by Kelley York
Hard to imagine anyone feeling like that about moody Oliver, but what do I know? Daniel’s a far more patient person than I am. "Oh. Do you help with their work?”
Daniel smiles. "You are full of questions tonight."
We're heading the direction of Old Town, the little tourist spot alongside the river sporting renovated 1800s architecture. All the shops are closing for the night, but it's still a nice walk. A city built on top of a city. When we step on the wooden sidewalks, I can peer down through the slats and see signs of the original structures beneath. "This is the first time you've been in a state to answer my questions."
He bobs his head into a nod. "True. But what if I have a few of my own?"
Only fair, I guess. "Ask away."
Daniel steps gracefully down a set of rickety steps, using his grip on my hand to help me along. Not like I need it, but I won't complain about someone being a gentleman. There are so few left in the world. "Tell me about Noah."
I pause in mid-step, heart in my throat. "That isn't a question."
"I'm willing to listen to what you are willing to tell me rather than getting specific." He raises a perfectly arced brow.
How kind. Ugh. "We dated for awhile," I mutter. "I met him about a month after I moved in with Sherry. He was gone a lot because of work, but he would come into town whenever he had off-time just to see me." The idea that Noah cared enough to keep coming back to a town he didn't even live in had always left warm, tickly butterflies in my chest. He had his faults, was by no means perfect, but he was perfect for me.
"Are you in love with him?"
What a simple answer with a hundred complicated details behind it. "Yes. But I never told him."
"Why not?"
"I don't know." Liar, liar. I was petrified of saying those three words to him. Noah was my first serious boyfriend, my forever-guy. But I didn't know if he was anywhere near as serious about me as I was with him and I wasn't willing to test it yet.
But every time he walked me home and we lingered on my doorstep, when he kissed me and rested his forehead against mine while we stared into each other's' eyes...I thought, just maybe, I could tell him.
All that ever came out was, Goodnight, Noah.
It became my own little code, my secret way of saying what I was too afraid to say. Sometimes when he looked back at me, holding my gaze for longer than necessary, I almost wondered if he knew. If maybe he said it back to me with all the same hidden meanings.
"Goodnight, Briar."
I swallow hard, shoving away the memory. "Doesn't really matter now, does it?"
Daniel's voice is quiet, his expression gentle. "He did not react well when he saw what you were."
Wow, understatement. "He tried to kill me." Still can't let the realization of that settle in too deep. It hurts.
"And he went up against Oliver in the process."
"Uh huh."
"Humans do not tend to do well against vampires."
We've reached the end of the street. Up ahead, across the cobbled road and beyond a crab shack and salt-water taffy shop, is the river. The damp air is heavy with the smell of it. Not a fresh, ocean-smell, but a murky and dingy aroma that makes me a little light-headed. Just like Daniel is leading me to the pier overlooking the river, he's also leading me to some kind of realization without flat-out saying it.
I narrow my eyes. "What are you getting at?"
At the railing, we stop, and he lets go of my hand with a sigh. "I am trying to say...your Noah may have secrets of his own, mon chaton. He tracked you through the park, and then to so fearlessly go up against someone like Oliver... It strikes me as peculiar, is all. How secretive he is regarding his profession could also be called into question."
My fingers wrap around the rusted railing, the cold metal stinging my palms. Honestly? It wouldn't surprise me if Noah were some super-secret paranormal-creature hunter or something. He told me government work, but who's to say the president doesn't have a special task force for stuff like this?
Daniel watches me in my silence, eyes half-lidded. "What are you thinking, Briar?"
Everything and nothing at once. I'm thinking that everyone is so full of secrets. Ruby, Noah, even Oliver. I'm thinking that if I were I to get the whole truth from everyone, would I regret it? Would I turn the clock back, if I could, and savor my ignorance for a little while longer? All those little white lies people tell in their lives to spare the hearts and feelings of others...
Just how many lies have the people I loved told me? How many were said with the intent to protect me, or hurt me?
I sink down to a crouch, peering past the rails like bars on a cage and watching the river rush below us.
