by Ash, Lauren
“Score!” said Andy pulling down a fist. “I’ll meet you for breakfast then in the morning. I’ll come by.”
“Fine,” Nia pushed past him. He wore the same awful, dated, nineties Hip-hop jacket that he’d found at the second-hand store—someone must have told him it looked cool. It just didn’t.
The stairs up seemed endless; she drudged down the long hall to the very last room on the left. The door was unlocked. We forgot to lock it, oh no! “He was probably in my room,” Nia said. “Oh Andy, I can’t think about this right now.”
Stripping down to nothing, she slipped on her black robe and matching slippers and hit the communal showers. It was empty, a bleak white—exactly what she needed. She let the hot water and thick steam wash away her pain and anguish from the wild night out. I’m not a virgin. She faced into the shower jet. I was saving myself for Mr. Right. Who am I kidding? I don’t believe this. He used me and I let him. I fell for it. I fell for his looks . . . oh . . .
What was it about him? She didn’t know. In fact, she still wanted him even after what had happened. But he’s dead; I killed him! I’m a murderer and a slut. The wound at her neck didn’t hurt as much as her below did, even though it looked worse: three ragged holes. She considered a trip over to campus health then decided otherwise.
“STDs,” she whispered. “We didn’t use anything.” She slunk down to the shower floor and brought her knees up to her chest, washing vigorously with the pink bar of soap. “I’m such a fool. Hana, I’m a fool. Even you would have told me to use a condom. Why didn’t I? Why?”
She dried off, retreated back to her dorm, and slipped under the covers still damp. The ill thoughts trailed on as Nia fought to sleep, wondered about Hana, the club, Johnny . . . and more Johnny.
Twenty-four hours . . .
“What does it mean?” she murmured, finally falling asleep.
***
The loud knock at Nia’s room door was enough to send her flying out of bed. She slipped on a black t-shirt that lay on the clean-clothes pile that she never put away and found some faded black jeans to match. She skipped the G-string this time and wrapped a purple scarf around her neck.
She opened the door, “Andy, I’m tired. You’re too early, you’ll—”
“Andy? No Andy here. I’m Detective Rand and this is Detective Blithe. We need to ask you some questions.”
“Oh,” Nia backed up. “I don’t have much room in here.”
“Here is fine.” Detective Rand said. He was short, old, and bald, just as Detective Blithe wasn’t. They both had on wedding rings—round gut to go with—and wore long, tanned coats, brown slacks, and shoes to match.
“Small is an understatement,” said Blithe, stepping into the cramped living space.
The room was wretched: two beds, Nia’s purple, Hana’s pink; one worn desk dead center, with a single fogged window above it; and a closet behind the door that the two girls shared. They’d each decorated their halves in posters, trinkets, and the University logo—the rampant lion.
Rand tapped on the red, sleeping lava lamp. “May I sit? I had one of these in college.” He sat before she responded, on the one black computer chair; the arms had been picked at, leaving the foam padding bare. Blithe remained standing and leaned on the now-closed dorm door, scribbling things on his small notepad.
“Sure. Coffee?” Nia offered, as she was desperate for some herself. It wouldn’t help her nerves, but she didn’t care, just wanted the caffeine. They both declined, and she started the pot anyway from inside the closet floor. It sputtered away against the intensity that the men had brought into her abode. “Is something wrong?”
“An interesting question, isn’t it . . . considering that you really have no idea why we’re here,” Rand watched her with a blank expression, one she guessed he’d used a million times to intimidate, to get answers.
Avoiding his grey eyes, Nia focused on his wrinkled brow.
“Your roommate was found this morning, in an alley, downtown. She’s barely alive, in the hospital now.”
Nia gasped in shock, in terror, unable to utter a single word. I shouldn’t have left her. I should’ve looked harder . . . oh God.
The detectives watched her intently, as if they could read her internal dialogue.
She covered her face and hid under the hot tears as they came. She had no control over them. “I lost her in the crowd. I don’t know. We were dancing, having fun.”
