Deadworld

by J N Duncan

  “There’s some in the kitchen.” It was Jackie, her voice rough and quiet. “I’d like one, too.”

  “Hey,” Shelby said, turning soft and friendly in a heartbeat. “How you feeling, Jackie?”

  “Terrible in every way imaginable.” She looked it, too, huddled in the bedroom doorway, clutching at the robe wrapped around her. She eyed them suspiciously. “Why are you here?”

  “Aspirin?” Shelby wondered, heading for the kitchen.

  “By the sink. Cigs are on the fridge. I could really use a drink.”

  Shelby gave Jackie a disarming smile. “Coffee, juice, or water?”

  “Coffee, I guess.” She walked out, surveying the remnants of dinner, and stepped around the coffee table to sit on the end of the couch opposite where Nick stood, watching in silence. She curled her feet under herself, crossing her arms over her chest, watching Nick and Shelby with puffy, bloodshot eyes. A moment later, Bickerstaff appeared, hopping into her lap, and the tension abruptly melted away as she let her arms enfold the great mass of orange fur.

  This was not a situation 176 years of living gave much familiarity with. Nick could only shift back and forth on his feet uncomfortably.

  “Why are you here?” Jackie asked again, her fingers absently stroking the cat.

  “We wanted to make sure you got through the night okay,” Shelby said. “After yesterday, we thought it best you didn’t wake up alone.”

  Her face flushed a bit at that, and she looked at Nick for a brief second before glancing away. “Thanks, but you didn’t have to do that. I… It was a rough day, that’s all. Did anyone call?”

  “The FBI knows we’re here,” Nick answered. “I talked to Belgerman. He seemed okay with us being here to offer any help that might be needed.”

  Jackie only nodded, saying nothing, and they avoided looking at each other in silence for a few moments. Shelby appeared to be taking her sweet time making coffee and finding cigarettes. Nick guessed she was doing it on purpose. He had to wonder if Jackie even remembered much of the day before. Peering into her bedroom had provided a strong enough indication of alcohol that he knew she had been drunk off her rocker. Any luck, and the memories would be vague at best.

  The sad thing was, he found himself wondering about just what the hell had happened. This went beyond being distraught over the loss of a friend. There was a wound here that went far deeper, and Nick struggled with the feeling of connection he found himself having. The words that came out of his mouth next defied the laws of tact or intelligence.

  “Do you remember much about what happened last night?” The heat rising in her face as it turned away from him was all the answer he needed.

  After a moment, she looked back at him, her eyes suddenly calculating. “How did you know to come over here when you did? That wasn’t coincidence, was it?”

  Nick had not prepared himself for answering that question yet. She was in no state of mind to hear that sort of discussion. “Well, not exactly, no.”

  “Nick,” Shelby said with venomous warning in her voice. “Quit being an ass.” She came in and set a tray down on the coffee table with a plate full of crackers, a glass of cranberry juice, and three cups of coffee. She had a cigarette in her mouth, lit it, and handed it over to Jackie before lighting one for herself. “Why don’t you tell Jackie your story.”

  “Which story is that?”

  She handed him the cup of coffee. “Your story. The whole thing. Besides, if you don’t, I will.”

  “That’s cheating,” he said, mustering what little defense he could. “I don’t think she…” The look Shelby gave him said enough. “Fine. I’ll tell her.”

  “The whole thing,” she insisted. “Jackie deserves no less.”

  Nick shrugged. “Still don’t think this is the most appropriate moment for this.”

  “Nick.”

  “Fine! The whole damn thing it is.”

  “Oh, goody,” Shelby said, a childish grin on her face. She plopped down on the couch next to Jackie, who watched them both with a curious gaze. “This is good. Trust me. Nick tells one hell of a story.”

  “Funny,” he said. “You’re real funny.” He took a long sip from the coffee cup. “This may take a while.”

  Jackie shrugged. “It’s two AM, and you should have told me this from the start.”

  Nick winced at the barb. In retrospect she was right. Maybe it would have changed things.