"I don't know anymore."
18. Thursday – 7:22am
Before going back to the hotel, Daniel insists that I eat. Even if I don't feel like it, sinking my teeth into someone's neck makes me realize how ravenous I am. This morning's meal is compliments of a middle-aged guy in a suit, apparently on his way to work. I leave him in an alley, sagging against a wall, looking dazed but not frightened. Maybe I'm already getting the hang of this. Although I can't help but be embarrassed when Daniel wipes some of the blood off my cheek. I check in with Cole long enough to let him know the same story I told Oliver before heading to bed.
Daniel—Algonquin-the-cat—curls up on my pillow while I spend the next two hours staring at the ceiling and wondering where Ruby is at this exact moment. Some dark, cold, and abandoned building downtown? I'm also wondering what Noah is doing. Hunting for vampires? Are my parents are all right? Did they make it home? Have they been trying to call me? I don't exactly have a way to find out.
I finally fall asleep with my face pressed into Algonquin's furry side, his paw on my forehead. One second I'm aware that I'm finally drifting off, and the next, I'm startling awake to my alarm. Algonquin doesn't stir as I get out of bed.
I toss on some clean clothes and the items I filched from Ruby's room. I shove my hair into a careless ponytail and pull on the black newsboy style hat with a silver butterfly pinned to its side. One of her favorites, one I'd always liked.
Even dressed up in her stuff, covered in her cherry-blossom spray, I look nowhere near as pretty as her. I've never thought of myself as the ugly sibling or whatever, but ask anyone and they would say, without a doubt, Ruby was the head-turner. I, according to my Dad, had the 'spunk and sass.'
The reality that Ruby is alive feels heavier today than it did last night. More real. Suffocating me with the idea that there's more to her and Noah than anyone has ever told me. Amid these secrets coming to light, I wish I could make Ruby understand the weight of what her leaving put us through. Mom and Dad loved me. I have never, ever doubted that. But something changed in our household when Ruby vanished. Something that was never the same again.
Suddenly, I never felt good enough. Ruby was gone, but I resided in this massive shadow she left behind. I was constantly reminded of her absence by my parents' grief.
That was why I moved out. Anyone intelligent would've stayed behind, lived without worry of rent and bills, and focused on college. Me? I broke free, wanting to leave behind all the tears and loss and Ruby behind. Even to Sherry, I spoke of my sister very little.
But whatever. Today isn't about Ruby. Once I'm dressed, I scribble a note to Daniel and sneak out.
Going to Sherry's memorial service is a stupid idea. Like Oliver said, it isn't going to give me some kind of magical closure and make me feel like rainbows and sunshine. But I feel like... I don't know. Maybe I owe it to her? Or maybe I just want to hear what others have to say.
The chapel is nearly an hour away by bus. All this public transportation is really making me wish I had my own car. It's a tiny, well-kept place with stained glass windows and at least two dozen cars crammed into the parking lot.
I don't belong here. And I can't just waltz into the place, take a seat, and blend right in. Sherry's immediate family knows me, and they might be watching for me.
>
Instead I head around to the back of the building, flanked by shrubs and trees, searching each window until I find one near the back that I manage to wedge open a few inches. The warmth and scent of flowers seeps out from inside, along with the hushed murmur of voices. A good a seat as any. I sink down to the grass, drawing my legs up.
For an hour and a half, I listen. Sherry's mother shares stories from Sherry's childhood. What a bright, sweet girl she was. How smart. Even if she wasn't. Smart, I mean. Sherry never did very well in school, but no one ever wants to point out the flaws of the dead. No one wants to say, ‘Sherry, not the smartest cookie, but may she rest in peace.'
When Paul speaks is when I get teary-eyed. He and Sherry weren't close until they were older, given the age difference. But Paul loved his sister and did everything for her. Anytime something went wrong, from leaky faucets to boy problems, all Sherry had to do was call and no matter the time of day, Paul was there within the hour to rescue her.
