by Laira Evans
The wind switched directions through the alley, carrying dust and his scent along with it. He reeked of tobacco smoke and sweat, along with a miasma of harsh chemicals that burned my sensitive nose. I was more concerned with his expression than how he smelled. My muscles tensed as I wavered between making a run for it and begging for forgiveness. Did he recognize me? My eyes flicked downwards to his uniform and the decision was made. I zipped out of the alley, hat flying off behind me as the wind caught it.
I might have taken the chance of trying to explain myself if it was just him, but if he was in uniform that meant his partner was close by. It was a chance I couldn't take, not yet. If I got dragged into the station I'd have one hell of a hard time explaining my actions, and that was assuming I was vaguely human-looking when they brought me in. I needed time to work things out, to find out who killed Jake and how to control myself around fresh blood. I needed time to think.
The fates conspired to grant one wish, at least. The sun was full in my face as I ran, the hat's meager protection stripped from me. The light in my eyes was bad enough, having lost my sunglasses in the car accident, but my bare-skinned face did me in. My arms were not quite so sensitive, but not three minutes later it felt as if I had rubbed my skin against sandpaper before salting it. 'Well, it's still better than bursting into flames.'
I made for the first tree I saw, using my flagging strength to climb up onto a wide branch some ten feet up the oak. “Ouch!” I'd just meant to test my face for the severity of the sunburn but one of my nails had caught against my skin, giving me a painful reminder of their sharpness. Still, my jaunt through the sunlight had one good effect. It appeared that I had gone back to normal, more or less. The sun through the leaves was less blinding, my teeth a little smaller against my curious tongue, the unnatural thirst less all-consuming. My skin actually had some natural color to it for the first time that I could remember, even if I did look like a cooked lobster. I'd even managed to find a park. With so many abandoned buildings to hide in around the city I doubted anyone would search for me here.
I gave a long, relaxed sigh as my face cooled from “I think I'm going to spontaneously combust” to merely feverish. My ears wiggled as I picked up the sound of a tune. I hadn't known my ears could move like that. The observation didn't hold me long, the melody was too good for such a small concern to distract me. Now that I was focused I could hear it clearly, rippling off a stage built in better times. Vines curled across the deck, even claiming the cellist's stool in their possessive grasp, but his sound didn't suffer for it. An older man, his hair hung to his neck, more gray than black. His cello looked like it matched him in age, but its power was as great as his skill. It was a haunting song, beguiling the mind to see the noonday sun as a starless night. His bow sang across the strings slowly but with deep intent like a dying heart, even as his fingers plucked out a separate beat. Children and a pair of puppies frolicked in the meadow grass and wildflowers beyond the hedge of thorns, but in this corner of the park the world felt like it was full of shade and shadow.
Tears filled my eyes again, but not from misery. They were tears of joy, even if my heart hung heavy with the knowledge that this song couldn't last forever. It was dark, telling secrets of sorrow and grief, but to me it was beautiful. I wished that it would never end.
* * *
Laughter, smiles, scribbling pens, idle philosophic discussion. So this was college. As the sun fell towards the horizon and the shadows extended their cool embrace I'd let my feet carry me to the inner city, heart beating like a drum when I went through the checkpoint for the inner city. Holly sat at my side now, already fully comfortable it seemed with the strangeness of this sanctuary. She gossiped half-heartedly after introducing me to two of her friends in the bakery's sitting area. Placed just outside the college library it had no lack of blurry-eyed students looking to grab some munchies for a long all-nighter or after waking from a failed attempt. I nibbled on a muffin, not saying much. Though they were closer to my age than Holly's I could tell I had nothing in common with them. Or, at least, close to the age I always thought I was.