“Using fake ID’s. Her brother copped to it. He’s blaming himself,” said Blithe.
“I don’t know what happened. I swear. We were dancing. She went off with this guy.”
“What guy?” Rand asked, inching closing to her in the rolling chair.
“It was dark, strobe lights. He was tall . . .” Nia ran her hand into her scalp trying to remember. All she could see was those green eyes, feel that kiss again, invading her soul with precise control.
“You need to remember. We only have so much time within the attack window. These hours are crucial to our investigation. Now, you are not a suspect . . . yet . . . but you need to tell us what you know. You only have your own skin to save here, and you must realize that what you say could help catch the culprit, help your friend,” said Rand.
She pulled on her hair, like she was pulling on the memories, trying to stimulate something. “The guy, he was blond, but not as bright as hers—a dirty blond. He was tall—”
“You said that,” said Blithe.
The coffee dinged done, and she went for her worn, red mascot mug, filled it, and returned to her bed. A few sips later, she was feeling something. But the taste of it was awful. Must be off, she thought.
“He was good-looking, not thin, built actually, like he lifted weights—a bodybuilder type.”
“Good, good,” said Blithe. “Keep going.”
Nia put the mug down as a sensation of nausea waved over her. “I don’t know. That’s it, I guess. I don’t feel very good.”
“That’s good for now. Here’s our card. Call us if you think of anything. And stay put. Don’t leave town for now.”
“I’m not a suspect,” she said. “Can you tell me what happened to her?”
“Stabbed. She was stabbed. We’re also going to be back in an hour to tape off this room.”
“What? But I live here. I have nowhere to go.”
“I’m sure you can figure something out with the RA. We already notified him of the situation.”
“Andy knows about this?”
“Yes, he’s aware, and he’ll help you move. But you can’t take anything with you right now. This could be a crime scene, if she dies.”
“Can I see her?”
“It’s family only, at this point. Remember, don’t leave town,” repeated Blithe.
Nia closed her eyes. The detectives left without another word. If only she could run off. She could go home, but no. There were sour feelings there from her mother—too much money, too much money—her mother had complained about the first-quarter tuition and board. The bill had come in higher than expected. Nia was forced into a job to contribute or they’d pay nothing. Nia’s father had disagreed with the whole thing, had a soft spot for his only girl.
“The knife!” Nia checked the previous night’s pile that she’d kicked under the bed. There was no knife. Her cobalt eyes just about bugged out of her head, and the nausea washed over her again. “I left it in that cubicle. I’m done for. But they never mentioned Johnny.” None of it was making sense to her.
“Why is this happening to me?” Nia said, stuffing some things into her suitcase. She didn’t care about their orders. She unplugged the coffee maker and shoved it on top of the heap then zipped it all closed. This is my stuff.
“Why, hello there,” said Andy, hanging in the doorway like the oddity he was. He was in control this time, and it read all over his face like a football player that had just scored that hard-fought touchdown.
“Where do I go then?”
“Well . . .” He gr
inned as if the horny genius was finally going to get what was coming to him—a fine piece of ass. “I know, as the RA, that there are rules to be followed, but considering these dark and horrific circumstances and the thrift of your eviction, there is only one bed open in McCann—a spare cot in my RA suite. I know. I know. Really, you don’t have to thank me or anything. I did have to pull some major strings to get this set up.”
She could feel the lie—he hadn’t done a thing. There were probably other places she could go, but Nia didn’t really have any other options at this point, and lastly, she didn’t have the power, so she nodded and watched the geek practically get erect from the excitement of having the female of his dreams stay in his room. She grimaced inside. It was awful, to say the least.
“Let me help.” he interjected, covering the bulge with one hand.
Only bad things can come from this, she thought, rolling her case down to the other end of the hall and into his room, which was covered with astrological charts, space paraphernalia dangling from the ceiling, and one large, white telescope, which she knew was used for other things besides just looking at stars. His room was neat and tidy and four times the size of her own room. A life-sized alien figure stood against the far wall, black eyes watching them.
