of her. He was thin with jet black hair, and his blue coveralls seemed to hang off him. “You’re the cleaner?” Ash asked incredulously.
“Yeah. Again, I don’t have all night. Emma said you had a bit of a lycan problem.” He looked expectantly at Ash.
Unhooking the chain, Ash cautiously opened the door. “That’s one way of putting it.” She stepped aside so the short man could come in. “Ah, do you have some ID or something?” Once Ash said it, she realized how stupid it sounded.
The man turned around, and looking up at Ash, smirked. “Really? Do you have very many blokes showing up on your doorstep in the middle of the night to clean up lycan rubbish?” The man could see from Ash’s face she was unconvinced. “Fine.”
Instead of reaching into one of the many pockets in is coverall for a wallet or badge, he closed his eyes, and a split second later bared a set of elongated incisors and piercing brownish-red eyes.
“Oh, shit.” Ash took a step back against the now closed door. “I didn’t realize - I mean I thought -”
The man shrugged, his eyes still glowing. “What, you think we all look like your doctor friend?”
He laughed. “The change can only do so much. You should have seen me when I was human.” The man rocked back and forth on his heels as he whispered. “Let’s just say the ladies were not knocking my door down.”
“I’m sorry.” It was all Ash could think to say.
The man shook his head. “Don’t be. I get plenty of fanny now.”
Ash didn’t want to know the details of that comment. “So, how does this work, ah-”
“Harry.” He smiled.
“Okay, Harry, how does this work?” Ash was trying not to snicker, but a short, empirically unattractive vampire named Harry was not what she was expecting when Emma said she wou
ld have someone come over to clean up her apartment.
Harry, whose eyes and teeth had returned to a less disturbing appearance, looked around. “Is this the only room affected?” Ash nodded. “Well, we’ve got a category A, level one situation here, Ash; so I’m going to need about an hour to get the blood, bone, skin and hair out of the carpet and off the ceiling. As things go, not a total tosh - I’ve seen worse.”
“Ceiling? There isn’t-” Before Ash could finish, Harry had pulled a small black light out of his front breast pocket, and held it up toward the ceiling. To Ash’s shock and dismay, small speckles of blood coated the ceiling. It looked like a demented astronomy constellation.
“I - I didn’t even see that.” She backed out from under the mess.
“You have eyes, yet cannot see.” Harry winked at Ash as he put the black light back in his pocket. Ash frowned. “Hey, don’t feel too bad, no human would see that with the naked eye.”
Ash had been around enough crime scenes to know Harry was right. The places blood and tissue could end up were microscopic and even the most seasoned tech needed the aid of Luminol and a black light. “But you could see it?”
“Of course. Vampires have extremely refined eye sight, hearing, touch, taste - the works.” Harry continued to walk around, scanning the room.
“How’s that work, exactly?” Ash’s curiosity was piqued, and she wasn’t at a point yet with Emma to play twenty questions.
“I don’t know the science of it.” Harry bent down, pulled a ballpoint pen out of his pocket, and poked at a spot of particularly dense blood.
“This is all new to me, and I haven’t really had the chance to ask any questions.” She didn’t know this man and the anonymity of that gave her confidence. “How old are you?”
Harry looked up from the blood stain. “Oy - let me do the math.” He looked up toward the ceiling. “I was turned in 1837.” He counted on his fingers. “Yea, that’s right.”
Ash’s eyes widened. “You’re almost two hundred years old?”
“That I am. Older actually. Born in London, England in 1803.” Harry grinned.
Ash sensed the man’s pride over his heritage. “What did you do - before?”
“Chimney sweep. Mind you, this is back during the Industrial Revolution and before regulations around chimney height, air quality and whatnot.” Harry nodded importantly. “It was a dangerous job.”
“I can imagine.” Ash couldn’t imagine. Nothing in her experience gave her context for the conversation she was having. “I notice vampires can walk around in the daylight.”
“Sure. We don’t have nearly the weaknesses humans think we do. But over the centuries having your lot think we’re one thing, and really we’re something else, has served us well.” Harry walked toward the front door.
Ash sensed the man wanted to get to work. “Sorry for all the questions. I really appreciate you coming over so late.”
“I don’t need to sleep anyways, and I’m always down for a good chin wag.” He opened the door. “I don’t know how you know Emma, but if she told you - or let you live if you found out - then you’re okay in my book. Emma is a good judge of character.” Harry smiled. “I’ll be right back. I need to get my gear from the van.”
“Wait. One more thing Harry. Did you say you don’t sleep?” Ash remembered Emma’s casual comment, while they scrolled through her extensive DVR list, about not sleeping.
“That’s right. No need.” Harry left, and Ash stood in the middle of her blood soaked living room trying to process what was happening. She was trying desperately to cling to some semblance of the world she knew only a day ago, but with each passing minute her reason and common sense were being trampled on.
The front door swung open, and Ash watched as Harry carried several metal canisters in, and what looked like a vacuum cleaner with a large holding tank. “Here, let me help.” Ash made a move to take one of the canisters, but just pulling on it slightly she could tell it was much heavier than Harry’s posturing implied.
