by Lund, S. E.
Julien's working late at the Cove and I’m alone for supper. After I finish my meal, and put the rest away for Julien, I go down to the beach and take a walk along the shore as the sun begins to set. When I round a bend in the beach, I come across Michel, sitting on the sand alone, his feet bare, his shoes on the beach a bit higher away from the surf.
I stop up sharply and gasp. He turns to me, and when I see his face, I can't help but feel my heart squeeze just a bit. His hair is a mess, blowing around in the wind, his skin so pale in the last rays of sunlight.
"Michel," I say when he turns back to the ocean. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought you might go for a walk. I was hoping to speak with you."
"I don't want to talk to you."
He exhales heavily and he rises, wiping sand off his jeans. He comes over to me and just stands there, looking down at me, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He looks so sad. Almost fearful.
"I want to say how sorry I am for what happened at Soren's."
I say nothing, not wanting to admit anything to him.
"I know what Soren's done to Julien," he adds. "He'll try to torment you until you comply, Eve."
"What do you mean, comply?"
"Come with me. Be my Adept."
I turn away, my cheeks heating under his intense gaze. "You have a new Adept."
"She's not for me, Eve. She's Soren's. I don't want her."
"You sure looked like you did."
"I didn't. Not really. She was just to make you jealous."
"I'm not," I say, but of course, I'm lying. "I was just disgusted with Soren for what he did…"
He takes hold of my shoulders and turns me to face him. Then he cups my cheek with his hand, touching me to make me relax. When I do, he connects with me and I feel him enter my mind, the sensation so familiar I almost welcome it after this dry-spell with Julien.
"Eve," he says, his voice soft. "I know. I know how you feel without even having to touch you. Don't lie to me. Don't lie to yourself."
I stare into his eyes, which are so huge right now, his beautiful face filled with pain. I don’t say anything to deny what he's said or to confirm it, for he's already read me. He knows how I felt, how I feel.
"I hate you both," I say, squeezing my nails into my palms to stop the tears, which threaten to well up in my eyes. Like Julien said so long ago, pain and anger are preferable.
"No," he says and shakes his head. "You don't. You love us both. You can't choose."
"I did choose."
He smiles softly. "In that moment, yes. But now?" He brushes hair from my cheek. "You'd go with me if I pressed a bit."
"You're wrong."
He shakes his head slowly. "No, you would go, but I won't ask. You'll go with me when the time comes. That's all that matters."
He bends down and kisses me, and despite everything, or because of it, my body is so ready, aching for his or Julien's touch. I can't help but respond to the feel of his arms around me, his body pressed against mine, his mouth on mine. I keep my eyes open while his eyes close as we kiss, because I have to remember who he is.
He looks and feels and smells and tastes so much like Julien.
And he's right. The way I feel when he kisses and embraces me… Just like in the Abbey, I could so easily just go with him wherever he took me. I could fuck him right now in the sand with the fading rays of sun on us as it sets on the horizon.
He pulls away and presses his forehead against mine, his eyes closed.
"My sweet girl," he says, his voice filled with emotion. "I will imagine you Venus tonight and pray, pray, pray to your star like a Heathen."
I recognize the quote. Keats – a letter to his Fanny Brawne written before he died. My throat chokes that he knows my deepest heart of hearts and can quote my favorite line from Keats's letter.
Then he turns away, goes to his shoes, and he walks down the beach, away from me.
Part of me wants to run to him, to go with him, but I can't.
I can't.
Julien would never stand it.
Julien arrives home around eleven and when he comes to me where I'm sitting on the couch, he just looks at me, as if waiting.
"What?" I say, frowning at his dark expression.
"How did your evening go?" he says, his voice soft, his eyes hooded.
"Fine. I had supper and then went for a walk on the beach. I came back and have been reading. The meteor shower's later tonight. I'd like to watch."
He sighs and then he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small book. He looks at it, and then drops it on the couch beside me.
"I'm going out. I don’t know when I'll be back."
Then he turns on his heel and leaves, the door slamming behind him.
I pick up the thin book. It's a hardcover volume of Keats' letters to Fanny Brawne, old, with a dark blue cover. I pull off the pale blue ribbon that has been hastily re-tied around it. Julien's opened it and has looked inside. I open it and see it was published in 1878. Inside is a letter from Michel.
Eve,
Forgive my visit earlier, and for my kiss, but I had to see you to apologize for what happened the other night. Know that I never wanted to be with Gabrielle, but I must comply with Soren. I realize it hurt you deeply. You must know that I would never hurt you intentionally.
Come to me when the time is right. I know from touching you that it’s what you truly desire but you're afraid of hurting Julien.
I love you. Only you.
Michel
I go to the door and watch Julien as he gets into his car. I run to his door and put my hands on the handle, trying to open it. He starts to drive away and so I bang on the window. Finally, he stops and rolls the window down.
"What?"
"Don't be mad at me. I didn’t ask him to come."
"You kissed him."
"He kissed me," I say, frustration filling me. "There's a difference. I refused him. I told him I chose you."
He shakes his head. "I can't even touch you to know if you're telling me the truth."
