“Nah, if I was taking steroids I don’t think I would put them in my neck. I just got bit by some weird bug or something the other night. Maybe a spider. I’m sure it will heal,” I say. Note to self, wear a turtleneck to work tonight.
“All right. Glad to hear it. I know people want to get stronger as fast as they can. I never took you for the type, but I just wanted to make sure.”
“Thanks for worrying about me, but no, it’s just a bite. I don’t need steroids in my life. I’m in no hurry to get stronger.” I flash him a smile.
Chris gives me a pat on the back then walks off to talk to some of the other people in the gym. I guess if I am going to have Vincent feed off of me again it’s going to have to be in a place that others won’t see. My heart rate increases again thinking of him taking blood from my inner thigh, and I chastise myself. Why am I even entertaining the thought of him feeding on me? But that is a real possibility. If I am going to keep Olivia out of my life, I am going to have to make sure that I keep Vincent in it. Does that mean I am going to let myself become his little blood pet? It is a lot to think about, but I can concentrate on it later. I need to get some food in me and get ready for work. I decide to go in a little earlier because I missed last night. I have some forensic work to catch up on.
I walk into the office wearing a pair of jeans with my boots over the top of them and a green turtle-neck sweater. I’m not going to make the same mistake of showing off Vincent’s bite marks. I wave to my boss, Rick, who smiles and waves hello before I head into my office. I have some time to look through my emails. To my surprise, I find an email titled “Poster Street Investigation.” It looks like Rick has accidently left me on the investigation email list. I continue to read it, knowing that if Rick finds out he will immediately give me a stern talking to. Worse, he’ll give me that look. The one that says, “I’m not mad at you, just disappointed.” The one every young girl dreads getting from a father figure.
And he would be right. I would have disappointed him. He made it very clear that I was to stay away from this side of his investigation. He was still wary after knowing that the murderer had targeted me on our last big case. Even if he didn’t know the full story of what happened with Elric, the threat alone had been enough to make him hyper-protective. He’s made it very clear to me. I am here to help with forensics, not to chase down the murderers.
After reading through the details of the brutality of the murder, the sexual assault, and the fact that the hair I found matches that guy James’s, my blood begins to boil. Why haven’t they arrested him yet? Apparently, he has some political connections who warned the LAPD to be careful in this investigation. This wasn’t right. James, the jerk who bumped into me at the crime scene, the man who showed up on the hotel CCTV. He wasn’t a guest, and there was no record of who he had visited.
He didn’t have a reason why he was at the crime scene, just quoting dumb luck. To me, that isn’t even close to a good enough alibi. And the forensic evidence puts him at the scene of the crime. He is the murderer. I empathize, knowing how vulnerable Jennifer must have felt in the moments before her death. I felt that when I was alone with Elric. I need to find more evidence to lock away this creep for good.
Rick has been skeptical about letting me perform field work, and a part of me has been wondering if he knows more about my ordeal than he’s letting on. But I feel ready to get back into the thick of it. I sneak out of the office and am on my way. I have no idea what I will do when I find the suspect, but I feel an overwhelming urge to track him now and find something that will be damming. Something that will put him away for good. I will simply wait for him to turn up at work and follow him home that night. The adrenaline is compelling me. I don’t stop to think too hard about my actions.
I watch James leave his office from a coffee shop across the street. He is on foot, glancing around himself constantly. He seems on edge. And I intend to know why. Is he planning on harming someone else? Something tells me he is.
I watch as James strides along purposefully. Wherever he is heading, it isn’t just an evening stroll. I follow along, keeping enough distance between us that he won’t spot me, but not enough to risk losing track of him. We wind our way along the high street. The majority of the shops are starting to shut, and the crowds are thinning out, making it harder to stay hidden. James never once glances at him. I am lucky for once.
