No One Will Believe You

by Robert J. Crane

  And with that, he turned and left.

  “Well, he took that rather well,” Xandra muttered.

  “That’s if he actually believes any of it.”

  “He said he saw Byron jump up to your window,” Xandra pointed out.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Whatever.”

  “So …” Xandra continued.

  I looked up at her, and her large blue eyes were staring at me expectantly.

  “What?” I asked.

  “What should I do … ?”

  I sat down on my bed, my forehead in my hands. “I don’t even know what I should do.”

  What I did know, what I did have, was some sense of what was right—a code of honor that I knew, even if being a perpetual liar put me as far away from honor as a person could be without committing hate crimes. And so Xandra … I couldn’t make her go through this with me. This was not her fight.

  “You should go home,” I said.

  A hesitation. “I wouldn’t feel right leaving you here like this,” she said.

  No denying that hope in her tone—or the way her eyes lit. She wanted to leave.

  How could I blame her?

  “You need to go home and be with your family. Better yet, go to school like everything’s normal. If we’re lucky, Byron won’t know that you and Gregory followed me here.”

  Xandra pulled at the end of her shirt nervously.

  “I can’t put you in harm’s way too,” I continued. I tried to smile. “I appreciate all that you’ve done for me. You stuck your neck out for me by letting me stay over last night.”

  “But your parents got kidnapped because of it …”

  I choked on the words that I was about to say. She was right. If I hadn’t gone to her house, Byron wouldn’t have needed to exact revenge on my parents. If I had just stayed, my parents wouldn’t have had to be involved at all.

  “You should go,” I repeated.

  She turned toward the door but stopped short. “You sure?” she asked hesitantly.

  I nodded, hoped she wouldn’t ask again, that I wouldn’t cave and beg her to stay.

  The corner of her lip turned up in a sad smile. “I’m sorry about … all of this.”

  And she, like Gregory before her, left me.

  I had never imagined what it would feel like to be in such a big house all alone, not knowing if anyone apart from me would fill it again. It was cold, silent, like I was in a prison cell. I could hear the birds, see the sunshine, and I could smell the freshly cut grass. But it was all out of reach.

  Real life seemed fake now.

  Even if it were real, I had one focus and one focus only: getting my parents back. Question was, how? I had no idea where Byron was, or where he took them. Was I just supposed to wait here for him to come back for me? If that was the case, it wouldn’t be until nightfall.

  That was much too long to wait.

  Think, Cassie, I cajoled myself.

  If I knew anything about the situation, about Byron, it was that he was totally obsessed with me. Like, entirely. There was probably nothing in his actions that didn’t revolve around me in some way now. Iona had made that pretty clear. He would follow me to the ends of the earth. If I ran, he would follow.

  I pulled the stake out of my hair and twirled it between my fingers.

  Byron now had a bargaining chip. Before, it was only his infatuation with me that protected me. Even without Iona saying so, it was obvious that he enjoyed the chase. But he did not take it well when the control was taken from him, like when I tossed the holy water in his eyes.

  I pressed my palms into my eyelids, trying to block everything around me out.

  He had my parents. And he would think nothing of turning them to spite me, and then still coming after me.

  I couldn’t bear the thought of my parents being vampires. Who knew what would happen? They would be no better off than dead.

  My mind swam with the idea of them being tortured for my sake. Blood everywhere, Byron’s teeth flashing, Mom screaming …

  I got to my feet and ran down the stairs.

  I couldn’t stay in the house anymore, not with the reminders screaming at me from every angle that this was all my fault.

  I tried to control my breathing, but it started coming fast, and hard. It hurt.

  I fell to my knees on the cold tile floor, my hands flat on the floor beneath me.

  If I had been honest with them from the very beginning about all of this, then maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t have come down to this. Maybe things could have turned out differently. It wouldn’t have stopped Byron from coming around … but maybe, if I had told them the truth, they might have believed me.

  And then everything could have happened differently.

  My phone vibrated, and I anxiously pulled it from my pocket with sweat-slicked hands.

  With a blow to the chest, I saw it was from Mom.

  Sweetheart, it’s fine. We’re just fine. Your daddy and I are safe, for now. Be brave, baby girl. We love you to the moon and back.

  I could have chucked my phone in disgust. Instead, I quickly replied:

  Byron, cut the crap. Where are they?

  I didn’t have to wait long for the answer.

  He sent me an address, and when I pulled it up on the GPS on my phone, I realized it was about five miles from the Tampa International Airport, on a tiny, one-road-wide inlet along the bay. All the houses in that area were mansions. I didn’t surprise me that Byron would like to live large.

  I swallowed hard, and I quickly ordered an Uber. I knew it would only take me a few minutes to get there.

  While I waited for it to arrive, I replaced the stake in my boot, knowing it was the only thing standing between saving my parents—and losing them forever.

  Chapter 35

  Byron's street was quiet, stretching all the way to a dead end that looked out onto the bay. Palm trees lined it, along with southern oaks and tall, flowering bushes.

