Bring On the Night

by Jeri Smith-Ready

  “Can we go tonight?”

  I clicked on the link for the county clerk’s office. “They’re only open eight-thirty to four on weekdays.”

  “Of course.” Shane sank onto the couch and put his head in his hands.

  “Don’t worry. It says only one of us needs to show up. So I can just bring your ID with me when I pick up the license. After the quarantine.”

  He said nothing, and I could almost hear the sound of his faith toppling. He thought there would be no “after the quarantine.” He thought I was going to die.

  I bounced over to him to show off my vitality. “Or we could drive to Vegas next winter, when there’s lots of night.” I sat in his lap. “Stay at hotels without windows, or more of those vampire-friendly B and Bs. It’ll be an adventure.”

  “Yeah.” Shane pressed his forehead against mine. “I’m sorry. I want to be strong for you.”

  “You are.”

  He held me so tight against him, my bones seemed to creak. “I can’t live without you.”

  So don’t.

  “Shane…” I eased my head away so I could meet his gaze. “If I get sick, and it looks like I’m not going to make it, there’s something I want you to do.”

  I expected his expression to turn guarded, but he just nodded, eyes sad but earnest. “Whatever you need.”

  Maybe he hadn’t considered turning me to save my life. Or if he had, he’d thought I wouldn’t want it—because of the hundreds of times I’d said so—or that I would never ask him.

  I had to ask.

  “I’m not ready to die,” I said.

  His fingertips grazed my cheek. “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “You’re so young.” He traced the line of my jaw with his thumb.

  “Exactly.” My heart started to race with hope and fear. “Too young.”

  “Why would someone your age plan for this sort of thing?” He nodded slowly. “If you need me to make arrangements, for your family, or your—your funeral—” His voice caught.

  I gripped his shoulders, wanting to shake him. How could he not understand?

  I stared at him as the terrible truth soaked my heart. Shane did understand. He just couldn’t say it out loud, and neither could I. If I asked him straight out, make me a vampire, he would say no. This was his way of saying don’t ask.

  The phone rang. As we turned our heads to face it, the sound seemed to stretch out, growing lower and garbled like a warped cassette tape. Dexter snorted and lifted his massive head off the sofa’s other arm, aroused from sleep.

  “I’ll get it.” Shane slowly slid out from under me and moved toward the kitchen counter. He looked at the phone handset. “David’s number. Maybe it’s station business.” He waited another ring before punching the talk button. “Hello?”

  I held my breath and stared at his face, as if David’s words were scrolling on a marquee across his cheeks and nose.

  “Okay, thanks,” he murmured after what seemed like hours. “I’ll let her know.” He paused again. “Maybe later. We’ll call you.”

  He hung up. I rubbed my chest to keep my heart beating.

  “Those other students didn’t make it.” Shane turned and spoke to a point beyond my head. “The CDC has shut down the university. David said Homeland Security might get involved, in case it’s bioterrorism.”

  I took two deep breaths. “But it’s only four people so far on the whole campus of, what, fifteen hundred?”

  “No.” His lips pressed together. “Five other students and another professor have gotten sick with this supervirus. None of them had immunity.”

  I pulled the throw pillow into my lap and clutched it tight to my chest. “It’s really happening. We’re under a plague. If this gets out of Sherwood, think how many people could die.”

  He knelt by my side. “You might not get it. You had half the vaccine.”

  “Maybe it’s just delaying the inevitable.”

  “Or maybe it’ll give you the strength to beat it if you do get sick. David said none of the people who died had gotten any shots at all.”

  “Okay. Hope. I’ll try hope.” I started to rock, with the pillow still in my lap. “I’m not like everybody else. Maybe my special blood will fight off the infection.”

  He went to the counter and picked up the phone. “You should call your parents.”

  I gasped. “Yes! Maybe they’ll remember me getting the second shot.”

  “Right, but I meant, you should call them to…” He dropped his gaze to the floor. “You know.”

  I did know. I should call them to say good-bye.

  After navigating the prison’s labyrinthine switchboard, I finally reached a guard.

