by Leanna Ellis
When he reached the end of the hallway, Roc crouched low and turned, glancing to each side, peering into the darkness of an open doorway. How many times had Roc told Ferris “We have to work as a team”?
But then again, Roberto had always added his own mantra: “Don’t trust anyone.” Roc had challenged him on that once. “Why work together then? Why trust this kid? Or even me?” With his sharp blue gaze, Roberto had pierced him. “I don’t.”
“Ferris?” Roc whispered, his gaze searching past the shadowy lines of chairs, tables, and bookshelves.
Then he heard the scream. It came from behind him, down the hallway in the opposite direction Roc had already searched. The scream went on and on, reverberating through the hallway and through Roc’s chest. He ran back toward the stairs, down another hallway, crashing through a door, bruising his shoulder. A series of closed doors awaited him. Roc sprinted past each, chasing the scream, and slammed his knee against a table, racing toward the cry of desperation.
And still the screaming went on and on.
Chapter Three
I have a rendezvous with Death
At some disputed barricade
When Spring comes round with rustling shade
And apple blossoms fill the air.
I have a rendezvous with Death
When Spring brings back blue days and fair.
Akiva had been watching Rachel for days, weeks, months, waiting for her belly to ripen, waiting for the right moment, waiting for her to finally be alone. At home she didn’t venture far, not like Hannah had, and someone always accompanied her. But now…now his opportunity had arrived.
It amused him that she could recognize him, where the one who had betrayed him had not. Of course, Hannah had opened her mind and heart readily then, and so Akiva was able to veil himself from her, out of love and in order to protect her until she understood. But Rachel saw him for who he was, who he wanted to be: Jacob. Maybe those days in New Orleans had meant more to her than he had ever suspected. Maybe his plan would be easier than he had thought.
He stayed in the barn’s doorway, his gaze penetrating the shadows. The sun warmed his back. But he didn’t approach Rachel. Not yet.
She trembled all over, from the top of her prayer kapp to her plain, dirt-smudged sneakers. Her eyelids fluttered nervously, her gaze shifting to and fro, searching above as if heaven would offer help. “W—why me?”
“Don’t you know?” he asked in his most alluring voice, the same voice he’d used to cajole many of his victims.
She shook her head, as if dismayed. “You loved m—my sister.”
A rustling above alerted Akiva. It was the boy, who could do nothing to stop this. If Akiva had to, he would kill him.
“Didn’t you love Hannah?” she asked.
Akiva’s gaze narrowed. What had that lying, conniving traitor told Rachel? Had Hannah told Rachel how she’d deceived him into believing she cared? Had she confessed her dark thoughts and longings? Or owned up to her dishonesty? No, he doubted her ability to be truthful about anything. She had probably only spread lies about him. Or maybe…maybe she had remained silent, mortified by her failings, shamed by her own sins.
He took one step toward Rachel, clouding her mind with whispers. “I remember the good times we had, Rachel, do you?”
“I don’t know you.”
“Yes, you do. You called me by my name.”
“Jacob?” This time when she said his name he had to read it on her lips, for no sound emerged. She shook her head. “It cannot be. You died.”
“What if I didn’t? All things are possible, are they not?”
Her head tilted to study him, as if intrigued.
Then he took another step in her direction. “So you remember then…the times we shared?”
She looked aside. “Foolishness.”
“But fun.” He smiled as her skin flushed. Her heartbeat was strong, calling to him. He reached her side, turning his head and keeping her gaze locked with his. “You didn’t seem to think it was foolishness then. In fact, you liked the way I made you feel.” His tone soothed and lured. “You liked the things I showed you.”
Her blue eyes filled with fear. But she didn’t move away. He had her.
“You liked me, didn’t you?” He dared to touch her earlobe with the tip of his finger and drew an invisible line along her jaw and neckline. Her pulse leapt beneath his touch. “You cared for me.”
“How could I not? But…” Her voice faltered. “I love Josef. I am married—”
“He is gone.” Akiva dismissed the notion immediately. There would be no lies between them.
Her eyes widened, as if surprised he would know, and then narrowed as if questioning his knowledge.
Did she not know? Had Hannah truly lied?
“I keep track of all that goes on here,” he said. “After all, this is where I grew up. It was my home. I know the pain you have suffered, Rachel, over the past few months.”
She glanced downward toward her heart, then her gaze sprang back to meet his. “Then you know that Hannah married.”
His body tensed, and he grew cold. He forced his voice to remain calm and unaffected. “She made her choice.”
“What is it you want, Jacob?”
“I told you.”
“Are you coming back to stay? To live here?”
He laughed, and all in the barn went silent. Not even the boy above in the hayloft made a sound. “Rachel, Hannah has not been honest with you either, has she?”
“What do you mean?” The fluttering of her lashes told him so much—she suspected the lies.
“Did she tell you what happened to Josef?”
Her breath froze in her chest. Her gaze shifted sideways, and her fingers plucked at her apron. “It was an accident,” she said in a rush. “An accident on the road…in the buggy.”
He leaned closer. “What if it wasn’t?”
She recoiled as if he’d struck her. “W…what are you saying?”