  The house Byron had led me to was enormous. It stood before the water, its massive yard extending all the way to its glimmering edge. The building was three stories of pale blue stucco, with windows everywhere, a huge wooden front door, and a three-car garage. Every floor had a balcony that overlooked to the bay. This close to the sea, the salt in the air was pungent, overpowering the sweet scent of gardenias. The landscaping itself was immaculate, with hibiscus flowers, aloe plants, and countless other brightly colored flowers and plants that I didn’t recognize.

  There was a large pool behind the house, enclosed in a two-story lanai.

  A wrought iron gate, twisted in a complicated, elegant pattern, stood slightly ajar on the driveway.

  I stepped up to the gate and pushed it open.

  There were no cars visible. All of the garage doors were closed tight.

  I walked toward the front doors. As I got closer, I noticed that all of the windows had their blinds pulled shut, preventing any sunlight from getting in.

  No question that this was the right place—as if there was any possibility Byron would have sent me elsewhere.

  The front door stood ajar.

  I had seen enough horror movies to know that I should not enter.

  But I also knew that if I didn’t, I’d never see my parents alive again. So, with a last look at the outside—perhaps my last ever—I drank in the feeling of life, of peace, that touched me but could not penetrate the black fear that hung over me … and then I stepped inside.

  The foyer opened up into a huge space, with long, wide, dark wooden floors. A huge staircase wound its way up along the circular wall, and I could just barely see up into the second floor. Up above that was another staircase, winding up to the third floor. A huge gold and crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, stretching from the top of the third floor all the way to the first floor, flooding the house with dancing rainbows of light.

  The air was cold. My skin pimpled, rising into bumps. The scent of roses filled the air, breathing from vases on every
surface; on side tables, on windowsills, on tall, free-standing pedestals.

  Roses … and blood.

  Each footstep I took echoed. A living room loomed, larger than the entire first floor footprint of my house. All of the furnishings had to have come from high end designers, with a huge gray L-shaped couch, a curved television, and a solid, marble-topped coffee table. The view out of the windows must have been breathtaking, but the blinds permitted only the faintest light to peek through the edges. The stairs were carpeted with white shag.

  I stepped onto the first one and froze.

  Crimson spatters.

  Had he already hurt them? Turned them?

  He had to have known that I was here. He didn’t miss much, if anything.

  I eased away from the steps. He was probably trying to lure me up there. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of following his little trail just yet.

  I tried to push the nausea down as I headed down a hall toward a kitchen.

  This far inside, it was pretty obvious that I was not going to be able to use sunlight to my advantage. He wouldn’t follow me outside in the middle of the day, and if I kept creeping through these rooms that were away from all of the windows, then I wouldn’t be able to utilize it at all. Upon further inspection, the blinds were not actually blinds at all, but some kind of metal welded to the window frames, with just enough light coming through to be able to see the time of day. Unless I had a soldering tool or a powered screwdriver, they weren’t coming off. And if I left the house now that I had come inside, who knew what he would do to punish me for that?

  The kitchen smelled like fresh coffee and chocolate. Still no sign of anything, or anyone, aside from the small flecks of blood on the stairs. Frigid air seemed to emanate from the tiles.

  For a place so large, so open, it was hard not to feel claustrophobic. The lack of sunlight helped with that.

  The fact that I didn’t know where Byron was, but knew he could lunge at me from around a corner at any moment, dialed the tension up to its maximum.

  I found a large den, a luxurious dining room that could seat at least twelve, and a four-seasons room that dumped out into the lanai and the pool.

  All of the other external doors were locked, funneling my way in and out to one door.

  Like a lab rat.

  First floor exhausted, I found myself again at the base of the stairs … and those claret drips, leaching into the shag. There was not enough here to account for the metallic tang in the air, not even half a percent of enough—which meant there was more of it somewhere.

  Above me … with him.

  My heart thudded sickeningly. No place else to go, though. Steeling myself with the deepest breath I could manage, I put my foot on the bottom stair, careful to avoid the droplets of dark blood. Up and around the spiral, slowly. More flecks passed me by—a breadcrumb trail, almost methodical.

  Or a result of more damage than I wanted to think about.

  I reached the landing and peered over the banister down into the large foyer. Closer to Byron now, wherever he was, the tension was ratcheting up. The stake in my boot was no longer enough—especially considering how difficult it had been to free it when Theo lurched at me. So I took stock of my surroundings, then, deciding I was safe enough for the moment and that Byron couldn’t spring at me, I removed my boot, took the stake out, and slipped it into my hair.

  He’d see it—but he knew I was coming. He knew I was here. And he’d know exactly what I aimed to do to him. Because between my evasion, and the holy water I’d singed his face with … Cassie was not coming easy, no, sir.

  I couldn’t just bank on finding him and getting close enough straight away to stab him through the heart—not least because my parents were pawns now, and he’d certainly have them close by to threaten if I made so much as one wrong move. So I had to buy myself some time.

