Mind Over Monsters

by Jennifer Harlow

  This is how Mommy found me.

  She stuck her head in our gas stove a month later.

  No.

  I won’t do it. I can’t do it. Anything but that. “It’s the only way,” someone replies in my head. He’ll shoot me, maybe keep coming after everyone who knows what he is. He will kill again as sure as the earth moves around the sun. Innocent people will die. They already have. I have to.

  He just wanted his daughter back.

  Walter Wayland picks up his daughter, her head resting on his shoulder. They both look so happy together. So safe. “Isn’t she beautiful?” he asks, almost breathless, wet face full of pride.

  “Yes,” I whisper, meaning it from the bottom of my heart.

  “Best girl in the world. How could I let them keep her in the ground?” He pets her hair and kisses her forehead’s sloughing skin. Ugh. “My baby girl.”

  Emma flips her head to look at me. She smiles cheek to cheek. “You have no idea how lucky you are to have her.”

  “I do know.” Wayland looks toward me, his expression turning from pure joy to regret. He sighs heavily, raising the gun to my head. “I am sorry for this.”

  “Me too.”

  I close my eyes. God, forgive me.

  The human heart has one entry and one exit point for blood, the vena cava and aorta. Just two thin tubes that keep us alive. If you put even a little pressure on either one, the blood can’t flow and the heart stops. I put pressure on both.

  I open my eyes.

  Emma and the gun drop to the floor as Wayland clutches his chest, gasping for air. He falls next to his daughter writhing in pain, small grunts escaping him. His body contorts and convulses. Emma wails, shaking her father’s body. The child looks up at me, groaning for me to do something. She’s so scared. It breaks my heart. But I can’t stop breaking his.

  “I am so sorry,” I cry.

  She looks back at her father, the most powerful necromancer on the planet who just wanted to be with his little girl. He’s gone red as roses and has stopped grunting. His fingers fan open when there is nobody left to control them. The eyes close. His swollen tongue lolls out of his mouth to the side. His little girl slumps on top of him, resting on his chest where his now-still heart lies. They’re dead. I release the pressure.

  The arms clutching me vanish, and I crash onto the ground. Pain shoots through my ankles. Oliver slumps on top of me like a marionette without strings. With my shaking arms, I roll him off me, whimpering the whole time. I can’t stand anything touching me right now. My breath ragged, I scoot back until I hit the corner of the room. Walls squeeze my sides as I push my back into the corner, hard. Safe. My whole body shakes violently, and I can’t stop it. The sobbing starts as I pull my legs to my chest, holding them to stop the shaking.

  This is how they find me.

  FIFTEEN

  A NEW DAWN, A NEW DAY

  To leave or not to leave, that is the question I must answer. It’s odd. I labored over the same question over two months ago in George’s hotel room. Look where I ended up. The holes in my neck and the one where the needle ripped out both needed stitches, and Doc thinks the bite will scar. My arm with the quarter-size chunk missing will definitely scar. At this rate, if I stay, I’ll look like the Phantom of the Opera after a year.

  Most of my bags are still packed. A sign. They’re sitting open at the edge of the bed just waiting for the rest of my things. Almost every fiber of my being screams at me to pick up and run, not walk, to the airport. I ponder the same old options. Maybe I can get my old job back. Maybe Nana will let me stay in my old room again until I find another apartment. Maybe April will give me my goldfish Scarlett back. I really should go … but there’s a part of me that just won’t let me do it. So I’ve been lying on my cloud bed at the mansion all day locked in battle with myself, neither side giving in.

  I was one of the lucky ones who got to fly back to Kansas last night along with Nancy, Andrew, Carl, and the still unconscious Oliver and Irie. Doc came with us to make sure those two didn’t die on the way home. She seemed as relieved as we were to get out of Colorado. Patched me up on the plane too. Stitches and a blood transfusion at thirty-five thousand feet. The rest stayed behind for damage control and to deal with the soon-to-be-declared missing Walter Wayland. Nobody spoke to me; nobody has bothered me all day. Nancy chattered on the plane about organizing a memorial for Agent Konrad, so they’re probably busy planning that. Me, I hate funerals for obvious reasons. Burying your mother at eight will do that. Agent Konrad’s memorial will probably happen after I leave; well, if I leave.

