by Martha Woods
“We both want Amy safe,” Damon says.
“Yes,” Vincent replies.
“Then perhaps we can work an alliance. If it’s okay with Amy, we can lure Elric out. Do you think you’re strong enough to kill a werewolf?” Damon says.
“There are hunters among the vampires as well. I’m more than capable of killing Elric.”
It makes me wonder just who Vincent was before he became a vampire. Looking at him now, he looks comfortable, but not completely at ease with himself. As if that ego of his and the way he talks down to me and Damon is just a ploy. I want to give him a hug, but I can’t explain where that emotion is coming from. I try to shake it. What’s wrong with me? I’m not exactly the nurturing type. But still, I want to go to him, comfort him. Instead, I go back to sipping my tea.
“So. I’m bait, huh? How are you planning to make that work?”
“Allow you to do your job as a forensic investigator and follow you,” Vincent says.
“Can’t do that. I’m on leave until the murders stop,” I mutter. Damn Rick and his overprotective fatherly instincts. What would he say or do if he found out I’d agreed to lure the murderer out?
“I’m protecting you for now,” Vincent says through gritted teeth. “I’m not sure how long I can continue doing it.”
“I’ll keep her safe,” Damon says.
“How about I keep myself safe?”
“Then let me turn you,” Vincent offers again.
“If you bring that up again, I am seriously kicking you out of my home. No, we just wait until he comes here,” I say. “It’s that easy, right? We can pop some popcorn and watch a movie.” I can’t believe what I’m saying. An hour ago I was on a date with a sexy, sweet guy with an incredible talent for kissing. Now I’m discussing the minutia of a plan to offer myself up as bate for a serial killer shaman werewolf, and I’m somehow casual enough about it to suggest popcorn?
“It isn’t that easy. He won’t come if I’m obviously here,” Vincent says.
“Will he come if it’s just me?” Damon says.
Vincent looks him over for a moment and then sneers. Okay, so the hunter and the vampire are not going to get along. As long as they don’t break any more of my furniture, I’m okay with that. I sip my tea and let out a yawn; suddenly I’m feeling exhausted.
“Look, you two decide what you want to do, but I’m going to bed. No killing each other. Even outside of my apartment.” I can’t stifle my next yawn.
“You okay, Amy?” Damon asks. I nod to him, stumbling to my feet. I’m so tired suddenly. I can’t figure out why. Maybe it’s the result of the adrenaline wearing off.
“I didn’t do anything to her,” Vincent says defensively.
“We’re both here; she’ll be okay to rest,” Damon says, but he doesn’t sound confident. Whatever he’s thinking, all that is on my mind is a bed. It is so tempting. Not even Damon’s nude body pressed against mine could keep me away from my pillows. All the passion from earlier has drained completely from my system. I just want to sleep and sleep deeply. I don’t even care if there are nightmares. I have two men willing to wake me up from them.
I’m suddenly okay with being safe, being taken care of, as long as I get some rest. A part of me is aware this isn’t the way I should be thinking, but everything is so fuzzy. Bella lets out a whine as she follows me into my bedroom. I feel the men staring at my back. I didn’t tell them goodnight. I didn’t tell them to get out. What the hell is wrong with me?
I don’t bother to take my gun from its holster, or to remove any of my clothes. I fall into bed and am vaguely aware of my dog climbing up beside me. I can hear Vincent and Damon arguing in what they must think are soft whispers. The pillow feels like a cloud, the blanket will keep me safe from harm. I’ve never known chamomile tea to work so fast on me. I feel myself fall into my subconscious – I just hope there is something to catch me before I hit rock bottom.
Chapter 8
The girls are struggling to keep their faces on. I watch their almost skeletal hands move to maintain the flesh that is slinking off. There are splatters of dead skin on the floor around them, like shriveled up, still bleeding jerky. They surround me as I sit in a cross-legged inside a circle, somewhere outdoors. There is grass beneath my feet, and I’m dressed like I was when I fell asleep. Asleep. This is just a dream. It hits me, and I jump up to look around at the girls. My stomach turns. They have maggot tears coming from their eyes. They are more gruesome than any crime scene I have ever seen. I can tell they were all once beautiful, but that was a long time ago.
