by Carys Jones
Her knees buckled. The treadmill threw her off like she was an unwanted piece of trash and her back sharply connected with the tiled floor of the gym. ‘Argh,’ she gasped as the air was knocked out of her lungs.
‘I said not to push yourself,’ Shane was quickly helping her back onto her feet.
‘What choice do I have?’ she snapped as she stepped back onto the treadmill.
‘No, we’re done for today. You need to rest,’ Shane was moving his hand towards the machine’s digital display but Amanda swatted him away.
‘I can do this,’ she insisted breathlessly.
‘Amanda, you’re already exhausted.’
‘I need to keep running. Let me keep running.’
*
For the next six hours, Amanda ran, stopping only for toilet breaks and to devour energy bars and bottles of blue liquid which promised to replenish essential electrolytes. Shane looked on with a thunderous expression, but Amanda refused to stop. Her body had once been strong, she needed to remind it of the power it held in its bruised muscles.
As she ran she closed her eyes and imagined she was back in the woods near her home with leaves crunching underfoot as she hurried through the trees. A lacy patchwork of sunlight covered the floor and the leaves whispered as if sharing secrets. Amanda breathed in the sweetness of wild flowers, the damp undertones of a previous storm. This was her safe place. This was where she ran to cleanse her mind of all the cobwebs that got tangled up in her thoughts. When she ran she was free, even though her problems kept biting at her heels. If she just kept running they couldn’t keep up, they could only chase her. That’s how she knew that McAllister was telling her the truth about his morning jogging routine – it was the one chance he had to outrun his past, to try and briefly forget about his beloved daughters.
‘Okay, we’re done.’ Shane switched off the treadmill and Amanda crumpled against him, her legs numb. ‘I’m not sure what you were trying to prove today but—’
‘I can run,’ she rasped. Even though they were numb, she knew her legs had remembered how to sprint. ‘If he chases me, I can run.’
‘Great,’ Shane frowned at her, ‘but right now it looks like you can’t even walk.’
Amanda tried to stand up but failed. She fell against Shane, looking like a newborn deer struggling to get its balance.
‘Fine, here we go,’ Shane scooped her up in his arms, holding her against his chest.
‘You don’t need to carry me,’ Amanda said, indignant.
‘How else will you get back to our room? Were you going to crawl? Or maybe sausage roll along all the corridors?’
This made Amanda laugh. She had the bizarre image of her rolling lengthways along the corridors, slow and steady, round and round, just like she used to roll down the sand dunes at the beach with John and Shane. Only they liked to show off; as Amanda rolled, they did cartwheels and roly-polys. At least Shane did, John’s attempts never quite came off right.
‘You’re pretty heavy, you know that?’ Shane commented as he stepped sideways into the lift, taking care to bundle Amanda’s long legs inside before the doors neatly closed together.
‘Are you calling me fat?’ Amanda teased.
‘I’m not calling you fat,’ Shane panted and repositioned her in his arms, ‘just heavy. There’s a difference.’
‘Is there?’
Luckily the hotel was quiet as they headed back to their room. It was late on a Saturday afternoon and most of the guests were already attending weddings and functions in the large convention rooms on the lower floors.
‘Finally,’ Shane pushed open the door to their room and stepped inside. He kicked the door shut behind him and then froze, Amanda still in his arms.
‘You going to let me down anytime soon?’ she asked, squirming.
‘Huh?’ Shane blinked like she’d just broken some spell he’d been under. ‘Um, yeah.’ He lowered her to the ground and Amanda headed for the bed, her legs still feeling unreliable in managing her weight.
‘Urgh,’ she made a starfish across the bed, stretching out as much as she possibly could. Her muscles burned in a pleasant way, like she was stretching out a spring which had been boxed up for too long.
‘Did, um…’ Shane slowly moved deeper into the room, scratching at his head. ‘When you and Will got, um, married, did he carry you, you know, over the threshold?’
‘No.’ Amanda was staring up at the ceiling, at the faint cracks in the paint, enjoying the tingling sensation which was journeying through her body. It felt good to finally be resting. But it also felt good to have been running again. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed jogging through the woods.
