The stinging in her hands and knees faded. Glancing down, she realized she had already healed. Only gravel and smears of blood remained on the smooth heels of her hands. The sight of her restored flesh horrified her. A quivering moan of despair fell from her lips.
Her mind felt incapable of understanding what was happening to her.
Behind her, she heard a car door open.
“Amaliya,” Professor Sumner's voice rang out.
Despite herself, she turned toward him. Her black hair flowed around her pale face. She stood trembling, hands held up before her. She dropped the bloodied clothes she had tucked under her arm. Her murderer was perfectly framed between her healed hands, and she clenched them into hard fists.
“Good luck,” he said with a rakish smile.
“Fuck off!” She gave him the finger to emphasize her words, then turned away.
His laughter tormented her as she snatched up her clothes. She darted behind a building and tried to put as much space between them as possible.
The dorm windows were completely dark when she skirted around the building to the side entrance. Fishing her keys out of her blood-encrusted jeans, she bit her bottom lip. She rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes to wipe away her tears, fighting back a desperate sob of despair.
“Stay calm,” she whispered.
Her fingers shook as she tried to fit the key into the lock. She failed to line it up with the keyhole. Exasperated, she leaned her forehead against the door.
“Stay calm,” she uttered again, her hands steadying. She pushed the key toward the tiny slot again.
The key slid into the lock. The knob turned.
She entered the dorm through the entrance under the stairs. It was empty and dark, with no sign of any of the other girls who inhabited the long, squat building. Quickly, she sprinted up the cement steps, her heels making a dreadful clunking noise the whole way up.
Reaching the second floor, she turned and ran down the hall, hoping to God no one would open their door to see what the noise was about.
It's Easter weekend, she thought. No one is here.
Shit!
She was supposed to have gone home Saturday night to attend services with her family on Sunday morning.
After unlocking her door and slipping into her room, she steadied herself with one hand against the wall. The room was still a mess, but now she saw the mud and gunk she had left behind the night before.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, moving down the narrow hallway into her bedroom.
Dirt littered the floor and bits of foliage skittered in front of her. It had really happened. She had crawled out of her own forest grave.
Slowly, her gaze descended to her body. She unfastened the jacket with quivering fingers. Beneath the black fabric, her pale skin was caked with blood.
Closing her eyes, she pressed her fingertips to her eyelids. She had killed tonight. Hunted down and killed people for blood. She had done that.
Sinking to the floor, she whimpered as the tears that she had tried so hard to hold back began to fall.
The phone rang near the bed. She ignored it as she fell over onto her side and curled up into a tight little ball. The harsh sound of the ringing phone made her head hurt. She covered her ears with her hands.
Finally, the archaic answering machine clicked on.
“You've reached Amaliya Vezorak. I can't come to the phone right now. So leave a message and if I feel like it, I'll call you back. And if this is you, Jimmy, you owe me 20 bucks.” Her voice sounded rough and a little slurred. She had recorded it drunk and just left it as it was.
“Amal, it's your Daddy. Where the hell are you? We waited all day for you. Your Grandmama is not happy about you not showing up for church. I'm not happy about you not getting my truck back here. Our agreement was that you could borrow it until you got your student loan. You got your damn money so buy your own clunker and get mine back here, girl. Where the hell are you? If this is your attempt to get me to buy you one of those damn cellphones-”
The machine, thankfully, cut off the rest of his message.
Pushing herself up, Amaliya's hot tears returned. As far as her father was concerned, she was a fuck up. She laughed bitterly as she realized she was now an undead fuck up. He would just love that.
Getting to her feet, she managed to get herself into the bathroom. The bathtub was ringed with grit. Stripping naked, she got into the shower and turned on the water. It hit her icy cold, but she didn't care anymore. She just wanted the dark brown blood off her body.
Bracing her hands against the cold, scummy tiles, she wept as the water washed over her.
How had it come to this? How had her life spiraled so out of control?
Sliding her fingers through her caked hair, she felt the matted strands give way with a painful tug. All she had wanted, her whole life, was to find her own path, to walk to the beat of her own drum, to live a life of adventure. But that had been continuously sidetracked by death, family drama and the severe lack of money. Nothing she had done to get her life out of the hole it was in had ever worked. She seemed forever doomed to just barely make it by.
Her fingers traced down her sternum. She drew in a quivering breath she wasn't even sure she needed as she sought out the beating of a living heart. Tears flowed down her face as she felt nothing for a terrible, panicking moment, and then she felt a thump.
“Oh, God,” she gasped with relief, falling back against the cold tiles.
Both hands pressed tightly between her breasts, she both heard and felt the steady, slow beating of her heart. Swallowing hard, cold tears slid down her cheeks to mingle with the hot water. Looking down, she saw that her tears were turning the water a slight pinkish color.
Frightened, she rubbed her fingertips under one eye and drew them back from her face. They were tinged with what looked like blood before the hot water washed it away.
Crying out with the sheer terror, she fell to her knees and laid her forehead against the stained bottom of the tub. The hot water beat down on her as she gave in to the overwhelming despair inside of her.
