by Kristie Cook
“That’s what I’m here for,” he said.
He waved his hand toward me, presumably to lift the cloak, but I paid no attention. Instead, I stared down the sandy road that led to the beach house. A lump started forming in my throat, growing larger with each heartbeat until I thought it might suffocate me.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Owen asked.
I didn’t answer, not able to talk with that boulder stuck in my throat. I finally nodded.
“I’ll be close,” he said and then he flashed, disappeared, leaving me alone to my task that would either show me the way out of my insanity or push me down into the utter blackness of no return.
I heaved myself out of the car and walked to the driver’s side on wobbly legs, feeling like one of Dorian’s toys—the rubbery kind that could be pulled and twisted and bent into odd shapes. I folded myself into the driver’s seat, took a deep breath and put the transmission into first gear.
As I turned into the driveway and the house came into view, grief slammed down on me. I hadn’t been back since Tristan and I had left together. This was our place. I didn’t want memories here without him. Yet here I was. Completely alone.
When I stopped the car at the house, I couldn’t move.
Memories of pulling into the driveway the first time flooded my vision. The moon provided the only light then and our conversation had been strained. It was easy to remember—I’d been so nervous, not about losing my virginity, but about doing it right for him. The emotion was still clear, but now felt from a more experienced, older perspective. That was an innocent time, a time full of joy and love and hope. We’d been looking forward to years—centuries, even eternity—of being together. And we’d been given only a couple of weeks.
The sobs finally subsided and I wiped my face with my hands, staring at the house with trepidation. It still looked the same, as if frozen in time with the memories it held. The light gray, metal roof reflected the bright sun and the blue-gray stucco siding looked like new. The wooden stairs and deck seemed to have a fresh coat of white paint—they gleamed in the sun, too. The house hadn’t changed at all.
But it was different now. Instead of promises of love and hope, the house now held guarantees of misery and loneliness. Part of me wanted to leave. A very big part.
I inhaled deeply, telling myself I could do this. I gathered the luggage and forced myself up the stairs. I rummaged in his bag for the keys, taking time to feel each of his belongings my hand came across, trying so hard to remember his face, to feel his presence. Once I stepped inside, I didn’t have to try. I could barely punch in the security code for the alarm, my hands trembling and tears blurring my vision.
The memories of our unplanned honeymoon—so long ago now—flooded over me as soon as I entered the kitchen. We’d cooked so many meals here together, listening to U2, Nirvana and Smashing Pumpkins, the only three CDs that had been in the Ferrari at the time. Sometimes he’d taken me in his arms and spun me around for a short dance as we waited for the sauce to thicken or water to boil. I remembered him chasing me around the island with lobsters in his hands before he dropped them in the big pot of steaming water. My eyes traced over the crack he’d left in the granite countertop the day we had to leave and tears streamed down my cheeks.
I dropped the bags and stumbled through the unchanged family room into the master bedroom. It looked exactly the same, with a colossal bed and dresser in the main part of the room and a chaise lounge and little table in front of the sliding glass doors, which led out to the screened-in balcony. Everything was white, with splashes of jewel-tone colors in the fabrics and decorations, making it feel like a tropical island. He’d named it the Caribbean room.
My breath caught as I remembered our first night here. He was so happy I loved the place as much as he did. And so loving and gentle as he took me for the first time.
I threw myself on the bed and sobbed. When the racks of pain subsided, he swam into my vision. I saw clearly his beautiful face with the sparkling eyes, smelled his delicious, tangy-sweet scent, felt the electric pulse as he touched me, heard his lovely voice say, “I love you, ma lykita,” as if he lay right next to me. He felt close again. So close. And just like that first night at the safe house, I felt his presence in the world. Really felt it, like a nearly tangible energy reaching into my chest, surrounding my heart and filling my body.
I knew again, really knew he was still alive. Any doubt had been erased. He lived…somewhere.
I pulled the bedding into me and sobbed harder, clinging to it as though it were him, wishing like hell he would just come back to me.
When I felt like I had no more tears, I pulled myself out of the bed and examined the house. Mom had hired a management company to care for it and everything seemed to be in working order. I figured Mom had called to let them know of my pending arrival once she realized I’d headed to the Keys. With a push of a button, the hurricane shutters lifted and I went out to the balcony. I curled up in the chair Tristan always sat in, pretending I sat on his lap again, snuggling against his chest instead of the cushion. And I bawled.
It was a horrible, heart-wrenching day and night. But definitely not the worst of my life. In fact, I relished the agony because it made me remember. And remembering made me feel so close to him. I let the wounds open widely. I welcomed the pain when I saw the cracked headboard, a consequence of our heated passion. I embraced the burning throb as I stood at the shower door, reliving some of my favorite memories.
“Baby, I feel so close to you now. Please come to me.” I moaned myself to sleep, curled in a ball on our bed, my hand clutching the pendant as a lifeline. My old memory-dream played throughout the night and I savored every moment, knowing how important it was to hang on, even in my dreams.