‘No?’
She felt the bed sag as Shane sat down.
‘To carry me across the threshold would have been too… traditional. In some ways Will was a mega-traditional guy, but not others. And our wedding was small, modest. Why?’ She raised her head to look over at him.
‘I just wondered,’ Shane was staring at the blank screen of the television.
‘At the time,’ Amanda scrambled so that she was sitting up, ‘I figured he was just this low-key guy who didn’t want a fuss. Now I realise it was because it was all old news to him. He’d probably done the whole big wedding thing. I’m sure he carried Evangeline across the threshold of their little flat.’
‘Amanda, I—’
She reached for Shane’s arm, silencing his apology. ‘I’m joking. Will would never have wanted a big wedding no matter the context.’
‘Would you?’
‘Would I what?’
‘Want a big wedding?’
‘What do you think?’ Amanda scoffed and lay back down. The cracks in the ceiling were so faint, like relics from another time.
‘You always wanted to get married on the beach at dawn.’ Shane lay down next to her, his fingertips grazing against hers.
‘You remember?’ Amanda turned her head to face him.
‘Of course,’ he gave her a smile that was tinged with sadness. ‘You said that getting married at dawn felt more poignant than at sunset, since it was about the beginning of something, not the end.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Jayne wanted a big wedding.’ He rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling.
‘She did?’ Amanda kept watching him.
‘She wanted a huge dress, a big venue, a horse and carriage.’
‘A horse and carriage? Wow. She had it all figured out then.’
‘Only I didn’t.’
‘Want the horse and carriage?’ Amanda asked teasingly. ‘I can’t say I blame you. They aren’t the speediest mode of transportation. I see you as more of a classic car man.’
‘I didn’t want to marry her,’ Shane admitted softly. ‘Not at any single point in our relationship did I want to marry her.’
‘But you would marry someone? One day? Right?’ Amanda was tired. The soft duvet was relaxing her tight muscles, caressing them and luring her to cross over the precipice into sleep.
‘I would, yes,’ Shane confirmed. He sounded far away, like Amanda was perhaps dreaming his response. ‘One day I want to get married on a beach. At dawn.’
*
‘Dammit, John, I’m just going to die, aren’t I?’ Amanda was getting frustrated. She continued to shake her dice, knowing that when they hit the table her fate would be decided.
‘Firstly, stop calling me John,’ he glowered at her, ‘from eight until midnight on a Wednesday I’m Dungeon Master, we’ve been over this. Secondly, you don’t necessarily have to die, Morgana the Wise. Think about it.’
Amanda thought. She was in a darkened corridor, unarmed. The magic she possessed could create a ball of fire and some lightning, but they were useless against a vampire as powerful as Declamore.
‘He’s getting closer,’ John said menacingly. ‘He’ll soon be upon you. What do you do?’
‘Christ, John, you’ve not even given her a chance,’ Shane protested.
&nb
sp; ‘You can smell his putrid breath, you hear the hiss as he extends his fangs, about to pounce—’
‘I’ll roll a six!’ Amanda was so excited she jumped up in her chair.
‘And, if you roll a six?’ John was pointing at her, wearing a crooked smile of approval.
‘He can turn me!’
‘Yes,’ John clapped his hands in triumph.
‘What? No!’ Shane intervened. ‘She can’t let him turn her.’
‘Why not?’ John asked blankly.
‘Yeah,’ Amanda agreed. ‘Why not?’
‘Because then,’ Shane pulled at the frayed edges of his sleeves, ‘she will be a vampire.’ He couldn’t meet his friends’ gazes. He looked down at the table, at the dungeon they were currently playing through.
‘So?’ John and Amanda demanded in unison.
‘If she’s a vampire, Morgana and Tarquin can’t continue onto Talbaton together. Once the sleeping curse lifts they were supposed to venture there together, to engage in the battle for the Golden Isles. But it’s a land permanently bathed in sun. So Morgana won’t be able to go.’