  My body aches down to every cell, as does my brain. Doc wouldn’t give me a Vicodin, claiming I still wasn’t strong enough. The aspirin I was allowed did exactly nothing. At least the light-headedness is gone. I haven’t moved from this bed since we arrived back late last night. I just can’t move. It hurts too much. I haven’t even turned on the television, finding the silence comforting. Eating requires too much energy. I just want to go home. So why can’t I, darn it?

  I watch for over an hour as the light behind the gauzy curtains fades. It’s dark now. It’s been close to twenty-four hours and I still can’t decide. What the hell am I waiting for? A sign? God has better things to do than deal with me.

  Someone knocks lightly on my door. The sound filling the silence after so long jars me. I groan. Why are they bugging me now? I don’t want to see anyone, but I don’t want them to break in from worry. Play the tired weakling and whoever it is will leave quick enough. “Come in.”

  The light from the hallway spills in first, assaulting my sensitive eyes. I have to squint so I can’t make out the features of my guest, only his silhouette. I still know who it is. The expensive cologne gives him away. I should be scared and my heart does skip for a second, but I just can’t muster any real fear. He won’t hurt me now. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do.

  “Trixie?” He steps in holding something in his hand. “Would you like me to turn on the light?”

  Reflexively, I smooth my braided hair trying to tame the frizzes. “I guess.” Before it turns on, I pull the covers up to my chest hiding my blue Oreo pajamas as best I can. He flicks on the light but stays at the open door staring at me. Judging by the way his mouth drops open, he isn’t thrilled by the sight. I haven’t looked in a mirror but I can imagine what I must look like. Pale, bruises all over, bloodshot eyes. He, on the other hand, looks normal—normal as in gorgeous. No sign of bullet or tree wounds, not a single scratch on him. Heck, even his hair shines like a shampoo model’s. Life is so unfair.

  “What do you want?” I ask.

  He blinks away the gawk, replacing it with a small smile. “I wanted to check on you. And to bring you these.” He holds up the plate in his hand. A huge piece of cake, pink frosting rose included. “I can leave it by the door if you like.” He brought me cake. My empty stomach suddenly returns from its twenty-four-hour strike. I didn’t think it possible today, but I smile. “I will just … ,” he says, bending down to put the cake on the ground.

  “Oliver.” He looks up. “Can you … bring it to me? I’m still kind of weak.”

  It’s his turn to smile. It quickly turns into a smirk. “As milady wishes.”

  I scoot over a few inches so he can sit next to me. I feel his nervousness now. Him scared of me. That’s a laugh. I take the plate, which has an added surprise: a white pill. “What’s that?”

  “I believe it is called a Vicodin.”

  My mouth gapes open, and I darn near tear up. “You brought me cake and drugs? If you included Casablanca, I’d have to marry you.” I take a bite of the cake. Dear God in heaven but that is delicious. I haven’t had anything to eat in over a day so this just bursts in my mouth like a sugary bomb. I moan, it’s so good.

  “If that is how you react to food, I hope to see one day how you react to real pleasure.”

  “Keep bringing me drugs and cake and you may,” I say with a full mouth. I take a couple more huge bites. The wh
ole time Oliver watches me with a smile so wide he could double for Julia Roberts. “Quit staring at me, you’re making me feel weird.”

  “I apologize, it is just very hard to take my eyes away,” he says seriously.

  “Yeah, right. I look terrible,” I say, wiping the frosting from my mouth.

  “Not possible.”

  My cheeks go hot with a blush. “Did you just come up here to embarrass me?”

  “I came to see with my own eyes that you are in good health.”

