“Tut-tut, it’s a nice gift. I don’t think it’s meant as a nice gift though,” she looks uncertain. “However, I sense you don’t have much time left so it’s probably best if I give it to you now, even if you won’t have it for long.” A small frown forms on her face.
She strokes my face almost tenderly, caressing my cheek. She nuzzles her mouth to mine, kissing my trembling lips. “Hold me,” she asks quietly.
I blink, startled by the request.
“Please hold me.” Her words are barely audible. I don’t move; I know my time is up.
I think of Mia… finally, for what I feel will be the last time, as the icy grip of death nuzzles into me. She plants a hard kiss on my mouth, tipping my head to the side, and strokes my neck. “I’m going to make all the pain go away.” She grips my hair and sinks her fangs into me. A pinch of flesh, a tug of something sharp, and then a pulling sensation.
I call out her name, “Mia,” one last time, and close my eyes. I can feel my life ebbing away already.
The small vampire drinks, gulping my warm blood until I’m weak. Time slips away from me. Life slips away from me.
Mia…is all I can think as I close my eyes and relinquish myself to death.
Nineteen
Mia
It’s late by the time that I get back from my drive. I park in the underground car park and take the elevator up. It stops on Mrs Dorset’s floor and she gets in, only glancing in my direction once as she does.
My headache is still there, as persistent as ever. Will it never go? My stomach rolls in response, growling as it does. I feel even sicker than I did this morning, even though I haven’t eaten anything. I just want to climb into bed and forget this day.
No, scratch that. I wish this week had never happened.
I miss Oliver. I miss Rachael. I miss…‘him’!
I look around guiltily, as if Mrs Dorset can read my thoughts, but she stares at the doors in front of her. As the elevator pings and the doors open, I excuse myself and squeeze past her.
No one is home when I get in and I go straight to my bedroom and curl up on the bed without bothering to take my shoes and coat off. I check my mobile to see if either Rachael or Oliver have phoned, but it remains mute. The battery light is flashing at me, but I can’t be bothered getting back up to plug it in. No one is making the effort to phone me these days anyway, so I’m sure it will be fine.
My stomach rumbles loudly again, but the thought of cooking something for just me is depressing. It’s also something that I’ve never done in this flat—to which the realisation makes me feel even more depressed. If that were even possible. I scream into my pillow in frustration, and let big, fat tears roll down my cheeks. I feel like my life is slipping through my fingers and I have no way to stop it.
Pain, hunger, and sadness roll through me like a tidal wave, and I close my eyes against the world. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel. I just want… what?
I want Oliver.
I love him, and I miss him. Yet I very nearly turned up at Mr Breckt’s home unannounced and threw myself at him. No matter how much I try to deny it, there's a deep attraction between us that I can’t seem to shake. No matter how dangerous I feel he might be, or how much I love Oliver. He is always there, swirling through my thoughts like dew drops in the wind. There is no point in denying it anymore.
Oliver clearly doesn’t want me; he’s made that obvious by his lack of communication. I feel the sob building again.My bones ache, my head is pounding, and my stomach still feels painfully empty. I just want to sleep and wake up in another day, in another time. I just want things to be back to normal I think as fall into a deep sleep.
Tick, tick, tick.
The clock next to me seems too loud as I rouse myself from my slumber. My head is positively pounding now, my stomach creasing in hunger. I sit up dazedly, my eyes adjusting to the rapidly darkening bedroom. I hadn’t meant to fall asleep—certainly not for so long. I look at the clock and see it’s 5:17p.m.
I listen for any noise that someone is home, but I’m met with cold, empty silence. I’m still wearing my coat and shoes, and as I walk through the darkened apartment, I decide to go straight over to mum and Dad’s coffee shop for something to eat. At least that way I won’t be eating alone. My mouth feels like sandpaper and I know I must look a mess, but I don’t care. A hot coffee and some food will make me feel better.