“You get this room for free?” Nia asked.
“Yip, but you know, RA—it’s not that easy, not like people think. Do you know how much drinking and pot smoking I have to deal with nightly?”
“Pot’s legal now. Who cares?”
“Not under twenty-one.”
Nia sat on her new cot, all done up in white sheets and a white blanket. “Thanks. I know I could have just been booted elsewhere.”
“No problem. I’ll go and let you get settled in. You still want to go for breakfast?”
“I owe you double now, don’t I?”
“Yeah, but now that Hana is away, I figure you’ll need time, you know. I don’t want to push anything.”
“I’ll get settled. Maybe I’ll meet you down there in the few, okay?” Nia held her stomach now.
Andy left, and Nia lay back on the cot, unable to shake the nausea. It was getting so strong that she ended up inching back out in the hall toward the communal bathroom. A quick minute later, she was vomiting violently in the white toilet—bright blood. The taste of iron was so strong, she had to hurl again.
She hung her head over the awful rim. “Oh, Hana. I’m sorry I left you in that club. It’s my fault. I should have found you. I was scared. I’m dying,” she said. Nia knew it deep down, knew that her life was fading. She could feel it, like the veil between this world and the next was thinning and she could poke a hole in the atmosphere and reveal something dark, something evil.
Whispers echoed around her as she fell to the floor dizzy. Next she saw black and that was it.
***
“Wake up. Wake up.” Several voices echoed underneath the sound of a siren. “Nia, you are in an ambulance. You have lost much blood. We’re transfusing you.”
Just a blurry fog was all Nia could see when she tried to open her eyes. She closed them again giving into the feeling of death that hung around.
“What’s this on your neck, Nia; can you tell us?”
No words escaped her pale lips. She wanted to say something, but couldn’t. There was just the lull, the hum of the ambulance, the voices, all merging into the background—all insignificant in comparison to where she was headed.
Her grandmother smiled, holding that same orange Cheshire cat that she always held. She’d had the furry thing cremated too upon its death, and Nia’s parents buried them together in the dry Eastern Washington desert. Her grandmother smiled and waved as if to greet her, welcome her to the next plane.
“She’s going . . . she’s going . . .”
More noise filled the small space, sending Grandma and dear kitty away.
Nia’s body jolted back to life as the paramedics shocked 360 joules of current into her, gave her breath through the Ambu bag, and compressed her chest up and down.
More pain—that’s just what I need, Nia thought as she came to.
“Stable, run the epi drip.” The crew wheeled Nia to the ICU, where more people fretted, more slammed blood into her veins. All the while Nia knew, deep down, that it was all for nothing. He was coming for her. She could feel him near.
“Johnny,” she said.
“Who?” asked the old, white-haired ICU nurse, wrapping a blood-pressure cuff around her new patient’s arm.
“Johnny. Johnny . . . Last Bitten.” Nia faded once again.
CPR commenced in the dimly lit room among the red, blinking lights and brash alarms.
***
It was dark, and the moon crept over the green-tinted windows. The green-silver clouds came with, beckoning to all the lost souls. The heavy ICU room door creaked open and something rolled in—an unformed, black mass.
Nia lay pale on her death bed, half her face illuminated by shades of green and the other half in black shadow. Dark-red blood pumped into her veins from unknown donors. An array of other drugs followed in too, into the octopus of IVs speckling her arms and neck.
The black mass took form—a man in a long, black trench with lapels standing attention and bright-green eyes phosphorescing.
“Nia . . . my Nia,” he whispered, floating on air to take a closer look. “I missed you, my Nia. Should you die a mortal life? Should you live forsaken—my Last Bitten? Stunning you are, sleeping perfectly under those pristine, white hospital sheets.” The dark-souled Jonny caressed her white cheek with the back of his hand. His nails were long, and he used one to slice into his palm and held the dark treasure above her lip. Giving a squeeze, a single drop fell upon Nia’s lip.
The ICU door slammed back open, “She’s right here, Mrs. Flynn. She’s here for the time being.” The old nurse showed Nia’s mother into the room.”