The next day came slightly easier and I knew this was the right decision, coming here. After ignoring this place for so long, it gave me what I’d needed all along—real memories, a place he had been, where I could physically feel him and his love for me. The longer I stayed in our bed, the less the memories felt like an assault shattering my heart and more like a cozy blanket surrounding me with warmth. The reassuring sensation continued everywhere in the house and on the three-acre property as I worked my way around to each special place. I sat on the little beach for a long time, just gazing out over the water, remembering how we’d swam and snorkeled and skinny-dipped in the moonlight.
Later, Owen and I left for groceries and when we came back, I didn’t have to sob in the driveway. I had to admit it helped to have Owen here. His presence gave a sense of comfort, providing a link between the past and the present.
“Where do you go?” I asked him when we pulled in front of the house. When I wanted to leave, I just called his name outside and he was suddenly walking up the driveway. “I mean, when you’re not right here. You’re obviously somewhere nearby.”
He chuckled. “I’m around.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He shrugged. “It’s true. I just hang around, keeping an eye on the place.”
“Where do you sleep?”
“Where I feel like it…last night I slept on your balcony. I wanted to be close.”
“Really? I didn’t know….”
“Well, yeah, you’re not supposed to. I’m here at your beck and call. Otherwise, I’m supposed to keep my distance and just protect. But I’ve always been there, through everything, behind the scenes, protecting you…except when you were with…when I knew you were safe.”
I knew who he was about to say. He hadn’t needed to protect me when I was with the one person who could protect me better than anyone—my husband. Because he himself was the most dangerous creature on earth.
“You can stay in one of the bedrooms,” I offered.
His lips formed a small smile. His eyes mixed with kindness and empathy. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You came here to be alone, right?”
“Yeah, but…”
“Don’t worry about me
, okay? This is my job. And, really, I love it. You’re a lot more interesting to protect than Rina or Sophia.”
I snorted. “Glad I keep you entertained. You probably heard all of my sleep talking and screaming.”
“Actually, not last night. You slept peacefully. Boring for me, but good for you.”
“Thanks, Owen,” I said quietly. “For protecting me. And for being a friend. If you need anything, like to use the shower or anything….”
“Yeah, I did.” He chuckled again.
I stared at him, my eyebrows raised.
“While you slept. Gotta clean up somewhere, don’t I? But it’s nice to have permission now. And you have fair warning, you know, in case you wake up.”
I imagined finding him unexpectedly in our shower. “You are using the second bathroom, right?”
“Yep…but that big shower of yours is sick.”
I narrowed my eyes. “It’s off limits.”
He threw his hands in the air. “Understood. I noticed you don’t even use it. Your soap and shampoo are in the other one.”
“Yeah, well…” I couldn’t tell him about the memories the shower held for me. “It’s just too big to get warm.”
“No need to explain yourself to me.”
He was too kind. “Thanks again, Owen.”
“See ya ’round. Holler if you need anything.” He disappeared.
I went inside and dealt with the memories again. Like this morning, it was easier, because I felt my love there with me. I didn’t want to admit feeling his presence meant I was getting worse, not better. Because I just didn’t feel like I was worsening. In fact, the anger and insanity seemed to be receding. Yeah, that’s a good sign I’ve fallen into the abyss. Or, I’d finally found my way out. I wasn’t sure which was right.
Chapter 6
“Are you sure you’re okay there?” Mom asked me when I checked in with a phone call before heading to bed.
“No!” I cried. I took a deep breath. “But I will be.”
“I don’t like you there alone, Alexis.”
“I need to be, Mom. I’m sure I’m fine. Besides, Owen’s been around.”
She ignored the as-if-you-didn’t-know-that tone to my voice. “How are you doing physically? Are you eating and sleeping?”
“No, not exactly.” I shrugged, though she couldn’t see it. “But I physically feel great.”
“Like what?” She almost sounded alarmed. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”
“I don’t know, just energetic, I guess. I feel like I need to move a lot.”
“Like your sudden interest in running?”
“Yeah, exactly. It’s exhilarating.”
“Anything else?”
I debated whether to tell her how the intensity of my senses seemed to have increased exponentially. I decided not to. It seemed weird, but not my normal freakiness. Weird as in…maniacal.
“No. Why?”
She kept silent for a moment. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” she finally said. “You’ve been under a lot of emotional stress and I’m sure your body is just reacting to it.”
“Finally in a good way, I guess. My pooch is almost gone.” I rubbed my hand over my stomach. It was much smaller already.
“Just take care of yourself, Alexis. And please tell me anything that’s going on. I need to know these things. I can help you through them, you know.”
“Sure, Mom. So how’s Dorian?” I got her to change the subject and heard all about their days without me. She handed Dorian the phone so he could tell me he loved and missed me.
Grief hit me again when I hung up and remembered I was still alone. The only other time I’d ever been alone overnight in my entire life was when Mom went out of town that one weekend…that one glorious weekend…when we became a couple. Remembering that extraordinary chapter of my life, I made my rounds to the special places in the house and let myself cry it out. I saw his face clearly as I dozed off.