*
The coffee shop is quieter at this time of evening; most of the workers from over on the Island have already eaten and moved on to a bar, most probably, so it’s back to the usual suspects. I take my coat off, sit at the counter, and wait for one of the waitresses. I’m not in the mood to serve myself tonight.
I pick up a menu, gaze at the offerings, and then close it abruptly when my stomach churns. Perhaps this isn’t a good idea after all. I thought company would be good, but even the small amount of hustle and bustle isn’t making me feel any better. I look around and spy mum serving a couple down at the bottom end.
I look towards the door and back to where Mum was standing, but she’s coming towards me with a smile on her face. It turns to a frown when she sees me.
“Mia, what’s happened? What’s wrong?” She coaxes an arm around my shoulders in concern.
“Nothing, Mum. Just tired. I didn’t sleep well at all last night.” I give her a small smile as the lie slips form my lips.
Her frown deepens. “I bet you’re missing Oliver, aren’t you? I bet that’s what it is.” She kisses me on the forehead and moves around the counter to pin up the order.
“Come on, now, tell me how you’re doing.”
I gaze off into the distance whilst I struggle for the words to express how I’m feeling. Without even thinking about it, I begin to cry—great, shoulder-wracking sobs. I don’t feel Mum get up and turn me into her for a deep hug, but when I look up that’s where I am, tears streaking down my face as I weep relentlessly. I don’t care that people are watching, and I don’t care what they think. I’m such a mess right now anyway and hate myself; what’s one more to add to the list?
“I just…I…I just . . .” My sobs keep cutting off my words, which makes me even more frustrated, and I cry louder. She coaxes me off my stool and through the double doors into the back room.
“Mia, what’s going on with you? This isn’t like you at all, baby girl.” She hands me some tissues and I take them gratefully. I wipe away at my tears and look up into her concerned face. She brings some water over to me while I sit at the staff room table, my tears finally dying down.
“I don’t know, Mum. It’s just everything. I feel like I’m losing myself, losing Oliver, losing Rachael, losing…” My mind?
She sits opposite. “You and Oliver are okay though, aren’t you? Or is this all to do with that new chap from the Island?” I see the look of disapproval on her face at the thought that I might have cheated on Oliver. Even if she disagreed with me, she would take my side and look after me, but she would tell me the truth.
“No.” I change tack. “Yes and no.” I look up at her through my lashes as she tuts and takes a seat.
“Well you better tell me all about it.” She’s frowning but she places her hand softly over mine for support, and I fill her in on the past few weeks.
There’s silence while she takes it all in. I stand and pace around the room, filling my glass back up, and take great gulps from it. I actually feel so much better after crying and spilling all my dirty little secrets out. Like going to confession and giving up my sins.
Will I get into heaven now? Or am I still a bad girl, Father? I hang my head in shame.
“So…” Mum begins hesitantly. “You haven’t done anything with this, Mr fancy pants?” She stands and looks at me.
“No.” I smile at her made-up name for Mr Breckt. “But I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to.” I want to cry again, but the tears have all dried up now. “I love Oliver.” I say the words, but my heart is so heavy with guilt that
I don’t feel it is fair to say them.
“I know you do, Mia.” She holds me tightly, her arms wrapping around me protectively. I feel her love: a mother’s love. A love that makes me feel grown up and yet so small all at the same time. I’m still a child to her; I always will be.
“But, listen now, Mia. You have to stop this. Whatever is going on, or not going on. You have to stop this before you lose Oliver. If you love him, then fight for him, for your love.”
She pulls away, putting me at arm’s length, and watches me intently. “Fight him.” she insists.
Her mobile goes off in her pocket and we both jump and then giggle, breaking through the room’s thick emotions. She takes a deep steadying breath and answers, keeping her eyes on me at all times.
She’s right. Of course she is.
I need to fight him, and fight for our love. I need to show Oliver that no matter what Mr Breckt tries, that I’m his, and his alone. That I will stand up for our love. Not flounce off the moment some good-looking stranger shows me some attention.
My brain kicks in; the cogs begin to hum back to life and turn as I plot and try to figure out what to do. I need to see him, tell him that I know what his game is but that I’m having none of it.