***
The mirror was empty. Not a whisper of reflection was there.
Amaliya blinked slowly. She stared into the empty mirror, willing herself to see her image. But there was nothing; just the empty shower behind her. Reaching out, she pressed her hand firmly to the fogged surface.
Nothing. Not a flicker.
She pushed harder, as if she could literally shove her reflection into the silvered glass, but nothing happened. Her hand remained against the empty mirror without a doppelgänger’s hand pressing against her own.
Closing her eyes, she lowered her hand and slowly took hold of the sink. Her whole body trembled as she tried to gather her wits about her. The horror of her new reality washed over her, fresh and terrible.
Opening her eyes, for a moment, she thought she saw her reflection. A brief, stark image of a woman with dyed, black hair laying heavy and wet against her neck and shoulders, staring with desperate need into nothingness. The image flashed out of existence. She reached out a desperate hand. The mirror shattered as her fingers slammed into the reflective surface. The shards tinkled into the sink. Sobbing, she sat sharply on the edge of the tub.
She ran a hand over her wet hair as she sat in silence, her lips quivering. She could just go to bed and go to sleep. This wasn't real.
None of it was real. She was sick. Maybe she had the flu. It was all a dream. A horrible, terrible dream. There were no such things as vampires. She didn't even have sharp teeth! She couldn't be a murdering, bloodsucking fiend! Vampires didn't exist.
Shoving her fingers into her mouth, she ran the tips over her teeth to fearfully search for sharp little teeth. Nothing. She felt nothing. Just the smooth edges she should feel.
“I just need to go to bed and wake up,” she decided.
Pulling a towel securely around her body, she walked into her messy room and sprawled across the narrow twin bed. Th
e alarm clock lay right in her view. Its bright red numbers stated it was nine o'clock.
Red like blood, she thought idly, then shoved the terrible allegory away from her thoughts.
Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the poster over her bed. Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails glowered down at her in all his dark beauty.
Closing her eyes, she lay her hand over her face and willed herself to sleep. If she slept this would all go away. She would wake up and...
What?
She would suddenly not be living dead? Her battle to be out of the grave would suddenly not exist? Her blood soaked clothes wouldn't lie in a heap on the floor?
“Dammit!” She sat up and shook her head.
Drops of water splattered over the wall and clock as her wet hair fanned around her. Gripping her hair with both her hands, she pulled it over her shoulders and held onto it as she rocked back and forth.
She could not stay here. She knew it. Too many questions would be asked. They would find the bodies. For all she knew, they would be able to track her to the scene. The police had all sorts of fancy ways of tracking down killers nowadays.
Oh, God, she was a killer. Her teeth had torn into the flesh of humans and she had drunk blood.
Blood!
The memory of that first bite filled her thoughts. Instead of repulsion, she felt the sting of pleasure. It had been exquisite. An erotic pulse of power rippled through her as she leaned back slowly on her bed. The lovely sensations she had felt as she had fed overwhelmed her senses.
Her panic faded away. She relished the memory of the blood, the fear, the power; it had been delicious and wonderful.
Her tongue scraped against something sharp in her mouth. She bolted upright. She shoved her fingertips into her mouth again. She gasped as something sharp tore them open. Staring at her bloodied fingers, she ran her tongue slowly along her teeth. Amaliya shivered as the tip of it discovered two sharp teeth pressing down on either side of her mouth.
“Fuck,” she blurted, launching herself off the bed.
What had just happened to her? She had lost herself in the memory of her feeding. Dammit, she had enjoyed killing and she knew it.
Looking back at the event through the bloody pleasure of her need, she felt no remorse. Panicking, she pulled deep inside of herself to find guilt and fear. She mentally shoved away the part of her that had relished her killing bites.
“I have to get the hell out of here,” she muttered.
In a frenzy, she shoved clothes, underwear, shoes, and anything else that looked remotely useful into her large duffel bag. Realizing she was naked, she dropped the bag. She snagged a clean pair of jeans and a tank top from the laundry basket. She looked around the room, trying to collect her thoughts into a workable plan. As she slid her tank top on, she abruptly remembered her father's phone call. Her student loan had come in!
“Oh, yeah,” Amaliya breathed.
She fell to her knees beside the dresser. Pulling out a drawer, she felt under it for the envelope that she had duct taped under it. Her searching fingers found it and yanked it off with a sharp tearing sound. Inside the little envelope was over $5,000 of student loan money. It was all the money she had in the world. In her bank account was just a few dollars. Her paycheck from her work-study wouldn't hit until tomorrow.
Opening the envelope, she quickly recounted the money, then thrust it into her jeans. It would have to do for now.
Shoving a few more pairs of thong underwear into her bag, her gaze swept over the room one last time. The bloodied clothes and forest grime lay at her feet. She started to reach down, then hesitated.
Unsure, her hand hovered over the bundle.
She was a vampire now. Fuck it. Let them come after her. She must have some sort of superpowers. Besides, maybe if she left her clothes here, they would think she was dead.
Tears were threatening again, but she fought them.
Time to go home. Time to get help. Time to-She hesitated as she picked up her keys.