Burning pain surged through my muscles and nerves, waking me up. I rolled and thrashed in the bed, not able to get comfortable, my muscles and joints tight and throbbing. I got up twice to take a pain reliever, but it didn’t help at all. When I finally fell asleep again, I awoke gasping from the intensity of the burn. I felt the consequences of those runs when I’d been so out of shape, physically paying for those stupid impulses. I finally fell into a more comfortable sleep just long enough to enjoy the memory-dream.
When I woke up at five, I felt completely refreshed. In fact, I felt unusually strong, both physically and mentally. The burning in the night was a distant memory. I ran around the property several times since I had nowhere else to safely run, then I went for a long swim, pushing myself harder on each lap I made parallel to our private beach. I felt good. It’s like my body is becoming more powerful by the minute, like it’s changing.
That thought rushed me out of the water and back inside.
I stared at myself in the mirror for what seemed like hours, twisting and turning my body to study it from as many angles as I could. The woman staring back at me no longer looked fifty-something. My reflection looked completely different than it had just a week earlier. A spark of life shone in my eyes. Color brightened my skin again. Although wet, my hair felt thicker and the grays had disappeared. Even with less sleep and intense emotional strain, the dark circles under my eyes were hardly noticeable. The wrinkles were shallow, almost invisible.
And my body… I didn’t understand, but the running and exercise—and forgetting to eat—had dramatically reversed the damage I’d done. The pooch had shrunken into just a shadow of its former self. My hips and butt were noticeably smaller. No wonder I had to keep hitching up my shorts. Even my breasts looked almost back to normal. And perkier. They were almost pre-baby.
Should I call Mom? I debated the question for quite a while. In the end, I decided not to. After all, I’d been through hell this week. My body just reacted in an unusual way, as my body tended to do. It was probably just healing itself from the long-term damage once I decided to let it. These may not be permanent changes. Not the Ang’dora. I had little knowledge of what the Ang’dora would be like, but I knew I was too young and I wasn’t going to let my hopes rise…yet.
There was one definite difference about me: I started to feel alive again. Really alive.
By the next day, comforted with both sleeping and waking memories and the feeling he was close, if only in spirit, I felt real hope. Psycho and Swirly hadn’t made any appearances since I’d arrived, Foggy seemed to be dissipating and I actually felt like Almost Alexis, even without Dorian. And for some reason, this made me feel like I could finally finish my book. As I set up the laptop on the screened-in balcony, Owen bounded up the outside stairs three at a time and flew through the screen door.
“It’s Sophia,” he said, sounding a little anxious. My cell phone rang. I looked at him and he raised his eyebrows.
“Alexis, are you okay?” Mom asked. She sounded more than just a little anxious.
“I’m fine. Why?”
“Listen, honey, we have some serious problems.”
“What?” Panic immediately set in at the tone of her voice. “Is Dorian okay?”
“Yes. He’ll be fine.”
“Then what’s going on, Mom?”
“Are you almost done with that book?”
What? Why is the book so important? “Actually, I was just getting ready to write. I think I can finish it soon. Why?”
She took a deep breath. “The Daemoni are in an uproar and some of them are out of control. We don’t know the full reasoning, but part of it has to do with your last book.”
“What? What does my book have anything to do…?” My voice trailed off as the vampire dreams flashed through my mind.
“Honey, your books have to do with a lot of things. I don’t have time to explain it all now, but suffice it to say that not all you’ve been writing is fiction.”
The phone shook in my hand and I nearly dropped it with shock. “W
hat does that mean?”
She sighed heavily. “The characters, Alexis. You know these creatures because of who you are, a connection you have. They’re not myths.”
I couldn’t say anything at first. I felt as if the wind had been knocked out of me.
“Mom…you’re saying they’re…they’re real? Vampires and witches and wizards and werewolves…they’re all real?” I began to wonder if I was really having this conversation or if I had gone completely off the deep end. Either option was downright frightening.
“I really don’t have time to explain right now, but a short answer is yes, they’re real. Demons take many shapes and forms.”
I sat there with my mouth open, trying to process and comprehend. “But…what…why…how?”
“Daemoni, Alexis. That’s what the Daemoni are. Some are like us—closer to human than anything else—but most are the same types of creatures you write about.”
My breath caught. The question came out in a whisper. “The vampire in my room…are you saying he was real, too?”
Owen whipped his head at me, a strange look on his face.
“Yes, honey,” Mom said. “That’s why Owen came the next day—to shield the house.”
I swallowed hard as I remembered the vampire and thinking I was only dreaming.
“And in the hotel room…?” My voice trailed off. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know.
“I knew it,” Owen muttered. I stared at him, my eyes bugging.
“Hold on, Mom,” I said distantly as I held the phone away from my head. “Owen…the other night in Key West…were you in my hotel room?”
“Uh, yeah, I sensed Daemoni. Remember?”
“Holy hell, that was real?!”
My heart skipped erratically. I heard Mom yelling my name in the phone.
“Mom, what the hell is going on? There was a vampire in my room! Twice!”