  Four AM chimed on the clock before he finished. Nick left out little. He didn’t want to. Part of him wanted to tell the story to someone who might not believe, might think he was utterly crazy, or worse, condemn him for his sins. The guilty conscience wanted that, wanted confirmation that what he had done was wrong, that everything he had done or tried to do had been a horrible, bloody mistake. He stopped the story when he got to Laurel. There was no need to bring that up now, and Jackie’s glassy-eyed look told him the wounds were far too fresh to endure any discussion of it.

  “And that’s pretty much how it is,” Nick said, unsure how to finish. “No closer than I was a century ago.”

  “Forever the optimist,” Shelby quipped. “So, Jackie, did that leave any stones unturned for you?”

  She looked at each of them in silence, sipping at her cold coffee. “You realize how insane all this sounds. Even when we figured it had to be you involved in those old cases, I still could not quite believe it. Only… Laur really believed it.”

  Shelby laid a comforting hand on Jackie’s leg. “She had a gift.”

  Jackie looked for a moment like tears would fall, but she took a deep breath, and the moment passed. “How exactly did you get turned into a vampire? You explained how it works, why blood is needed, but. .. did Drake just open a vein and make you drink or something?”

  Nick stared at her. That was the last question he expected her to have, and the last one he wanted to answer. Thankfully, Jackie opted out by waving him off.

  “Never mind. That’s just too weird a question. I don’t really need to know.”

  “Nick?” Shelby said, a rough edge to her voice.

  “What?”

  “I know that look.”

  Shit. The woman had keener senses than a bloodhound. “What look are you referring to?”

  “Relief,” she replied, turning now to face him, her mouth drawn into a hard line. “You don’t want to tell her. Funny thing is, you never really explained that to me either.”

  Damn the woman! “If it’s all the same, I’d rather not. It’s really not that important in the scheme of things.”

  “Nicholas Anderson! You’d better fucking tell me.”

  Jackie shifted up against the arm of the couch, trying to back away. “It’s okay,” she said. “Really. It’s not important.”

  Shelby turned and patted her leg. “Yes. It is. Hon, you don’t know Nick. He wanted to tell you, but he won’t if he thinks it’s too painful for you… or him.” She glared back at Nick now, eyes alight with anger. “He won’t hardly lie about anything, but he’ll certainly refrain from telling you the truth. So spit it out, Mr. Anderson. I don’t give a shit how much the truth makes you squirm.”

  “Now you’re just being a…” He stopped himself. She was right, of course, damn her, but could he tell them? Some things were rightfully kept in the dark.

  “Bitch? You can say it. I’m going to be a bitch until you can stop being a prick by continuing to hide the truth.”

  “I’m not hiding anything.”

  “Bullshit, Nick!”

  He wanted to slap her now, make her shut up, but then all that would have done was give him a bloodied nose or lip in response. There would be no denying her, now that she had sniffed out something suspicious.

  Jackie began to uncurl her legs. “You know, I can just step out for a minute.”

  “No.” Shelby reached back and pushed Jackie back to the cushions. “Don’t you move an inch. You deserve to know every goddamn thing, and so you will.”

  Nick slowly exhaled, tr
ying to let the tension roll out of him, but it did no good. Instead he began to pace across the living room behind the sofa instead, needing to move. He could not stand still and say the words. “All right. Drake showed me what to do, what I had to do to become this… what I am, but I didn’t drink his blood to turn. He merely gave me a taste. No. That would have been far too easy for him.”

  Shelby leaned on the back of the couch, watching Nick, thinking and remembering. He realized she would put the pieces together quickly enough. Jackie might not-she wasn’t familiar enough with the story-but he was wrong. Jackie opened her mouth to speak even as Shelby’s eyes grew wide with shock.

  “It was Gwendolyn,” Jackie said matter-of-factly, as though it was just another point of interest in the case. “You said she was the last one to die.”

  Shelby’s mouth was open, but it took her a moment to form any words. “Fuck, Nick. You drank Gwen’s blood to turn yourself?” Her cheeks were flushing red, and Nick couldn’t tell if it was anger for what he had done or the fact he had never told her.