After about half an hour of staying on James’s trail, he veers away from civilization. He cuts across a large parking lot, and ducks through a hole in a wooden fence that I wouldn’t even have noticed. I have no idea what is on the other side of that fence, but I will find out soon enough. I glance around and seeing no one, I run quickly across the center of the parking lot. I press my back up against the fence, and slowly, I moved into a crouch. I peer through. The other side doesn’t seem particularly remarkable. I can see the hollow shell of a burnt-out car. Great, I think. He’s probably buying drugs or something. Or worse, meeting a girl.
But I’ve come this far and I am not backing down now. If I am right about James, he could be here to meet his next victim, and I would never forgive myself if I allowed that to happen without even trying to prevent it. Of course, if I do stop James from doing something horrible, then Rick will know I ignored his instructions, but in those circumstances, I don’t think he’ll care. And even if he did, he would have to keep it quiet, tell the authorities he knew about it, was using me as bait. Something. He couldn’t tell them he’d ignored my suspicions and pushed me to act alone.
I clambered through the gap in the fence. I don’t have to full-out crawl as James did. I’m small enough to shuffle through hunched over.
I straightened up and looked around, staying back in the shadows cast by the trees that grow by the fence. I can’t see James. I run, still crouched over, to the burnt-out car and I duck down behind it. I have a much better view of the whole expanse of land from there, but still, I can’t see James.
“Dammit,” I curse, straightening up. I’ve lost him. I should have come through the gap quicker.
I feel a heavy hand land on my shoulder. I spin around. It is James. I’ve been played.
He snatches my wrist and squeezes it so hard I think it will snap. I cry out, trying to pry his fingers off. It is no use.
He grabs my other hand, forcing me backwards. He slams me forcibly against the body of the car, pushing my wrists up over my head. He holds them both in one of his large hands. I move to kick him, but he pre-empts me, moving in close and pressing his body against mine, pinning me to the car.
“You should have stayed out of this, girl,” he shouts, his voice boiling with anger. “Now look what you’ve made me do.” I feel his breath on my face and a few drops of spittle land on my cheeks. I want to retch, but I fight it down.
My mind is whirling. How can I escape this?
I am pulled out of my calculations by a blinding pain in my side. James has punched me in the ribs. His anger is relentless and he continues to strike me, in my face and then my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. At first the pain is unbelievable, but as the blows continue I start to go numb, consciousness slipping away.
Horror fills me, and then his free hand reaches up and roughly grabs my breast. He pulls my nipple hard enough to bring tears to my eyes. I cry out again. The new pain brings my mind back into focus, and I almost wish it hadn’t.
“No one can hear you.” He smirks. “But feel free to make all the noise you want. I like it.” His breathing quickens as he opens his jeans. His hand reaches down and forces itself under the waistband of my own jeans.
“No, no, no,” I whispered over and over again. My body refuses to obey me as I try to think how I can fight him off. I am paralyzed with terror; the terror of the certainty of what is about to happen to me. I am about to become a statistic. A victim.
James is having trouble getting his hand down my pants. The fabric is too tight against my skin. He still has his weight pressed against me, stopping me fro
m moving. He doesn’t know I am so paralyzed by fear and pain that I couldn’t move even if he gave me the leeway to do so. I am glad of that one small mercy.
Suddenly, he is gone. He flies through the air and lands on his back with a cracking sound. I feel the cold air hit me in the too warm places where his body has touched mine.
I drop to my knees, throw my head to the side and vomit hard. I am trying to work out what happened. James is on his feet, running away from me. More like staggering away, to be exact. He keeps stumbling.
“Amy, are you all right?”
Vincent. His voice is filled with concern. And the concern does it. The tears flow freely down my face, and no matter how much I tell myself they have to stop, they just keep on coming.
I throw myself against Vincent, clinging to him. He wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly. I felt a strange mix of relief, embarrassment and desire flood through me. I don’t ever want him to let go of me.
I pull back once my tears have stopped.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Any time,” Vincent says in his low voice. “No one will ever hurt you while I’m around. I’m just sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”
I manage a half smile, but I can’t look at him while I speak. “You were here before anything really happened.”