It was rather surreal. All these bright-eyed teens and young twenty-year-olds going about their day as if there wasn't still an ongoing war with the undead. Death and the fear it generated held no sway here, even moreso than in the rest of the inner city. I had forgotten my knife in the alley and felt naked without it, but these students went about unarmed as a matter of course. Never looking over their shoulders, never wondering where their next meal was coming from. Many of the freshman probably didn't even remember seeing a zombie. By the time they were five or six things had already started turning around for the human race. Here in the college courtyard, held safe by strong walls and numerous guards, there was precious little to fear beyond a failing grade.
I wasn't sure whether to envy or despise them for their carefree nature. But this is what everyone was fighting for, wasn't it. A lasting peace. At this point I'd settle for a one-night reprieve. “Holly, I need to talk with you for a moment.”
Her lips parted slightly but she recovered quickly and said her goodbyes to her friends. “So, what's up?” We walked along the college square, birds flitting through the falling blossoms. I forced myself to take another bite of the exceedingly bland muffin before answering.
“I sort of need a place to stay tonight.” It was a bit embarrassing to ask my little sister for a favor like this, but I had no desire to spend another night in my apartment's bathroom. Another night alone there and I'd probably have a nervous breakdown. Any illusion of safety the deadbolt on the apartment door had given me was long since shattered.
“Is that all? Come on, I wanted to show you my room anyways.” And so, after being dragged through the halls to the dorms, I was met with perhaps the most entertaining surprise of the week, if not the most shocking. “So, do you like it?”
Well, it was neat, I'd give her that. She hadn't done half so well keeping her side of the room clean at home. The wall-to-wall penguin motif was giving me a qualm or two though. Posters, plushies, even a bobble-head. “It's a little... penguin-heavy, don't you think?”
“What's wrong with penguins?” Her hand went to her hip as she glared down at me.
“Nothing, I suppose. Does feel a little like an avian invasion though.”
“I got the box of them for five credits, it's not like I'm an addict or something.” She took off her backpack and sweater before diving on the penguin comforter neatly folded on her bed.
“Err, right.” It was just a single occupant room, otherwise I doubt she would have gotten away with so many penguins. The room was small but not suffocating, a little bed tucked in the corner with a desk and chair by the door were about it for furniture. Since it was on the third floor the window was relatively large, though still barred. Height, after all, was not always a sufficient defense against ferals or some of the more agile red-eyes. Still, I think I would have preferred leaving an alternative escape route. Unlike on the frontier, the game-plan in Boston was just to lock everything down to keep losses at a minimum and then pray either the police or the military made it in time.
“You might as well sit on the bed,” said Holly. “That chair really isn't worth using, you'd be sore in ten minutes.”
After lying in a tree for most of the afternoon my heart really wasn't in it but I offered the obligatory, “I can sleep on the floor or something if you have an extra blanket.”
“Don't worry about it.” Resistance crumbling I lay down at the corner of the bed, curling myself against the wall. The painted cement was a bit chill, but after a moment or two it was comfortable enough.
I fiddled with an old quarter I'd found in the park while Holly studied from her Organic Chemistry textbook. It didn't take long before I had it flying over my knuckles. Maybe if things went poorly I could still become a street magician. Obsidian nails wouldn't even look out of place.
“So, want to talk about why you're not at your apartment?” asked H
olly. The quarter went flying, clicking into the window. “I guess that's a no.”
I wiped my eyes, furious at myself for crying again. I'd gone three years without a tear before coming to Boston. Now I felt like a leaky faucet. “Holly, I really messed up this time. I don't know what I'm supposed to do.” My voice trailed off at the end, just as lost as I was. Even now, when I looked mostly normal, my body felt alien. I could smell her blood, like the others. The only comfort was that my fangs weren't growing and I didn't feel quite the same urge to drink from her as I did towards others. At least my subconscious was finally doing something right, if it had labeled her as off-limits for food.
“Come here.” Her warm arms wrapped around me, chin resting on my head. “It's okay, we'll work it out.”
My shoulders dipped, closing me off from her. “I'm not a child, stop treating me like one.”