“I’ve got it. They’re heavy for you; so let me.” He put the cylinders down and rolled the vacuum further into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. “I actually need you to disappear for a while, miss. Go to another room, or go out, but I work better without an audience.”
Ash nodded. “Sure. I’ll go in my bedroom. Let me know if you need anything.” She turned and quickly walked toward the back of the apartment. Sitting on the edge of her bed, she stared blankly at the wall.
Her shoulders felt like they were made of rocks, and her stomach was cramping from nerves and not eating. She lay back on the bed, but her mind raced instead of providing her with much needed sleep. She could hear Harry moving around, and a low hum of machinery coming from the living room.
There was a faint knock on the bedroom door, and Ash sat up. “Come in.”
It was Emma. She shut the door behind her, but didn’t make a move to come near Ash. “That’s done.”
Ash didn’t want to know the details. In this case, ignorance was bliss. “Is that it then?”
Emma shook her head. “No. Lara is still out there, and presumably desperate for blood at this point. Based on my conversation with Rachel, Ela was ended nearly a week ago.”
“Rachel said you and Coleen should be careful. That Lara would know how to get to you.” Ash tried to sound calm, but the idea of anyone hurting Emma turned her stomach.
Emma smiled, walked toward Ash, kneeling in front of her. “We are pretty good at taking care of ourselves.”
Ash bit her lower lip nervously. “Harry said what we think can hurt you, really can’t.”
Emma nodded and sat down next to Ash. “Yes. Over the centuries we have allowed certain misconceptions to persist. In some cases, we are the origin of the lie.”
Ash understood. “In spite of your strength, you’re outnumbered.”
Emma grinned. “Exactly. Twenty-to-one by some counts.” She looked down. “There have been periods when relations between humans and vampires have not been copacetic.”
Ash thought about one of her American History classes in college, and how horrified she had been learning about the Salem witch trials and subsequent deaths of innocent people. In general people feared what they didn’t understand and could easily become invested in their ignorance. Ash didn’t want to be one of those people. Someone who allowed their opinion to morph into prejudice.
“How old are you?” Ash started with the simplest question she could think of.
Emma’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I was turned in 1862, when I was thirty-three years old.”
Ash exhaled. “I have questions, and I don’t want to hurt you, or upset you. Is it okay if we talk about this?”
Emma looked at Ash for several seconds. Her eyes moving from Ash’s lips to her eyes. “I would like that.”
Ash nodded, and turned so she was facing Emma as they sat on Ash’s bed. “Great. So, 1862. That was during the Civil War.” Emma nodded. “Where are you from?”
“West Virginia.” Emma said plainly.
“Really, I wouldn’t have thought. You’ve completely lost your accent.” Ash smiled.
“Most things fade after a hundred and fifty two years.” Ash instinctively reached for Emma’s hand, but thought better of it. There were still too many unknowns.
Chapter 14
“Are you getting up?” Emma stood over her youngest sister Mary. The child rubbed at her eyes and slowly sat up in her bed. Her long dark hair was tied into loose ringlets with thin cotton cloth strips.
“Em, do I have to?” Mary was ten years old, and getting her out of bed before dawn on a Sunday morning was becoming more and more difficult.
“You don’t have to, but God manages to be here every minute of every day for you. Don’t you think a few hours a week for Him is a fair trade?” Emma pulled the heavy quilts down, exposing the small girl’s legs to the cool morning air.
“Em! It’s cold.” Mary pulled her long night gown down over
her legs, reached for the quilt, and tugged at it. Emma held onto it firmly.
“Let’s go. Your mother has made us breakfast.” Emma lifted the quilt up off the bed, and folding it, placed it on the wooden stand next to the door.
Mary was Emma’s half-sister. Her father Henry had remarried after Emma’s mother, Carol, had died while giving birth to her sister Martha nearly twenty years ago.
Emma had been Mary’s age when Carol died. What she remembered most was the silence in the house for months after. Her father had been inconsolable in his loss. A carpenter by trade, after Carol’s death, Henry Atman became more active in the local Methodist church, and eventually was ordained. He now led a congregation of nearly a hundred people in Grafton, Virginia.
Emma walked down the narrow stairs that led from the second floor of the wood framed house to the ground floor. The house was modest, with a single room acting as the dining room and living room on the first floor. The kitchen was a small add-on room near the back of the house, and the second floor consisted of three small rooms parceled off to form the bedroom Emma, as the oldest, had to herself, the bedroom Martha and Mary shared, and the master bedroom. The bathroom was detached from the main house, making treks during the winter particularly harsh.
“Is she up?” Ada Atman asked as she placed a brown clay plate of bread on a wooden rectangular shaped table. Her graying brown hair was pulled back in a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and she wore a long, plain beige dress covered in a faded blue apron, with pagoda sleeves and a high neck collar. She had just celebrated her forty-ninth birthday, and wore the small pewter brooch Emma had bought her on the collar of her dress.
“That’s up for interpretation.” Emma walked into the kitchen, and picked up a bowl of grits Ada had sitting next to the stove.
“Grab the raisins too, Em.” Ada instructed from the dining room.
Emma picked the small clay bowl up from the counter and carried it along with the grits into the dining room. “Has Father left already?”
Becoming Forever (Waking Forever Series) Page 20
