‘Don’t think, Morgan. It only gets you into trouble.’
‘Jayna, listen—’
I threw him away from me and he sailed through the air to land with a colossal thud halfway up the stairs. He groaned with immediate pain.
‘Morgan, run,’ I said softly, taking my time as I walked towards him.
He looked at me, his eyes pleading as his mouth could or would not.
‘Run . . .’ I whispered.
He took off up the stairs. This game I was playing revolted me. All at once I just wanted to end it. I climbed wearily up the stairs after Morgan.
‘Andrew!’ Morgan screamed. ‘Andrew, help me!’ He ran into his bedroom, locking the door behind him, but one kick from me brought the door completely off its hinges and Morgan and I stood there watching each other.
‘Your mother was an accident,’ I said quietly. ‘But you won’t be.’
‘Please . . .’ he pleaded.
‘Shh!’ I put my finger over my lips as I walked towards him. Then I pinned him against the wall, my hand against his chest. With my other hand I lifted his wrist to my mouth, looking straight into his terror-filled eyes.
But I couldn’t do it.
Go on, Jayna. He deserves it. This is your chance for revenge, a voice inside me said. Drink his blood and watch him die . . . Go on, Jayna . . .
I played the whole scene again in my head, just as I’d imagined it, over and over.
I bite. And drink, feeling Morgan’s heartbeat race faster and become more frantic under my hand. He struggles but it’s useless.
And still I drink.
Until at last I am the only thing keeping Morgan on his feet. I release him. He slips slowly down the wall and onto the floor. His blood, still warm upon my lips, trickles down my chin. Licking wet lips, I relish the sweet metallic taste. It burns through me, warming my stomach. Liquid fire, burning its way through my entire body like expensive brandy. I pull Morgan to his feet. His head droops like a dying flower. His heartbeat is almost one continuous throb now, as his heart tries frantically to pump the little blood that remains within him around his body. I pull him to me, my mouth seeking a particular part of his neck. I bite hard, then again, deeper. But not to drink. I am sated. I let go of him. Immediately, he falls to the floor, blood gushing from his neck, but not for long.
His heart slows. His heart stops . . .
A wonderful dream. But that was all it was.
‘You’re lucky, Morgan. You’ll never know quite how lucky.’ I released his wrist and took my hand away from his chest, away from his racing heart. ‘I want to hurt you. I want to hurt you so much, like you’ve hurt me and mine. You’re scum, Morgan. But if I kill you, I’m no better than you and Andrew. And I am better.’
Morgan’s eyes were still wild, fearful. I doubted if he even knew what I was saying, but I leaned closer to make sure he took in my next words.
‘You’re going to phone the police in the morning – give yourself up for the attack on my mum’s house. Or I’ll be back, I promise you. But just for now, I owe you this.’ I slapped him, not as hard as I could, but hard enough. He flew across the room to whack into the opposite wall at speed, then crumpled up and hit the deck. He was out before he hit the floor – but he was alive.
Then I heard it. There . . . I raised my head and listened. A noise, grating and sharp, came from downstairs. Wood against wood. A window being carefully, cautiously opened.
Andrew.
He was doing his best not to make a sound but I heard him anyway. Did he really think I wouldn’t? Or did he think I’d be too busy with his brother to notice anything else? So he’d heard his brother’s cry for help . . . Not that that mattered now. I stopped breathing and turned my head to listen. I heard the slight scrape of his trainers against the wood of the windowsill.
He’d come for me.
The window fell shut, the sound echoing throughout the house. I heard Andrew’s soft curse.
With sad pleasure, I thought, At least now, it’ll all be over. The final moments in this farce that was Andrew and me had come at last.
44
MY FINGERS SHAKING, I unhooked the loaded crossbow resting against my back. Once again, I checked to ensure that the safety catch was on. It was a small crossbow, only about thirty-two or thirty-three centimetres in length, its handle fashioned in the same manner as the handle of a gun. I tried to remember the proper name for a gun handle. The stock? But what did I know? I loathed weapons.
