PANDORA

by Rebecca Hamilton

  That morning, however, I weathered the most terrible nightmare I had experienced since my fledgling days. Despite months of cold cruelty and intense focus, there yet remained one voice that refused to surrender her mission to redeem my soul.

  The ghost of Lydia Davies returned with a vengeance to haunt me.

  Chapter Eight

  I opened my eyes to find myself standing in the middle of a crypt. Heavy wool coat atop my black suit, I was dressed as though I anticipated an outing but could not recall ever leaving the coven. Adjusting my sunglasses, I focused on my surroundings through a darkness that had only part to do with any lack of illumination. Something rang familiar about it, though. I made out the presence of a lamp by my side and after I switched it on, light heralded far more than dÉjÀ vu.

  My mortal living area. Fate had transported me into my old apartment.

  I perked an eyebrow. An immediate rush of memory swept past me, threatening to drown me in the undertow as the place I had not called home in nearly a year swam into view. A thin layer of dust rested on everything. Familiar pictures hung on the walls and every piece of furniture had remained undisturbed.

  That could not be right, though. Fingerprints had littered the murder weapon that killed Lydia Davies and would have led investigators here. Anything not nailed down should have been confiscated by the police, yet books and vinyl albums still rested on tables. Old mail lay piled on a stand in the entryway. The refrigerator hummed in the kitchen. A light blinked on the answering machine and the red, pulsing beacon piqued my curiosity. I strolled toward it and pressed play, listening as the tape rewound and settled into place.

  A beep; a crackle. A moment’s hesitation. Then, a voice.

  “Hey, Pete!” a boisterous woman declared in opening. My mental Rolodex settled on the face of an obese, middle-aged nurse named Chloe Poole. “Pat and the Indian Mafia say you haven’t been showing up for your shifts. Is everything alright? It’s not like you to leave the ER hanging minus one doctor. I said I’d give you a call. Let us know what’s going on.”

  The corner of my mouth curled upward in a smile. “I’m sorry, Peter will not be coming to work any longer, due to an acute case of vampirism.” I rolled my eyes. Another beep punctuated the message, giving way to a short pause and another female voice.

  This one, however, sent a shiver up my spine.

  “Peter,” she said, but in that name alone, I heard so much more. Lydia. The tone of voice pleading, it plucked ancient heartstrings and caused me a start. “Please listen to me before you take another step. It’s not too late.”

  I furrowed my brow, but remained silent; listening. She inhaled deeply and exhaled a shaky breath before talking again. “You have to stop,” Lydia said. “She’s deceiving you, but she has you too hypnotized for you to realize it.” A pause. “I’m sorry. I should have called you sooner, but I’ve been trying to get you help.”

  Stepping closer to the answering machine on instinct, I folded my arms across my chest. A few seconds passed before Lydia spoke again. “Remember what I told you? Remember . . . Two years ago, when we were lying on your bed? You looked into my eyes and I told you what I saw inside of yours, Peter? She sees it, too. You’re a pawn in all of this . . . Oh God . . . ” The shaky voice surrendered to a sob. I found myself swallowing hard and shut my eyes. That part of me was dead. She killed it with her adultery. I killed it with homicide.

  “You’re going to regret this Peter.”

  “No,” I said. I inhaled deep, steadying breaths and shook my head. “You will not have your way again this time, bitch.”

  “I bet you don’t even recognize yourself.”

  “I know what I am.” I gritted my teeth. “Damn you, woman, I have known who I am for some time now. How dare you attempt to meddle in my affairs?”

  “You’ve lost what you are, Dr. Dawes. Wake up. It’s not too late.”

  “No!” My face contorted with rage as my eyes flashed open. “Oh no, no, no . . . I know what you are up to and it is not going to work. Do you hear me? Not going to work!” In one, swift movement, I ripped the answering machine from the table and threw it across the room. The cheap plastic splintered into a thousand pieces when it hit the wall and the tape inside partially unwound as it tried to remain attached to the mechanism. My fangs slipped from their hiding place and I hissed at the remnants of the unwelcome harbinger.