"I am," I say. "You'll have to trust me. He kissed me, Julien. I didn't kiss him."
"But you still want him."
"I chose you."
"I'm going to the bar for a drink. I don't know when I'll be back."
"Julien!" I say, but he drives off, leaving me standing in the darkness.
Around midnight, I take a blanket and walk to the hill overlooking the beach and watch meteors fall. As they blaze across the sky, I feel incredibly lonely lying here by myself, thinking that by all rights, Julien should be here with me to watch the meteor shower. That thought just upsets me more and so I indulge in misery, wondering where Julien is and why he’s forsaken me.
When a few drops of rain fall on my upturned face, sending a shiver through me from the chill, I think it's strange. Other than a few high clouds streaking the heavens, the sky's clear, the storm system having moved off into the distance over an hour earlier. The Draconids are pretty unspectacular due to the moon, so when Julien drives up after two o'clock in the morning, I fold up my blanket and go inside to meet him.
"Eve!" he said when he sees me, pointing at my face. "What happened?"
I frown and go to a mirror in the entry to examine my reflection. Crimson dots cover my face and hands like so many drops of blood.
"It rained."
"That's not rain," he says. I lick a finger then wipe one of the dots off my cheek. It smears on my fingers and I hold it up closer.
"What the hell is it?" he says, alarm in his voice.
I shrug. "I have no idea. I was out watching the meteor shower. It rained but the sky was clear. The storms passed hours ago."
I go to the bathroom and wet a washcloth and wipe the red dots off my face and hands but there are stains in my hair as well. I get in the shower and stand in the hot spray. After I dry off, I put my pajamas on and go to the office, where Julien stands in front of one of the computer monitors, speaking on the
secure phone.
"What was the extent?” he says, his voice hushed. “How far did it reach up the coast?"
I sit on a chair and listen as he speaks to Vasquez.
"OK," he says, running his hand through his hair. "I'll keep an eye out. Call if anything develops."
He hangs up and stands for a moment in silence, contemplating the screens in front of him. On them are maps of the world and of the United States. Sections have been marked off in red, covering the whole Eastern Seaboard of the US from the Carolinas to Maine and beyond into Canada.
"What's happening?"
He shrugs. "Some kind of strange weather phenomenon. It’s probably algal spores."
"I've read about that before," I say. “There was a scare a few years back. People thought it was extraterrestrial.”
"It's from algal blooms." He clicks on a link in the web browser. "Gets sucked up into the high atmosphere and then falls when the weather conditions are right. It's just weird. So far, the experts think it's from a massive red bloom due to warm waters off the coast. Don't eat oysters for a while, I guess."
We read reports from the CIA and Homeland security for a while, side by side at the two computer desks. Finally, I yawn and turn to him.
"How are you feeling?" I say, wanting so badly to touch him, for us to fuck. "Better?"
He doesn't say anything for a moment but then he shrugs.
"Nothing a little tequila won't fix."
"Are you coming to bed?"
He shakes his head.
"You go. I'm going to monitor things for a while."
"Julien!" I say. "Come to bed with me. Even if we can't touch, we can watch each other."
"Not tonight," he says without looking at me.
I want to argue but it's pointless. Instead, I exhale and go to bed, but I leave the door open. I can see him sitting at the desk alone, the light from the screen illuminating his face.
The next morning over coffee, we listen as the news channels report on the fall of red rain. At first, there are suggestions that the rain was part of the meteor shower, but that was just fanatics and conspiracy theorists talking.
Later in the day, scientists report that the substance was a lichen-forming alga belonging to the genus Trentepholia. The spores were likely picked up in a storm, mixed with the rain high in the atmosphere, and then dropped on the East coast of the US. The fact that it took place during the meteor shower was pure coincidence.
Since there is no cause for alarm, people go about their business, washing off the red drops from their cars, their houses and the streets and only the crackpots raise alarm, calling it the start of the end of the world. I think nothing more of it, except to bring in a sample to my marine biology class where other students and I examine the spores under a microscope. They look like red blood cells, except they have a nucleus and visible organelles.
Everyone's interested in the strange phenomenon for a few days, but by the end of the week, people’s thoughts turn to a plane crash off the coast of France that killed over a hundred passengers and crew. Soon, the red rain is forgotten, my samples placed in a box and shoved to the back of a cabinet in the laboratory.
That week, I pretty much carry on as a normal college student again. I try to forget what I saw that day in the park, but ask I Sarah about Dylan when I see her in class on Tuesday.
"How's Dylan?"
She follows me down the hall to our class.
“He didn't go to Cambridge. He's still in town.”
“How come?” I say and frown.
“I don't know. After the red rain fell, he was strange, like it spooked him.” She rolls her eyes. “I don’t know what’s up with him lately,” she says. “He’s been so mysterious.”
I shake my head. "I never had a brother. You have two."
“I know – I'm so lucky.” Sarah smiles.
The investigation into the identity of our killer continues, but at a slow pace. Julien orders a full background check on our mysterious Mr. Colville Black and it seems he's spent some time in prison and was hoping to start a new life in Davis Cove. He isn't an Adept or a member of Blackstone after all, for when Julien meets him at a service station by accident, he scopes the man out and there was nothing when he made sure to touch the man. Just an ex-con trying to start a new life somewhere where his ghosts couldn't follow him.