“Time to sort this shit out,” she decided, heaving the bag over her shoulder.
She walked out of her dorm room for the last time.
Chapter Three
The road was nearly empty of cars. It was still early; people weren’t heading home from their Easter festivities. It would be a late night for a lot of families, as they enjoyed barbecues and family time.
Sweeping her hair back from her face, her gaze flicked to the rear view mirror. A sole car followed behind her. Biting her bottom lip, she drew her bag a little closer to her. The possessions shoved in her bag were all she owned in this world. She felt fragile and afraid.
You're a vampire, the professor's voice taunted.
Her tongue slid over her teeth for the hundredth time. The sharp teeth she had felt earlier were now gone. Maybe they only came out when she was hungry.
The steady hum of the road was soothing to her frayed nerves. She resisted the urge to turn on the radio. The wind pouring in through the rolled-down windows tossed her hair into disarray around her face, but was effectively blow-drying her tresses.
The car tailing her flipped a turn signal on and disappeared down a side road. The road was barren ad dark behind the truck.
The night was so dark. She couldn't remember it being this foreboding before, but maybe she was just working herself up again.
Now that she thought about it, she could see very well. In fact, she could see perfectly into the velvet darkness surrounding her, but at the same time the world seemed--
“More ominous,” she decided.
It's him. He makes it like this. So horribly dark and wrong.
How could she have been so stupid? How could she have given into him like that? And now her life was gone, just like those students at the frat house, she was dead, too. Nothing she had worked for mattered anymore. Her hard work, her sacrifices, her triumphs, her failures, everything she had ever done, was now wiped out. Years of saving for college swept away. The years she spent working at crap jobs, with hardly any pay and bosses' roving hands, were for nothing.
The time sitting at her sister’s side, nursing and loving her as she slowly faded from the world didn’t seem worth it anymore. And her friends, having gone off to get married and have children, seemed like a cruel joke. She had sacrificed her own happiness, but for what?
“He owes me,” she hissed.
She realized as soon as the words left her lips that she was talking about her father. Not Professor Sumner.
He had guilt-tripped her into going home from Austin when her sister had been diagnosed with cancer. Her brave little sister had actually insisted that Amaliya stay in Austin and finish her schooling. Despite her sister's urgings to remain in school, Amaliya had been so devastated by her father's berating that she had come home.
What followed was three years of sheer hell. She watched her sister struggle to win a battle that she seemed destined to lose from the moment she was diagnosed. It had been the hardest thing Amaliya had ever done. Throughout the ordeal, she had told herself that she would one day go back to the University of Texas and get her degree in psychology, but her sister's illness hung on and her scholarship expired.
Amaliya had stayed out of love for sister, but also because her father had made it damn clear that it was her responsibility to take care of her sister. After losing his first wife to cancer, Samuel had wanted nothing to do with his youngest daughter's treatment. He had staunchly avoided even dealing with the illness and rarely visited his sick daughter. In the end, little Rachel had died wondering if her father loved her.
Wiping a tear away and letting out an angry noise, Amaliya set her jaw. She would go home, tell him to sign over the truck, tell him not to say he had seen her if the police asked, then instruct him to forget she existed.
Cold tears began to flow down her cheeks. It had always been like this with her family. Tense and coarse. They both had little or no tolerance for each other and lived in an uneasy truce. She believed he lov
ed her, but hated who she was. She had always been different from everyone else in the family. It wasn't just because she was the only girl until her sister Rachel had been born; her entire being just seemed at odds with her family's culture.
“Spic blood,” someone had once said to her father. “It just made her lazy and weird.”
Amaliya hadn't understood what the neighbor had meant. It wasn't until her teen years that she finally understood that her grandmother's Hispanic heritage was blamed for a lot of what was wrong with her.
Her beloved mother was revered, but Amaliya was considered off.
What no one seemed to realize was that it was Marlena who had encouraged her daughter to embrace her uniqueness. Her mother had sacrificed her own dreams to marry the man she loved. She spent her whole life playing the role he had determined for her. It wasn't until her death that Amaliya had understood how her mother had subjugated her hopes and dreams to her handsome, East Texan husband.
That lesson had stayed with Amaliya. It had spurred her to aspire to an education and take risks in her life.
Maybe too many risks, she thought.
She had been enthralled with her secret date with Professor Sumner, but now her life was over.
The highway began to fill up as other cars began to turn off country roads as people began to make their way home to the bigger towns and Houston. The landscape, even at night, was familiar. It made her weary. Going home was never a pleasant experience for her.
Her slim fingers found the turn signal. She flipped it upwards. The familiar clicking seemed abnormally loud when she maneuvered the vehicle off the highway and down a long country road. The old Wilson house listing in an overgrown field brought back so many memories.
She slightly smiled as she remembered tearing across the field after her brothers had tried to lock her in the “haunted house.” She had been so terrified; her fear had infected them. They had all run home screaming. Her mother had tanned their behinds something fierce, then spent a half-hour on the phone laughing with the neighbor over it.
Frater, Rhiannon - As the World Dies 04 Page 3