A dark shadow lingered in the corner, surveying.
Mrs. Flynn was in shock: tubes everywhere, the awful click of the breathing machine, the smell. She covered her mouth. “What happened to her?”
“We’re not sure. She’s lost a lot of blood; we’re almost caught up. Her heart couldn’t take it. She coded twice. She’s critical.” The nurse hung another bag of fluid and checked the IV pump rates.
“What’s this on her lip?” Mrs. Flynn accused, sad and angry all at the same time. “Is that blood? Why is there blood on her lip?” Nia’s mother flashed her cobalt-blue eyes at the nurse; she looked similar to Nia except old—black hair splashed with grey and weight up from menopause.
“I’m not sure.” The nurse was nervous, scampering around for a cloth. She donned some gloves and wiped the spot away.”It must be from when I removed the last bag of blood. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine, I’m just . . . my husband . . . her father, he’s on the East Coast on business. I called him; he’s on his way, but . . . I . . .” Mrs. Flynn began to cry but stopped as she felt an uneasiness surround her. She scanned the room. “Are we alone here?” she asked, panicking suddenly.
“Yes, it’s just us. Are you all right? Can I get you anything? Water? Tea? I can set you up a cot so you can sleep here, be with your daughter.”
“No, don’t leave me alone in here. I don’t know what it is. Something is wrong.” Mrs. Flynn went to the window and watched the green moon disappear under the clouds, along with all the light. The room turned black with just the blue and reds from the vital signs monitor. She felt cold. She pulled her long, purple raincoat tighter around her. “Can we not turn on a light?”
“I would, but we shouldn’t interrupt her body’s biorhythms, except if absolutely necessary. Come, I’ll get you set up, something to eat and drink maybe. You can come back in when I get the cot set up. It’s overwhelming, I know. Take a minute alone with her, and I’ll meet you outside here.”
Nodding, Mrs. Flynn stood by her daughter’s head, “Can I touch her?”
“I would prefer you not, with all the lines and
such.”
“I can’t even touch my daughter. She may die, and you won’t let me even touch her.”
“It’s for safety, infection reasons. Please, I don’t mean to be strict—she is extremely unstable. I cannot emphasize that enough.”
“Fine.” Mrs. Flynn clenched her jaw and her fists. “Leave us.” The nurse did.
Taking her only daughter’s hand in hers and caressing her forehead, Mrs. Flynn gave her daughter a soft kiss.”I’m sorry I was so hard on you. I didn’t mean to be so hard on you. My girl.”
“My Nia,” the voice whispered.
Mrs. Flynn jumped back, bumping into the IV lines, knocking the IV pump over. The lines ripped from Nia’s body, blood splattered the white sheets, and the alarms wailed as Nia’s vitals tanked. Mrs. Flynn screamed running into the hall, “Emergency! I have an emergency! I need help!”
The black shadow quickly swept over Nia’s bed and dripped dark-red blood into Nia’s mouth—delivered at last. The shadow then retreated, out the door along the floor, as the bodies rushed in. The fight began to save Nia’s life.
“I’m so sorry. It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. It was an accident.” Mrs. Flynn cowered in the corner as the ICU staff attempted to save her daughter’s life for the third time. They pumped her chest until there were no more compressions to be done and no more drugs to be injected. The worn, red code cart sat awry.
It was too late. The lines on the monitor went flat as heads hung low. Mrs. Flynn cried to the unforgiving world.”My baby, my baby. What have I done? What have I done?”
The old nurse flashed Mrs. Flynn a malicious glance, and Mrs. Flynn took it, because she knew the old battle axe was right.
“Time of death 0101,” the young, brunette ICU doctor stated. He turned to Mrs. Flynn. “I am very sorry for your loss.”
“What do I do now?” Mrs. Flynn was frantic; she stood hands out to the ICU code team. “What do I do? It was an accident. I didn’t mean to. I’ve killed my daughter.”
The doctor approached her. “There will be an investigation. You will need to remain here. I’m sorry.”