  “Hi, honey!” came my mom’s voice half a minute later. Immediately I pictured her as she’d looked when I’d visited last Christmas—on the thin, pale side, but spirited as ever, like a canary in a cage.

  “How are you?” My voice sounded hollow and far away, as if I were on the phone with myself. I watched Shane pour boiling water into a pot of mint tea.

  “Excited. Counting down to my parole hearing.”

  My lower lip trembled. With good behavior, she’d be released by the end of the year. If I died of chicken pox, I would’ve just missed her. I wanted to hurl the phone across the room at the unfairness.

  “Ooh, I have news!” she said. “They’re letting me lead the prison choir.”

  I forced myself to speak. “Congratulations.”

  “There are far too many altos. Perhaps there’s a connection between vocal pitch and criminal behavior. What do you think?”

  “Uh, it’s possible. I think testosterone affects how low your voice is and how much risk you’re willing to take.”

  “That makes sense. My little girl is so smart. So that’s my entire recent life in a nutshell. What about you?”

  “Uh… are you sitting down?”

  “Yes, they give us chairs. Why? Is it—” She sucked in a squeaky breath. “Are you pregnant?”

  “No.” She didn’t know that was impossible, since she didn’t know Shane was a vampire.

  “Oh, thank goodness. Engaged?”

  I slipped my thumb over my diamond and sapphire ring. “Yes, but that’s not why—”

  “Ciara, that’s wonderful! Is it Shane?”

  “Of course it’s Shane.” I tilted my head toward the bedroom. He nodded, then quietly slipped away to give me privacy. “But, Mom, that’s not why I called.”

  “Something bigger than an engagement? Do spill.”

  I sat on the couch. “One of my professors died this week.” I paused while she expressed her high-strung sorrow. “The thing is, he died of chicken pox.”

  “Oh,” my mother said in a faint whisper. “Oh, no.”

  With those words, my last hope died.

  “I never had it, did I? What about the shot? Did I ever get both parts?”

  Her voice came fast and tight. “We were always on the move. I homeschooled you, you weren’t around enough little kids to catch it. And then when the vaccine came out, it gave you all those hives, so we never…” She paused. “Oh my Lord, I’m so sorry.”

  Dexter shoved his head into my lap, grunting. I clutched the thick folds of fur and skin at his neck.

  “Do you feel sick?” Mom asked me.

  “No. But not everyone has come down with it at the same time.”

  “What do you mean, everyone?”

  “Eight other students and another professor have gotten chicken pox. Three died. So far no one’s recovered. The shots and the medicine make it worse.”

  “Oh my goodness.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “Maybe you won’t get it. Or maybe you’ll get better. There could be other cases where people didn’t get sick enough to go to the hospital, and you just don’t know about them yet.”

  I closed my eyes. She and Shane were trying their best to give me hope, but I needed so much more.

  “Mom… just in case. I want you to know that I lov
e you.” My chest grew tight, so I hurried on to practical matters. “And you’re one of the beneficiaries of my life insurance. Shane gets the other half.”

  “Oh, Ciara.” She started sobbing. “I love you, too. You must be so scared. I wish I could hold your hand and tell you everything will be okay. I wish I could hug you like when you were a little girl.” She sniffled hard. “I wish I could come and be your mom.”

  That did it. Tears spilled out of my eyes, tears of anger and bitterness and defiance. And with them, a resolution.

  I wiped my sleeve across my nose. “I wish you could be here, too. I hope if anything happens, they let you out so you can come.” I couldn’t add the words “to my funeral.”

  She sobbed again. “Have you called your father?”

  “I was going to do that next.”

  “Go. Do it now before it’s too late.”

  “Is there anything you want me to tell him?”

  “Just that… if he wants to contact me, afterward, not to worry that I’m angry. I’ll forgive him. He shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

  “Neither of you should.”

  “Go,” she said quickly, and I sensed she was on the verge of breaking down.

  We hung up. I put on my coat, buttoning it over Shane’s baggy shirt, then knocked on the bedroom door.