“He kills again,” says one of the girls. I recognize her from somewhere…the news report at the pizza place. Jane, I remember suddenly. Her name was Jane. “You have hurry and stop him,” she says. “Come,” she says, taking my hand. I pull away. I don’t want to touch her hand, it is like touching ice, and I can feel the bones beneath her decaying skin. The hand wraps around my side, and I can’t shake it free. She guides me forward.
The other corpse girls begin to follow behind her, behind me, as I am led from my spot on the grass. The ground changes underneath us, and suddenly we are walking down a street, towards an entrance to an alleyway. I can smell a trash can that needs to be dumped out. It’s nothing compared to the stench of these dead girls. I should feel afraid of them, but they’re all so pitiful with their moans and pleas for help. How can I turn away and run? They didn’t ask for this. They didn’t ask to die. They didn’t ask to be torn apart, but the wounds are there regardless, their bodies torn open, their clothes in tatters, fabric and skin and innards ruined by decay. Something isn’t right. These murders were recent. Bodies don’t decay this quickly. But this is just a dream. Just a dream.
We come to an alleyway where I hear a girl screaming. She’s screaming help, she’s screaming fire, she’s pleading for whatever is on top of her to stop. The thing is in shadow, or it’s made of shadow; I can’t get a clear look at it. I try to take a step forward, but it is as if a barricade is in front of me; something is holding me back. It isn’t the girls. They have all taken up a high pitched wailing noise that makes all my hairs stand on end. They can’t pass the barrier either.
I stand there as witness as the girl's throat is ripped violently open by the monster’s claws. I can see the bone of her neck. She can no longer scream, but she still struggles as the creature lifts her up over its body and tilts his head back so the blood can pour down its face. The more she fights, the crueler the creature is. It tosses her onto the ground again, and snaps her arm like it is a twig; the girl can’t scream anymore, and she’s lost so much blood she should be unconscious by now, but she isn’t. Terror dances in those eyes that won’t look away from me. She is in agony. I am rooted to the spot. I cannot help, I cannot look away. My mouth is dry and I want to retch. I want to fall to my knees, I want to scream, I want to sob. But I am frozen.
The girl’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, but when they open again they stare at me accusingly. They say, Why didn’t you help me? I remember the gun still at my side and draw it. I take aim at the creature on top of the girl and I fire. It feels so real my body jerks back from the recoil of the gun going off. The bullet hits the monster in the shoulder, and it turns, and it sees me. Red eyes stare into mine. The girl’s body is thrown to the side like a discarded toy. She hits the wall and bounces off. I hear bones crunching.
“Run,” whispers Jane. The dead girls have drifted in front of me to stand in a line, a blockade between me and the creature, and I turn to run. I can’t save that girl, but this is a dream. In a dream, I should be able to do anything I want. I try to conjure up the ability to fly, but there is nothing. There is just the very real feeling of my feet slapping against pavement, my lungs straining in my chest, my legs burning with exertion. There is just running. I hear horrible wet slashing sounds and dare to look behind me to see the girls collapsing on the ground as their limbs are ripped from their torsos. I start to scream, pointing my gun and firing blinding behind me
, not knowing if I’ve hit the monster or not. But someone is grabbing my wrist – I can’t see who it is – and I’m pinned against the wall. I hear my name shouted over and over again.
I open my eyes and find myself in an alleyway, my gun warm in my hand as if it has been fired. I look into the worried eyes of Damon, who has let go of my hands to cup my face. I have tears streaming from my eyes, and I’m not sure where I am.
“I told him we should wake you,” I hear Vincent hiss from my side.
“You never wake a sleepwalker. I didn’t know she would fire her weapon,” he says as he runs a finger down my cheek following the trail of my tears. I look around for the dead girls, but they’re nowhere in sight. Damon draws me into his strong arms, and I let myself collapse against him.
