The Watcher asc-3

by Jeanne C. Stein

  Instinctively, I raise my hands. They are flaked with dried blood. My nails are embedded with tissue.

  The groan starts deep in my gut and spews forth in a wail of despair.

  What have I done?

  Why can't I remember?

  CHAPTER 45

  WHEN I OPEN MY EYES AGAIN, I REMEMBER. Everything.

  Marta is no longer standing over me.

  I look around.

  I'm in a room identical to Max's. I'm on a cot, lying on a torn, rough-textured blanket. A sheet has been thrown over me. I'm naked beneath it.

  I don't know where I am in the house. I thought there were only two rooms on the landing. But I'm alone here. And there is no blood on the white tile walls, none on the cement floor. After what I did to Martinez, there would be blood.

  Unless.

  I pull myself into a sitting position, groaning with the effort. My limbs are in revolt.

  But I have to sit up to look around. There is a drain in the middle of the floor. And from it wafts the scent of pine and bleach. And underlying it all, blood.

  The sheet falls away, and I see that the room is not the only thing that has been cleaned. There is no blood on my body, on my hands. My nails have been scrubbed. The same slightly antiseptic smell of soap wafts up when I raise my hands to rub at my eyes. The wound on my arm from Marta's blade has a dressing covering it. I rip it off. There is only a flush of color where the knife penetrated my flesh.

  Confusion clouds my thoughts.

  If this is the same room, where is Max?

  Max.

  A tremor passes through me.

  Where is he? What have they done to him? Why did I let this happen? I should have attacked Martinez the moment I saw him at the door. I should have had a plan. I let the fact that I am vampire lull me into thinking I could handle anything a human could throw at me. I was wrong. It may have cost Max his life.

  I swing my legs over the side of the cot and push myself off. Marta has left me nothing to cover my nakedness. I tear the sheet into two pieces and knot the smaller portion around my body. It falls just to my knees allowing me the freedom to move without tripping over the ends.

  I'll need to be able to move.

  I start for the door. I expect I'll have to break it down, and I'm surprised when the knob turns in my hand. Cautiously, I let it swing open.

  The corridor is dark and empty. And quiet. I pull the door shut behind me.

  I cross to the other side and put an ear to that door to see if I detect any sound. There is none. Again, the knob turns in my hand and the door opens.

  The cots are lined up as before. But the bodies of Martinez' family are gone. Three other bodies are laid out.

  I tiptoe from one to the other.

  Foley.

  Martinez.

  Max.

  I touch Max's face, too full of anguish to do anything else. When my fingers brush his lips, I realize with a jolt that he is warm. I rub the tears out of my eyes to examine him more closely. His color is good, flushed even. I push my ears against his chest. There is a heartbeat. Slow. Regular. His chest rises and falls in measured, controlled breaths. He is asleep. Drugged again?

  But alive.

  It sparks my resolve.

  I move to Martinez. There is no doubt that he is dead. His throat has been torn open. His head is cocked back at an unusual angle, shattered vertebrae visible through the wound. Delicate streamers of shredded skin are all that hold skull to shoulders. The connection is tenuous. I don't know how anyone managed to lift him onto this cot without the connection being severed. His skin is pale, his eyes closed, his mouth open in a silent scream.

  I view him with detached coldness. I know it was I who inflicted the damage. But he was going to kill me. He was going to kill and torture Max. I used the weapons I had at my disposal. Teeth and my vampire nature. I feel no remorse.

  My glance falls on Foley. Martinez killed him with a gun he had under his shirt. I slip a hand beneath Martinez' body. The gun is no longer there. I'm sure Maria thought to take it before leaving me alone to find the bodies.

  Because I'm also sure this is part of her plan.

  I need to be smart this time. Decide how to handle her when she comes back. I can't kill her outright. I'll need her to help me get Max out of here. To bring him around when we're in the chopper.

  The chopper. A memory surfaces. Before we got out of the car in the desert, Foley threatened to drug me if I was uncooperative. Is the syringe still in his jacket?