  “I’m going outside,” I said, “to get better reception on my cell when I call my dad, then Luann. I don’t want them knowing our home number.”

  He opened the door, his face tight with worry. “Are you sure?”

  “I won’t go far, I promise.” I put a hand on his chest. “I’ll stay where people can see me.”

  “Come here.” He pulled me against him and kissed me. I could feel the fear in his lips, but let him have me as long as he wanted. I wasn’t afraid anymore.

  When he finally released me, I gave him a slight push. “Get in while I open the door.”

  “Hurry back.” He clapped his hands. “Dexter, come!”

  As soon as they were safe inside the bedroom, I opened the front door. The spring day was unseasonably warm, with sunlight so bright it stabbed my eyes.

  I took a deep breath, inhaling the heady scent of my neighbor’s pink hyacinths. The streets of Sherwood were emptier than usual for a Saturday afternoon, no doubt due to news of the chicken pox plague. A breeze stirred the cherry trees lining the street, shivering their white flowers. The forsythia bushes next to the bank’s drive-through gleamed like clusters of suns—it almost hurt to look at the bright yellow blossoms.

  Across the street, the coffee shop door was propped open, and I could smell fresh-baked chocolate croissants. My stomach growled, but I didn’t dare enter the shop, for fear of infecting an innocent coffee drinker. Yet there was something else over there I needed.

  I crossed when the light changed, hurrying, as if the thing in question could save my life.

  When I reached the opposite curb, I turned left and walked, humming “Keep on the Sunny Side” to myself—probably off-key, not that I could tell.

  The golden rays warmed my face and gilded the hair that blew in my eyes. I shivered with the sensation of sudden warmth.

  I pulled out my phone, but didn’t dial my father or my birth mother. Instead I switched it to camera mode, turned it around, and gave myself an enormous, squinty-eyed grin before pressing the button.

  I checked out my photo. A bit off center, as usual, but at least it got my head and my hair, shining in the sun.

  I turned off the camera and made another call, to someone who would understand.

  16

  Until I Fall Away

  I knocked on the apartment door and waited half a minute before entering, to give Shane and Dexter time to hide from the light.

  The moment I shut the door behind me, they appeared from the bedroom.

  “I was worried.” Shane helped me take off my coat. “I almost called David to go find you.”

  “I took a walk. It felt good.” The apartment seemed dismal now compared to the sunlit afternoon. “You should get some sleep. It’s the middle of the day.”

  “How am I supposed to sleep?”

  “Shane, I need some time alone, okay? I promise I’ll come to bed soon.” I looked at my computer. “There are people I should say good-bye to, just in case. And some financial stuff to clean up.” When he started to protest, I cut him off. “And then I can relax and be with you, with a clear head.”

  “I understand.” He kissed me quickly, then picked up his cell phone from the counter. “I’m setting my alarm for an hour, and then I’m dragging you off to bed.”

  I watched him go into the bedroom and shut the door. Then I went to my CD rack, faced with that desert island question: If I could only listen to one album the rest of my life, which would it be?

  Nirvana’s Unplugged concert, the first thing Shane and I ever listened to? No, I wanted something for me alone. Red Hot Chili Peppers’ Californication, my favorite CD in the world? Nah, too upbeat for the occasion. I needed something that would make me feel strong.

  I pulled out Liz Phair’s debut, Exile in Guyville. I was ten years old when it came out. I shoplifted the cassette from a used record store—not to avoid paying for it, but because my parents would have thrown it away if they knew I had it. I’d listen to it late at night under the covers with my Walkman. It made me believe I could do anything, and I didn’t have to be perfect or well behaved. It made me happy to be a girl.

  At the sound of the first solo guitar chords of “6’1",” I knew I’d made the right choice. I stood in the center of the room, eyes closed, feeling my resolve grow with every measure.

  When the maracas faded and the second song kicked off, I looked around. Dexter wagged his tail at me from the couch, where he had stretched out with his head on his paws.