“It’s okay, I’m here, it’s okay,” he says.
“We need to leave,” Vincent says.
“Leave?” I choke out. I can’t go. I have to find the dead girls, and the newest victim. I have to know what happened here.
“Someone will have heard those gun shots. Damon, take her home. I’m going to collect all the bullets then leave. Daylight is coming,” Vincent says. “She brought us to the dead.”
I peek around Damon, and he tries to keep me from looking, but there is the girl – the one from my dream. Curled into a dead ball with her body rent apart by some horrible monster. Her body gives a few twitches as if trying to live, but I know there is no longer a soul inside of the ruined shell. She still stares at me. I close my eyes and press my face against Damon.
“Did you see him?” I ask once he has me walking to his truck. How far did I walk that he had to drive to follow me?
“No, we were too late. Your gunshots must have scared him off. How did you know he was here?”
“I didn’t. I was brought here,” I say. Damon helps me into the passenger seat. This time, there is an arsenal of weapons there. He takes them out and begins putting them in a metal box in the back of his truck. I slide in next to a rather long and sharp sword he has decided to keep out.
“The best way to kill a werewolf is to remove its head,” he tells me as he slides in. I’m shivering, even though it isn’t too cold outside. It’s like the touch from those girls has gotten underneath my skin.
“You started to sleep walk not long after you fell asleep. Vincent wanted to wake you, but I said to wait. Things can go wrong waking a sleepwalker and…honestly I wondered…I didn’t realize you would go so far, or that you were still armed. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. It was them.” I motion in the direction of the girl’s body. Soon there will be police swarming the area, and I’m in no mood to be questioned. What could I say? Dead girls in my dream dragged me to the murder site?
“Who are they?”
“The victims, I think. It was Jane. The most…the second-most recent victim. She came, grabbed my hand and dragged me here. It’s not the first time I’ve dreamed them,” I admit quietly. Saying it out loud nearly makes me vomit. I don’t want this to be real. “They’ve been showing up when I’m awake, too. Just…appearing in front of my eyes. It’s like reality is slowly shattering around me.”
Damon looks at me. He’s worried, but he doesn’t disbelieve anything I say. He reaches out a hand to mine and gives it a squeeze. Slightly awkward with a giant sword in the way, but I wouldn’t mind learning how to use it since my bullets seem to have done nothing.
“He was there, he saw me, so I fired,” I say.
“I don’t know what it is you’re seeing, but you’re a little more than human, Amy. If Vincent can’t get into your head, and the dead are talking to you, you’re likely a Medium.”
“Not entirely human?” I pull my hand back and sink back into my seat, bringing my knees to my chest.
“A little more than human,” he amends quickly. “Every now and then someone is born who can talk with the dead, the ghosts of the world, who can predict the future in their dreams,” he says.
“I don’t see the future; I see things as they happen. It started when I met Vincent,” I say. “The day I met you. I’ve never had that before.”
“When he tried to get into your mind he probably triggered something. Some like to call it the third eye.” He glances over at me. “I know someone you can talk to. A witch.”
“A witch?”
“A bit different than you’re imagining. She runs a trinket shop where people can buy stones and Tarot cards, mass-market books on spells, things like that. But she’s the genuine thing. She can at least help you with your nightmares,” Damon says. “She sees the future; she helps hunters with our own nightmares and with tracking the paranormal.”
“Doesn’t that put her life in danger from them?” I ask.
“No one wants to get on her bad side,” he says with a laugh.
I could use someone like that in my corner. But somehow I knew it wouldn’t be enough. “Could you teach me how to use a sword?” I ask.
“I’ll teach you anything you want. I know what you’re going through, Amy. I know what a shock it is being catapulted into this world. I’ll help you any way I can.” He clears his throat. “I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth sooner, but most girls think I’m crazy. I thought you might be different. Even that first night I met you, I felt like there was something about you. I had a feeling,” he says.