  A sound in the corridor distracts me. The door to the landing is opening. I'm at Foley's cot in two strides. I yank at his jacket, searching first one pocket, then the other. My fingers close around the leather case just as footsteps approach the door across the hall. I open the case, tuck the syringe into a fold of the sheet at my breasts, and slip the case back into Foley's pocket. I hear the click of tumblers falling, the quiet opening and closing of the door across the hall and know.

  Marta is now right outside my door.

  CHAPTER 46

  I'M TREMBLING. WHETHER FROM STRESS AND FAtigue or the effects of whatever drug I've been given or from anticipation, I can't tell. I only know it takes conscious effort to keep my hands still. I finally press them against my sides.

  Marta is cautious about opening the door.

  She is a smart woman.

  When the knob finally turns, I prepare to throw myself out of the way just in case she comes in blasting.

  But she doesn't. Her hands are empty and hang at her sides. She has cleaned the blood off her body, too, and is dressed in a simple black skirt and white peasant blouse. Her hair is wet and hangs straight down her back. She is barefoot.

  Her eyes glance behind me.

  "You have seen that Max is alive."

  I nod.

  "It is my gift to you."

  I narrow my eyes. "Gift?"

  She nods, too. "I could have killed him. I could have killed you, too, while you slept. But I did not. It was a show of good faith."

  She's not making any sense. I gesture toward Martinez. "I did that to your friend. Why would you want to show me good faith?"

  She brushes past me and stands beside Martinez' cot. She places a hand gently on his shoulder. "As soon as I saw the two of you fighting, I knew how it would turn out. I tried to stop it. I plunged the needle into your arm, but the drug was no match for the strength of your rage. It took too long to work and when it finally did, it was too late for my son."

  "Martinez was your son?"

  Tears slide down her cheeks. "I tried to make him drink. I took your arm where I had cut it and pressed it against his lips. If he had only swallowed. Just one drop. He would be as you are."

  I'm staring at her now in disbelief. "You tried to make him drink my blood? You tried to make him a vampire?"

  She turns slowly. "I tried to save him. It's what any mother would have done. Your attack was too savage. He died in my arms. Now I exact the penalty for his death. For his murder. And you will pay it because I hold the life of one you love in my hands."

  When she faces me, she has something in her hand. Another syringe. She holds it in front of me. "This is not like the others. This is poison. If I inject Max with this, he will die screaming."

  She backs toward Max's cot. "You move quickly. I have seen it. But not, I think, quickly enough to prevent me from injecting Max. It takes only a tiny amount, a pinprick of the needle, and Max will die."

  I take a step toward her. "Is this the gift you spoke of? You saved Max and me so that you could kill him while I watch?"

  She smiles and lowers the syringe so that it rests on Max's chest. "Oh no. The gift is your lives. You and Max will be allowed to live. You will be flown to safety and I pledge no harm will befall you. What happened here will be forgotten."

  "And what do you get in exchange for this generosity?" The smile this time is humorless and touches only the corners of her mouth.

  "Immortality," she says. "You will make me
vampire."

  CHAPTER 47

  MY LIPS PULL BACK TO BARE MY TEETH. I POINT to her son. "You saw me do that. And you want to be like me?"

  She blows out a disdainful breath. "Like you? Never. You are undisciplined and willful. A spoiled child. I would use the power wisely."

  I look around. "How? To take over where your son left off? Is that your plan? Become the czarina of the drug world? Don't you know your empire is in ashes? Max saw to that."

  She glances at Max, her fingers tighten on the syringe. In that moment, I know that she has no intention of letting Max go.

  I don't wait for her to draw another breath. I lunge, hitting her body away from the cot and slamming her into the wall. The attack catches her off guard and the syringe falls from her hand and skitters under Max's cot.

  With an oath, she scrambles to her feet. She pulls a knife out of a pocket in her skirt. She doesn't threaten me with it, though, but holds it to her own wrist.

