“I brought her especially for you,” Branek said. “You did let her get away.”
“I wanted to chase her. But thank you anyway for bringing her.”
Tristan moved out of the doorway and slunk toward her. Branek stepped away, ceding his prey. The cold man just watched without a word. Tristan’s eyes bore into her without a flicker, and she shuddered to think of the horrible things he’d do to her.
Dawn was beginning to feel the most desolate, hopeless kind of fear. Her instinct was to scream and bolt for the front door, but she knew she wouldn’t make it. It wouldn’t help her. Acting out would only get her hurt. She struggled to remain outwardly quiet and passive, and lowered her eyes so they wouldn’t know the depths of the fear and rage burning in them.
Kill you now. That was what Tristan had said. And that she wouldn’t like if he took her with him.
When he reached her, Tristan took her hand in his, large and cold, and suddenly she wished she had tried to run. He pulled her to the doorway where he’d been lounging. She tugged her hand back just enough to show resistance, but her legs moved automatically to follow him. She looked over her shoulder. Branek and the cold man had disappeared.
“I don’t want to go with you,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “I want to go home.”
He didn’t even glance back at her. “You’re not going anywhere.”
The doorway led to two other doors, presumably bedrooms. Tristan went into the one on the left, a room with startlingly bright, acid-green walls. He stopped just inside and let Dawn walk in front of him. Then he closed the door, locking it with a key.
Trying to prepare herself for something terrible, Dawn folded her arms over her chest and backed against the wall. Tristan didn’t even look at her. He crossed the room with long strides and crouched in front of a low, wide bookshelf. One shelf was lined entirely with records. He flipped through them, selected one, and put it in a player sitting on the next shelf up. Then he sat down in a retro teal armchair, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.
Music Dawn had never heard before filled the room. It was obviously old, maybe some kind of early punk, wild and rough. Even if she’d cared, she couldn’t concentrate enough to really listen. She was confused. What do you want? What are you going to do to me? These were questions she wanted to ask, but didn’t. They would only draw attention to her, and she didn’t really want to know the answers.
Keeping a wary eye on Tristan, she inched toward the door and stretched out a hand toward the knob. It was locked. She’d known it was, of course. She’d seen him do it. The key was in the pocket of his black jeans.
She moved back to her spot by the wall. When she glanced up, she saw Tristan’s eyes were open and he was looking at her. She stiffened. Now he was going to hurt her, just like his friend Jared hurt Leila. It was crazy to think a bunch of sick fucks shared this house together, doing weird things in the various rooms … That was what Dawn pictured, anyway, without allowing her thoughts to become too specific. In actuality, she had no idea what was happening.
He stood up and walked in her direction. She skittered to the side, afraid to look, afraid to see what was coming. But then she heard the door unlocking, opening, closing. It locked again from the outside. She tried the knob anyway and wasn’t surprised when it didn’t turn.
Alone in the room, where the music still played, Dawn felt free to freak the hell out. She grabbed handfuls of her hair, sank into a crouch, and allowed herself to cry into her knees for a few minutes, confident the music would hide the sound of her sobs. Then she took a few deep breaths to compose herself.
She’d been too busy watching Tristan to take much notice of the room before. It had two windows, but they were both sealed shut with viscous black paint. She rose to her feet, wiping the back of one hand across her nose. There was a long, low bed right beside her, taking up most of the room. On her side of it was a black nightstand with a simple metal lamp that lit the room with a soft golden glow. The drawers were empty.
Glancing toward the door, she moved to the other side of the bed. She stopped in front of the bookshelf. Besides the records in their tattered sleeves and the record player, the shelves held a fat red candle, never burned, and a tattered teddy bear, which was weird. There was only one book, an encyclopedia of music history. She flipped through the records but didn’t recognize any of the bands.
Dawn opened a narrow door behind the teal chair and found a closet. Shoved inside was an old wooden dresser with t-shirts hanging out of the drawers and jeans tossed on top of it. Stylized skulls, anarchist symbols, and various swear words were carved into the wood—Tristan must have had the dresser since he was a teenager. Either that or he was much more disturbed than she’d imagined.
