by Gayla Twist
“Yes,” Mom said, straining to hold back her anger. “He came over last night, and he’s a very nice young man.”
“You invited Jessie Vanderlind into your home?” Grandma asked, the color draining from her face.
“Yes. I said he came over,” Mom repeated. “He’s very nice.”
“You let a killer into your house!” Grandma Gibson shrieked. “He killed Colette, and now he’s coming after Aurora!”
Dr. Kalla eventually got Grandma sedated and held for observation overnight. “I think after all these years, the grief just overpowered her,” the doctor said. “I’m sure she’ll be fine in a couple of days.”
I was crying so hard, I wished I could be sedated, too, but I wasn’t the one screaming about how a seventeen-year-old boy had murdered a girl who disappeared before World War II. It was absolutely horrifying to see Grandma Gibson so upset, and I felt doubly guilty knowing that there was a strong chance she was right. None of the hospital staff knew that, of course. They all just thought she was losing her battle with dementia.
I managed to pull myself together a little once we were in the car and headed home. Mom must have been a little shell shocked herself, but she still tried to comfort me. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart,” she said, reaching over and rubbing my back as we waited at a red light. “I don’t even know how to explain Grams’s behavior. I’m really sorry I asked you to go with me. I just …” She gave a big sniff as the light turned green and she turned to concentrate on the road. “I was just frightened and didn’t want to face everything by myself. That was stupid of me. I shouldn’t have put you through that.”
“No, it’s okay,” I assured her, forcing myself to sound less upset. None of this was my mom’s fault, and I didn’t want her suffering because of choices Colette and I had made. “I feel bad that I lost it. But Grandma really freaked me out. And then the body was just so horrible. It’s just …” I forced myself not to break down into tears again. “It’s just, Grandma Gibson always talks about how much I look like her sister. I never thought I did from her old photographs, but looking at the body … Well, I could really see it. I really do look like her. And I was just wondering … Do you think it’s possible …”
“What?” Mom asked gently, giving me the space to breathe.
“Do you believe in reincarnation?” I finally blurted.
“Oh.” Mom nodded her head up and down several times. “I understand. I wasn’t putting the whole thing together, but now it makes sense.”
“What does?” I wanted to know. I felt a mild sense of alarm, but there was no way she could have figured everything out.
“Aunt Colette was working at the Vanderlind Castle when she disappeared. Grams told me once that she thought Lettie had run off with one of the sons.” Mom pulled into the driveway and clicked the button to open the garage. “And now you’re dating one of the Vanderlinds. I think she got confused and somehow decided he was the same boy.”
I gulped. “Yeah, maybe.”
“And to answer your question, no. I don’t believe in reincarnation,” she said while we both sat in the car with the doors locked waiting for the garage door to completely close.
“But I do look a lot like Colette Gibson,” I pointed out.
“You do look like her from what I can tell, but I think that’s genetics, honey. Not reincarnation,” she said, finally opening the car door.
I wanted to tell her the truth. I had a good relationship with my mom and I was used to being able to confide in her. I opened my mouth to start, but the words just didn’t come out. I didn’t even know where to begin. How could I explain that in many ways, Grandma Gibson was right? Yes, in fact, I was dating the same boy that Colette was in love with all those years ago. And if I was being perfectly honest with myself, there was a strong chance that he was the one that killed her.
I didn’t know how I felt about Jessie coming to see me that evening. He’d said he wanted to drop by to start courting me properly. Up until a few weeks ago, we’d mostly been focused on survival rather than dating. I desperately wanted to see Jessie yet was also terrified. I couldn’t believe that he had killed Colette, but it was the most likely explanation as to how she’d died. I felt like I was being torn in two—half of me loving Jessie so much that I couldn’t believe he would ever do something so evil and the other half knowing that it was his nature to be a killer.