I want so badly to go inside and share my own stories. Like how Sherry wanted to be an actress or an animal trainer. How she wanted to brave the Bermuda Triangle someday, or live in the Bahamas and swim with dolphins. I want to tell them about how the light in her eyes could inspire anyone to think they could do anything, and how her hugs made even the shittiest day seem not-so-bad.
More than anything, I want them to know how much I miss her, too. She was the closest thing I had to a sister after Ruby disappeared. She was the best friend I ever could have asked for, no matter how many wet towels she left on the bathroom floor and how many times she stole the last piece of pie. We were two people placed together by convenience and circumstance, and it was the one of the best things that ever happened to me.
When things start to wrap up, I catch bits and pieces of various conversations: ‘How tragic. They haven't finished the autopsy...' ‘Her roommate is still missing. They aren't sure if she's even alive.' ‘She could very well be a suspect.' ‘Poor Paul, he's been taking care of everything, he's a wreck...' At some point, I stop listening and tune it all out, just waiting for everyone to leave.
And they do, eventually. Everyone files out and her parents are ushered off to do something or other that sounds like actual funeral plans. The important thing being that the chapel is empty, and I'm free to pry the window further open and sneak inside. Just for a second.
All I wanted to see were any pictures they might've had, and Sherry's family didn't disappoint me. There are two large poster boards covered in photos, along with her graduation picture blown up to poster size.
I guess I shouldn't be surprised that amongst all those pics, ones of me and Sherry are noticeably absent. Not that there aren't a billion pictures of us in existence, but if I'm still a suspect, it would figure they'd leave me out. There is only one, nestled down near the bottom corner and another picture overlaps it, covering my face. I crouch, carefully pulling it off of the poster board without letting the tape tear it.
This pictures was taken only a month or two ago. We're sitting on a swinging bench on her grandmother's front porch, cheeks pressed together, making kissy-faces at the camera. Looking so modern and out of place with the old-lady house as a backdrop.
What I wouldn't give to recapture that moment, just for a minute.
Voices from outside startle me back to the here-and-now. Sherry's parents. I shove the picture into my back pocket and sneak out as silently as I came.
19. Thursday – 3:18pm
Back in my hotel room, I find Daniel sitting by the window, waiting for me.
"Hey," I say, feeling a little guilty for having run off this morning without waking him up.
He blinks and turns his head toward me, and gives me a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Vous êtes ici. Tout va bien ?"
No idea what he's saying, but it sounds pretty. "Yeah, sure." His smile is a little more sincere this time, but it doesn't stop me from asking, "What's wrong?"
"Mm..." Daniel's gaze absently travels back out the window. "Oliver still has not returned home."
Oh. Is that unusual? I can't say. It's only been a week since I was attacked, since Sherry died. Seems longer, but I really don't know the boys as well as I feel like I do. Is Oliver prone to vanishing for nights at a time? "Does Cole know?"
"Oui. He said if we didn't hear something by the time you returned, we would go look for him."
Look where? This city isn't huge, but it's still not easy finding one person among thousands. "Maybe he found a lead and didn't want to come home until he checked it out." I want to make Daniel feel better, but I can't think of much to say beyond that.
"We shall see." Daniel sighs and stands. He squints in my direction, head tipping. "Those are your sister's things?"
"What?" I touch a hand to the scarf around my neck, having forgotten about it. I start to ask how he knows, then remember he was there with me when I grabbed them. Just...smaller and fuzzier. And less French. "Oh. Yeah. I thought they looked nice."
He's quiet and I think—hope—that's the end of that subject, but eventually he crooks a finger to beckon me closer. I step up, and he lifts his hands and cups my face. Forcing my eyes to meet his. "Why do you do that?"
I frown. "Do what?"
"Hide in her things."
What kind of question is that? "I'm not hiding."
Daniel shakes his head like he knows better, like he knows exactly what I'm thinking even before I do. That at this moment in time, I would rather be Ruby—hell, anyone else—other than me. I would rather be someone whose boyfriend holds their hand when they need them the most. Someone whose sister would never fake their own death and leave. Someone who has work in a few hours, then will go home with their roommate and decide cooking is too much effort and decides it'll be pizza for dinner again.