The woman in the outdoor activities shop had been very enthusiastic when she’d showed me how it worked. ‘It’s the very latest model. Safety catch, of course, a trigger mechanism, a two-stage sight . . .’ She had come out from behind the counter to show me how it all worked.
At first I’d watched her talking rather than look at the crossbow. The two men serving behind the counter wore faded jeans and T-shirts and she wore an Army combat jacket, khaki trousers and Timberland boots. I’d wondered if she thought that was the only way prospective customers would take her seriously.
Then I’d turned my attention to the crossbow. It took a good five minutes before I could summon up the courage to hold the thing. It was lighter in weight than I’d thought it would be. Lighter and colder.
‘It also comes with six bolts in their own case,’ the shop assistant continued. ‘May I ask what it’s for?’
‘It’s a present.’
‘I’m sure the man you give this to will love it,’ she smiled.
‘I hope so. If I’m lucky it’ll be a surprise at any rate,’ I replied.
The saleswoman beamed, smelling a more than likely sale. ‘It comes in its own box, so if you wrap it, he won’t be able to guess what it is.’
I looked at her but didn’t answer. Why assume the bow was for a man? But then I shrugged and told myself that really it was a compliment.
‘Er, I will need to see some ID,’ said the saleswoman apologetically. ‘It’s against the law to sell these to anyone under eighteen.’
I dug my provisional driver’s licence out of my purse. Luckily, I always kept it with me so the fire hadn’t got it. And the thought of breaking and entering to steal the crossbow or mesmerizing the woman into handing it over didn’t appeal, though that’s what I would’ve done if necessary. My mesmerizing skills weren’t on a par with Julius’s yet, but he’d had more practice.
So I bought it, wondering if I’d really be able to actually use it? Clutching the carrier bag which held my purchase to my chest, I walked quickly away from the shop. I’d barely taken five or six steps when I was stopped by two animal rights’ campaigners.
‘Excuse me, will you sign our petition?’
‘What’s it about?’ I asked.
‘We want to stop cruelty to animals.’
‘And encourage people to think about eating alternatives to meat,’ said the second campaigner.
I signed.
So here I was, staring at the crossbow in my hand and once again wondering if I could use the thing. Could I actually look Andrew in the eye and pull the trigger? Would it come to that?
Don’t think about anything except surviving, I told myself. If I hesitated for even a second, I’d be dead. And my mum and sister would be left to Andrew and Morgan’s not so tender mercies. I couldn’t let that happen.
I double-checked the bolt that sat in the groove of the crossbow barrel. I’d adapted the six metal bolts that came with the crossbow, adding pure silver to each bolt tip by heating and cutting up some silver cutlery Mum had saved from the fire. I’d tried to be extra careful – wearing rubber gloves to protect my skin – but a lapse in concentration had resulted in one tiny splash of silver on my forearm. It had burned through the gloves and into my skin with a scar that even now still hadn’t healed. I remembered Andrew’s reaction to the silver cross I’d worn when I first met up with him after my journey back from Fipoli. I’d mistakenly thought he was afraid of the cross – like in the movies – but I now knew it was the metallic element he h
ad been scared of. Pure silver was lethal to us vampires. I just had to make sure I touched the steel shaft of each bolt and never the tip or I’d be doing Andrew’s job for him.
The loaded bolt was held firmly in place by the metal pressure catch above it. I knew it would fire all right. The question was, would it do the job? No, not the question, just one of them. I tried not to think too much about what I was doing and whether or not I’d be able to do it. I had to let my instincts take over or I would fail. I checked two silver-bladed knives I had tucked into a makeshift leather sheath at the side of each boot. Hidden under my leather coat, tucked into my belt at the back, was also a stake made from the wood of an ash tree. I wasn’t taking any chances.
I crept out onto the landing, then paused, listening for Andrew.
‘Jayna? Jayna, I know you’re up there.’