‘True,’ John stroked his chin. ‘But to roll a six and get turned by Declamore is her only chance of survival.’
‘If she doesn’t roll a six?’ Shane demanded.
‘Then he’ll devour her in the darkness and there will be no one to help lift your sleeping curse.’
‘Dammit,’ Shane pounded his fist against the table.
‘I have to throw a six,’ Amanda was whispering to the dice she was still clutching, rolling them between her palms.
‘And become a vampire?’ Shane stared at her, looking hurt. ‘What about Talbaton?’
‘Shane,’ Amanda heard John grumble in disapproval so she quickly corrected herself, ‘I mean, Tarquin, if my only chance of surviving is to become a vampire then that’s what I’ll have to do. That way I can still lift your sleeping curse.’
‘But what about our future?’
‘That’s the thing,’ John swept a hand above the table, gesturing to their game, ‘our fate is indeterminable. We cannot predict what lurks around each corner, what dwells in the depths of the shadows. All we can do is roll the dice and hope for the best.’
‘Let him kill you, we can start over,’ Shane was looking at her, pleading with her. ‘The best bit about the game is exploring places together. If you become a vampire we won’t be able to do that.’
‘Roll a six and you’ll be immortal,’ John countered, ‘and powerful enough to take on deeper, more dangerous dungeons.’
‘This is ridiculous,’ Shane threw up his hands in frustration. ‘Just roll the damn dice already. It’s almost midnight and my mum will be pissed if I’m late home again.’
Amanda shook the dice one final time and then released them from her grasp with a flourish, letting them roll across the table. Whatever she did next was going to seal her fate one way or another.
24
The steam from the bathroom followed Amanda as she headed back towards the hotel bed. Her wounds throbbed against the towel which she kept tightly wrapped around herself, her damp hair dripping down her back.
‘Feel refreshed?’ Shane glanced away from the television to lock eyes with her. Beyond him the city sparkled beneath a blue sky.
Amanda rolled her neck, feeling the pinch in her left shoulder and dropped down onto the bed. ‘Everything aches,’ she grumbled.
‘Then you shouldn’t push yourself so much.’
‘Can you…’ Amanda tucked her hair back and raised her left shoulder towards him. The skin was dark, a maelstrom of black and blue. ‘It’s still bothering me. Could you take a look at it?’
‘Sure.’ Shane tentatively touched her bruised shoulder with his fingertips, gently applying pressure.
‘Argh,’ Amanda grimaced through clenched teeth.
‘This hurt?’ he applied more pressure.
‘Uh-huh.’
‘Can you roll it around for me? Just move it a little?’
Amanda moved her shoulder, feeling the sinewy resistance of her battered skin.
‘The joint seems fine,’ Shane concluded, ‘but it is badly bruised. There might even be a fracture somewhere.’
‘Going to hospital still isn’t an option, not yet.’
‘I know.’
‘So?’
‘More pain meds. Less overexertion.’
Amanda rolled her eyes and pressed her hand against her side. Her ribs continued to ache. They felt like tree branches which had been worn down to their delicate inner core, with no sturdy bark to protect them. Each breath, each sneeze, each bubble of laughter came with a flash of brilliant, bright pain.
‘How are you holding up?’ Shane was watching her, his brow furrowed.
‘I’m still in one piece.’ She winced. ‘Just about.’
‘Want me to check you over?’ His fingertips were still resting on her shoulder.
In the bathroom Amanda had pivoted and turned in front of the misted mirror as much as she could but her assessment of any lingering damage was limited.
‘Okay,’ she gently withdrew from Shane and rolled onto her front. ‘Could you check my back? I can’t see it in the mirror.’
‘Sure.’
The weight on the bed shifted as Shane sat beside her.
‘How does it look?’
‘Um.’
‘What?’
‘The towel. I can’t see through it.’
‘Ah.’ Amanda sheepishly wriggled out of the towel and let it drop to the ground. She held her breath, suddenly feeling exposed. ‘Um… Shane?’ she whispered after the seconds drew out between them.