More than that, burrowing under something of Ruby's makes me feel shielded, protected. Because now and again, I catch myself remembering Sherry is dead and I didn't save her, and I remember Ruby is alive and she never told me, and that Noah wants to kill me. Hiding, as Daniel calls it, lets me distance myself emotionally and makes all of this a lot easier to handle.
He draws my face closer until our foreheads are touching. The gesture isn't intimate the way it would be with anyone else. There is nothing romantic there, only Daniel's kindness.
"You shine brilliantly in your own light, Briar. Do not try to veil yourself in someone else's. You are strong enough to handle anything that is thrown at you." He kisses the tip of my nose, his smile making the corners of his eyes crinkle. "That is all."
I don't know what to say to that, but his words make me warm and sad all at once. I pull back, ducking my head but smiling all the same. "Come on," I say. "Let's go find Oliver."
Outside, Mother Nature is getting cranky. It smells like rain, which is going to make searching oodles of fun. Cole takes off in one direction. I don't know what trail he's following, but the fact he's ventured out of his room tells me how much he's worried. That in of itself makes me worry more. Daniel and I start at the corner we left Oliver last night and work our way in the directions he might have gone.
Hours later, we've talked to at least fifty people and don't have a single lead. Even Daniel is getting frustrated when, finally, a sixty-something-year-old lady at a portable coffee trailer squints at the wrinkled photo Daniel has been carting around, and recognition dawns on her face.
"Yeah," she spits. To Daniel, because he's done most of the talking. People keep eyeing me like I have the plague. "He ran down this way last night after some girl. Knocked over a few of my customers along the way."
We exchange glances. "Girl with blonde hair?" I ask, gesturing length. "About to here?"
"Didn't get a good look, but sounds about right. They came around that corner and took off down that way." She points us in the right direction, looking annoyed that we wasted her time and didn't buy a cup of coffee. Smells gross anyway.
Daniel is alert to everything and everyone around us. "What is this
direction?"
"Uh... Houses, a few shopping centers. There's a huge cemetery on the corner of Broadway."
A frown creases his brow. He catches me by the elbow and we step into the narrow space between two buildings. Without a word, he shoves Oliver's photo into my hand and starts stripping out of his shirt. "Keep watch, please."
Face burning, I spin away and stare out at the street, making sure no one happens by. "What are you doing?"
He doesn't answer, but I hear the rustle of fabric as he undresses. A moment later, a cold and wet nose presses against my palm, and Algonquin-the-wolf is staring up at me.
On one hand, I like having Daniel to talk to, on the other, I've seen what doggy Daniel can do to a vampire with those teeth if someone gets in our way. He moves away from me, abandoning the clothing Oliver bought him on the ground.
"You know they have a leash law here," I say, but he's already slipping back out onto the street. Not much choice but to follow or be left behind.
He draws more than a little attention. I keep my hand on his scruff, in-step alongside him, and that seems to deter anyone from bringing up that I'm letting a monster of a wolf-dog run around unleashed. Either that, or no one wants to approach the creepy girl with the huge animal.
Algonquin lowers his nose to the ground, lifts it to the sky and back again. Close to the cemetery, his ears prick straight up and he pauses, breathing in deep. Catching the scent of something that I can only hope is Oliver.
Without warning he yanks out of my grip, darting across a parking lot and the street to the cemetery entrance. By the time I reach him, he's pawing at the wrought iron gates, muzzle shoved between the bars.
"It's a historic cemetery," I say, peering inside once I catch up. "They close early on the weekends." I would know because I've been here before. Plenty of times with Sherry, once with Noah. Algonquin looks up at me almost expectantly like I have some magical way to get us in.
Sighing, I glance around to make sure no one's paying us any attention before gesturing for him to follow. We slip around to the far back of the grounds. The high walls don't get any shorter, but there's a spot where the bricks are cracked and crumbling and makes scaling the wall doable. Perfect for me, but, "You're gonna have to turn back if you want to—"
