Silence: Part Two of Echoes & Silence

by Am Hudson

I reached out and wiped a tear off his chin. “Don’t cry. You’ll be okay.”

  He didn’t believe that. I could tell. But he was weak and worn by worry, and none of his cuts had healed. I’d been at breakfast for only half an hour since he was brought up, and it must have taken only a few minutes to beat him, but even then, he should have healed by now. “I’m going to give you my blood to heal you, okay? And then I’m going to drink yours.”

  He nodded, then frowned up at me. “You’re one of those Lilithians, aren’t you?”

  “I am.” I rolled my sleeve up. “I’m a Pure Blood.”

  Realisation set in like cold, waking his mind. “Then you didn’t bring venom to kill me—your teeth can do it. You’re tricking me.” He rattled the chains. “You mean to kill me! Please. Please don’t—”

  “Calm down.” I steadied his shoulders. “I won’t bite you. I promise.”

  He didn’t hear me though. He cried and whimpered and prayed to God, and I knelt back, watching for a second, until I’d had enough; I swung my arm back and slapped him hard. “Snap out of it!”

  He snapped instantly.

  “I am not here to kill you,” I repeated, offering my wrist. “Now drink.”

  He looked at my arm then my eyes then my arm.

  I offered again. “Drink.”

  He moved his mouth quickly and bit into me like an apple. When his teeth cut my sensitive flesh and the blood rushed up to its fate, I used everything in me not to push him away, or to fall under the spell of seduction. I missed David so badly I could easily take comfort from another. But as soon as the bloodlust wore off, I’d be left with nothing but guilt, and I was smart enough now not to fall for it.

  “That’s enough.” I jammed my palm into his forehead and shoved him away, pinching the wound closed with my thumb.

  Trey healed right before my eyes, his skin knitting a new path over the small cuts, revealing a very attractive face beneath.

  He grinned at me, his teeth stained with lines of red. “You don’t taste any different to a human.”

  “I know.” I gently pulled my sleeve down to cover the bite. If Drake knew I was feeding Trey, we’d both be in a lot of trouble. “Now you need to feed me.”

  He rolled his head to one side, a confident smile warming his face, while a sliver of fear darkened his eyes.

  “I promise you,” I assured him again, sweeping my hair away from my mouth as I leaned in. “I won’t bite you.”

  ***

  One thing I’d learned since discovering my powers is that energy is residual. It sticks around long after a person is gone, telling a kind of… story.

  I walked up and down the lengths of the castle’s west wing, following the ‘feeling’ of Jason, taking detours when that feeling led me to the southern wing, and eventually ended up on the first floor. After running down several corridors and around many many bends, the energy led me to a hallway with some fifty-odd doors all the way down, squished so close together I figured the rooms behind them must be awfully small. And very clearly where the low-ranking members of the Set lived.

  In my short three days here so far I’d already pieced a lot together: World Council leaders roomed on the third floor; Lower Council members, which made up the New England Set Leaders, were on David’s floor; and all their minions were down here. None of these doors had locks from what I could see, and no one even bothered with torches to light the way. Were it not for the very small window at the end of the corridor casting a thin strip of light down to the other end, I would’ve had to come back with a candle.

  Jason’s energy buzzed and pulsed when I reached the seventeenth door. I stood outside for a moment, listening closely for movement inside, but it seemed like no one was home today—anywhere on this floor—so I twisted the handle and let myself in.

  The curtains were drawn and the room smelled musty, like wet paper and rusty iron. There were piles of books gathering dust in every corner, a single steel bed in the middle of the room, like something from an old asylum, and one chest of drawers by the window. Enough light came in through a tear in the curtains to make me feel very sorry for Jason.

  I shut the door quietly behind me and moved the curtain aside to let in a little more light. His view was of a wall in the courtyard—grey cobblestone that ran what seemed the entire length of this floor, set far enough back to allow light into the room but to also completely block the view of green grass and trees. The worst thing was, the wall actually didn’t look as though it had a purpose at all—as if it were built here purely to show the lower class how much they mattered.

  With my arms folded, I leaned on the window-frame and took a good look around the room. Unlike David’s room, spiders had taken up residence in here, gathering in the corners for family reunions and community egg-laying, abandoning their dust-covered webs to build in better locations. The cities of books in piles about the room had become watch towers for mice, evident by the chewed corners and brown droplets left behind. However, judging from the way they were stacked, spines facing outward, I knew the seemingly chaotic mess was actually well organised.

  I walked over to the stack of books beside the drawers where I knew the ‘J’ pile would be. Surely if he had any journals here they’d be there. But a quick squat to check revealed nothing, so I stood up and headed for the ‘D’ pile I knew would be on the right side of his bed. But again, nothing listed as ‘diary’ either. My next search was for a trapdoor, but after lifting the rug and moving many piles of books and tattered old clothing aside, I found nothing but a dead rat and a clump of long human hair covered in dried blood.

  When I got down on my hands and knees to look under the bed, there was another thick bunch of brown hair and, right beside it, a dainty blue mask.

