Hollowed (Half Light)

by Kelley York

  I grit my teeth and force a smile. "Goody."

  Suck it up, self. If I'm going to be spending any length of time with these guys, Mr. Grumpy-face and I need to learn to get along.

  08. Tuesday – 4:48pm

  Oliver's bed is a piece of heaven, each pillow a tiny cloud I can bury my face into and sleep like a baby, chasing away any dreams of Sherry and Noah. Judging by his grumbling as he marched off to Cole's room last night, I'm guessing the couch in there isn't nearly as comfortable.

  When Oliver kicks the edge of the bed to wake me up, the room is awash with sunlight. It makes my eyes hurt.

  "Get up. It's almost five."

  I could sleep forever. Feels like all I've been doing since this started is sleep. "Why?" Muffled, thanks to the pillow I pull over my head. "We can't go out yet anyway."

  There's a long enough pause that I think—hope—Oliver is going to leave me alone. Obviously too much to wish for. He wrenches the pillow away. "Oh, right. Because the sun...the whole turning to ash thing."

  I grunt in response but otherwise ignore him. Even though I've always been a night-owl, I don't feel like being reminded I can't go out during the day anymore.

  In one swift movement, Oliver yanks the blankets off me. He's damned lucky I had the foresight to pack pajamas, ‘cause at home I would have been sleeping nearly naked. I suck in a breath, reflexively curling into a tight little ball. He catches one of my ankles, effortlessly dragging me off of the bed while I claw desperately at the sheets.

  "What the hell are you doing?!"

  "Something I should've done earlier."

  Despite my thrashing, he handles me like I'm nothing. I'm picked up by my waist and carried for the double doors leading out to the balcony. It's not until he opens one of the doors that I realize he's going to throw me into the sunlight.

  I shriek, hoping Cole will hear from the adjoining room, beating my fists against Oliver's chest to try to get free. He sets me down, spins me around before I can so much as blink, and shoves me outside and shuts the door. I wait for it—the burning sensation, the unbearable pain. Something, anything.

  Nothing happens.

  It's a little overcast but the sun is there, high in the sky, and all I'm suffering is a headache from the light. No bursting into flames. No crumbling to dust. I turn back to the door where Oliver grins at me through the glass.

  Screw trying to get along. I'm going to kill him.

  09. Tuesday – 7:24pm

  The downtown park undergoes an eerie transformation as the sun sets. From cheery and family-friendly to gloomy and haunted in the course of an hour. No sane person comes here after dark alone unless they're looking to get mugged—or worse. But me? I have no reason to be afraid. Now that I'm a vampire, I must have some sort of super awesome vampire ass-kicking abilities, right?

  Oliver brings me to the center of the park near a pond where the water ripples quietly and a few ducks sleep nestled in the reeds. "Can you sense them?"

  Sense what? The ducks? The trees? The water? The frogs in the water? He takes one look at my blank stare and sighs.

  "Concentrate a little. You can't tell me you don't feel the difference."

  I do. I sensed it the entire trip from my apartment to the hotel, and I sensed it the walk here. When you're in a room and get the feeling you aren't alone? It's like that, magnified times twenty. I know we aren't the only ones in the park, even if I can't pinpoint where the others are.

  But I'll humor him. Eyes closed, brows knitted together, I focus. For added effect, I let out a low, meditative ohmmm.

  Oliver elbows me. "Like you mean it."

  "I get it, I get it. I sense there are other people. What else? Do I have some sort of built-in food GPS now or something?" I can tell by the frown on his face he doesn't get what I'm talking about. Apparently being a vampire doesn't mean keeping up on technology. "Nevermind."

  "It isn't some kind of special power." He sighs again, pushing a hand through his honey-colored hair. "Humans have a sort of sixth sense, right? A gut instinct that alerts them of danger. Vampires have the same thing, but it's amplified. Like the virus opens us up to things regular humans are closed to. Make sense?"

  "Yep." It makes enough sense for me not to question it. At least for now. Maybe because I'm starving and if I have to find someone to munch on, I might as well get it over with.

  "Try tracking someone down. Let your senses guide you."

  "And when I find them...?"