  The only way that I could have any hope of stalling him log enough to figure out my next steps was to make him think that he had won. I hated the idea of it, but if I got him to believe, even for a moment, that somehow I had given into him, succumbed to some rapid case of Stockholm syndrome— which would not be what he expected, given my behavior up to now— he might drop his guard.

  I would have to lie.

  How ironic it was that the very thing that had gotten me into this situation – the lies that caused me to be dragged down to Florida – was the same thing I was going to have to use to get out of it.

  At least I was good at it. It was the only thing I was good at, it seemed. Lying to him meant proffering myself as his Juliet.

  It meant loving him—

  or at least making him believe that I loved him.

  I closed my eyes, taking another deep, steadying breath.

  I could do this.

  “Hello, my darling,” a cold, smooth voice whispered in my ear.

  My eyes shot open to see Byron standing inches away from me.

  Chapter 36

  I amazed even myself when I remained still, given how close he was to me.

  I looked up into his eyes, hoping that all he could see of me was what he wanted to see, not what was actually there, which was boiling, raging hatred.

  As quick as I blinked, Byron was no longer standing in front of me, but lounging on a plush blue settee beneath another row of windows that, if open, would have provided a beautiful view of Tampa Bay. Relaxed as he was, he might’ve been sprawled there all afternoon. He held a crystal champagne flute almost lazily.

  I fought not to look at it—at what it held inside—and to tamp down the burning fear that the crimson fluid might have been, until recently, flowing through Mom’s or Dad’s veins.

  Byron smiled. He seemed incredibly pleased with himself, with one of his eyebrows slightly arched, and a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth.

  “So you came willingly,” he cooed, leaning his chin in his hand, his elbow perched on the arm of the seat.

  I wanted to vomit at his tone, but instead, I made myself bow my head as if humble.

  “I did,” I replied. I didn’t have a choice, really. He and I both knew that.

  It was my motivation that mattered in that moment, and I needed to convince him that it wasn’t just for my parents, but for our relationship as well.

  A relationship that would be over before the sun went down if I had any control over it.

  He rocked the glass in his hand back and forth slowly, studying me closely, that playful grin still etched on his face.

  He looked like he wanted to eat me—literally. Nevertheless, there was more than that in it, a hormonal teenage boy’s fantasies, his twisted, sick view of—love? Lust? It made my skin crawl. To hide my disgust, I wrapped my arms around myself and shied away. Shyness—that would sucker him in; my face hidden modestly, fingers fiddling with my hair, like the virginal waif he hungered after. I knew that it was a stretch, seeing as how I could have spit in his face any other time he was around, but I had to try.

  It was the only advantage I had.

  Glancing carefully around, I assessed my surroundings.

  My parents were not here, on the landing looking down over the foyer, that much was certain. A hall wound away from me out of the corner of my right eye, and a few doors were shut tight along the wall to my left. The large crystal chandelier that the staircase wrapped around cast a multitude of shimmering lights on the large mirror on the wall to Byron’s right, filling the room with brilliant colors.

  I realized, with a small shiver down my neck, that Byron did not have a reflection. Confirmation that none of the other signs had misled me.

  “I just …” I started, looking down at my worn sneakers, noticing the tear on the toe of the right foot. “I just realized that I didn’t want to fight you anymore.”

  Ugh, gag me. That was so much harder to say out loud than I would have ever thought it could be.

  Byron chuckled, and took a draw from his glass. “Did you?” he asked. “Good. All I’ve ever wanted was for
you to realize that we should be together. That we belong together.” He leaned forward. “Fighting that, fighting … destiny is futile.”

  “Yes,” I replied. “Destiny.” Hold off the gagging.

  I had to be careful not to let my true thoughts show. Some truth was always ideal. It allowed me to control the situation. I had the ability to choose the lies that I told.

  And some truth in every lie made them that much harder to detect and untangle.

  I was the master of weaving truth into my lies.

  “You’re quite lovely, did you know that?”

  It was a mix of condescension and flattery, and it was maddening.

  Byron definitely had the advantage. Even if I were to go and sit on the couch opposite him, it would still be easy for him to intercept me if I decided to run.

  Funny. Try to run from a vampire. Good one, Cassie.

  “Not as handsome as you are,” I said, and then giggled.

  Giggled.

  “Byron …” I said, almost amused by the stunned look that had crept onto his face. “My Romeo …” Again, I had to bite the tip of my tongue not to give away that I wanted to laugh—or vomit my freakin’ guts up. “Please … I’m here now. Could we just … let my parents be on their way?”

  Byron’s one-sided smirk quirked higher, and then stood, casually walking back over to me—the picture of a cocky teenage boy.

  A manipulative, long-lived, evil teenage boy.

  “I suppose that you’ve been a good girl,” he said. “It’s natural to be concerned for your parents.” He smirked. “I’m surprised it took you this long to get around to them. You’re always so … forward. So … direct with me.”

  Opposite me now—near enough that I could stab him through the heart—he brushed a stray strand of hair from my face.

  It took every ounce of my strength not to cringe back from him.

  Softly, he lamented, “I remember how I cried over my parents’ bodies the night I was bitten …”

  The surprise that showed on my face was genuine.