  My eyes filled with blinding tears as I reached under to grab it, knowing instantly from the feel that it was mine. I held it to my chest and felt the energy within, trying to connect with Jason. But the only emotion radiating from this mask was pain and confusion. I could almost see him sitting there on the floor at the end of his bed, covered in blood, looking down at this mask in his hands, probably numb with confusion, like a boy that pulled the wings off a fly only to realise the fly would then die. My dad was right: none of it was Jason’s fault. He’d been the pure soul all along and for him to commit such a heinous act had nearly torn that soul apart. I liked to think of him where he was right now—happy, in a better world. A world he deserved. Which made finding that journal and figuring out how to kill Drake that much more important.

  I tossed the mask over my shoulder with the past it belonged to and took another look under the bed, and there, at the head, covered in about ten inches of dust, was one leather-bound book. Hope filled me as I laid on my side, stretched my arm up and caught the edge with my fingertips, sliding it down so I could grab it.

  It took me a moment to right myself, my head spinning from all the up and down, but when my eyes focused on the spine of the book and the same gold-leafing on David’s journals stared back, I couldn’t help but silently cheer.

  I cracked it open right away and flipped through page after page of his beautiful handwriting, but aside from the odd mention of reading a person’s mind, there didn’t seem to be anything about telekinesis.

  “Damn it!” I snapped the book shut, coughing up my lungs as a cloud of dust coated them.

  ***

  Drake could not know I was reading Jason’s journals. Not that he would come to the conclusion that I was searching for lessons on how to snap bones so that I could kill him, but I certainly wasn’t going to underestimate him. In the last two days I still hadn’t deciphered his clues as to how I’d find David’s journals, but he didn’t need to know that. He would just assume, if he saw me sitting out here under the tree, that I was reading one of David’s.

  I repositioned my spine against the scratchy bark and tilted my head up to the sky. The branches above had completely lost their covering, leaving my head exposed to the warmth of a sun decided
on summer. Of course, me and the umbrella beside me knew that could change any minute, and the sun certainly was in no mood to warm the breeze.

  In my new wardrobe, Uncle Drake had actually taken into account the fact that I get cold, and supplied a rather lovely white coat with faux-fur sleeves and a hood. I wondered if maybe he still felt the cold, too—being an original—or of he was just super-considerate. My thoughts were leaning more toward him getting cold.

  I crossed one ankle over the other and cracked the journal open in my lap. My hands were all pink and warm with the blood I drained from Trey this morning, and aside from a mild ache in my head I actually felt relaxed and quite at peace. No duties. No one to disturb me with problems. My baby rolling around playfully under my flowing white top. It wasn’t at all terrible staying here, and as long as Drake didn’t discover the truth about the baby, I knew my time here, waiting to figure out how to kill him, would actually be pleasant. The only downside was the absence of Nature. There were several trees, rose bushes, a nice cobblestone garden path and even a giant chess board made of stone and grass, but there was no life here—as if the trees grew from some unnatural source. I came down here to recharge my Cerulean Light—build up the energy of Nature to heat my bath at night—but each time I heated it my headaches got worse and worse, lasting longer and longer. I woke with it this morning, and I was starting to consider a walk outside the castle walls, perhaps to that pine forest, to find some hint of Nature’s life force.

  My attentions drifted back to the book in hand then, and I flipped quickly through a few pages. There was as much text as there were scribbles and doodles and sketches. I knew not only from the year on the spine that this was written around the time he was with Emily, but also from the sketch he’d done of her. Beside that there was another—this one labelled “Rochelle”—with her birthdate and year of death. Underneath was another name: Constance, and the words ‘conceived in love; died of hatred’ beside it. My heart gave a gentle squeeze and broke slightly. Poor Jase. There were subtle differences between Emily and Rochelle, but overall they were so much alike I thought they were both Em at first. And Jason just happened to be a carbon copy of David—the very man Emily was Spirit Bound to. Their relationship was set both to begin and then fail from the start.

  Nothing in here would help me develop my powers though. It was all just mushy sentimental drivel about Emily. Poems and draft love notes. He really was a very romantic guy. A dreamer. A beautiful soul. And so not for me. I liked that stuff in books and movies, but if I lived it every day it’d get cheesy pretty quick.

  I flipped through a few pages and stopped on one with heavy handwriting. He talked here about the Set moving on for winter—heading for Paris—and he was required to leave. David would stay behind on his biannual leave, and Jason worried for Emily. He didn’t know then that David had bound her to him, but he still didn’t trust his brother with the girl he was falling for. He wanted to take her with him—turn her, but David, the standing vote on the council, refused him.

  Jason couldn’t have known it then, but the reason David refused was because as soon as Emily became a vampire, she would remember what he’d done to her. I’d only seen one case of his sickening abuse of Emily, and if even David saw fit to erase it and ensure it stayed forgotten, God only knows what else he did to her.

  After that last entry about getting on the plane and leaving his New England life behind until the next winter, Jason changed. Bit by bit until, nearing the end of David’s leave, Jason’s entries about love and hope were mostly reasons he wished he could die and ways it might be scientifically possible.