This time, he remained silent, letting his question linger and sink deep into her soul. “Come with me, Rachel. I will explain everything to you, things Hannah would not tell you. I will tell you how Josef died.”
Her gaze flicked above his head. Was she praying? Or seeing something? Oh, the boy. Of course. Did Rachel worry he had overheard their conversation? Maybe he would tell someone. There would be questions when Rachel disappeared. But nothing would be done. The Amish would do nothing. They didn’t like to call in the English authorities. Not that they could do anything either. What would it matter anyway, what this boy might say? They would not find Rachel. Ever.
A slow smile tugged at Akiva’s lips. He could take care of the boy without much effort, but then…if he did, Rachel might not go quite so easily. And he wanted her cooperation. At least for now.
Rachel’s fear pounded and pulsed around her and consequently through him. Her hesitation, insecurities, and doubts twined about her. “B-but,” she managed, “why do you want me to go with you? How is it possible? You were dead. They…Levi…Hannah…your family…everyone said you were dead.”
“Do I look dead?”
She remained silent as if any answer had died within her.
“Touch me.”
She hesitated.
“Go ahead.” He smiled. “I won’t bite.”
Slowly, her hand moved upward toward his chest. Before she touched the place over his heart, she lifted her hand higher until she cupped the edge of his jaw.
The warmth of her skin shocked him, and a raw hunger pulsed inside him. He used his restraints not to snag her around the wrist and burrow his face into her neck. Instead, he drew a slow, steadying breath. “They lied to you, Rachel. They deceived you too. For I am not dead. You do not need to fear me. I will not hurt you.” H
is gaze shifted down toward her belly. He could hear the blood pulsing through the womb and the tiny heartbeat fluttering. “I need your help.”
She pulled her hand away. “My help?”
“You were right all along, Rachel. You told me to forget about New Orleans. You told me to go home to Hannah. You told me what I was doing was dangerous. And it was. Now I need your help.”
“But what happened to you?” She took a step back, yet her body angled toward him. “Where have you been?”
“I will explain it all to you.” His gaze sharpened on her as he penetrated her mind, whispered thoughts of hope and longing into her. She was thirsty for attention, for companionship. She was alone, so alone, and her emotions drifted like an unmoored boat. He would be her anchor.
She gave a slight shake of her head as if to ward him off, but she couldn’t. “I tried to forget everything I’d seen. Everything you and I—No.” She took another step back. One hand rose like a barrier between them and the other touched the rounded side of her belly. “I don’t want to remember. Please…I…” Her fingers splayed wide as if they could protect her baby as she backed farther away from him. “I can’t—”
Her voice cracked, opening the crevice in her heart, giving him a glimpse of her greatest need.
“Rachel,” his voice coaxed, “you have to fix things.”
“Fix what?” she pleaded.
He lifted one shoulder awkwardly, then it settled back into the straight, powerful line. “Josef. Me. Only you can do it, Rachel. Only you.”
“But how? What can I—?”
“Come with me.” He held a hand out to her, palm up and beckoning as if he didn’t have the sheer power to force her. “I will show you. And I will tell you about Josef.”
She whispered her husband’s name as if it was a prayer and met his gaze straight on. “But Jacob—”
“I go by Akiva now. Didn’t Hannah tell you?”
She shook her head and swallowed hard. “Why?”
“It’s a long journey we have ahead of us. I’ll tell you on the way.”
“But—”
“Don’t you want to help Josef?”
The toe of her black tennis shoe turned inward. “My family is here.” She glanced downward toward her belly. “And the baby is coming.”
“Yes, of course. That is why it’s important you come now, before your baby’s time. You will be home in plenty of time to give birth.”
“I just want to forget—”
“But you can’t, can you?” he interrupted. “Only God can forget the sins of the past. Has He forgotten yours? You haven’t. You can deny things happened, Rachel, but that doesn’t change anything. And now you must pay the price. Only you. All sin requires a sacrifice, does it not?”
She nodded and took a step toward him, as if a string attached to her heart pulled her forward…then another step and another.
His hand stretched outward toward her, and she dipped her fingertips into the cup of his palm. Before she could regret her action, his fingers closed over her hand, his grip tightening.
And she walked out the barn door with him into the sunlight.
Chapter Four
Death was a relative term.
In most cases it brought to mind someone who had gone to sleep permanently, suffered through the Big C, been struck by a car or lightning, shot or even stabbed, and eventually tidied up by some mortician and laid to rest in a casket, hair combed, hands folded, eyes closed. But no matter the cause, benign or otherwise, it didn’t usually involve this much blood. Not even the bodies Roc had seen with chewed necks compared to this.
He stared down at Ferris’s body. Or what was left of it. No point in trying to take a pulse. The vampire hadn’t killed Ferris to feed on his blood. He’d killed for revenge or to prove he could or simply to frighten those who were still living. Whatever the reason, it had worked.
The cold fear pulsing through Roc’s veins was quickly smothered by a deep, searing anger. Crouching low, Roc kept a hand firmly not only on his Glock but also the sturdy, thick stake. Where there was blood, there was usually a vampire close at hand. The hairs at the back of Roc’s neck stood at attention, making him alert and aware someone…some thing…was watching…waiting…stalking him.