“You're my sister.” Somehow, that simple line was enough. Relaxing for the first time in ages, I collapsed against her, consciousness drifting away.
Chapter 5: Scapegoat
Morn came and went—and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires—and the thrones,
The palaces of crowned kings—the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consum'd,
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face.
– Lord Byron, “Darkness”
I woke blissfully content. Arms surrounded me, not constricting, but as a blanket of security and warmth. My head lay on her stomach, and I was more than happy to be carried along by the slow rise and fall of her lungs. It was night now, and my senses were stronger. The half-noticed weight of the sun through the walls of the college was gone. I felt as light as a feather, and though I could clearly sense the sound of Holly's beating heart and practically taste her vanilla-scented blood it appeared that my unnatural hunger was blessedly subdued. I didn't question it, enjoying my state of languor as my dreams of the cellist's songs slowly faded into the recesses of my mind.
A new aroma reached me, then another and another. My quarter-grown claws readied as animal instincts warned me of something that my conscious mind had not yet grasped. Like a horrible case of deja vu the door crashed open, compressed air sending papers around the room scattering. Jerking at the sudden sound, Holly's panicked awakening sent me sprawling to the floor.
“Stay down! Don't move!” Like harbingers of doom the SWAT members pushed into the room, looming like titans above us.
I stayed still but it felt like I was on fire, every muscle in my body aching to snap into action. One of them grabbed Holly, pulling her away from me. “Stop, she has nothing to do with this,” I pleaded. Another policeman pressed down on my shoulder as he pulled out handcuffs. A throaty, animal snarl shook the room as I reacted without thinking, hand swinging towards his throat.
'What am I doing?' I stopped my hand inches away from what would have been a killing strike with my newfound strength. It was useless fighting so many anyways, and I didn't want more blood on my hands. A series of blows hit me a moment later, oblivion following shortly thereafter.
* * *
My hands tensed as I drew in a deep breath, eyes closed against the harsh electric light shining above me. The wipe-clean pillow beneath my head was stiff, the mattress even more so. My hands went to my waist, confirming the loss of my remaining cash. My sandals, for reasons unknown to me, had been switched with some sort of rough slipper. The drunken snores coming from someone down the hall were enough to convince me of the situation without even opening my eyes: I, Julie Fisher, newly graduated police officer, was currently stuck on the wrong side of the cell's bars. I might as well have burned my snazzy new police uniform for all the chance I had of ever wearing it again. With my luck even my rather childish, insecurity-causing T-shirt and blue jeans would soon be replaced with a hideously oversized prison jumpsuit.
I wanted to say it was a grave injustice, that I hadn't done anything wrong, that this was all just a mistake. That last bit might have actually been true, on my part anyways. Still, try as I might, the sensation of sucking the life out of that man was nearly all I could think of. As fuzzy and primal as my thoughts had been when I attacked him, the memory of biting into him like a cheeseburger and the feeling of dominance it inspired was all too vivid. If nothing else they had me on resisting arrest. Certainly wouldn't gain me any favors in court, and bail would be out of the question even if anyone I knew could afford it. Given my short stature and gender I wouldn't qualify for a pardon either – though as those pardons were earned by acting as glorified zombie bait on military salvage missions it was hardly as if it was a golden option in the first place.
Funny, I was worried about a resisting arrest charge when I'd left blood and a knife with my fingerprints on it next to Penny's cooling corpse. My teeth creaked as I clenched my jaw. 'Even if all I did was try to save her.' But that wasn't all, was it. She never would have been in that alley if she hadn't been looking for me.
My fingers gripped the sides of the mattress only to relax a moment later. Grudgingly I pried my eyes open to observe the stark cell. 'It could be worse.' The toilet was thankfully hidden behind a chest-high partition. Fred, master of the many cameras, could probably still see me wherever I went, but at least I wouldn't have to deal with random passerby gawking at me. Regardless, I wouldn't be here long. No, unfortunately soon I'd move to a courtroom and then... ‘They’ll send to the madhouse for being a psychopath with a vampire fetish the moment I try and tell my side of the story.' I curled into a ball, arms hugging my knees tight to my chest.