Next to the closet was the door to a tiny bathroom tiled in black and white. It was as ordinary as any bathroom, and looked barely used. She went in and quickly did her business, not wanting Tristan to come back and find her in there. On a whim, she took a quick look in the toilet tank. No drugs or anything else stashed in there.
The music screeched to a sudden halt as she opened the bathroom door. She looked out warily and saw Tristan standing by the shelves.
“There’s food,” he said without glancing at her.
Her eyes dropped to the edge of the bed, where he’d set an apple and string cheese. She realized how hungry she was and emerged slowly from the bathroom, keeping him in her line of vision. She had to pass him if she wanted to get to the food, but she edged as far away from him as possible. He didn’t try to grab her. She snatched up the food and retreated back to the other side of the bed.
“I won’t hurt you,” he said in a bored tone. He added, almost as an afterthought, “Unless you want me to.”
Dawn’s face flushed and she pressed back against the wall. She clutched the food to her chest. “Where’s my friend?” she asked. “Where’s Leila?”
“With Jared.”
“What is this? Why are you—” She broke off when she began to hyperventilate slightly. The apple fell from her hand and she bent clumsily to pick it up. It rolled under the bed and she left it there. She didn’t get up from the soft gray carpet.
He looked at her dispassionately. His irises were dark around the edges with a golden center. They looked like a pair of black star sapphires, Dawn thought.
“We like toys,” he said. He looked at her thoughtfully. “You should sleep.”
“Who are you people?”
“We aren’t anyone.” His voice was hollow and he fell silent for a moment, gazing down at the floor. When he spoke again his words were sharp and they sliced the air with menace. “Don’t run. Don’t scream. If you anger me, I’ll make you sorry in ways you never dreamed were possible. Do exactly what I say and you’ll be fine. Probably.”
Dawn stared at him, her pulse thumping painfully. Except I’ll still be here, in this room, with you. Afraid for my life and for Leila’s.
“I thought you said you wouldn’t hurt me.”
“Sometimes I lie.”
Tristan left the room again. She managed to eat the apple and the cheese, though they were tasteless to her. There was no trashcan, so she set the cheese wrapper up on the nightstand. It gave her perverse satisfaction to toss the apple core across the room.
Still sitting on the floor, she closed a hand around her pendant. Howlite was good for insight into memories, absorbing anger, and relieving insomnia. None of those things would help her now, not that she ever put much faith in crystals. They were fun for her anyway. She was willing to be persuaded.
Her eyes fell longingly on the bed. What time was it? She was tired. The striped gray comforter and plain white sheets looked so inviting. But it was Tristan’s bed and she didn’t think it would be the best idea to sleep in it. She didn’t want to take the chance he’d get in there with her.
So she lay down on the floor, making herself more or less comfortable. The carpet was thick, at least, but it was no bed. She was really tired, thoug
h, and had no trouble falling asleep. Must have been the howlite, she thought.
In her dreams she’d gone to an art exhibition with Leila. Black and white series with unsettling subject matter. A faceless woman with leaf-like wings standing on a cliff. Glowing white horses with rolling eyes and huge teeth bared in grimaces. Ordinary objects, like coat racks, that turned into frightening shadow people to whisk away unsuspecting children. They were the kind of photographs Leila would love. Maybe she’d even taken them, but she’d disappeared, so Dawn couldn’t ask. Dawn moved from one to another and kept glancing over her shoulder. The gallery was crowded with people and someone was chasing her.
She awoke to the distant sound of screaming. She’d been hearing it in her dreams for a long time already. The room was black now, only the vaguest outline of furniture visible to her eyes. The house was quiet except for the screaming.
She didn’t want to hear it, she didn’t want to listen, but she sat up anyway, straining her ears toward the door. The screams belonged to a woman. Maybe it was Leila. Dawn chewed on her nails, growing increasingly distressed. She’d never heard screams like that before, full of horror and desperation. Someone was doing something terrible to someone else.