I gripped the crossbow tighter in my right hand and walked towards the top of the stairs, my right hand hidden behind my back. Andrew stood in the hall, looking up at me. Before me was the image of the person I’d fallen in love with. The image of the man I’d shared my body with – a lifetime ago.
‘Hello, Andrew,’ I said quietly.
‘Where’s Morgan?’ he said.
‘He’s having a lie-down in his room.’
Pause.
‘What did you do to him?’
‘The same thing both of you tried to do to my family.’
‘What if I tell you that I didn’t have anything to do with the fire at your house? I would never—’
‘Don’t tell me you never! You’re the one doing the chemistry A-level. Who else made that Molotov cocktail? Morgan? Your brother couldn’t make up his bed, much less something like that.’
‘Jayna, I’m telling you the truth—’
‘Shut up. I don’t want to hear any more of your lies. I don’t want to believe you’d do that to my family and our house, but I know it was you. Your brother just admitted as much.’
‘It was a mistake,’ Andrew said at last.
‘Funny. That’s what your brother said,’ I replied bitterly. ‘What was the point of your little present through my window? To get me here? No . . . it wasn’t even that, was it? You just wanted to get me.’
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
‘Why?’ I whispered.
‘For the same reason you’re hiding whatever it is you’ve got in your right hand.’ Andrew’s voice was harsh. His eyes were giving me frostbite, turning slowly but surely from green to red . . .
‘It’s not the same at all. Why do you hate me so much for being the same as you?’
‘But you’re not. Don’t you see? And you won’t change,’ Andrew shouted at me. ‘It should all be perfect, but you want to hold onto what you were. You want to drag me back down to nothing.’
‘Andrew, you don’t get it, do you?’ I shook my head sadly. ‘What we have now is nothing. What we are now is nothing. Can’t you see that?’
Silence. So cold. When did it become so cold?
‘Morgan’s dead, isn’t he?’
I didn’t answer. Andrew’s lips thinned and I watched them in isolation, then his cheeks, his wavy hair, his narrowed eyes, his clenched hands. All he had to do was listen to know that Morgan was still alive. I could hear his brother’s unconscious breathing. If Andrew wanted, he could have heard it too, but I was the only thing on his mind now. He wouldn’t allow anyone or anything else to enter his head.
‘You fed on him.’ It wasn’t a question. Andrew started walking slowly up the stairs towards me.
‘Tell me Pete is the one and only person you’ve killed,’ I challenged. I dropped my right arm to my side. ‘Tell me you haven’t ripped the throat out of anyone else and drunk their blood since I’ve been away and I’ll give you my bow by the handle, right here, right now.’
Andrew halted on the fourth step. His eyes travelled from my face to the crossbow in my hand.
‘Go on, tell me,’ I urged. He didn’t come any closer. ‘That’s what I thought.’ I laughed harshly. ‘You’re evil, Andrew Harrison. It’s what you’ve become. We both knew it wouldn’t stop at Pete. Pete wasn’t even the first, was he? I was the first.’
Andrew said nothing.
‘Someone’s got to stop you,’ I whispered.
‘You?’ Andrew mocked.
‘There is no one else. We both know that. And that’s why you are scared of me.’
I waited for Andrew to laugh in my face, but he didn’t. His eyes kept changing colour, like dye added to water, from blood-red to bottle-green, then back again.
‘Well, we’re both here, Andrew,’ I said softly. ‘What happens now?’
I don’t know how long we stood watching one another, moments or minutes.
Tell me the past doesn’t matter.
Invite me to walk with you to greet the sunrise.
Please, Andrew, just ask me . . .
Andrew vaulted over the banisters, down into the hall. In less than a second he was gone. I leaned over the balustrade.
‘Andrew . . .?’
What did it mean? Was he going to leave me alone? Had he heard his brother breathing and realized I hadn’t killed him? He must have done. Hope, long extinguished, ignited within me.
Is it over? Let it be over.
Without warning, every light in the house went out.
45
A GASP ESCAPED my lips before I could halt it. Momentarily I froze, before sprinting for one of the bedrooms.