I’m a bit too shaken up to really process what he’s saying. He had a feeling. He must have somehow known Vincent was around that night. Hunter’s instinct or something. And he didn’t warn me. Probably because he thought I would have laughed him off. I can’t blame him for that. I would probably still think all of this was a trick, that he and Vincent were working together to con me or something – were it not for the horrible dreams.
“Yeah, I guess that would have been an awkward warning to give.”
We pull up to our apartment complex. It’s close to 4 a.m. Damon brings his sword in with him, seemingly unconcerned about who might see it. I suddenly remember my protection detail. Where were they? Did they follow me on my sleepwalk too? My stomach sinks. If Rick hears about this…but I don’t see any signs of them. Maybe they went home after they thought I’d turned in for the night. Or maybe…was it possible for my stomach to drop even lower? Maybe something happened to them. I make a mental note to call Rick in the morning and ask, then try to put it out of my mind. There’s only so much I can worry about at one time, and killer werewolves are a bit higher on the list.
I imagine I’m not going to see any more of Vincent tonight, which is fine with me. I just want to crawl into bed again, knowing that Damon will stay and watch over me while I sleep. We get to my front door, and I start to smell something funny, something revolting even. It reminds me of the dead girls, and my stomach does a flip again. I don’t know if it’s ever going to settle completely after all this. I get afraid the girls are on the other side of the door, waiting to tell me of yet another gruesome murder I’m powerless to stop, except Damon seems to smell or sense something wrong too and he pushes me behind him. He’s got my keys; I must have left the house without them to go wander the block in search of Elric.
He unlocks the door, and the stench becomes overpowering. I very nearly throw up this time. I drop down to the ground, unable to keep my legs under me, and peer around Damon’s legs. My mind doesn’t want to process what I’m staring at; it doesn’t want to register what is laying there on my front step. Bella’s head has been pulled clean of her body, her tongue lolling out, her eyes gone. The death is so recent there is still fresh blood around her. My Bella, my dear sweet Bella. The one companion I’ve had for years. My running partner is just a head on my floor.
I think Damon is saying my name, but I can’t hear him over the sound of my own sobbing scream.
Chapter 9
Bella is gone. There is no way of saving her. I crawl around Damon’s legs. He tries to stop me, but I’m small enough to slip past him and desperate with grief. I take up the head and pull it
to my chest, sobbing. My apartment has been decorated in her blood, in her entrails. There is nothing in view without a spot of blood on it. I didn’t know a dog could bleed so much. I can only imagine the pain he put her through. My sweet puppy who wouldn’t hurt a human being, my horrible guard dog but best friend. She is gone in the most horrible of ways.
I can’t stop the tears from falling. Damon is talking to me, but I can’t hear him. I just stumble through my apartment. Her legs have been left on my sofa, ripped clean from their sockets. Her tail is left in my open tea kettle. When I walk into my room, I see her ruined torso tucked into my covers, sliced open so what’s left of her entrails bleeds all over my bed. I run to the bathroom, still cradling her head, and vomit. Damon is there to hold my hair back, he’s still talking to me, but I can’t register anything he is saying. When there is nothing left in my stomach, he begins to pry Bella’s head from my hands.
“Shh,” he whispers in my ear. I try to latch onto that and not onto the horror that surrounds me right now. I want to be filled with rage, but there is so much sorrow.
“She didn’t do anything,” I sob out, turning Damon. “It hurts so bad. I feel like I’m drowning. I can’t breathe. How am I still breathing? I can’t breathe. Help me. She didn’t do anything.”
The head is out of my hands, and he places it gently on the bed. He moves to wrap me up in his arms. I let out a startled cry realizing there is blood – her blood – smeared all over my shirt. Damon picks me up, sliding one arm under my legs and the other around my shoulders. I turn my head to sob into his shoulder. Closing my eyes, I to try to get the images out of my head, but they are seared into my mind. How am I ever going to sleep in this apartment again without Bella? It’s been tainted. I want to burn it to the ground, burn the sheets, throw out the couch, and melt the teakettle. There is nothing that belongs to me left in this place without Bella.