  "You will do as I ask," she growls. "Or you and Max will die here. Without me, the others downstairs will kill you on sight. And even if you make it past them, the pilot has his orders. He is watching the house. If you approach without me, he will take off and leave you here. You have seen how well hidden we are."

  She presses the blade against her skin. "There is no telephone. No radio with which you can contact the outside world. This house will become your mausoleum. In a few weeks, the jungle will reclaim it's own. Your bodies—our bodies—will never be found. It will be as if we never existed."

  She speaks in a slow, measured cadence. Her eyes bore into mine. She does not fear what she describes. She is accepting of whatever fate befalls her. Her grip on the knife tightens and before I can stop her, she draws it across her wrist.

  Blood spurts and begins to drip in a steady stream onto the floor.

  She watches it with a detached frown. "Can you resist?" she asks, holding the arm toward me. "Blood. I offer it to you in exchange for eternal life. I want you to take me. For him."

  Her eyes shift to her son. I wonder why she didn't take my blood while I was out. Does she think the vampire has to be conscious, has to will the change?

  It hardly matters now. While her attention is on her son, I make my move. I dive for her, hitting her low, trying my best to ignore the call of her blood, its texture and smell. I fight the animal inside and refuse to let it surface. I need to keep my wits about me.

  "You are a crazy bitch," I scream, hooking an arm around her waist and dragging her to the floor.

  She fights me, pushing the arm at my face. It takes me a moment to realize she's manipulating the knife in her other hand, trying to distract me with bloodlust while she positions herself to plunge the knife into my arm. She is still intent on mingling our blood. I refused to do it her way, now she will try another.

  I jump away from her before she can cut me. She is snarling like an enraged beast, howling with frustration and anger. She moves toward me, swinging the knife in front of her in wide arcs, hoping to get close enough to slash my skin.

  I don't let her. The human Anna is still in control despite the siren call of blood. I avoid the point of the knife and step inside, grabbing at her uninjured wrist and forcing it back. I swing her around and pin her against the wall.

  Her will is strong. She doesn't drop the knife. She fights until she's broken free and whirls again to face me. This time, she grasps the knife as if to throw it.

  "This is getting old, Marta," I snap. I reach into the folds of the sheet and withdraw the syringe. "Go ahead, throw the damned thing. You'll miss and I'll stick you with this."

  Tears of rage stain her cheeks. She pulls back her arm and flings the knife in my direction. I sidestep it easily and before the clatter of the knife hitting the floor dies away, I've plunged Foley's needle into her arm.

  CHAPTER 48

  I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT TO EXPECT SO I STAND BACK to watch. Marta's face undergoes the transition from anger to astonishment to utter vacuity. When I am sure she will no longer attempt to bite or gouge me, I step close to her and lower her to a seated position against the wall.

  The blood is still flowing freely from her wrist, but it's not arterial blood. I can tell the difference. Whether by chance or on purpose, she did not cut deep enough. I tear at the hem of the sheet wrapped around me and bind her wrist. The cloth quickly soaks through. I tear another piece and fashion a tourniquet above her elbow. I don't care if she lives or dies, but she controls the pilot and those two downstairs. She is going to help me get Max out of this house.

  The tourniquet seems to work. Blood no longer flows in a steady stream but rather drips from the cloth into a desultory pattern on the floor. Now that the immediate danger is past, the proximity of this much blood makes me tremble. It's all I can do to keep from lapping at it as it falls. But I don't. Instead, I move away to avoid temptation.

  Marta's eyes follow me as I cross the room, but her body remains motionless. Her head lolls against the tiled wall as if too heavy for her slender neck. She opens and closes her mouth and I wonder if she's trying to tell me something. I don't intend to get close enough, though, to find out.

