“Take another breath, just to be sure,” Peter said, his hand moving further up towards the line of her bra.
Ashe took another breath. This one fluttered, though not from pain. Ashe wondered if Peter could feel the temperature rising in her body. His fingers circled around back and slid up under her bra strap. Though Ashe could not see it, the bruise must have extended that far. The intimacy of his touch incited a thrill in her that shook her to her toes. She longed to feel closer to Peter in a more physical way, but he always withdrew before things got too intimate. Maybe he didn’t want to pressure her into anything she wasn’t ready for.
“About what happened tonight...” Ashe started. She hoped Peter would acknowledge that the threat he had imagined was not real. Yes, they had been followed, but not by Landon’s clan. It had merely been a mistake, a misunderstanding. Maybe if Peter could relax a little, he might be more receptive to the signals Ashe was sending, the heat in her body and the fluttery way her breath escaped her lips.
“I know. You're going to tell me that I shouldn’t have worried so much,” Peter said. His fingers continued to explore her skin, tenderly testing for injury in places Ashe knew she had none. “It’s just, I’ve put you in so much danger and it would kill me if anything happened to you because of me. Maybe Landon’s clan isn’t a threat right now, but sooner or later it will be. Or maybe there will be another threat, something even worse. The only way to be sure no one can find us is to keep on our guard and keep moving.”
Ashe understood Peter’s feeling. After Landon, Penelope, and even Professor Sharp, had proven dangerous it only made sense that Peter would fear for Ashe in such a way. Still, she couldn’t live her whole life on the run just waiting for something terrible to happen.
She said, “But we’re running from a threat we don’t even know exists. Do you think my parents, or your sisters, are still on the road? They’ve probably already found new homes, new lives. We haven’t heard anything from your parents either. If the clans in Europe had found about Landon’s death your parents would have contacted us. Tonight, was a fluke. You have to believe that. Not everyone’s out to get us.”
“But they’re not the ones everyone’s after,” Peter said. The finality of his tone gave Ashe no room to argue. His fingers left Ashe’s skin, leaving a sense of longing in the places they had touched. He turned away from her and reclined back on the bed. “You should get some sleep,” he said.
She carefully lay down beside him, her body pressing against his.
Peter stared up at the ceiling, his mind starting on another one of its journeys away from her. Ashe sighed and clicked off the bedside lamp. Though she could feel him by her side, she felt alone. But she knew he was thinking over her words and she hoped that he would find sense in them.
“I love you, you know,” Peter whispered, placing a kiss on her forehead.
It was the last thing Ashe remembered before falling asleep.
A dark pallor hung over the streets as a spring storm amassed overhead, but the darkness did nothing to detract from the serene beauty of the town. Ashe could tell that this town was different from the others. Peter drove slowly, his eyes watching carefully for any signs of trouble. There had been none since the encounter with the vampire, but it didn't hurt to be too careful. Soon they would have to stop for gas, and to see to the repair of the car. The bare boughs of the trees lining the street looked fragmented through the cracked windshield as Ashe stared up at them. They reminded her of old illustrations in a version of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow that she had read for one of Professor Sharp’s classes back when she was a student of his. The pang of nostalgia that accompanied the recollection made Ashe’s breath catch in her throat. She looked away from the trees, focusing instead on the buildings passing by.
Ashe couldn’t remember just how many towns they had gone through in their slow, zigzagging journey north. They only ever stopped for a day or two in one place, just long enough to sleep and to find Peter some food. Ashe herself could survive entirely on truck stop fare, but Peter was not so lucky. She wondered how her parents were doing, and if they had found a place to settle yet. She had not mustered up the courage to call, worried that hearing her mother’s voice would make her all the more homesick. Peter hadn’t put words to his own unease, if he had any, but she could feel it coming off of him like an aura sometimes. It made him quiet and sullen, thoughts churning in his head that Ashe would never know.
The car passed a rather large brick building with a clock set into its face. It looked almost like an old schoolhouse, except that it wasn't nearly well enough maintained to possibly house children. A flag hung above its main double doors and its lawn was ringed by ancient trees only just coming into their spring buds. Something about the place drew Ashe to it. She wished she could stop for a photograph or a quick sketch to remember it later.
“Wanna watch a movie?” Peter asked, nodding his head towards an old movie theater they were just passing on the left side. The marquee had no movie titles up and there were boards in the windows.
“I don’t think it’s open,” Ashe replied as it passed out of view. They could have communicated without words, but talking out loud required less effort. They also wanted to preserve the intimacy of their telepathic connection by not using it for mundane purposes.
Peter shrugged. “Too bad. You don’t see theaters like that every day. When do you think it was built? The thirties, forties?”
“You’re the expert on old things,” Ashe replied with a smile. “You tell me.”
“I’ll ask at the gas station,” Peter said pulling into one a little ways up the street.
Though not much more than scrap metal in appearance, Mark’s car was still chugging along despite the damage it had suffered in the crash. It seemed the man had taken good care of the places that mattered. Ashe got out of the car and stretched as Peter filled up the tank. She couldn’t see the brick building from where she was, but its image lingered in her mind. It could have been a government building or an old historical site. If they stopped here for a day or two for repairs, she might be able to convince Peter to indulge her in a little sightseeing.