He nods. “Amy, please, go home where I know you’re safe. I must follow our mutual friend there and get rid of him. If I don’t, he might talk.”
“Go,” I say.
He looks at me a moment longer. I can almost feel his indecision. With a tortured groan, he turns and runs off in the direction James has fled.
Suddenly, I am somewhere else. The scenery has changed, no much, but enough to tell me that I am not seeing through my own eyes. I see James being held up by his neck against the wall. Vincent is standing there with him, his fangs are out, and he does not look happy.
“No one is going to hear you scream,” Vincent murmurs. “I’m going to rip out your vocal chords and slowly tear you apart.”
I see James struggle harder. I can almost taste the fear in the air. Vincent’s hand reaches up to grab at James’s throat; I don’t want to see it, but I guess I don’t need to. The world is going dark, like a curtain closing on the stage of my vision. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I hear a male scream.
Chapter 12
“Amy, I need you to drink,” the voice says, so distantly. I feel something pressed against my lips – it’s warm, like hot coffee. It doesn’t feel like there is a cup there, it feels like flesh. Still, I feel a hot liquid against my lips, and I open my mouth to it. It has a sort of coppery taste to it, but my body instantly begins to hunger for more. I find my one good hand reaching up to grab whatever is pressed against my mouth as I sit up. At first, I don’t quite open my eyes, but they snap open when I realize it is an arm that I grab.
My mouth is locked down on Vincent’s wrist. I’m not sure where I am, but he’s crouched beside me. We are no longer in the alleyway. Vincent isn’t wearing a shirt. He lets out a soft moan as I suck on his wrist, the blood pouring down the back of my throat restoring the strength I had lost. Everything is becoming clearer now. My throbbing head begins to dull; I can feel the bones in my hand start to mend together. It’s like there are tiny fairies inside of it waving magic wands over my bones, whispering their magic words to make my bones heal.
“That’s enough,” Vincent whispers, pulling his wrist away from my mouth. I let go grudgingly, licking my lips. I feel a power grow inside of me that I can feel would be addictive. I look around and see that I’m in some sort of run down cabin, on a hastily made bed that is just a mattress on the floor. I must be somewhere out in the woods because I can hear the trees swaying in the breeze. With a start, I realize I can feel the animals in the forest. Everything feels so alive. I look down at my hands and bend the fingers that were broken. I touch the side of my head and feel the swelling going down. Vincent is sitting there quietly watching me. I lock eyes with him and suddenly feel sucked into his skull.
Vincent has killed James Roberts, and not quickly. I feel Vincent’s rage at himself for not being there sooner, and the knowledge that James is going to suffer from it. He did indeed rip out James’ vocal chords. But once I fell unconscious, Vincent came for me. He scooped me up and placed me in his car before returning to his prey.
I watch Vincent’s actions and learn horrible things about him. He has the unique ability to keep a person awake and present even when their mind wants to shut off from the pain. He would have kept James alive much longer, but his worry for me is what granted James a quick yet painful death. He wanted to be sure there was no body to be found.
I know where the body is buried – where the pieces of the body are buried. I come back to myself after I watch and feel Vincent bury James deep in the earth where only the earthworms will be able to reach him. I know this is how vampires generally dispose of bodies, why so many of their victims are never found, it is because they can bury the bodies so deep in the Earth. The ground just seems to give underneath the strength of their hands, and they can move so quickly.
I want to throw up as my mind replays all the things that Vincent – and it feels like I – did to James. There is nothing human in the motions, and Vincent thoroughly enjoyed the pain that James was put through. I don’t think I could ever enjoy that.
“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Vincent murmurs. He is watching me carefully. My vision is now so sharp I can see the little specks of blood, the little specks of James, that he wasn’t able to clean off his body in his rush to heal me. I know I should be flattered somehow that he was willing to kill someone that was going to hurt me in such horrible ways, but I am terrified. I never want to be inside Vincent’s head again. While there was a sense of morality and justice in his actions, there is also a savage monster.