I snapped upwards to a sitting position, eyes raking over my arms and legs as I pulled back each sleeve. 'Nothing.' Every cut, every bruise, all healed as if they were never there at all. My nails were back to normal and hopefully my eyes and fangs had followed suit. From what I could remember before they knocked me out the policemen hadn't been shy about showing their opinion of the suspected cop-killer. Yet here I was, without even a bit of scuffed skin to show for it. How long had it been? It was still dark outside my tiny window, but I'd never slept more than seven hours a night that I could remember. Chances were it hadn't been more than a few hours since they abducted me from the college.
'Still, they should have taken me to a hospital to check me out just in case, right?' Maybe it had been Bruce. He had seemed to know a bit about dealing with injuries and if he had given the go-ahead they might have just decided to pass on the hospital visit. 'Maybe it was a case of supernatural monsters sticking together and keeping doctor-types from finding anything strange.' I let my head fall back onto the pillow. 'I think I want my refund on the get out of jail free card from the monster union.'
Still, the more I thought about it the harder time I had reconciling Bruce's actions with anything approaching good will. As nice as he seemed to be, there was something about him from the start that just rubbed me the wrong way.
“Julie Fisher, please place your arms through the grate.”
'Wonderful wake-up call, Fred and a pair of handcuffs.' Lifting myself out of bed with a sigh I let him link my wrists. “I imagine your opinion of me just keeps getting lower and lower, doesn't it?” The fellow standing beside him grinned for a brief moment thinking it a joke before he caught sight of Fred's frown. The silence was palpable as they guided me through the station, various officers stopping to stare at me briefly. I could practically read their thoughts from their faces. 'This little girl girl tossed a man ten feet through the air after drinking his blood like some sort of chupacabra?' Well, the exact word chupacabra was probably a stretch even with Fred, but still. “Is that man hurt badly?”
“Jake or the one in a coma?” responded Fred.
In truth I had already nearly forgotten Jake's name. His face though, that I remembered quite perfectly. That one brief visage of shock before he was gone. He had tried to help me, in his own way. He was probably the closest thing to a real friend I'd made since I got here. And now, unless I was very mistaken, he was dead. ‘Probably tossed somewhere with bite marks on his neck and a couple pints of blood missing at that.’ I wished the image of that outcome wasn't so clear in my head. “Is–” I stopped. My fingers were twitching from curiosity and dread but answers about either of them would have to wait. The last thing I needed was an accidental admission of guilt. If Jake was somehow alive then wonderful. If not, there was really nothing I could do from behind bars.
'A coma, that could be serious. God help me if he dies because I'm sure the Law and my conscience won't be on my side.' Drinking blood from the man who tried to help me after the crash until he nearly died – I was pretty sure there was a special circle of Hell for that. Who had he been? The truck driver, perhaps? Even if he had technically hit me rather than my car slamming into his, it would be rather mean spirited to fault him for hitting a car that ran a red light after sunset.
'Holly!' That blow to the head must have shaken me more than I thought if I'd forgotten that crucial detail. Unless they'd unexpectedly decided to be merciful she was probably here at the station as well. Perhaps not in a cell, but she'd definitely be questioned. I had to stay on my toes here to make sure she wasn't implicated in any way, even if my own sentencing was nearly certain. It was probably best to avoid mentioning her at all, lest they think she had something to hide. I did my best to stretch my limbs to wake up properly without being too obvious about it. I had to be in top form for what was to come.
The journey ended without any fanfare, a stiff door opening to reveal an oppressive interrogation room. Three chairs, a narrow rectangular table, gray walls, and a blacked out window. Considering who was sitting in two of those chairs I couldn't say for certain the room was any improvement on my cell. Here I didn't even have a pillow to bury my head under. “Sit.”