His first glance around the room searched windows and doors—escape passages and hiding places. But the room had only one window, which was closed, one door, the one Roc had come through and which was directly behind him, and one air-conditioning or heating vent near the baseboards. No cracks marred the walls. No fireplace. No cupboard large enough to hide a man. The red painted walls were brighter than the blood now staining the wooden floor.
Furniture crowded the room. Along the walls, dark walnut-stained bookshelves were polished to a high sheen. Glass shielded the rows and rows of books, which looked like soldiers on parade, the faded brown, black, red, and blue covers as worn as uniforms, but trimmed with gold lettering and flourishes. Splatters of blood dotted the glass. As always, Roc took in his surroundings in a flash, focusing on the details: a silver candlestick, an old-fashioned pipe, a quill and ink jar. An imposing cabinet stood adjacent to the oblong table in the middle of the room. He imagined college students sitting in the wooden chairs, discussing books and classes, the women arguing their point, the young men just hoping to get laid. Did they know what their professor was? Did they suspect? Had he killed here before? Or was the professor only one of many hiding out in this academic sanctuary?
There were no other signs of life in the room, only the sound of Roc’s breathing. Where could Professor Beaumont have gone?
Roc suspected he was still there. Somewhere. Maybe not in this exact room but here…in the building. Hiding. Preparing. Maybe even bringing in reinforcements for a feeding frenzy. Vampires, he’d learned, didn’t run. They feared nothing. Their egos were like those of politicians. They believed they were bigger, stronger, beyond the laws of nature even. A chill stole over him. His fist tightened on the stake, and the grooves and grainy texture beneath his palm pinched his skin. Beaumont would become intimately acquainted with the wicked point.
In a rush of swirling sounds, whispered words filled his ears and head. The room began to spin about him. Roc couldn’t understand what was being said, as the words were spoken just below his auditory range or in some foreign language or maybe it was simply gibberish. But he recognized the blatant warning sign that a vampire was near. Very near.
In a lightning fast move, Roc jumped away from the corpse and turned to face a tall, scarecrow-thin vampire. Beaumont stood in the doorway, blocking Roc’s one escape route. He had a long, angular face and thin, wiry gray hair, which stood up on his head like tiny porcupine quills. He looked professorial in a tweed jacket and khaki slacks, like he could easily give a lecture on the history of vampirism or the best way to dismember your enemy.
“Good morning,” the professor said, his tone mild. “Welcome to our little club here on campus.”
“You know what this means.” Roc edged around the room, careful to step over a piece of Ferris and managing to keep his gaze trained on the vampire. His heart pounded against his rib cage, each beat full of anger and revulsion.
“Of course.” The professor sat in a chair and straightened the starched edge of his slacks. “Two for the price of one.”
“It means your gig here is up.”
The professor gave a hearty chuckle, and the sound reverberated around the room and built in intensity, roaring against Roc’s eardrums. “Would you care to make a bet? Not that I’m much on doing so, mind you, although I have occasionally been to the racetrack. It can be rather exhilarating. But”—he gave a slight shrug, appearing rather bored with the whole conversation—“this outcome is easy to foretell and holds no suspense. At least not for me.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure.”
Victor dipped his chin toward his chest and slanted a look in Roc’s direction, his dark eyes intense, and erased all pretense of humor. “You think because you’ve managed to destroy a few careless vampires that you can follow me around then show up here where I live and breathe and work, and destroy me as easily.” He indicated the floor where most of Ferris lay. “Look around, my friend.” He raised his head in a defiant, haughty manner. “You have been misled. If you had any intelligence, you’d remove yourself from my presence before you meet the same fate.” He hooked his hands around one knee and leaned back in a casual pose, but the detestation in his half-lidded black eyes grew in intensity. “But I suppose the time for that has now passed.”
Despite the way those eyes made him feel—as if he was tumbling down a dark hole—Roc took another step toward the vampire, keeping his feet firmly planted. “Yeah, I’d say so.”
“Well, then, let me explain what will happen, shall I?” Slowly, Beaumont stood and walked along the opposite side of the table from Roc. He trailed a finger along the high backs of the chairs, following the federalist curve and slant of the polished wood. “I can make it quick, as I did for your friend there, although I would imagine it didn’t seem too quick by the way he was screaming.” A wicked smile spread his pale lips and gave a glimpse of shiny teeth. “So I suppose it’s all in one’s perspective. But rest assured, it will end for you. Even when you think you can’t take the pain anymore, take comfort in the fact that it will eventually stop.” He halted at the end of the table and faced Roc fully. “And you will die. So go ahead and say your little prayers or confessions or whatever it is you feel you need to do to ready yourself for the hereafter.”
Roc gritted his teeth, forced himself to restrain the anger surging through him. “I’d rather die than become one of you.”
Again, the professor laughed and shook his head. “Well, of course, you’d say that. But don’t worry. I would never choose someone like you to change. You would not handle the power well. And believe me when I tell you this. There is power to have. So those who are changed must be chosen carefully.”