  Two hands wrapped themselves around the small table where the answering machine once rested. It, too, splintered into pieces when I threw it. Wood shards rained down on the carpet, letters scattered from being displaced, and I stormed forward, eyes blazing fury, intent on demolishing the living room.

  I tipped over the couch and hurled pictures around. A framed photograph of my parents hit the window, breaking glass. Another of Lydia met with a similar fate, shattering another window. Had I my wits about me, I might have noticed the cacophonous ruckus my actions created, but I had no concern for such a thing. I continued uprooting everything in my path like a hurricane until I reached the bedroom.

  I studied the tousled sheets. Memories wished to surface. The one Lydia cited mere seconds ago nagged at the threshold of consciousness, but I did not allow it entrance. Using rage to blind my thoughts in a veil of burning white, I destroyed my old bedroom in the same manner I had the living room. Dismantling the final vestiges of my former life; destroying Peter Dawes himself. I reached in my pocket for my lighter. I flipped open the top.

  In one deft movement, I ignited the flame and tossed it onto the bed. Fire licked at the bedclothes until they caught and a blaze spread outward across the sheets. Turning my back on the room, I adjusted my coat and began a brisk, purposeful stroll for the door. Stepping over fallen debris, I reached the entryway, but hesitated with my hand on the doorknob. I pivoted, lining up the pieces of answering machine in my sights, Lydia’s voice yet playing in my mind.

  “Peter . . . ”

  “Peter is dead,” I muttered to the empty apartment, all of its fixtures uprooted by the immortal force of nature I had become. “My name is Flynn now, bitch. Deal with it.”

  ***

  Not now. Not while Robin still doubted my mental faculties; not while I was trying to prove to both him and Sabrina I was ready for an assignment after months spent in training. As I opened my eyes, beholding the pitch black of my heavily shaded room, I found my head still steeped in something too palpable to be a mere dream. My body back at the coven, my mind was yet gripped by the heat of my fury. I gritted my teeth and sat up in bed.

  If she wished to play a game, she was trifling with the wrong vampire.

  Swiftly, I stood. Destroying the apartment in my dreams would not be good enough; oh no, there would be hell to pay and blood spilled if I had anything to say about it. My motions incensed, I unbuttoned the shirt I had fallen asleep wearing and ripped the sleeves from my arms. The clothing landed atop a chair when cast away and I marched into the bathroom to turn on the shower. The water scalded and my anger boiled. How did one shake a ghost bent on being a conscience?

  “Murder,” I muttered through the haze of steam. “The same way she met her end before.” My fangs ached at the mere prospect of it. Death; who cared whether the trail of bodies whipped the mortal authorities into a frenzy? I would relish the hunt with more sadism than this fallen creature had previously entertained. Perhaps Sabrina or Robin would tie the bout of carnage to me, but who cared? I merely wished the adulterous wench silenced for good.

  Plucking a fresh suit from my closet, I dressed quickly, but hesitated before putting on my suit jacket. My eyes surveyed the instruments of destruction on my walls, each waiting for a victim to pierce and bleed. I played by Robin’s rules used Robin’s finesse and followed his guidance with religious fervor while my dark side clamored within the confines of a self-imposed prison. What would happen if I released the monster for once?

  A sinister smile spread across my face. Poison shot from my black soul and surged through my bloodstream.

&
nbsp; Opening a trunk filled with other accessories, I extracted a shoulder holster with slots designed to sheath daggers. After securing it around my arms, I reached for a set of matching throwing knives, plucking three from their display. One final adjustment and they nestled close to my body, whispering decadent thoughts.

  I placed my sunglasses over my eyes and fastened my favorite sword by my side, strapping it around my waist. A full-length wool coat would conceal the obviousness of my weaponry, so I selected one from my closet. Black, leather gloves slid over my hands. By the time I departed from my room, I knew I embodied the word assassin and wanted the world to know that as well. Including the set of eyes fixed upon me from the cosmos.