A dead end.
I find it really hard to go through the motions. All week, I drag myself from class to class, confused about Julien, who's remained aloof, not wanting to be with me, sleeping on the couch still. I'm uncertain about what to say to him about Dylan – if anything. I know I should tell him what I saw in the park, but something makes me hold my tongue. Part of it is that I don't want him to be jealous. I followed Dylan into the park. I've kept it from him for this long, and I know he’ll be mad about that. Part of it is that it shows a lack of judgment on my part that I don't want to admit.
I should have reported everything to Julien immediately. I want to understand myself before I raise the alarm with Julien.
I start having lunch with Sarah and crew at school, and that's nice. I get no more strange looks from Brenda, so I finally let that rest – maybe I was just too paranoid to recognize ordinary behavior.
On Wednesday, Julien's home waiting for me after classes are over. I walk in and put my backpack down, removing my books so I can start homework. He's sitting at the island that separates the family room from the kitchen, several files opened in front of him, a glass of blood in his hand.
“Hey,” he says, glancing up from his papers. “Come here, look at this.”
I go to his side and look over his shoulder, careful to keep my distance. “What is it?”
“List of all patients at the hospital the night that Bobby Wilson died. That boy with terminal cancer in palliative care?”
I remember it from our first week. It's one of the cases that convinced us we had a vampire in town.
“Oh, yeah. I remember him. Parents left him alone that night for the first time and went home. When the nurses checked in the morning, he was dead.”
Julien nods. “Guess who was in the hospital at the same time?”
I sit on the stool beside him. “I have no idea.”
“Your little friend in the wheelchair. Sarah Rhys.”
“What?” I reach for the file. In it is a sheet of paper with a list of names of all patients in the hospital on the night Bobby died. There it is, about six down from the top. Sarah Rhys.
I read the nursing report. Sarah and her family were new to Davis Cove at the time. She’d been sick with a respiratory infection and had been in the ICU. When the death happened, she was on a medical ward after improving. She was discharged a day after Bobby died.
“It’s probably just a coincidence,” I say. “She’s not a vampire, Julien. She’s on a respirator. She can’t walk or even stand up.”
“Yeah, but here’s the thing. When our older woman died in palliative care at the nursing home? Guess who was staying there in a respite bed while her parents went to New York City for some family event? None other than little Sarah Rhys.”
I grab the sheet of paper he holds up and read over the patient roster for the night the woman, Ginette Longman, died. Sure enough, there's Sarah's name. Nursing records indicate she’d been admitted on the Friday night into a respite bed so her parents could go to visit their older son at the seminary outside of New York City.
“Oh, my God,” I say, shaking my head. “Once might be a coincidence, but twice? There’s no way it’s an accident. But how?” I say, frowning. “How could she move into someone else’s room and share blood? She’s a quadriplegic.”
“Maybe she had help. You said her friend touched you and said she got a shock, right?” Julien says. “I wonder if there’s some kind of new Adept. Maybe there are several here, and we’re just looking for the wrong things.”
Now is when I should have come clean about Dylan. I don't.
“Why would Sarah be b
lood sharing? She's not a vampire. It's not like she can be a hunter.”
Julien says nothing, just continues to flip through his file. "What about the brother?"
"He isn't a vampire. His skin is normal tint. He can go out in the sun."
Julien shrugs. "Maybe they've found a way to make vampires look more flesh colored."
Now, I have to wonder if both he and Sarah aren’t some new kind of Adept, as Julien suggested. One who can use some kind of telekinesis to move objects from a distance.
“I'll talk to Vasquez," Julien says. "I'll have to start getting all touchy-feely with folks. All we have is telepathy and good old-fashioned investigatory work to find whoever's doing this.”
“What do we do about Sarah Rhys? She’s become a friend,” I say.
“Her brother as well.” Julien eyes me.
An awkward silence passes between us. I press my fingernails into my palm, because I don't know what to say. "He has a girlfriend in Cambridge. I have you. Don't be jealous."
“I’m sorry,” he says. “You have to realize this is driving me crazy. I can't touch you, I can't connect with you. Just knowing that Michel came to you, kissed you, is so hard."
"I miss you."
I sit quiet for a moment and let that set in. Finally, I leave the kitchen, and go to our room. After I shut the door, I stand at the window and stare out at the ocean. Night falls very fast and soon, the ocean is lit up by the full moon.
The door to our bedroom creaks open.
“I didn’t mean to make you so upset,” Julien says, as he stands behind me. “I’ve been so jealous of Michel.”
I turn to him. “Just be with me tonight,” I say, my voice breaking. "Don't make me sleep alone again."
“Oh cheri,” he says and steps closer. "I’ve left you alone too much.” This time, he reaches out and runs his hand down over my body, about a foot away, his hand moving to mime my curves, to cup a breast, and over my hip. "I want you so much."
“I want you so much,” I say.
He shakes his head. “I've been a fool. I’m sorry,” he says. “I should have been more attentive.”