“Where am I?” I ask, swallowing hard. “And what did you do to me?”
“This is where I’ve been staying. Temporarily, while I look for somewhere new. It isn’t much. There is no indoor plumbing, and I wouldn’t suggest bathing in the springs; it would be much too cold for you,” he says. “As for what I did to you, I gave you some of my blood.”
I look around the cabin, it does look like is falling down. Spider webs are dangling across windows that are shattered. I’m aware of just how cold it is outside and should be shivering, but somehow my body feels warm from the inside. I feel super human like I could punch through the door. Although, the wood looks so rotten that perhaps I could do that anyway. I sit very still and practice my breathing, afraid I could bring this entire house down around us.
“Your blood has the ability to heal?” I ask though I have felt the answer. My fingers bend correctly; I know without glancing in a mirror that there will be no bruises on my body.
“And other things,” he says, not sounding delighted with sharing this knowledge. “It is another reason we do not want to go public. The medical industry would be going mad for just a few drops of our blood. It has some negative side effects, though.”
“Like feeling like you could crush a car, and being able to hear ants crawl in the dirt ten feet outside?” I say.
“All those things can drive a person mad,” Vincent says firmly. He reaches a hand out to brush my hair behind my ear. I flinch, remembering what he did to James, and he pulls back.
“The effects should only last 24 hours,” he tells me, working to keep his voice level, almost formal. He is hurt by my fear. I can tell that without reading his mind.
“What do I do till then?” I ask.
“Whatever you want. Would you like me to take you home?”
I nod my head, getting to my feet faster than humanly possible. Vincent is there to catch me as I stumble. I try to figure out where exactly we are in relation to the city. I could find the information easily if I wanted; right now, I feel the wall between my mind and Vincent’s is very fragile. It wouldn’t take much to get into his head and get any answers I want
, so I concentrate on not going down that road.
“It’s a bit of a walk,” he says.
“I feel like running,” I tell him, now that I’ve figured out how to put one foot in front of the other. Vincent is looking at me like he wants to argue. Instead, he intertwines his fingers with mine and nods his head.
I cannot run as fast as he does. Vincent is purposely slowing his pace, but I feel like I am flying. The forest is a blur, but one I can understand. Somehow, I know there is a root up ahead of me that I could potentially trip over, but I just launch off the ground. I’ve never run so fast in my life, and running is part of my weekly ritual. The air kisses my cheek like little ice pricks, but it doesn’t bother me because something inside me is warming me in a way I have never felt before. It rushes through my legs and pumps hot blood to my heart. It takes about ten minutes to get to Vincent’s car, and I’m aware we have run at least five miles. I’m not out of breath and I turn to look at Vincent with my eyes twinkling, my cheeks prickling from the cold air, my breath steaming out in front of me as I drink in the dry air.
“Don’t get too used to this,” he says. I look at his chest, at all the dirt and specks. Vincent needs a shower. I need a shower. And perhaps something to calm my racing mind, since there is some part of me that wants to lick off the little red specks that mingle with the dirt and mud. Is this what it is like turning into a vampire? No, surely, I would have to actually die first. That would have to be a question to ask him another time.
Vincent opens the door to the car for me, and I slide in. All the lights on the dash seem so bright. I’m mesmerized by them. I roll down the window and stick out my head to see the stars. I’ve never noticed how marvelous they look, how bright they shine, like little pinpricks of hope in a blackened sky.
“Is this how you always see the world?” I ask Vincent once he gets in his car. I can smell the blood in his trunk, where he had the pieces of James Roberts before burying them. I guess that trunk is large enough to fit a body, once it’s been broken in enough places. I wrinkle up my nose; I guess he hasn’t had a chance to clean it yet. Hopefully, no cops decide to pull us over. There are pieces of meat and tendon sticking to the upholstery back there, I know.
Fatal Allure Collection Page 20