  Oliver raises a brow. "You bite them." He touches two fingers to my throat, easily finding the pulse point. "Right there."

  I frown. "Great. Since I'm not killing them, aren't they going to remember later?"

  "Rarely." He pulls back and shrugs. "Most humans forget they were bitten. Even if they remember and try to report it, there would be no evidence; the bite marks heal within an hour or two."

  I rub absently at my throat. There's nothing left of the bite mark on my skin, not even an upraised patch of flesh. "Hey, what happens if I bite someone and they turn?"

  Oliver blinks. "What?"

  "That's what happened to me, right? A vampire bit me, and I got infected. Who's to say that won't happen to the person I bite?" Judging by Oliver's silence and the trapped look he gives me, I guess it's safe to say that there is no way to be sure.

  "Look...that sort of thing really doesn't happen often. I wouldn't worry about it. You can't starve yourself because of the what-ifs." He takes my shoulders and turns me around. "Now go on, baby bird. Fly free into the world."

  I twist to look over my shoulder. "You aren't coming with me?"

  "I won't be far if you need me, but you aren't the only one that needs to eat."

  Even as I pout and slink off through the trees, at least there's comfort in knowing if I screw something up, he won't be leaning over my shoulder to lecture me. Besides, all I need to do is activate my handy-dandy internal vampire GPS, eat, and run. How hard can it be?

  Ass-kicking vampire or not, the second I'm alone I regret leaving Oliver's side. It's cold, smells like rain, and every rustle of a bush or whisper of a tree heaves my heart into my throat. I can't sense Oliver. Maybe he knows how to hide his presence. Cole said it was possible.

  Silently I slip through trees and skirt around bushes that tug and snag at my sweater and scrape noisily on my jeans. Graceful huntress, I am not. When I near the pathways again, I can feel it—the distinct tickling sensation that someone is near. Footsteps. Two sets of them, I think. The steady click-click of heels on the pavement. I hold my breath, wait for the sound to near, andstep out just as whoever-it-is walks by.

  And I'm...alone?

  That doesn't make sense. I know I wasn't hearing things; the sounds were so vivid, so distinct. But there's no sign of anyone and the footsteps have vanished. Total silence.

  Until a deep, thrumming voice whispers in my ear, "Briar Rabbit should've stayed with her friend."

  It comes out of nowhere, the warm breath ghosting my skin. I stumble forward and twist around.

  A guy and a girl stand not half a foot behind where I was. The blonde girl's heels were the ones I must have heard. The guy has a shiny, playful grin a mile wide. Hers is thinner, lacking any humor or warmth. Their presences are the ones I was tracking, but now I can feel something more. A warning bell in the back of my brain.

  Vampires. Vampires who know my name.

  I don't let the cold fear constricting my insides show. Instead I force a smile, ready to bolt if I have to. "It's Br'er Rabbit."

  Guy's smile flickers, fades, trades itself out by a frown. "What?"

  "It's Br'er Rabbit, not Briar. I think people get it confused because Br'er Rabbit lived in a briar patch. No one pays attention to classic literature anymore." Shrug. "How do you know my name?"

  He actually seems to be mulling over what I've said. What a genius. Blondie rolls her eyes. "We've been watching you." She steps closer. It takes all I have not to back away. "I just have one itty-bitty question, and we can be
on our way." Her blood-red lipstick makes her lips glisten when she smiles, and those heavily lined eyes see right through me. She knows I'm scared. She's reveling in it.

  I swallow hard. "What do you want?"

  Closer still, until she's right in front of me. Her heels give her a few inches height, which makes it easy for her to loom. What's worse, the guy has vanished, and I now feel him behind me, practically breathing down the back of my neck. Trapped between them. There's no plausible way to run without being grabbed.

  She leans in, surveying my face. Like it's something familiar to her.

  "Tell us where to find your sister."

  10. Tuesday – 8:09pm

  Ruby was beautiful. Long blonde hair, big green eyes. She was smart, artistic, athletic. She was the nice girl in school with good grades, a part of, it seemed, every extracurricular activity imaginable. Drama, art, choir, even auto and woodworking.

  In short, she was everything I wanted to be.