Andrew . . . He’d turned off the electricity. Bastard!
But I could see in the dark. I had natural night vision. Andrew knew that. So why switch off all the lights? To throw me off balance, I realized. And it had worked.
I should have stood my ground at the top of the stairs. I should never have run. Andrew knew me too well. I’d been right about how this would end, and God only knew I didn’t want to be right.
I crouched low, forcing myself not to panic. At least I knew that he was still downstairs with the electricity fuse box. And I’d hear him when he came upstairs. No matter how quiet he tried to be, I’d hear him. I stopped breathing and listened harder. With a start, I realized I was in Andrew’s room. Ironic.
Don’t think about that. Think about surviving . . .
I looked around. I could see in the dark but I didn’t want to rely solely upon my eyes. Bowing my head, I concentrated on using my other senses. I closed my eyes, my grip on the crossbow tightening.
I don’t want this. I don’t want this. I tried to get the thought out of my head but it wouldn’t budge.
Andrew, what happened to us . . .?
Stop thinking like you’re in a soap opera, Jayna!
Concentrate.
I leaned against the wall, my eyes still closed, the crossbow now a part of my right hand.
Two months ago, the world had been normal. So was I. So was Andrew. The biggest things in my life had been passing my exams, which university to apply to, and making love with Andrew.
Now my life was . . . nothing. I’d done things I couldn’t bear to think about and it still wasn’t over.
An almost imperceptible creak on the landing had my eyes open instantly. Andrew had jumped up. I’d forgotten about the jumping. I crouched even further down, waiting. Outside, Andrew gasped. I turned my head to see through the wall, his location pinpointed. He’d found his brother. But knowing Morgan was alive wouldn’t change Andrew’s resolve. My hand and head turned to face the bedroom door. It was the only way in and I was ready.
Stand up or stay crouched – what should I do? I exhaled slowly, oh so slowly.
Stay crouched, I thought. Stay down low. My eyes never left the entrance to Andrew’s room. With my left hand, I gently fingered the other bolts inside my deep coat pocket. If I missed, would I get a second chance? Doubtful.
Don’t miss, then!
Come on, Andrew.
Get it over.
I just want this to be over.
I listened harder.
Where are you?
Listening for me?
It’s not so easy coming after someone who fights back, is it? I’m not the soft target my mum and sister were . . .
The hairs on my nape began to prickle. Something was wrong. There was no . . . presence in the house. I felt alone. But I couldn’t be. Andrew wouldn’t go away and leave me. Would he? Had he found his brother and realized I wasn’t the enemy he considered me? I shook my head. No, Andrew was out for my blood and nothing and no one could change his mind now. Not my sparing his brother and certainly not anything I could say or do.
Carefully, I began to rise, my eyes never leaving the bedroom door. The smash of wood, the shattering of glass had my head whipping round.
The window . . .
Screaming, I raised my arm and fired wildly. The bolt flew like a bullet, straight out of the shattered window. I fled round the door and out of the room, one hand still holding my crossbow, my left hand frantically digging into my coat pocket to extract another bolt. Andrew was right behind me, grabbing at my coat, pulling it off me, trying to slow me down. I shrugged out of it, throwing my crossbow from my right hand to my left and back again as I left my coat behind. I raced along the landing.
Down the stairs, Jayna. Get downstairs.
The only bolt I had left was the one in my left hand. All the others were still in my coat and Andrew now had that.
Jayna, get downstairs . . .
My legs disappeared out from under me. I fell forward, crashing heavily – Andrew had rugby-tackled my legs. The bolt flew out of my hand and down the stairs, clattering as it fell. My head and upper body flopped forward over the top steps.
‘No!’ I kicked and lashed out against Andrew dragging me backwards. Fear, untamed and uncontrollable, gave me a strength I’d never had before. I kicked out harder, my free foot walloping him on the side of his face. Andrew momentarily let go of my other leg. That was all I needed. I threw myself down the stairs after the bolt.
Trust Me Page 20