Without realizing it, she’d begun to cry. Tears fell down her cheeks and onto the hand pressed to her mouth. She was making some sort of sound in the back of her throat, something between a moan and a wail. In the black of night, listening to such tortured screams, the horror of the situation was more inescapable than ever. Soon, the screams heard in the night would be her own.
One of the shadows in the room moved. Dawn started, her moan transforming to an abbreviated scream. Tristan stood there, watching her. Scooting back into the corner, she pressed her hands over her ears. She squeezed them tight and whispered nonsense to herself until all she heard was a dull roar. Every second she expected to feel Tristan’s touch, but it never came. When she looked again, his shadowed form was gone and she couldn’t locate him in the room.
Eventually the screaming stopped and Dawn was still curled in the corner, exhausted but unable to sleep. Her eyes were swollen from crying. The hours passed and the room remained dark until at some point the bedside lamp clicked on.
Tristan sat in the teal chair, a long skeleton dressed in black. His skin looked starkly white. He was awake. Maybe he hadn’t even slept. He might have been in that very spot for hours. There was something new in his eyes, some interest, some purpose. Whatever it was, it frightened her.
“Come with me,” he said. “Don’t say a word.”
Oh, fuck, Dawn thought. Here it comes.
He walked over to the door and held out a hand, waiting for her. She looked at him suspiciously and didn’t move.
“Come with me now, or I’ll drag you out of here by your hair,” he said calmly. “You have a lot of it. It would be easy to do.”
She didn’t want to find out if he was bluffing, so she braced herself against the wall and stood. Her body was stiff from having crouched on the floor all night and she hobbled over to him. Instead of taking her hand, he grabbed her arm and steered her ahead of him like she was his prisoner. Which she was.
Nothing in the house had changed. It was quiet and cold. Her cramped knees loosened as they walked past the long purple curtains on the far edge of the foyer.
The family room was sunken and had the look of a seedy nightclub lounge. Midnight-emerald paper made the walls recede into shadow. Chairs and loveseats the color of eggplants were arranged facing each other around a low onyx coffee table. The carpet was deep crimson, thick and luxurious. A white brick fireplace with a wide chimney took up a good portion of one wall.
There were several figures seated in the room. A black girl with electric blue hair was sitting on the lap of a red-haired guy, enthusiastically kissing his neck in front of everyone. Leila sat crushed up next to Jared, her olive skin ashen, her eyes haunted. Dawn wanted to run to her, to demand if she was all right, and maybe even punch Jared in the face, but all she did was make a small sound in her throat. Leila didn’t react. Jared curled one hand around Leila’s bare shoulder and glanced at Dawn, daring her to say something.
Branek, the man who’d kidnapped her, was there too. A blonde girl sat with him, bony and bored. He looked up to shoot Dawn a grin and she took an awkward step back, bumping into Tristan. He remained silent, but Branek laughed. Everyone’s faces looked skullish in the dim overhead light.
Tristan kept hold of Dawn as he directed the two of them to a loveseat. She sat down with him, feeling deeply afraid. The atmosphere in the room was tense and uneasy, yet also strangely languid. Who were these people, and what did they want? What did they do? Had it been Leila screaming last night, or the blonde girl with Branek? Or maybe some other girl who’d never again see the light of day.
Dawn was keenly aware of how the length of Tristan’s body pressed up against hers in the narrow loveseat. She sneaked a look at him. In the murky lighting he seemed especially mysterious and chisel-featured. His eyes skimmed slowly down her, dark lashes casting crescent shadows on his cheeks. They were the only ones not getting heavily physical. The blue-haired girl was sucking even more ardently on the boy’s neck. Jared curved over Leila, who lay still. Branek pushed the blonde girl’s face into his lap and settled back to enjoy her attentions.
Waiting for Tristan to touch her, for him to take advantage of her in some way, Dawn began to feel hot and ill. Maybe she would faint again, and then she wouldn’t have to know what he did to her. But that might have been worse than knowing.