She turned away from the road and walked towards the gas station. The door opened with that familiar clatter of bells that all small-town gas stations seemed to have. There was an elderly man working the register who smiled at Ashe in greeting. She smiled back and approached the counter where there was a rack of tourist pamphlets. Ashe started leafing through them, curious about the brick building she had seen.
“New to town, or passing by?” the man asked.
For some reason the question gave Ashe pause. “Passing by,” she finally said.
“Most people are,” the man reflected. “This town is too quiet for most folks. You’d think that would be a good thing, but I suppose not. The excitement of the big city must get into people’s blood, make them crave it like I crave my smokes.” The old man smiled in a modest way that made Ashe take a liking to him almost immediately.
“I wouldn’t mind some quiet, actually,” Ashe replied.
The conversation faded into a natural silence as Ashe continued to leaf through pamphlets. She found one containing coupons for fried chicken and another for an apple farm a few miles outside of town, but no mention of the building that had caught her attention.
She asked the gas station attendant, “I noticed a brick building while we were driving into town from the south. It’s got a clock on it and huge trees in front.”
“Ah,” the man said with a nod, “that’s the old library. It might be the oldest building in the town still standing. That, and the theater just down the street. But the theater’s been closed for years. Restoration’s in progress, only there’s not enough people to get the job done. It might be that I die long before I get to see another movie there.”
Library, Ashe noted with interest as the man began to reminisce about the town’s old days. One memory seemed to lead to another and Ashe had to politely in
terrupt the man to ask him if there was an auto repair shop in town.
“Ayuh,” he nodded. “Just down the street there. Closed on weekends, but it’s the only place we got.”
It was Friday, and with the state the car was in Ashe doubted it could all be repaired in an afternoon. She could see Peter outside looking restless as he leaned against the hood of the car and watched the road. She knew he was eager to get going, but the car needed to be fixed and Ashe needed a rest.
Ashe paid for the gas and went back outside. Peter wrapped his arms around her from behind and kissed her below the ear. “Ready to go when you are,” he said.
Ashe leaned against him, comforted in his arms. “I was thinking we could get the car fixed up first. The man in the gas station said there’s a shop just down the street.”
“It’s barely noon,” Peter replied. “We can still get a couple hundred miles in before the day ends.”
“How far north do you plan to go?”
Peter frowned.
Ashe disentangled herself from his embrace. “Eventually we’ll have to find a place to stop, even if it’s only for a short time.”
“We’ll stop when we find somewhere safe,” Peter said.
Ashe knew that Peter was only being cautious because he loved her, but she couldn’t live on the road forever. Even with Landon dead, Peter was still afraid that something terrible would happen to Ashe if they didn't stop running. They still didn’t know if Landon’s clan, the Alilovics, knew of Landon’s death or the deaths of the others. They were running from a danger they couldn’t be sure existed.
“I was thinking that maybe it’s time to stop running,” Ashe said recalling what the elderly gas station attendant had said. The theater was looking for people to help work on the restoration. Peter was more than qualified, having the physical strength of a man three times his size and the inability to grow fatigued. The theater could be up and running in mere weeks with Peter’s help.
His face took on an apologetic frown that Ashe knew meant no.
Please, she thought. No one knows us here. It’s safe. We can start to build our life together. That’s what you want, isn’t it?
After not speaking to each other in this manner in a while, the connection Ashe felt upon doing so made her flush.
Peter replied. We just got here. We don’t know anything about this place.
The weekend, that’s all I’m asking. It would be the longest we’ve ever stayed in one place. If you want to leave after that, I won’t say anything. I’m tired, Peter. I’m not used to this life.
Peter’s expression softened and he smiled. “Okay. We’ll stay.”
CHAPTER 2
The sound of saws greeted Peter as he approached the doors of the old movie theater. A man on a ladder outside shouted something down to him but he couldn't hear it over the buzz of machinery. The sound cut out and the man got down off the ladder. He was wearing thick denim overalls and heavy work gloves. Peter hadn’t expected to stay in town this long, but here he was looking for work. The town had a quiet charm about it that made Peter think that staying here a few months wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Ashe had sure taken a liking to the town in the three days he had promised her.
“You must be Peter. I’m Greg,” the man said in a thick southern drawl that seemed out of place this far north. He offered a hand and Peter accepted it without hesitation, glad that the man had not opted to remove his gloves before shaking. The thick fabric hid the coldness of Peter’s hand from being noticed.
“Good firm shake,” the man nodded. “You look well enough built. Do you have any experience with construction?”
“Some,” Peter replied. He didn’t add that he had built an entire house during the turn of the century, the one that the man in front of him had not been alive for, which still stood today.
The man grunted. “Good enough for me. You’ll find Jerry inside. He’ll answer any questions you have. You’ll start tomorrow, but feel free to look around as much as you’d like. The theater’s a beaut even in the state she’s in now.”