I remembered reading about how serial killer Ted Bundy’s mother refused to believe her son was guilty. Even after he was convicted of numerous hideous murders, she just couldn’t accept the fact that her darling boy had done those horrible things. I began to wonder if I was suffering from the same delusions as poor Mrs. Bundy. Was my love for Jessie blinding me to his actions?
No, I couldn’t believe it. Every time I thought about it, I started shaking my head, my body fighting against my brain.
“Sweetie, why don’t you just go to bed?” Mom asked as I sat at the kitchen table, staring morosely at nothing.
“Jessie’s supposed to show up any minute now,” I told her. “I’d call him and cancel, but he doesn’t have a cell phone.”
My mom gave a theatrical double take. “There’s a teenager in America without a cell phone? I can’t believe I haven’t read about this on Yahoo News.”
I knew she was trying to lift my spirits, but it wasn’t working. I was too conflicted and miserable. Instead, I ended up just giving a heavy sigh. “They don’t get good cell reception at the castle.”
I knew for a fact that there was no cell reception at the Vanderlind Castle, the giant fortress where Jessie lived, because I had once tried to call for help from inside the stone walls, and I couldn’t even get one tiny bar of reception.
“Go take a shower and climb in bed,” Mom told me. “You look exhausted. I’ll tell Jessie you don’t feel well, and he can call you from a landline tomorrow.”
“Okay,” I said, getting to my feet. I’d developed a throbbing headache, and no matter how much I wanted to see Jessie, I knew I was in no state, mentally or physically, to be with him.
I stood in the shower for a long time. Usually I didn’t linger because we were on a budget and I didn’t want to run up our bills. This time I couldn’t help it. I lost track of what I was doing as I stared at the tiles on the wall. I couldn’t remember if I’d already shampooed and just needed conditioner or what. By the time I finished up, the water had turned cold.
Shivering, I quickly changed into my pajamas and scurried into bed. My hair would be a fright wig in the morning, but I just didn’t have the energy to blow it dry. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, rubbing my Pools of Light pendant across my lips. It was a natural crystal stone, flawless and cut into a perfect sphere. The orb was held in place by a belt of white gold that had flowers and vines crafted into the metal. Jessie had given it to me as a token of his affection when we first met, and it was my most cherished object. Originally, I had believed it was silver, but vampires can’t touch silver without being burned—something I learned firsthand in the worst possible way when Jessie had a silver net thrown over his head and was painfully seared. Fortunately, vampires also have an incredible power to heal. I would love him even if he was permanently disfigured, but it was nice that his gorgeous face was still perfect.
No, I chastised myself. You are not to let your brain drift off thinking about how much you love Jessie. You have to think about if he’s responsible for the death of Colette.
There was a gentle tapping at my window and I froze, caught between joy and panic. It could only be Jessie out there on the porch roof on a cold night in December, wanting to talk to me. But did I want to talk to him? My body screamed yes, tear open the window, and fling yourself into his arms. My brain was more cautious. I absolutely could not believe Jessie Vanderlind was a killer, but I knew the fable of the scorpion and the frog: the scorpion stings the frog while riding on his back crossing a river. With his last breath as the venom paralyzes him, the frog asks, “Why? Why did you sting me
?”
And the scorpion replies as he sinks beneath the water to meet his own death, “I couldn’t help it. It’s my nature.”
I couldn’t believe that Jessie Vanderlind had sucked the life out of Colette Gibson; he loved her too dearly. But it was a vampire’s nature to drink the blood of humans. The smartest thing I could do was not open the window.
“Aurora,” I heard Jessie whisper from outside. His voice sounded ragged, and I could tell he was in pain. My mother must have unwittingly told him about the discovery of Colette’s body. I wanted to spring from my bed, fling open the window, and wrap my arms around him, but my brain kept telling me no. “Please,” Jessie said. I heard a gentle thud, and I knew he was resting his forehead against the glass. “Your mom told me …” His breath caught, and he didn’t continue.
My body did a quick coup d’état and overthrew my brain. I was out of bed and dashing across the room before I even realized it. “Jessie,” I cried, tearing back the curtains and wrenching open the window.