  “Ready for a show, Precious?” I muttered under my breath while alighting from the main staircase and strolling across the tiled floor of the foyer. Wing-tipped shoes did not make a noise. I did not pause to engage anyone in either conversation or eye contact. I passed by the doorman with cool indifference and held back my final proclamation to Lydia until the night air nipped at my face with its brisk bite. “Look me in the cold, blue eyes and tell me you see Peter now.”

  At once, I slipped into the darkness, just as I had been taught, the words of my mentor a sacred creed I was bent on both honoring and vandalizing. Being armed within the city makes you conspicuous, stick to the shadows. Do not make eye contact with anyone. Do not allow anybody to see you unless you wish them to. I almost muttered the words underneath my breath while following the scent of humanity and honing in on its tempting pulse.

  Move swiftly. You are vampire, Flynn.

  I jumped for a fire escape and pulled myself up for a better vantage point. My shoes made a slight sound on the metal platform when I swung over the railing, but I bounded up the remainder of the stairs in silence and leaped onto the roof of the five-story building once at the top. The wind kicked around the ends of my coat and ripped through the strands of hair atop my head. The corner of my mouth curled upward in a devious smile. I jumped onto a ledge and extended my arms by my sides while closing my eyes, absorbing the wind and moonlight as though to steal its power.

  ‘Meet your new god,’ I thought as my palms rose heavenward. ‘Bow to him and tremble.’

  A sound. My eyes opened and my head snapped in the direction of the noise. A man and a woman walking down the street, nearing a narrow passageway between two buildings. My grin broadened and my feet moved swiftly to intercept, dashing to the edge of one rooftop before leaping across the expanse and running along the opposite ledge. Climbing onto the precipice, I jumped and landed on the ground below, allowing my knees to buckle as I absorbed the impact.

  Slowly, I stood. I reached deftly into my coat and slid one of the knives out with taunting care. Cradling the hilt in my hand, I stalked toward the end of the passageway, fangs slipping out as two heartbeats came closer . . . closer . . . closer still.

  They were engaged in conversation when I struck.

  Neither was prepared for what transpired. I grabbed the girl, wrapping my arm around her neck, and pulled her into the shadows with me. Her significant other ceased walking immediately, reacting to the startled yelp she issued before I cupped my free hand over her mouth. As he dashed into the passageway, he came to an abrupt stop when I raised the blade and pressed it against his neck. The mortal man’s eyes widened.

  I chuckled. “Pleasant evening for a stroll, is it not?”

  He motioned to yell. I impaled his windpipe with the blade before he could do more than squeak. Blood ran down his neck and the startled look in his eyes turned to confusion. The woman I held made up for his failed attempt at noise by yelling into my hand. “There, there, love,” I said, whispering in her ear, nearly salivating over her flesh. “You shall get your turn, too.”

  A final thrust severed the mortal’s spinal column. He fell like a lifeless mannequin as I extracted my blade and flicked it to the side, splattering blood over the wall of an adjacent building. The woman I held continued screaming and a sliver of moonlight caught the sheen of tears in her eyes, causing them to glisten. I chuckled. “Now, it is just you and I. I like it so much better this way, do you not?”

  A tear rolled down her cheek and over my leather glove while I raised the knife close to her neck. Whimpers became sobs and sobs shifted into wails the moment the cold blade touched her skin. I chuckled while she struggled, pressing the knife against her throat in a more forceful manner and starting the flow of blood. “Now, now. Hold still or I will slit your jugular and make this senseless violence with no purpose. You would not wish that.”

  She stopped, still weeping, but freezing into place just like I had requested. “Just relax,” I said, leaning close, my breath grazing her neck. “This will all be over in a minute.”

  The girl jumped when fangs pierced flesh. As I imbibed lustful swallows of her blood, however, she settled against me, given over to shock and then, unconsciousness. I fed from her over several minutes and pulled away once her heartbeat began to fade. Her head bobbed to the side, two puncture wounds still weeping blood in rivulets. I licked away the remnant and raised my knife again.