“Mum?” I look at her with concern as she abruptly hangs up her phone.
“It’s Oliver.” She looks at the floor and then back up to me as if trying to find the best words.
“What?” The room is humming with tension.
“Where’s your mobile, Mia?” She looks around the room before her eyes land back on me.
“In my pocket, Mum.” I pull it out, and see it’s completely dead.
“Mia?”
I look back to her with wide eyes, and gulp. “What is it, Mum? Tell me.”
“Sweetheart, that was the police. They’ve found Oliver’s luggage washed up on the beach. They don’t know where he is.” She bites at her bottom lip and waits for the news to settle in, waiting for my reaction.
I feel nothing. I'm empty…devoid of emotion. My world tilts on its axis, and I slide off the end.
Twenty
Mia
I have been thinking about Oliver all night. The thoughts have whirled restlessly around my brain nonstop since the moment I was told that he was missing.
He’s fine. He’s alive, he’s run away, he’s been kidnapped, he’s…dead? I clutch a hand to my chest; the very idea that he could be dead sends splinters of pain through me. so I bite my lip hard, and force myself to banish thoughts like that. Because I refuse to believe it. Refuse to believe that could be true. There’s no reason to be making that assumption yet. So they’ve found his suitcase. So what if it had all his things in it. What does that prove?
I sit in my favourite chair with a coffee mug firmly between my hands, watching the world going by. Cars whizz up and down the street, people chat, but none of it goes in. None of it matters. Nothing matters without him. Without Oliver.
Oh, God, I feel sick. I put my coffee cup on the floor and put my head between my knees.
Detective Chaddock had said there had been several missing women reported, and I knew a lot of them. Bile rises in my throat. Kate, Emma, Hayley—waitresses from the coffee shop or chambermaids in the Lagan hotel. Where the hell could they be?
I feel the hot tears pouring down my face again, dripping off the end of my chin like water from a leaky tap, and then Rachael’s arms are around me before the first body-wracking sob starts up.
“Hush, hush, sweetie. Hush. It’s okay, he’s okay.” She cradles me in her arms, kissing the top of my head like a mother does to her child. Pulling my face up to meet hers, she rubs away my tears.
“You have got to stop worrying. Detective Chaddock will call us soon enough with some good news. I’m sure of it.” She smiles at me, but I see the cracks in the façade.
“What if he’s not though, Rachael?”
My eyes blur with a fresh round of tears when I think about being in the police station speaking to the Detective, and I let out a guttural cry. Rachel helps me to my bed and lays next to me as I curl myself into a ball. I clutch one of Oliver’s t-shirts to me like it’s my everything, drifting off to sleep with the feel of Rachel’s arms holding me protectively.
Empty and restless, I thrash in my bed. The covers sticking to my hot legs, sweat trickling down my forehead as I dream. I dream of Oliver…of us, of him and our life, and of where he might be right now. I see him happy and travelling the world.
I see him dead.
I see it all. Every fear laid bare for me.
My arm sprawls across my stomach, clutching at my sides, fiercely holding myself together. I know I am dreaming, but I can’t seem to stop it.
There is blood everywhere and I see Oliver in the centre of it all. The blood is coming from him. I run to him and press my hands to his wounds to slow the bleeding. He’s talking to me but I can’t hear his words. I try to speak but no sound comes out.
There’s so much blood—an ocean of it. And there I am…bobbing around, my face barely above the bloody waves as I call out his name.
I can’t find him. He’s gone; he’s lost forever to me.
My eyes open and I scream. A long, drawn-out, piercing, horror movie scream, but I don’t care. I don’t care if it burns my throat, if I choke under its fierceness. I don’t care about anything anymore. I wait for the wracking shudders to pass and the nausea to subside. Something has changed, I can feel it deep within me.
I sit up and wonder if this is all life holds for me now, all it has to offer. I scream again, big, fat tears sliding down my face when I think of the blood. There had been so much blood.