  I plopped down next to him, and he wriggled his upper body into my lap. I stroked the soft thick fur on his face, tracing the old battle scars he must have gotten in his regular dog days, before the Control made him what he was. Then I nudged Dexter until he sat up, groaning, so I could wrap my arms around his neck and broad chest. He rubbed the side of his head against my hair, hugging me back.

  “I swore I’d never leave you. But that might change. You have to be a good boy for Daddy. Don’t let him be sad, okay? I mean, he can be sad, but not enough to—” I didn’t dare voice the thought, not even for Dexter. “Give him someone who needs him,” I whispered. “Give him something to live for.”

  Dexter licked my ear. I took that as an okay.

  I extricated myself from his long legs and went to the breakfast bar for my laptop. I poured a second cup of tea from the pot Shane had made and carried it and the computer back to the sofa. Dexter resnuggled as soon as I settled in.

  I logged into the Web sites of my banks, offshore and onshore. With a series of clicks and passwords, I transferred all but a few dollars from my accounts—enough to keep them open—into the joint checking account I shared with Shane.

  Then I wrote e-mails to Lori, David, Franklin, my dad, Luann, and my foster parents, and saved them in my drafts folder. Shane would send them In the Event Of.

  Thinking of him sitting here alone tomorrow, hunched over my computer releasing my last missives, made my chest tighten and crumble. The tears came again, drenching my cheeks. Dexter licked them away, making my face even wetter.

  When the music faded, I turned off the power on the stereo. Then I told Dexter to stay.

  “You had two minutes left,” Shane said as I entered the bedroom. “Good choice of album.”

  I stripped down to my camisole and underwear. “I want to take a shower, so I won’t smell bad if I go to the hospital.” The phrase “Live fast, die young, and leave a beautiful corpse” flashed through my mind as I stepped onto the smooth, cool threshold of the master bathroom.

  He got out of bed. “I’m not waiting for an invitation.”

  “Good.”

  Shane’s mouth met mine with an achingly fami
liar urgency. My fingers tightened on his shoulders as he pressed me back against the doorjamb. He bent his legs, and one of his hands descended to my thigh, lifting it up and around his waist. We kissed harder, our bodies straining against each other.

  Finally he moved his mouth to my ear. “Get in the shower.”

  I reached for the hem of my camisole to pull it over my head.

  Shane caught my hand. “Keep it on.” He led me to the tub and helped me step over the side. “For now.”

  Soon he stood naked outside the tub. “Hold still.” With the shower attachment pointed at the tub’s floor, he turned the water to a steady trickle and checked the temperature. Once the steam began to rise, he angled the soft spray on my top, soaking the thin cotton layer and turning it heavy against my skin. My nipples hardened. He leaned forward and suckled me through the cloth, as if he were thirsty and I was the only source of water.

  Shane rubbed the trickling showerhead lower, soaking my panties. He climbed into the tub with me and got to his knees.

  He brought his head between my thighs and stroked me with his tongue through the wet material. My knees shook, and I arched my hips against him. He ran the showerhead up and down my legs, slowly, the warm water setting my nerves on maximum tingle. I moaned and clutched at the slick wall behind me, trying to memorize each sensation.

  With his other hand, Shane drew down my panties and tossed them away. He lifted one of my feet to rest on the side of the tub, then handed me the showerhead.

  When he tasted me, his groan echoed against the walls. His fingers explored my depths, moving with fascination, as if it were the first time he’d ever touched me instead of possibly the last. I sent the water rushing down the back of his neck and watched it stream over the lean muscles of his shoulders and torso.

  A sudden rising ecstasy shot through me. I dropped the showerhead. It clattered on the porcelain surface, and its leaping, pulsing spray was the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes and succumbed to the pounding orgasm. When my legs grew too weak to hold my weight, I dropped to my knees.

  Shane picked up the showerhead, then tilted my head back. “Close your eyes.”

  I obeyed, and shivered when the warm water flowed over my scalp, trickling to the back of my shoulders. Then his mouth was at my neck, teeth grazing, then nipping without fangs, never breaking the skin.