  Dragging the blade over the bite wounds to conceal them, I then dropped her body on the ground. She landed atop her significant other, a gesture I thought only fitting as I stepped over them, cleaning the blood off my knife while strolling away. I slid the blade back into its sheath, adjusted my coat, and emerged onto a side street, crossing with a nonchalant air as I sought out my next victim. Not to imbibe, though. Heavens no.

  Now, this was about murder.

  I pinned the next mortal I found to the side of a building with one of my knives. After torturing him with another blade, I slit his throat before he could flirt with unconsciousness and allowed him to bleed out onto the gritty, Philadelphia asphalt. Collecting my weapons, I cleaned these, too, and continued onward.

  My next victims were another couple, found walking through Fairmount Park. Knives thrown from a distance plunged deep into their backs, hurtling them face-first onto the sidewalk, where they came to a rest. Retrieving the knives, I licked them clean, becoming drunk with power the longer I indulged the tirade. My eyes rising toward the heavens, I wore the devil’s grin as I spoke. “Is this registering loud and clear yet?”

  I returned to the more populated part of the city where I stabbed one man in the gut for looking at me in an ill manner. Another, I ran through with my katana when he came upon me and the corpse of my previous victim. After this, I found another woman, whom I lulled into the by-and-by with a prick of my teeth on a quiet, narrow street, my own thirst needing to be sated after witnessing so much blood spilled since my last meal. I tossed her lifeless body aside and discovered three people staring at me as I turned away.

  Each of them pale, they parted lips to flash their identity through fangs. I smirked and slid my knife back into place. “Ah, familiars,” I said, adjusting my coat and sweeping my hand across my mouth to catch any stray droplets of blood. “How can I help you?”

  They regarded me in silence, three male vampires I begun to take for mute when they refused to respond. I raised an eyebrow at them. “Nobody here speaks English?” I asked.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing, neophyte?” one asked, breaking the silence. His long, brown hair was tied back in a ponytail reminiscent of Robin’s.

  “I am sorry . . . what do I think I am doing?” Glancing at the downed mortal, I looked to my new friend then and shrugged. “Looks like I just murdered a woman. What do you think you are doing in asking me such an asinine question?”

  “We were stalking this woman first. Has nobody taught you manners?”

  “Many have tried. Few have succeeded.” I folded my arms across my chest. “All three of you were stalking her? Fascinating. And were you all going to share her?”

  He bristled. “That is none of your damn business.”

  “You were?” I laughed. “What kind of coven produces such pitiful hunters?”

  “We are of
Matthew’s coven,” another said, stepping forward. Shorter than his compatriot, he possessed shoulder-length hair hanging free of restraint. “And you?”

  My attention shifted to the other vampire. I bowed in a sweeping, gentlemanly fashion. “I am Flynn, of Sabrina’s coven. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  As I stood straight, the first vampire scoffed. “Sabrina? No wonder he’s without manners, he has a wench for a mother.”

  I furrowed my brow. “I beg your pardon?”

  He smiled, superiority obvious in his expression. “You heard me, neophyte.”

  “First of all . . . ” I held up a gloved hand, raising one finger. “I told you what my name is and it is not ‘neophyte’. Understood? Secondly, what type of disrespectful bastard do you think you are, insulting the mistress of a coven?” I snickered, arms lowering to my sides. “You know what? I think that is what I will call you. Bastard. Since you lack the proper manners to even tell me your name.”

  He made the mistake of baring fangs at me, as did his friends. The look in his eyes turned from indifference to malice, and a growl underscored the words he spoke. “You have not earned the right to know my name, you piece of trash. And I will show you what we do to the garbage that wanders into our territory.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Bring on the lesson.”

  He hissed and stalked forward. My fangs slipped outward in response, my hand hovering over my stomach before sliding in a feather touch across my chest. The tall, longhaired immortal leaped for me, but I drew a knife and stepped back a pace just as he landed. Thrusting the blade through his chest, I sneered in his face. A look of shock enveloped his countenance, as within seconds the immortal became dust. Uninhabited clothing and flakes of ash descended to the ground.