‘Yeah, uh,’ he coughed several times. ‘There’s…’ He traced his finger down her spine and Amanda closed her eyes. His touch sent delicious shivers racing through her body which silenced the sirens of pain that were continually screaming out. ‘Some bruising here,’ he drew out a map of her afflictions with his fingertips, ‘and some redness here. But everything looks to be healing. All of the swelling has gone down, the cuts are closing up nicely.’
‘So I look okay?’
His hand lingered at the base of her spine. ‘Uh-huh. Absolutely,’ he replied quickly with a bit too much enthusiasm.
‘Great,’ Amanda slowly started to roll onto her back. ‘Because I was wondering if you’d check my front too? Just in case there’s something wrong that I’ve failed to pick up.’ Her heart was frantically pounding against her sore ribs but she didn’t care. This was the most alive she’d felt since the morning Will had left her. Even her battered body couldn’t cage what was swirling around within her.
Shane didn’t meet her gaze. His head was bent, focusing on his hands which were now resting in his lap.
‘How are the bruises?’ her voice was breathless, verging on seductive.
‘Amanda…’ Shane clenched his hands into fists, as if he was fighting against something she couldn’t see.
‘My ribs still ache and there’s a constant pain in my side.’
With a strained groan he let his fingertips glide down the canyon between her breasts. ‘There’s bruising,’ he whispered, stroking her side. The sensation was both awful and amazing. Amanda tensed against the sheets, grabbing handfuls of the crisp white fabric. ‘By the looks of it you probably bruised some of your ribs.’ Shane drew closer as if he was coming in for a better look. He smelt of sweat and fresh coffee. Letting her eyes flutter closed, Amanda drank him in. ‘And then,’ he gently touched her outer thigh, ‘there are some lacerations, but they are healing well. I’d say the main problem is your shoulder. But it will get better, it just needs time.’
Amanda opened her eyes. Shane’s face was inches from her own, his breath warm against her cheeks.
‘How are you feeling?’ he asked as his eyes searched the depths of her own.
‘Better,’ she curled her body towards his. ‘You always make me feel so much better.’
‘Amanda…’ he closed his eyes, his voice raw with lo
nging.
‘Hold me,’ Amanda laced her hand around the back of his neck, ‘bring me back to life.’
His lips were on hers instantly. He kissed her softly, tentatively. But as she melted into his embrace the kiss deepened. Amanda allowed herself to let go. She felt like she was floating as the burden of Will fell away from her. The bed became a cloud and Amanda gasped in delight. She was free.
Shane remembered just how to hold her, to touch her. Every movement was infused with fiery passion yet there was a tenderness in their connection. A tenderness which only time could breed.
‘Amanda,’ he murmured her name into her damp hair. ‘Amanda, I’ve missed you so much.’
She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath, her toes curling. ‘Yes,’ she gasped, ‘I’ve missed you too.’
*
There was still sunlight outside when Amanda got off the bed, unfurling her long legs. The golden hues of late afternoon glistened off distant windows. Amanda looked out on the city. She was dressed in one of Shane’s T-shirts, her hair an uneven tumble down her back from where it had dried while she slept.
After they’d reconnected Shane had slipped out. Amanda had been sleeping, curled up and content beneath the duvet when she vaguely heard the door click open and then close. She’d drifted away on another cloud, but now she was fully awake and the room felt empty and cold. She shivered beneath the T-shirt and hugged her arms against her chest.
The city was alive beneath her. Cars slowly meandered up the street, outpaced by the people who briskly walked beside them, unencumbered by traffic lights and congestion. Amanda pressed a hand against the glass and kept watching. The white van was still stoically beside the curb, its constant presence mocking her. She’d run its number plate through several searches online and come up with nothing.
It was easy to observe up in her ivory tower, to imagine where people were going, to add whimsical details to their lives. Amanda liked to think that every event which had led these people into the city had been a joyous one. But maybe someone was running up the street frantically searching for a lost loved one. Maybe someone else was still reeling from the sting of betrayal, just as she had done.