The man returned to his work, leaving Peter to his own devices. Peter gazed up at the fat incandescent light bulbs lining the outer edges of the marquee for a while before going inside. The wide atrium was little more than a hollow shell of its former self. The gold gilding on the doors leading into the main theater was mostly stripped off and the chandelier that hung in the center of the room lay in a tangled heap in one corner. The concession stand running along the right wall was mostly covered in white sheets that looked ghostly in the gloom. Still, Peter could imagine how beautiful it must have been in its heyday. It had been decades since he had been to a theater like this. It brought back old memories of nickel jukeboxes and air raid sirens, the war. Peter shook his head. Where he was, in the present, was all that mattered.
“Your eyes will get used to the dark,” came a voice from across the room.
Peter noticed a man had entered from a side door. Of course he could see everything clearly already despite the lack of light but could not say so to his new acquaintance.
“Jerry, right?” Peter called back.
The man approached him. He was middle-aged, but with deep laugh lines on his face that aged him prematurely. He had a wiry build and seemed quite at home in the dark, dusty theater.
“Glad you decided to help. Maybe we can finally get this place opened again after all,” Jerry said with a smile.
“That’s what I’m hoping,” Peter replied.
“You staying in town long?” Jerry asked.
“At least until the theater’s finished,” Peter said. “I need the work,” he added.
Jerry scratched his chin. “Well it’s a good thing you’re from out of town. None of the locals want to have anything to do with the place. In a place as old as this, bad memories tend to stick along with the good ones. Seems all the people can recall are the bad ones, though. But if we can get the theater up and running again, I’m sure everyone will come to see this place as something good after all.”
Peter wanted to ask if something had happened there to cause the people of the town to want to avoid it, but a crash came from somewhere in the back disrupting their conversation.
Jerry made a face. “That’ll be the pulley system above the stage. Darned ropes keep slipping and knocking over paint cans. I’d better go back and see what the damage is this time.”
“There’s a stage?” Peter asked.
“Yeah,” Jerry replied. “They used to do live plays here as well as movies. The screen comes down from the ceiling when a film’s on. That is, once we get the pulley system figured out.”
With that, Jerry left for the main theater and Peter followed. The rows of seats had been gutted, the hardwood floor below them looking raw and barren without them. Jerry had already made it onto the stage and was wrestling with a length of rope. There was no wonder the man was having so much trouble; the stage itself was littered with construction debris. Peter saw that there was a lot of cleaning up to do before they could even think of starting to rebuild. He wondered if Jerry and Greg had even done work like this before.
As Jerry banged around on the stage, Peter walked slowly around the outer edge of the room following the line of gilded trim that ran about waist high down the length of the wall. He wanted a sense for the space, its dimensions, and just how much work needed to be done. He stopped when he reached the raised wooden platform of the stage where a dark stain marred the flooring below. It appeared as though a can of wood finish had toppled over here, a deep red mahogany that looked like dried blood. Peter noticed several darker spots in the wood flooring in other places. Though he knew better than to think it was actual blood, it gave Peter a sense of foreboding. What exactly had happened here to cause the town to abandon the theater?
There was another crash from the stage and a curse, and Peter shouted up, “Do you need any help?”
“No, no,” Jerry yelled back from somewhere behind the curtain. “You don’t s
tart work here ‘til tomorrow. There’s no need to rush.”
As Jerry clearly had his hands full in the main theater, Peter decided to go down one of the side hallways to continue his exploration. Maybe he could find some clues on his own. The hallway he chose happened to lead back into the staff rooms. The hallway was musty and narrow, most of the doors lining it locked tight.
A notice board of sorts had been tacked up beside the door to the manager’s office. Among outdated ticket stubs and an employee shift schedule which had yellowed to an alarming degree was a flyer for a town meeting to discuss a “plague of indecency” in the town and how to stop it. It sounded like something out of the 17th century when witch hunts had been in vogue, and it gave Peter an uncomfortable feeling. Though the flyer was thirty years old at least, Peter doubted that public opinion could change all that much in such a span of time. His new neighbors might be more religious than he felt comfortable with. He hoped he wouldn’t be expected to join them in church on Sundays.
At the bottom of the flyer was an insignia that Peter thought he had seen somewhere before. He might have come across it in one of Professor Sharp’s old books. It also could have simply been the town seal. He tore off the flyer and stuck it in his pocket. He would try to identify it when he had some time.
Peter continued down the hallway, trying the doors as he went. The previous owners must have locked up the place before abandoning it to rot from the inside. At the last door before the hallway dead-ended, he felt a sweeping sick feeling as he touched the doorknob. He let go of it in fright as his stomach swooped and his head went fuzzy. He never got sick, at least not in the conventional sense, unless he had drunk some bad blood or been in the presence of religious artifacts, certain herbs, or pure silver. He didn’t expect any of those things to show up in a place like this. He steeled himself and put his hand back on the doorknob, feeling once again that rushing sickness that both baffled and scared him. He forced himself to push through the feeling. This door, unlike the others, was not locked. Peter needed to know what was inside that was affecting him so badly.
Touched by A Dragon: The Exalted Dragons (Book 2) Page 39