He never lifted a hand, though, except to hold her there so she wouldn’t run. She knew he could feel her trembling. Maybe he liked that. Liked to feel her fear. What was this place? An illegal brothel? Part of some kind of sex trafficking organization? Her imagination ran wild with sick, if unspecific, scenarios.
She’d averted her eyes from the openly sexual interactions of the others, but now she glanced up again, hesitantly. The room was oddly still. The red-haired boy lay sprawled beneath the girl with blue hair, and she licked her lips happily. He didn’t move. The blonde girl was crumpled at Branek’s feet, also not moving. Leila—Dawn sat forward anxiously—Leila was still beside Jared, her eyes closed, her lips parted. For a moment Dawn thought she was dead, but her chest rose and fell ever so slightly. Dawn sat back, filled with confusion and relief and fear. Because even though Leila lived, the blonde girl and the red-haired boy were dead. That was clear from the way they were dismissed, nudged carelessly aside, looked over like they were never in the room in the first place.
It was clear, also, that something in the air had changed. Dawn couldn’t pinpoint it, except she felt a new, uncomfortable awareness. Stiff-shouldered and cautious, she let her gaze dart around the room. Branek, Jared, and the blue-haired girl all looked attractive and cruel-eyed, lambent in their satiety. They seemed not quite … human.
Dawn bit fiercely down on the insides of both cheeks to keep from screaming. She shot a quick glance at Tristan. He only tightened his hand on her arm and looked straight ahead.
“Nobody can find Fallon,” Branek said, his voice low and soft in the dark room. “Loftus is pissed.”
“Isn’t he always?” Tristan sounded bored.
“Well, yes. But he wants you to go get him.”
Tristan made a small sound of annoyance. “He wants me to go on a fucking road trip.”
“Yes, Tristan, I do.”
Everyone turned to the cold voice speaking from the entrance. It was the silver-haired man, Loftus. He walked into the room, fixing each of them with an icy stare. If he noticed the dead people, he didn’t mention it.
“It’s the least you can do,” he said. “If you have no other engagements, that is.”
“Actually—”
“You can bring your toy,” Loftus interrupted, gesturing vaguely at Dawn. “Or leave her with us, if you like.”
Tristan looked over at her, dispassionate, considering his options. “I’ll bring her,
” he said, but his tone sounded like he wouldn’t care one way or another.
“You can always leave her in a roadside ditch if you get tired of her,” Branek suggested.
“We’ll see. Where am I going?”
Loftus shrugged, unconcerned. “You were always closest to Fallon out of everyone. I thought you’d simply figure out where he’s gone.”
“Great,” Tristan deadpanned, obviously not pleased about the situation. “I’ll leave now.”
“Excellent.”
He stood up to leave the room, taking Dawn with him. She was glad he didn’t mean to leave her at the mercy of those crazy people, but she was tired of him dragging her around. She didn’t exactly enjoy being a prisoner. Besides that, now Leila would be alone, screaming in the night with no one to hear her. That was the worst thing of all.
I’ll figure this out, Dawn promised herself. I’ll escape and get the police and they’ll arrest all these fuckers.
Outside, the morning sun blazed. Tristan whipped out a pair of black sunglasses and inhaled a shaky breath. He was so very pale.
“Take me home,” Dawn begged as he opened the door of a white Nova riddled with dents and rust stains for her.
“No.”
“But I can’t just go on a road trip with you. I have a job.”
“That’s too bad. If you please me, I might let you come back alive.”
“Please you,” she said. “You mean …” Sexually, she finished silently. She didn’t want to say it aloud.
“However you wish,” he said vaguely.
Dawn didn’t want to think about it. “At least let me get supplies.” Maybe she could buy some time and think up a plan for escape.
“Supplies,” he echoed, skeptical.
“Yeah, like a toothbrush and stuff. And clothes.”
“I’m not taking you shopping.”
“We can just go to my apartment,” she rushed to say. “I can get everything I need there.”
He jerked his hand to indicate she should get in the car. “Fine. I don’t care. But it needs to be quick.”
Dreams for the Dead Page 3