  But it was out there now. The grand albatross of shame had flown and landed in the middle of Jackie’s living room. Nick turned away, unable to look at them any longer. “Yeah,” he whispered. “I drank her blood.” He suddenly felt weak in the knees and light-headed and had to sit himself down on the piano bench.

  Shelby was up and moving around, stopping every couple seconds to stare at him. “This! This… this is the thing, the ‘something I will never tell anyone.’” Nick nodded, and she rolled her head in dismay. “God, Nick. What gave you the right to keep that a secret from me? How could you?”

  He tried to speak, but his heart had lodged somewhere up in his throat. He should have told her. She should have been the one person he could trust with the horrible deed, but in the end, he had been unable to let go of it, shackled as it was to his soul. He swallowed several times, trying to get some amount of moisture back in his mouth.

  “Gwen did,” he answered.

  She stopped, throwing up her hands. “What?

  “Gwen gave me the right. She told me to do it.” The image regurgitated itself from the bowels of his brain, fresh as the day it had happened on that day, 144 years ago. Nick clenched his hands into fists to try to keep them from trembling.

  “‘Do it,’ she said. I refused at first. I thought it better to die with her there, but she wouldn’t let me.” He looked up at Shelby now, his voice loud and shaky. “She said, ‘You will do it.’ Her voice was so strong for someone with her blood running out onto the floor. She held my hand so hard it actually hurt.” He smiled at the memory. Yes, Gwen had been strong, the strongest women he had ever known. “She said, ‘You will do this thing and get him for us, Nicholas.’” His voice began to falter now, the words coming out one at a time. “‘Get him for everyone he’s killed, because…’” He stopped for moment, wiping at the tear that finally spilled, a single drop filled with more than a century’s worth of sorrow and suffering. “‘Because you’re the goddamn sheriff.’”

  He said the last word, stabbing his finger out at Shelby, much like Gwendolyn had done then, and got up off the bench, feeling the need to move then, before he completely broke down. He walked over to the sliding glass door, looking up at the dark skies that spit rain down on the window, thinking of all the times he had wanted to shed tears for that moment but had refused himself the right.

  “Nick…” Shelby said, her tone consolatory.

  He raised a hand to silence her. “She said… ‘If you love me, you will do it.’” Nick reached out and touched the drops running down the outside of the window, feeling the tears that now burned down his cheeks.

  A moment later, Shelby’s hand was on his shoulder. “Goddamnit, babe. You should’ve told me this a long time ago. You didn’t need to carry that around all this time.”

  He nodded, unable to speak for a moment. Finally, he said, “Sorry.”

  She slugged him in the shoulder. “If that’s for refusing to tell me all these years, then fine, I’ll accept. Otherwise, you have nothing to be sorry for, hon.” She reached up and turned Nick’s face toward hers, and there was a tear running down her cheek as well. “Even the sheriff can be human.”

  Chapter 37

  If you love me. Jackie watched them in silence, Shelby’s hand caressing the square line of Nick’s jaw, wiping at the tears on his face. The image was hard to comprehend, but she understood. If Carl had been there with a knife in her back, telling her that if she drank her mother’s blood, she would have the chance at revenge, she would not have thought twice about it. The thought made her stomach squirm. Maybe she would have chickened out in the end. Watching Nick now had her wondering if she could have stomached the consequences of such an act.

  Nick looked different to her now. Everything about him and how he had been made some kind of sense. He wanted justice, even if he had to sacrifice everything to get it, but now she realized just how difficult that was. How could he have known what would happen once that decision was made? Would it have mattered? No, Jackie figured, it would not. He would endure until justice was achieved or die trying. She appreciated that and realized maybe they were more alike than she had thought. Laurel had been right. Jackie sighed and sipped more of her cold coffee.

  Shelby stepped away from Nick and pointed at the piano. “Play something, babe. Don’t argue with me, just do it.”