Up until this moment I had felt he was alive, but it’s gone; whatever small connection I had to him is gone. There is silence in my mind where once there had been Oliver.
Rachael crashes into the room. Her arms are around me, soothing me, hushing me, and holding me to her. I feel her tears too—hot, sad tears for her friends. For she has lost me too. I feel like I’m an empty shell of a person now that Oliver is not here. There is nothing left inside me.
There is only silence, and the silence is everlasting.
*
“I can hear you, Rachael,” I mutter, letting my eyes flutter open. I pull my blanket tighter around my curled up body in the big armchair. I recall last night’s nightmare with a shiver, glad I decided not to go back to bed. Every time I sleep in that bed—our bed—I have nightmares. As of today, I’m giving up sleeping in it.
“Sorry.” She kneels in front of me. She looks tired. I can’t help but wonder what the hell I must look like. “I didn’t mean to wake you, honey.” She smiles.
I smile back. “It’s fine, Rach.”
Heavy footsteps are behind us as Chris reaches the kitchen and starts to bang about with plates and cups. “Have we got any bacon?” he yells to Rachael. She rolls her eyes and stands.
“No, Chris. Why don’t you go get some from the shop?”
I don’t understand why he’s still here. I’ve asked her repeatedly to get him to leave. I don’t want him around me, or in Oliver’s space right now. I close my eyes.
“Babe, why don’t you go for me? Maybe the fresh air will do you good eh? You’re looking a bit peaky.” I can hear him pouring himself a coffee and then opening the fridge. “We could do with some more milk as well whilst you’re out; I think this has gone off.” I turn to look at him pouring it away. I notice he’s using Oliver’s cup again and I grind my teeth together in frustration. My stomach rolls at the thought of him touching something of Oliver’s, but I know I’m being ridiculous and so bite my tongue instead of voicing my annoyance.
Rachael is watching him. Her patience seems to be wearing thin, and yet she replies. “Okay. Anything else whilst I’m out? I won’t be long, Mia. You’ll be all right if I nip out, won’t you, honey? Chris wants some bacon. You know what men are like if they don’t fill their stomachs.” She chuckles lightly. “You’d think he’d die if he didn
’t get his daily bacon butty!” She realises what she has just said. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry, Mia. I didn’t mean it like that.”
I stand up. I need to get out of here, away from these two. “It’s fine, Rach. I’m going for a shower.”
I make my way down the hallway, listening to them whispering to each other, before I hear a bang and a smash. I freeze midstride and swallow, squeezing my eyes closed. I know instantly what the noise is and I turn and run back down the hallway to the kitchen.
“No!” I fall to my knees, scooping up the pieces of Oliver’s mug. “No, what have you done?” The tears fall down my face as I try to piece the useless fragments of ceramic back together.
“Sorry about that, Mia.” I look up at Chris. He’s leaning back against the counter top, a sneer almost forming at his mouth. The look is fleeting and tiny, but I see it and I stand and charge at him, hitting him with both fists, and pounding his chest with all my force.
“You idiot, I hate you. I hate you!” I scream, my face cracking in anger as he restrains both my hands. “Just get out now.” I slap at his face, but he blocks me with his arm.
“Are you crazy? Get the hell off me, you psycho, bitch.” He shoves me hard against the counter and I bang my back against the hard surface. My breath leaves my lungs in a rush. “Don’t EVER touch me, do you understand?” He stares at me vehemently and then looks across at Rachael. “Can you believe this?” He gestures to me.
I stare at her, watching as she contemplates what to say. “Well the thing is, Chris, that’s Oliver’s mug. So she’s just a little upset because…” He cuts Rachel off mid-sentence.
“What? Are you saying she’s justified in attacking me?” He walks towards her, staring her down, and for the first time I see not just his arrogance but also his bullying tactics. “Babes, she attacked me. No one attacks me! Do you get that? No one.”
I push away from the counter. “I want him out.” I say shakily. I stare at him and then at her, willing her to make the right decision, to not choose him this time.
Paranormal Magic (Shades of Prey Book 1) Page 193