  Max is my chief concern now. He hasn't moved since I've been in the room. He's breathing; I can see that. I bend over him and gently tap his cheeks with my fingertips. There is no response. I slap a little harder. His breath catches the tiniest bit, then settles back into the same deep, regular pattern. He could be asleep or comatose. But unless I can bring him around, getting us out of here is going to be a problem. I can carry Max or Marta, but not both.

  Marta makes a small sobbing sound. When I turn around, she's on her hands and knees, trying to get her legs under her.

  Okay. If she can walk out under her own steam, there will be only Max to worry about. It makes sense that the drug intended for me would not render me completely helpless. Foley was going to use it to get me on that chopper and I doubt he planned to carry me. He just wasn't in that kind of shape.

  I grab Marta under her arms and haul her to her feet. She slumps against the wall but remains standing.

  "Can you talk?"

  She groans an unintelligible answer, but it's enough to make me realize she understood the question.

  "Okay. Here's what's going to happen. We"—I gesture to Max and then to her and me—"are going to walk downstairs together. Is there anyone in the house besides the couple I saw earlier?"

  She shakes her head.

  "Will they give us trouble?"

  Another abrupt shake of her head.

  "Do I believe you?" This time, I shake my head. She looks at me in confusion, but I forge ahead. "When we get outside, we'll go directly to the hangar. Is the pilot still here?"

  This time I get a nod.

  "Does he know why Max and I were brought here?"

  She waits a second too long to shake her head.

  Great. That means I can expect no cooperation from him unless Marta makes it happen. How do I convince her to do that?

  I take her bandaged wrist in my hand and squeeze. She whimpers in pain and winces away, her expression clouded and confused. She may understand a lot of what is happening, but she doesn't seem to remember exactly why. Maybe I can use that to my advantage.

  "You've had an accident, Marta. We'll need the pilot to fly us to a hospital. We're going to have to let him see that you are badly hurt and in need of urgent medical attention. Are you ready to do that?"

  She gives me a nod but before she does, there is an instant when I see something flash in her eyes. Awareness. Craftiness. She's shaking off the effects of the drugs but she doesn't want me to know.

  Too late.

  It occurs to me that she may have one or two more of those magic syringes in the pockets of her skirt—or another knife. Since I'm sure she has no intention of letting Max or me go, I doubt I'll find anything to help him. But maybe something to use against her when the time comes.

  I move quickly, before she "awakens" even more. I hold both her h
ands in one of mine. With my free hand, I pass it over the contours of her body, even lifting the hem of her skirt to skim her thighs and between her legs. I dip my hand into the pockets of her skirt and lift the curtain of hair that falls to the middle of her back. I find nothing. Her eyes follow my hand but she doesn't try to pull away. She's quiet and resigned.

  It makes me very nervous.

  I want to bind her hands. But if I did, how would that look to the pilot and her friends downstairs? The ruse is only going to work if they think Marta is in control.

  It's now or never.

  I pick Max up and turn away from the cot.

  A sound like static over a telephone line interposes itself in my head.

  I almost drop Max, I'm so startled.

  I listen closely.

  The sound comes again. Only this time, the static is a garbled message. Gibberish. As if someone is trying to say something but the connection between brain and speech has been disrupted.

  Or severed.

  My stomach churns.

  I lay Max back down and take a step toward the cot where Martinez' body is resting. Martinez' eyes are open. His head, barely connected by strings of flesh to his body, is stirring.

  I think I'm going to be sick.

  I look at Marta. She is watching, too, with another of those appalling smiles on her face. And I know. Her son did ingest enough of my blood to become vampire.

  Marta lied.

  CHAPTER 49

  I DON'T THINK I'VE EVER FELT SUCH DISGUST FOR any creature, human or otherwise. Martinez either did drink at Marta's urging, or there was blood transference through our injuries. With such devastating injuries, though, she could not have been sure that it would work. That's why she tried to make me turn her.

  In any case, I can't leave him like this. Vampires have great powers of healing, but a nearly severed head reunited with a body ? And what kind of vampire would an infamous drug lord make? I have to kill him—really kill him— before it gets any worse.