  He has a girlfriend, I’m told. He’s apparently in love—happy. They say he’s changed so much even his own brother won’t recognise him. I wish him well. I do. But it makes me angry that he should find happiness after he took mine away. And no matter what evil lies within my moral core, I still can’t bring myself to show him how angry I am. To tell him how much I’m still hurting after all these years. It should be easy for me to fill that hole with revenge, if I’m apparently so impure. I should feel nothing when I think about finding this girl they call Ara-Rose and brutalising her as only a vampire can. David wouldn’t even think twice if it were me.

  Sometimes I wish I were more like him—stronger, more assertive. Everyone here thinks I’m a joke. I thought that having a brother on the council would automatically get me some respect, but it’s almost like the others take out their hatred for David on me.

  My hair still hasn’t grown back since they set my head on fire last week. I didn’t even bother reporting it. The case would come before Arthur and he would punish them, but that would only make matters worse. Using my abilities would only make matters worse.

  Rochelle always said I should just tell people what I can do—that if I did they might leave me alone—but she just didn’t understand what that would mean for me. I’d never be free to live. I’d forever be Drake’s tool.

  That made me angry—all of it. David should have protected his brother, stood up for him. Jason should never have suffered a loveless childhood and then an immortal life of torment.

  I flipped forward a bit toward the end of the book. I just didn’t want to read any more about Jason’s suffering. I still loved him enough to hurt as deeply as he did, and that made me angry enough to want to punch David the next time I saw him.

  As I read on I realised that the changes in Jason’s personality had something to do with my dad’s interference—convincing him to Spirit Bind me to Mike and, therefore, turning a healing hatred for David into a burning desire for revenge.

  I came up with a brilliant idea this morning. I just woke with it and for some reason I’m filled with so much conviction there’s not a bone in my body that feels any guilt at all. I know what to do. I need to make this girl hate David. I have two ideas: pose as him and abuse her, but… I’m not sure I can hit a girl or be cruel. My other idea: make her fall in love with someone else—Spirit Bind her in a dream. That way I never actually have to touch her, yet her heart will belong to another. There’s no way David can blame me for it.

  I shook my head, muttering, “It wasn’t your brilliant idea, Jase.” But I felt a kind of inner peace in knowing that he knew that now, and it sunk even deeper knowing that Jase would now also feel that peace.

  When I read the next line, I smiled broadly, looking up quickly to make sure no one saw:

  I saw her for the first time today. She’s beautiful. Very beautiful. Simple, really, in her looks, but there’s something so perfect about the simplicity that I found myself for a moment considering posing as David. Just to taste her—touch her. I could Bind her to me and she would never love him again. Then she would kill herself and he would be miserable.

  But after my anger wears down, I know I’ll regret making a girl so young take her own life. It isn’t her fault she fell for my brother. He probably tricked her or charmed her. And yes, she may be a mere human but, no matter how long I live here in this dark world, no matter how many times I hear vampires say that, I just can’t feel the same way.

  After following her around for a while, I came to learn that she has feelings for her best friend. It’s almost too simple really. He’s the one—the man I’ll Bind her to. It’s perfect. David is already curious about her feelings for this Mike guy. I read his journal. If she shows any confusion, he’ll leave her. Then she will be alive, he will be unhappy, and I will finally have my revenge.

  Oooh, I thought, Evil Jason comes to life. And yet he isn’t really all that evil. I read on:

  It wasn’t enough. I went into her mind, undressed her and did things with her that she’d never done before—made her feel things she will never feel with a human—and all the while I was a spider in a fly’s form. She has no idea she just fucked the enemy in her sleep, but when she wakes up tomorrow, she will have this unbearable need to see Mike or to call him—anything. But it isn’t enough. I know it will only be a matter of time now before she smashes my b
rother’s heart, and that somehow no longer satisfies me. I was always afraid to cross the bridge—to take revenge. I guess I was afraid it would taint my soul. But it didn’t. It freed it. And I have never felt so light—so right about anything.

  Ara-Rose must die.

  I had to stop there. This kind of reasoning didn’t fit Jason’s sweet soul, and it dredged up the broken pieces of my own soul for what he did to me shortly after this—and all that forgiveness I gave him reeled back in like a returned item to a store. Faulty on opening.

  That scary version of him was the first version I ever knew; the only version I knew for a while, and seeing it here in black and white gave it too much life.

  The white sky drew my mind away from thoughts about the book, and after a while staring at nothing, my eyes absently traced a line along the top of the castle wall, stopping on a face peering down at me from a window in the southern wing. I couldn’t tell from here who it was, but the scared little girl inside me imagined Jason there—pictured him looking down into the courtyard, searching his thoughts as he took breaks between sessions of torture after he kidnapped me from my own wedding.

  On the page, as I averted my eyes from the strange face, I saw the words I changed my mind. And, searching for a better version of Jason to drown out the terrifying one, I read on:

  Tonight I watched her sleeping, and all I felt was anger. How could she be so stupid—to fall for my brother? How could she fall for that act?

  Truth is, she’s a pathetic human and if she is sick enough to love him, then she deserves to die!

  I almost snapped the book shut, but then I saw:

  But she smiled as she turned over, and my heart softened a little. I stood over her, my hands near her throat, and I just couldn’t kill her.