  And I loved her. Aside from the typical sister-sister bitching we did at each other over sharing a bathroom, doing chores and whose turn it was to walk the dogs, Ruby and I were close. When she went somewhere, she took me along. There wasn't a Disney movie we hadn't seen together from the time I was four years old.

  Until I turned fourteen, and Ruby disappeared.

  She left behind no letter, no signs of running away. None of her things were missing. Nobody remembered her saying or doing anything out of the ordinary. Kidnapped, my parents and the police said. But after finding her blood in an abandoned bakery downtown, any hope that Ruby was somewhere alive and waiting to be rescued began to dwindle. She was gone. And we would never know why.

  So the words coming out of Blondie's mouth leave me numb and cold. She snaps her fingers in front of my face.

  "Are you stupid? Do I need to repeat myself?"

  I force my tongue to cooperate. "My sister is dead." It's the truth as I know it. The truth my parents and I came to accept after a year passed and Ruby didn't come home.

  Blondie glances behind me at Guy and her expression darkens. She grabs my face, deceptively slender fingers digging into my jaw. "Don't fuck with us. Where. Is. Ruby?"

  I slam my fist into her mouth.

  Reflex. That's all it is. She can get in my face all she wants, but grabbing me is a line no one crosses and gets away with. Blondie rears back with a howl, blood dripping where one of my rings split open her lip. While she screams and Guy is too busy gaping at her, I run like hell.

  It's not much of a head start. Guy is after me within seconds, his steps heavier but faster than my own. His fingers graze my back and I twist, dart off the right side of the path into the trees and bushes. Struggling to pick up some sign of Oliver's presence. There's nothing. I can't sense him, and I can't pause long enough to concentrate on where he might be.

  Reaching the creek that runs through the center of the park, I head for the wooden bridge that spans the seven feet across. Guy isn't good at silent pursuit; I hear him crashing through the woods behind me like a pissed-off bear. There's no way I can outrun him, especially when I don't know where to go.

  I can't outrun him, but I can hide.

  Rather than take the bridge, I plunge into the water. Instantly I'm all too aware that, vampire or not, I apparently need to breathe because the cold sucks the air right out of me. I wade against the current under the bridge, draw in a deep breath, and duck beneath the surface, feet bracing against the muddy bottom so I'm not swept head-first into the nearest rock. My hands clutch at roots and plants, anything to keep me from floating to the surface and being seen.

  Over the sound of rushing water, I can't hear him approach. The only way I know when he passes is the hollow thud of footsteps over the bridge. Even then I stay put until I'm sure my lungs are going to explode if I don't get oxygen.

  I surface sputtering and wheezing quietly—as quietly as one can sputter and wheeze, I guess. Oliver should have warned me being undead—infected, whatever—wouldn't give me some useful ability like not needing to breathe. Or at least resistance to cold. Teeth chattering, muscles quivering, I drag myself out of the water. Now, if I can find a tree somewhere I'm capable of climbing, I can hide out until the two psychos take off or until Oliver finds me. Sopping wet and muddy, I really hope I won't lose a finger or toe by the time that happens. So much for hunting.

  No sooner have I gotten halfway to my feet than Blondie, split-lip already healed but blood still on her face, is a foot in front of me. Quieter than her bearish partner. Lucky me.

  There's no time for me scramble back before she kicks me. Hard. Once, twice, in the stomach, ribs. Something cracks, I can feel it. This is payback for damaging her pretty face. Instinctively I curl up on my side, trying to block with my arms. She digs the toe of her shoe into my hip, rolls me over onto my back. It hurts too much to resist. Easier to go with it, easier to hold my breath and pray for the jagged pain to stop.

  Blondie leans over me, shark-smile in place. "You're one dumb bitch, anyone ever told you that?"

  I try breathing in short little pants because it's less painful than breathing in deep. "More than once."

  Her gaze darkens. Obviously she doesn't appreciate my humor, go figure. The next thing I know the pointy heel of her shoe is grinding down into my broken ribs. The screaming I hear...it's coming from me. She leans her weight into it, pinning me in place, making it impossible to move or think or breathe.