Jessie looked even paler than usual. A single tear ran down his cheek, tracking silver in the crisp air of a winter night. He clutched a bouquet of disheveled red roses in both hands, their petals tumbling into the dusting of snow that swirled around his feet. “They found her,” he managed to say, although his voice was very tight. “They found Colette. They found her body.”
“I know,” I said, opening my arms and reaching out to him. All I wanted to do was hold him and make it all better.
He didn’t move any closer, just shook his head rapidly back and forth. “Did you see her? Did you see Lettie?”
I nodded, lowering my arms. I felt empty without him. “Mom and I went to the morgue with Grandma Gibson.”
“And Lily confirmed it was definitely her?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Could the coroner tell how she died?” Jessie wanted to know, his mannerisms very stiff.
I stared at him for a few seconds, unsure of what to say. Did he kill Colette and somehow not remember doing it? Finally, gathering my nerve, I told him, “The doctor said she was exsanguinated.”
A breezed kicked up, ruffling Jessie’s hair. He shuddered. “From a wound or from …” Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to finish. “Or from a vampire?”
“I couldn’t see any wound,” I admitted. “The doctor said they don’t know for sure yet what caused her death.”
Jessie turned away from me. “I have to see her. I have to know.”
“You can’t. She’s in the morgue,” I told him. I sincerely doubted the morgue of a small town like Tiburon was open all night. “I’m sure it’s closed.”
“I can get in,” he said with decided determination.
“Jessie, I don’t think you should.” I gulped before adding, “At least not by yourself.”
Giving me a fierce look that I knew was concealing pain, he said between clenched teeth, “I have to.”
“Then take me with you,” I said, leaning out the window into the icy wind and reaching for his hand, my wet hair making my scalp ache. “You can’t see her by yourself. You’ll need me there.”
“No,” he said, jerking away from me. The next thing I knew, the roof was empty but for a few red rose petals blowing in the snow. Jessie was gone.
Chapter 4
I had the dream. The one I had come to know and dread. It wasn’t unexpected. I had closed my eyes knowing there was probably no way for me to avoid it. The dream had become so familiar, it was almost like a memory. But I knew it was more likely a residual memory from Colette Gibson. That didn’t make the dream any less terrifying.
It started at night—it was always night—and I was sneaking out of the house. Not the house I shared with my mother—a larger house with beautiful wood floors that I also thought of as my home. I felt conflicted; a big part of me wanted to stay safe and snug in my bed with my sister’s steady breathing coming from the other side of the room, but I also felt compelled to go. He was waiting for me, and more than anything, I wanted to be in his arms.
Quietly, I slipped out of bed and put on my favorite dress—green with little white flowers. The fabric was a little light for fall, but I didn’t mind. It was going to be my wedding dress. By the light of the full moon, I pinned on a small straw hat with silk daisies along the brim.
Making as little noise as possible, I slid a small suitcase out from under my bed. I had packed it that afternoon while no one else was around. I only took a few of my best things; I wasn’t planning to be gone that long. And when I returned, I would be a bride. His bride. Just thinking about it made me feel all warm and rosy.
Once outside, I started to hurry. I knew I had to get away, or I would change my mind. It’s not that I didn’t want to marry him—I wanted to rather desperately—but I felt miserable sneaking off to do it. Still, he said his family would never approve, and I knew mine would insist I wait until I was eighteen. But the way I felt about him, I knew I couldn’t wait. All I wanted was to be Mrs. Jessie Vanderlind. It was something I needed to be before I could think of anything else.
Then time hopped around, like it usually does in dreams, and I found myself in the woods gasping for breath. My hat was gone; my suitcase was gone; and I was terrified because I knew I was not alone. There was something out there, skulking beneath the trees, and it was hungry, hungry for human flesh, hungry for my flesh. I somehow knew the beast was there specifically stalking me.