  He glanced over at Jackie, but she could not tell what the look meant, and he gave a helpless shrug and walked back over to the piano bench. Suddenly, Jackie felt self-conscious, remembering the perfect, beautiful baby grand he had sitting in his loft. Hers was likely horribly out of tune in comparison.

  “Come on, Jackie. Shower. You look like hell,” Shelby said with a smile, motioning at her to get up. “And Nick could use a few minutes, I think.”

  She glanced over at Nick, who sat staring at the keys. She really wanted nothing more than to hear him play. Shelby waved at her again, more insistent this time, and Jackie finally struggled to her feet, noticing for the first time since waking up that her body hurt. “Okay, you’re right, a shower will feel good.”

  To her surprise, Shelby followed her in and closed the door. Before Jackie could ask what she was doing in there with her, she slid her pants down and sat heavily on the toilet, sighing with obvious relief. “Christ! I never saw that coming. Only a guy could sit on something like that for so long.”

  Jackie nodded, not exactly comfortable standing there watching the strange, headstrong woman pee in the toilet. She had to admit, though, that Shelby was growing on her. The woman was confident, knew what she wanted, and seemed utterly capable of getting it. She also drank blood. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  Notes from the piano began to roll down the hall toward them like a sad wash of fog, seeping into every surface. The music plucked on Jackie’s heartstrings with a haunting finesse. God, he really was good.

  Shelby looked at the door and frowned. “He never had a name for that piece, but now I think it must be Ode to Gwen or something equally sentimental.”

  “It’s very sad,” Jackie said.

  She nodded. “Yep. That’s our Nick, far too maudlin for his own good.” She flushed and stood back up. “Okay, shower. Now. I want to go get breakfast soon.”

  Jackie turned and caught her reflection in the mirror. Shit! She had been sitting out there with them all this time looking like this? More disturbing were the bandages around her wrists. They made her look like a suicide patient. “Are you taking one with me or something?”

  Shelby offered a sly smile. “Did you want me to?”

  “Um.” Jackie gulped. Okay, wrong question. “No, not really.”

  “Okay then,” she replied, laughing. “Get in there and take one. And scrub with something foofy. You still smell like tequila.”

  Jackie’s face flushed. God, she was worse than a mother. Feeling more than a little self-conscious, Jackie hung her robe up on the hook behind the door and stepped into the s
hower. The music continued to invade the room, the melancholy notes bringing Laurel to mind more strongly than Jackie felt like coping with.

  “Personal question?” she asked, sucking in her breath at the sting of water on her wrists as she unwound the gauze that covered them.

  “Sure.”

  “What’s it like having to drink blood to stay alive? Doesn’t that bother you?”

  The electric shaver clicked on, and Jackie watched Shelby’s distorted, half-naked form begin shaving her legs. It was not a scene she would have imagined possible. “Yeah, but it’s a bit like being an addict, I think. You feel horrible for doing it, but it’s still wonderful when you do. When the other option is death, you sort of adjust your priorities.”

  “So it’s that good? I just can’t wrap my mind around that.”

  “Well,” she said, pausing while she perched the other leg on the toilet seat, “it’s kind of beside the point when you need it to live, but it’s… hmmm. You ever tried heroin?”

  “What? God, no.”

  “Ever had such a strong orgasm you nearly passed out?”

  “That’s rhetorical, right?”

  Shelby laughed. “No, actually. But I’m guessing the answer to that is no, which is too bad. You need better lovers then, hon. Anyway, the effect is the most perversely pleasurable thing imaginable.”

  “Oh.” She washed in silence, her brain now turned to the absurd notion of cumming so hard that it could make you pass out. She wondered if Nick had been the one to do that to Shelby. Was it some kind of vampire thing? Some weird power they had?

  “Regardless,” Shelby continued, “I wouldn’t recommend it. The withdrawal symptoms are a bitch.”

  “But Nick found a way around it. You don’t actually drink real blood anymore.”

  “Discounting the prick in the hospital? Yeah, but it’s a poor substitute. We’re far weaker on that shit.”

  “Isn’t that better than having to drink someone’s blood?”

  “According to Nick, yes.”