  "I'll ask you again... Where is Ruby? There's no reason for you to protect her."

  She eases up just enough for me to make some semblance of a reply. Nevermind the whole my sister's dead thing, ‘cause obviously she isn't buying it. "Go to hell," I grind out. "You killed Sherry."

  "Who?" Blondie wrinkles her nose. Even as I say it, I know it wasn't them. Neither she nor Guy is familiar. She shakes her head. "Was that your friend at the river? Sorry about that; the boys got carried away. You were never supposed to be involved in any of this."

  Sorry about that? That's it? Sherry's dead, my life is ruined, and that's what she gives me? Sorry about that is what you say when you break your mom's vase, or forget to return a loaned shirt or pay the utility bill so the lights get shut off. Sorry about that is not what you say when someone is murdered.

  I've never wanted to hurt someone so much in my life. Under the tears stinging my eyes from the pain and the anger, I can hardly speak without my voice shaking.

  "I'm not telling you shit. Get that tacky-ass shoe off of me before I break your leg." Big words coming from someone lying helpless on the ground, but I can't help it. Can't see straight, can't think straight. All I know is I'm going to kick this girl's ass the second I can move again.

  Her face contorts. Not so pretty when she's angry. Too bad angry means she's probably going to kill me. Just like her friends killed Sherry. And maybe when someone asks her about me later she'll tell them, Sorry about that.

  There's no reaction, though. Not before we both hear someone swooping in behind her. Not before she has a half-second to turn around and there's an ear-piercing crack of a gun firing against the side of her skull.

  Like slow-motion, Blondie's eyes roll back and her attacker shoves her to one side. She hits the muddy ground to my right, where she twitches once and goes still.

  Pain or no pain, I dig my heels into the earth and push myself back, nursing my ribs while trying to sit up. Behind where Blondie stood a second ago...

  "Noah?"

  There he is, gun in hand, staring at Blondie, mouth drawn. He's here. He's here and he rescued me.

  I want to grab him and run, because he doesn't know what he just rescued me from. At least, he shouldn't, but the way he's watching Blondie like he expects her to get back up makes me wonder. He said he works for the government; it's possible they know about things like this. Maybe he knows what I am.

  Already I can feel my ribs knitting back together. Slow and uncomfortable, but the pain is ebbing enough that I can carefully get to my feet.

/>   "Noah," I say again. Relieved. Hopeful.

  His gaze slowly slides over to me. There is no kindness in his eyes. No good-natured amusement. No love. He looks at me no differently than he looked at the vampire he just shot. And it hurts. More than transforming, the broken ribs...the look he gives me hurts more than anything I've ever felt ever since the police told me my sister was dead.

  When he raises his gun and aims it at my heart, it doesn't matter. He can't possibly break it any further.

  11. Tuesday – 8:25pm

  The split second the gun goes off, Oliver is here. A barrier separating Noah and me. He lets out a snarl that sends a shudder straight down my spine. I don't know what scares me more: the fact my boyfriend just tried to shoot me, or that Oliver is going to kill him for it.

  Oliver grabs for him. Noah leaps back, boots landing heavily on the bridge. He fires again before turning to flee. Oliver dodges the shot and tears across the bridge after him. The boys disappear into the trees and I let the sound of gunfire lead me to them.

  I'm just in time to see Oliver slam into Noah full-force and they hit the ground rolling. They come to a stop, Noah on top. Somewhere during the fall, he must have lost his gun because his hands are empty. All the easier for him to slam a fist into Oliver's face. He gets in three hits before Oliver tears him off and throws him effortlessly aside.

  Noah rolls to his feet gracefully. He catches my gaze. One second. Maybe two.

  Then he's gone, taking off into the park. I worry Oliver will follow, but he gets up, casts a sullen glare after Noah, then looks to me.

  "Who the hell was that?"

  I shake my head because I don't have an answer. My boyfriend, except he's not anymore. Trying to shoot your girlfriend is a pretty solid way of saying It's over.

  My Noah. Goofy and fun and sweet. Thirty minutes ago, I never would have imagined him capable of shooting anyone, much less me. There aren't words to describe the hundred different ways my heart is breaking.