A noise behind me gave me a start, and I ran headlong, deeper into the woods and away from the road, away from my only chance to flag down a passing car or signal someone in a nearby house. Branches tore at my dress, and one of my shoes was gone. My foot got tangled in a tree root, and I fell to the ground with a sob. My lungs ached from running.
I freed my leg but did not immediately get to my feet again. I needed to calm down and catch my breath. There was a large log next to where I fell, and it afforded me some protection from the eyes of the predator. I just needed to rest for a moment and come up with a plan. I wished I knew what was pursuing me so I could better figure out how to defend myself.
Time fast forwarded. I was breathing more regularly, and I was feeling like I should make a move. The small creatures that provide the night with its music had taken up their melodies again. I thought that maybe the beast, whatever it was, had moved on in pursuit of some other dinner. With great caution, I got to my feet.
And there he was, my love, standing no more than thirty yards away, silhouetted in the moonlight. “Jessie,” I called to him, my heart hammering loudly in my chest. “We have to get out of here. There’s something …” I started hurrying toward him. “I don’t know what it is, but there’s something in the woods.”
Jessie came bounding toward me, eager to be by my side. It was only when it was too late for me to run that I realized I hadn’t called out to the man I intended to marry; I had summoned the beast. I barely had time to scream before it sank its teeth into the flesh of my throat.
Things were blurry after that; everything grew very dim. The world only came into focus when my body was jarred, quite painfully. I opened my eyes to see that I’d been dropped into some kind of ditch. There was loose soil all around me. I could barely move, but I turned my head to see the man who killed me standing at the lip of the deep hole where I lay. Just then the clouds drifted away from the moon, and I was able to see more clearly as Jessie Vanderlind started kicking dirt into the hole to cover my body. “Why?” bubbled to my lips and then faded away to nothing.
I woke with a start, my chest aching with fright. I was alone; I was safe in bed; I was myself again. I reached for my dream journal, which I kept by my bed. It was true that I’d had that same dream many times, but the dream had never gone that far before. I didn’t know if I’d just added the details from what I’d learned that day about Colette’s death or if they were uncovered memories. Either way, it took me over an hour to fall asleep again, even after pouring all of my thoughts out into the journal. I hated when
I dreamed I was Colette.
*****
By the time I got up Monday morning, the entire town knew about Colette. It was headline news for the Tiburon Sentinel: “Local Girl’s Body Found Eighty Years After She Elopes.” The Sentinel was barely clinging to life as a small-town newspaper, so I guess they were making the most of the story. Someone must have done some quick digging in the archives because there were old quotes from Colette’s parents about how they believed she had eloped but were growing concerned because they hadn’t heard from her. A second article referenced a tramp being arrested for trying to sell some of Colette’s clothing, which he claimed he found in an abandoned suitcase in the woods. A search of the area was done, where Colette’s hat and one of her shoes were found, but no one ever saw her again. The evidence against the tramp wasn’t enough to keep him, so he was released. There was absolutely no mention of the Vanderlinds. I didn’t know if that was because no one suspected them or if their money protected them. Either way, it didn’t sound like Tiburon police investigations were very thorough back then.
I dreaded going to school. Not that it would be the same misery as getting Grandma Gibson to the car through the gauntlet of walkers at the old age home, but teenage boys could be pretty insensitive about anyone’s pain but their own. My mom once told me about her math teacher in high school whose son was a jet pilot that had died in a crash. The boys in her class would make paper airplanes with flames drawn on them and fly them at the poor lady when her back was turned. Mom said a couple times a year the woman would get so upset she’d have to leave the classroom, and all the guys would think it was hysterical. I didn’t expect to be treated with any more consideration. And Colette was only a distant relative, as far as anyone knew, so the inappropriate humor would probably flow pretty freely.
I was barely out of my car in the school parking lot before Don Updike felt the need to shout at me, “Hey, Aurora. How’s your mummy?” The guys he was walking with all cracked up.