  “I’m—I’ll live.” I take the pill. “I’ll feel much better when this takes effect.”

  “You are in much pain.”

  “Yeah, well … ” I shrug. “Part of the job, right?”

  “Only occasionally. What happened was not a common occurrence, I assure you.”

  I meet his sincere gray eyes. “I know. And really, I’m okay. I know you wouldn’t deliberately hurt me. And besides, now we know I can kick your butt.”

  “This is true,” he says with a small smile. “Regardless … ” His eyes dart to my bandaged neck. “You still saved my life.”

  “What?”

  “Andrew told me. I—and you—”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Even so. You showed great strength and compassion. More than I deserved.”

  “You need to stop always complimenting me. It’ll go to my head.”

  “I am being serious.” My smile drops. “You kept me safe after I took your blood in a most vicious manner. You should fear me and instead you invite me into your room without a moment’s hesitation.”

  “You’re … my friend. You help me out, I help you out. It’s what we do.”

  He considers this for a moment. “Friend. I suppose I can live with that for the moment.” His devilish grin returns. “I hope this reciprocity can continue in other areas.”

  I pat his hand and, meeting his eyes, I say, “Not now, not ever.” I fall back into my pillows. “Besides, I probably won’t be around by tomorrow.”

  “I thought we put that nonsense behind us.”

  “That was before,” I shake my head. “Look, I’m just not cut out for this. My eyelashes hurt. I’m literally scarred for life. And hacking up zombies and fending off vampires is not my idea of fun. No offense.”

  “None taken, my dear.”

  “I’m just not strong enough. I’m not … brave enough.”

  “That is nonsense and you know it. Give me a real reason and I will personally drive you to the airport.”

  I don’t say anything for a few seconds. Admitting is the hardest step. I can’t look at Oliver. “I killed someone and I’m scared because … honestly … I don’t even feel bad about it. I squeezed his heart until it stopped, I watched him die in agony, and I hate to admit it because I know I’m not this kind of person, but I have no guilt. I should feel guilty, and if I don’t … my brother was right. I am a monster.”

  It’s Oliver’s turn to remain silent. I still can’t look at him; I don’t want to read his face. “Look at me, my dear.” His cold hand on my chin moves my gaze to his. There is no emotion in those gray eyes. “I have lived a long time. I have traveled this world three times over and seen things done to others that would drive people to madness. I know monsters, and I can say as sure as night will turn into day, you are no monster. In the short time I have had the privilege to know you, you have displayed more compassion, more bravery, and more strength of character than I have seen from a human being in close to a century, if not ever. You are a good person. You killed a madman who surely would have done the same to you. There is no cause for guilt, so do not be ashamed.”

  I look away. “But—”

  Oliver moves my head back. “Look at me. I know you are frightened, and I would love to tell you it will never be that awful again, but I cannot. This is a dangerous job, and you will be called upon to take lives in order to save others. But because of you, countless lives will be saved, including those of the people inside this house who care for you and respect you. But I can promise you this: never again will you feel like an outsider. Never again will you be called a freak, because you, my dear, are no freak. You are a goddess. And if anyone ever makes you feel any less than that, I will rip their spine out,” he says, so seriously that I suppress a chill. He cups my hand. “You belong here. With us. And I believe that you know it.”

  I let out the breath I’ve been holding. Tears join it. I wipe them away. He’s right. I haven’t wanted to admit it, especially not to myself, but … I’ve never felt so alive. So free. Except for those few moments with Walter Wayland, I’ve loved being here. I’ve faced monsters and won. I can be myself, warts and all. I need that. Never realized how much until now. I’m not alone anymore. “If I die, I am so coming back to haunt you.”

  “You can even watch me shower.”

  A huge laugh bellows from me, releasing all the tension bottled up. I can’t stop laughing! I laugh for seconds, barely able to breathe, my body wracked, all the while Oliver stares at me. “Oh! That wasn’t even funny!” It takes several more seconds but the laughs lessen so I can actually breathe. I’m such a loony toon!

  “Do you feel better now?”

  “I think the Vicodin’s taking effect,” I chuckle.

  “It would appear so.”

  I finally stop chuckling. Oliver still smiles, watching me. I just can’t help myself. Blame the drugs later. I grab his white shirt by the collar, pulling him down to me, wrapping my arms around his neck, and squeezing tight. He’s stunned for a moment, stiff, but quickly lifts me off the bed and hugs me back. His neck smells wonderful, like cologne with just a hint of that man smell. “Thank you,” I whisper.

  He releases me enough for us to face each other, our eyes locking. His eyes seem hungry, but in a way that sends electricity and heat to my nether regions. I forgot how much I missed that feeling. The butterflies flutter too. He is so beautiful, like something out of a dream. Radiant. We stay locked like this for a second until his lips move toward me. Mine plump in anticipation. He’s going to kiss me, and I don’t even mind. I want him too. More than anything.

  But his lips meet my forehead in a tender kiss. Huh? A strange mix of relief and regret wash over me. More regret than relief though. “You are welcome,” he whispers into my forehead. His arms leave my body, and I fall back into my pillows. My heart still goes a mile a minute. Hope he can’t tell. It’s the drugs. Yep, I’ll stick to that.

  “We are about to have a visitor,” he says.

  Sure enough, someone knocks on the door. I have the strongest urge to push the door down on them. I resist it. “Come in,” I say pulling the sheets up again.

  My face grows hot the moment Will steps in. The butterflies flap even more in my stomach. I really need to get my hormones in check. “Hi, Will,” I say in an overly high voice.

  His eyes move to Oliver. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

  “Not a thing,” Oliver says. “Trixie here was just throwing herself at me. I had to fend her off.”

  Now my face is on fire.

  Will just scoffs. “Right.”

  Oliver pats my hand and stands. “I will leave you two alone, unless William does not think he can defend himself against our goddess here.”

  “Goodnight, Oliver,” I say through clenched teeth.

  With that smirk, he walks to the door. “Remember, William, she is yours … for now.” He bows to us both and shuts the door.

  I roll my eyes. To think I almost let him kiss me. This Vicodin is dangerous stuff.

  “Was he bothering you?” Will asks. He doesn’t move from the door.

  “No more than usual. When did you get back?”

  “Just a minute ago.”

  Which means he came straight up to check on me. My ego swells to double its size. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes, coverup in place. They believed us as much as they can. How are you doing?”

  “Better. Much better, thank you. A little sore. A littl
e hungry.”

  He steps toward me. “You haven’t eaten?”

  “Just cake.”

  “Well, um, dinner’s ready downstairs. Everyone’s down there. I know they’d love to have you. We didn’t get to have your welcome dinner.”

  “No, we didn’t, did we? Seems ages ago. I mean, I’d love to but I don’t think I can walk all that way. I just took a pill and I’m a little—”

  “I’ll carry you,” he says eagerly.

  I bite my lip to stop my smile, but I don’t think it works. “Okay. Grab my robe.” I toss the covers off.

  He picks up my fuzzy pink robe off the chair and hands it to me. I put it on and the moment the knot is tied, he wraps his warm arms around my back and legs, lifting me as if I weigh nothing. I feel like Scarlett O’Hara when Rhett carries her up the stairs, except I have a small smile on my face the whole time I’m in his strong arms. He smiles down at me and I up at him, savoring the feel of his warm chest. A girl could get used to this. One gorgeous man bringing me cake in bed, another carrying me to dinner.

  This job certainly has its perks.

  THE END

  © Bill Fitz-Patrick

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Jennifer Harlow (Manassas, VA) earned a BA from the University of Virginia in Psychology. Her eclectic work experience ranges from government investigator to radio DJ to lab assistant. Visit her website www.jenniferharlowbooks.com to read her blog, Tales From the Darkside; listen to the soundtrack to this book; and more.

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright Information

  Acknowledgments

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR