Welcome to Castle Cove: A Design Your Destiny Novel

by Kory M. Shrum

  “What the fuck,” a man cuts in. “I thought you took her phone.”

  A scream cuts off the message. Katie’s scream.

  The hair on the back of my neck is standing straight up. I listen to it two more times, feeling sick over my pounding heart.

  I’m also having a bit of déjà vu, though I’m certain I’ve never heard a woman scream like that before in my life.

  I exit the voicemail and call Katie. Fingers crossed she was drunk, in a bad situation but is home safe now with a hellacious hangover.

  Vampires? Real vampires? She can’t be serious…

  But the call goes straight to her voicemail. Damn. I leave a message anyway, completely aware that I sound like a hand-wringing mother. I could drive to Alpha’s and see if they saw her. Or I can go by her place and knock on the door.

  Choice 11

  Go by Katie’s apartment

  Go by Alpha’s

  Lean closer and hear what she says.

  I lean forward, placing one hand on the brick wall behind her head. “What did you say?” I angle my ear hoping to hear her better this time.

  She doesn’t smell great this close.

  She smells of sweat and something else. Something tangy that burns my nose and makes my lips curl up.

  I lean in anyway, desperately trying to catch that whisper, the brick wall cold under my open palm.

  Rough hands seize me. I scream, surprised, but the scream is cut short when a sharp pain stabs into the side of my neck. The scream is swallowed up by a sticky hand closing over my mouth.

  I wriggle and writhe in that embrace, but I can’t move. Whatever has a hold of my throat has a death grip. And the arms around me are squeezing the air from my lungs.

  I’m going to suffocate.

  Cold creeps up my body. It pools in my feet like dark water rising, up my calves, up my thighs, slipping past my navel and breasts.

  I’m so cold…so so cold…

  When I come to awareness, I’m lying on the stone floor in an immense house. I know the house is immense because the ceiling over my head must be at least twenty feet high. And all I can do is lie motionless on my back and look up at it. It is a beautiful view—the domed enclosure painted in a romantic renaissance style.

  In the center of the tableau is a woman with long black hair and impossibly pale skin. Her eyes are black and lips blood red. And from her long, wild hair escapes all manner of creatures. Half man, half beast. Monsters with fur and claws and scales. Beautiful men and women, who aren’t people at all, emerging from this goddess, into the nightscape surrounding her ethereal beauty.

  “I’m sorry I brought her here,” a woman says. Her voice is high and bright. “But I couldn’t leave her in the street.”

  “You did what was best, Josephine,” a cool male voice says. “We both know that.”

  Why can’t I move? Why can’t my body move?

  “Of course she did. It’s not like she drained this woman on purpose!” a voice hisses. “She was injured! Her hunger couldn’t be controlled. You can’t have expected her—”

  “Penelope,” the one called Josephine growls a low warning. “Ethan is very kind to let me bring the body here. Let’s not be rude. And I’m prepared to accept any responsibility for what I did.”

  The man interrupts their squabble. “Rest assured no harm will come to Josephine over this mistake. We both know she did not mean to take a life. Her body fed on this woman in order to keep herself from dying. Unfortunate. But not malicious.”

  “Withstanding torture! For hours!” Penelope spits. Rage makes her voice quake. “And she didn’t even give up Vendetta’s location.”

  “No one is questioning her bravery or her loyalty,” Ethan says softly.

  Who did this vampire woman kill? Who tortured her for information? And why isn’t anyone talking to me?

  “It’s okay,” Josephine whispers. Her voice is a gentle shushing now. “It’s okay, P. I’m okay.”

  In the corner of my eyes I see the women embrace. Perhaps kiss or press cheek to cheek. I can’t tell because I can’t turn my head.

  Why can’t I turn my head?

  “But there is one matter we must address,” Ethan says. “The soul of this woman is still trapped in the body. When we sealed the city, it also locked out the reapers.”

  “I was afraid of that,” Josephine says. She comes to kneel beside my body leaning over into my face. I can see her clearly now. It’s the woman from the alley, resurrected. The blood and grit are still on her skin, but she’s looking alive now, somehow she’s been delivered from death’s door.

  “I will release her myself,” Ethan promises.

  “Can I apologize first?” Josephine asks, tears glistening in her eyes. A tear falls, splattering onto my cheek.

  I feel a hand so much warmer than mine clasp my fingers.

  “I owe you my life,” Josephine whispers, soulfully searching my eyes. “I am sorry for what happened. I hope you will forgive me and find peace.”

  “She has saved many lives tonight. She will find peace in that,” Ethan says. His face replaces Josephine’s until he is all that fills my vision.

  Eyes the color of flame burn in front of me. I want to scream. I want to buck away from this demonic beast, but I’m still trapped, still unable to move.

  “Let her go, Ethan,” Penelope warns. “This isn’t one for your collection.”

  “It seems a pity to waste.” An icy finger rakes across my forehead and my body ignites. Cold flame consumes me. “But if you insist.”

  And that’s when I realize I’m dead. And how I died. My blood, my body saved the woman in the alley. Whether or not I wanted to, I died so she could keep on living.

  I’m still trying to be okay with that.

  Sometimes I walk Canyon Road in the twilight, watching the cars pass in and out of town. Sometimes I stand on the cliffs of Vendetta Heights and see the moon shining on black ocean water, and watch creatures crawl out of the sea and sing to the moonlight. I can spend my nights a thousand different ways really. However I want.

  You have a lot of time on your hands when you’re dead.

  The End

  Create a new story

  She needs help. Call 911

  Who cares what this lady has to say, she’s covered in blood. She’s clearly lost too much and if I start moving her around, I’ll only make it worse.

  Instead, I take her hand and squeeze it, while fishing my phone out of my pocket. There’s a voicemail from Katie, but it’ll have to wait. I dial 911, murmuring assurances to the woman.

  I give the operator on the phone my name and location. She asks about the attacker, but I don’t have anything helpful to add there. This alleyway is empty. I can see a door at the end leading into the back of a building, but I’m not sure where that goes or even if anyone went that way.

  And the street running in front of my apartment is eerily quiet. There is no one in either direction.

  The operator informs me help is on the way. “Maybe you should go back to your apartment.”

  I can smell the metallic tang of blood in the air as the wounded woman murmurs to herself.

  I say, “If I were bleeding to death in an alley, I wouldn’t want to be alone.”

  My voice is crueler than I intend, but I don’t care. How could she suggest I leave the woman here? What is wrong with this town?

  “I’m only saying it may be safer for you to wait inside your home. Since you are human.”

  I snort. “As opposed to…?”

  There’s a long pause. Too long. The awkwardness builds in my ear as I continue to squeeze the woman’s hand.

  “Stay with me,” I whisper to her. “Help is coming.”

  The operator breaks the silence by repeating my name and address to me. I can’t remember giving my address, but I must have. Otherwise how did she get it? Unless my name and number are on some public file?

  She says my name again. “I must advise you to wait inside your home until t
he paramedics arrive. It isn’t safe for you out there. The area is too dangerous.”

  “But what about—”

  “She will be fine. They’re almost there. We will send an officer by to collect a statement later. Please go. Now.”

  Anger and confusion rise up inside me like twin snakes.

  I stare at the panting woman, who is desperately clinging to her life.

  Choice 12

  Go back to my apartment

  Wait for the paramedics

  Go back to my apartment

  “Help is coming,” I tell her and give her hand one last squeeze.

  If the professionals think the area is too dangerous, I have to trust them. They’ve had the training. I’m just a chick trying to help.

  I hurry down the street, past the onlookers in the window—that strange hunched man who looks like a Tim Burton character come to life—all boney angles and gothic attire.

  Then his eyes widen and his gaze slides over me toward the alley from which I came.

  This sends chills through my bones. I don’t know why, but I bolt. The way one bolts up the basement stairs, away from the darkness as fast as you can because that breath on the back of your neck whispers danger danger danger.

  I hustle up the stairs and burst into the apartment. Sushi sprints from the living room, obviously frightened by my dramatic entrance.

  I mumble something that could be mistaken for an apology, my own chest heaving.

  For a moment, all I can do it lay against the door, panting.

  That was close. Really close. But I’m not sure what I escaped, now do I? As soon as I saw that man’s wide, frightened glare, I took off running.

  The balcony.

  I cross the living room and pull open the balcony door. I step out and lean over the railing, so I can get a good view of the street below.

  Ambulance lights bounce off the brownstones. On balconies up and down the street, residents are leaning out, curiously, trying to get a glimpse of the commotion.

  The cops pull up moments later, their lights splashing against the buildings. They disappear into the alley, only to return for a stretcher.

  “Is she okay?” I call from the balcony.

  One paramedic looks up and catches my eye. “You got lucky.”

  And that’s it. That’s all he says before he climbs into the passenger side of the ambulance. I can’t see the driver through the light reflected off the windshield.

  I watch the ambulance pull away. It’s followed by the two police cars, which split and go opposite directions at the end of the street.

  They’re looking for the killer, I think. Because he’s still loose. Or she.

  Their departure leaves the street grotesquely normal looking. I’d have never guessed anything had happened here if it wasn’t for the blood, standing like rain water on the concrete.

  What the hell just happened?

  For the longest time I sit on the couch waiting for someone to come and take my statement. No one does. I think that I’ll never fall asleep tonight—not with some killer running lose in my neighborhood. How do I know he—or she—isn’t going to break in here, murder me and hide out in my apartment from the authorities. What if he kills Sushi? Or kills me? You never know with the crazies.

  I lay awake thinking of this inevitable possibility, certain that not only will I not fall asleep tonight, but I won’t sleep ever again.

  But of course I do.

  I wake to a soft paw batting my nose.

  “Meow.”

  A tinge of claws.

  “Meow.”

  I pry my eyes open against the sunlight streaming in. This is all the encouragement that the cat needs. He climbs onto my chest and proceeds to rub his head and ears against my face until I’m gasping. I swat him away.

  I sit up and check the time. Almost 10:30. I’m surprised he let me sleep this long.

  “Okay, okay,” I say and throw back the covers. And pause.

  I’m fully dressed.

  I try to remember what happened the night before…the first thought that surfaces is the ambulance. And then the sight of the mangled woman, bloody and raw as she lay propped against the brick building.

  I use my phone to check the Castle Cove News. The local paper’s website. But there is nothing in there about an attack in Old Town. Is it too soon? How long does it take for a murder story to break?

  Beside the clock icon on my phone I see the voicemail flag.

  I play the message while dragging myself into the kitchen to feed the moaning cat.

  Of course, only a small circle of the bowl is exposed but I give him his morning scoop anyway.

  I recognize Katie’s voice on the voicemail, but I have to restart the message twice to make sure I understand what she’s saying. On the third play-through I’m finally sure.

  “Baltimore. Oh shit, Baltimore. Help me. I shouldn’t have left Alpha’s with them, but how the hell was I supposed to know they were vampires?! Honest-to-god freaking monsters. I don’t know where they’re taking me. They’ve got me in a trunk and—”

  “What the fuck,” a man cuts in. “I thought you took her phone.”

  A scream cuts off the message. Katie’s scream.

  The hair on the back of my neck is standing straight up. I listen to it two more times, feeling sick over my pounding heart.

  I’m also having a bit of déjà vu. Didn’t I just hear a woman screaming for her life?

  I exit the voicemail and call Katie. Fingers crossed she was drunk, in a bad situation but is home safe now with a hellacious hangover.

  Vampires? Actual vampires? She had to be drunk…

  But the call goes straight to her voicemail. Damn. I leave a message anyway, completely aware that I sound like a hand-wringing mother. I could drive to Alpha’s and see if they saw her. Or I can go by her place and knock on the door.

  Choice 13

  Go by Katie’s apartment

  Go by Alpha’s

  Wait for the paramedics

  “No,” I say. “I’m not going to leave a woman who’s bleeding to death alone in an alley. Forget it.”

  I hang up on the operator.

  “Forget her,” I say to no one in particular. Then to the woman, “they’ll be here soon, okay? Just hang in there. Help is on the way.”

  I have to hope that despite the shitty advice, the operator will do her damn job.

  The woman’s hand is sticky in mine. The blood is drying. And her hands are colder and colder with each touch. The smell of blood is so thick that it’s surpassed that coppery tang and has become sweet and almost aromatic.

  My stomach turns.

  My ears prick at the sound of rubber bouncing over cobblestones. Tires. And the soft purr of an engine.

  Then I see the lights, flickering over the brownstone.

  “I have to make sure they see us, okay?” I give her hand a squeeze and she stirs. Her hand starts to lock onto mine, but I slip out of it before she can clamp down. I know she’s scared, but I can’t do as much for her as this ambulance can. So I better get out there.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  I step out into the street just as the white and red ambulance passes by. I raise my hands over my head and wave, trying to get their attention in their rearview or side mirrors. Sure enough, they slam on their breaks, splashing the buildings in their red brake lights.

  The passenger side door swings open and a large man steps out. He’s nothing but muscle from head to toe—his neck as thick as my thigh. The button up black shirt and black pants fit him like a glove and yet he looks like he might burst out of it at any time. Surely a paramedic knows better than to do steroids, right?

  Right?

  “She’s down there,” I say, pointing to the alley behind me.

  And I don’t know what I expect him to say. Show me. Or maybe thanks for staying with her.

  “You shouldn’t be out here,” he says. His black eyes swimming in artificial light. “Get inside.”

/>   I mean, I wasn’t expecting applause, but geez. That’s so cold. Even colder than the woman on the phone had been.

  I want to complain about his rudeness but forget it. Now isn’t the time. I hope my scowl says it all. “Just help her.”

  I’m about to push past him and go back to my apartment seeing as there’s nothing else I can do here. But then he draws a gun and points that black barrel right at me.

  I throw up my hands. “What the hell!”

  “Don’t move!” he shouts. Then the other paramedic appears on the other side of the ambulance and swears. He pulls a gun too.

  “Are you fucking serious right now?” I say. “What did I do?”

  But the second paramedic isn’t even looking at me. He’s pointing his gun past me.

  That’s when I realize the first paramedic isn’t pointing a gun at me. He’s pointing it at my ear…or just past my right shoulder.

  Something is right behind me. I’m about to turn and look when the paramedic says, “Don’t.”

  I freeze. We lock eyes and I can’t miss how much of the whites are showing. Whatever he sees is scary as hell.

  “Run!” he screams.

  Choice 14

  Don’t ask questions! Run!

  Turn and look

  Don’t ask questions! Run.

  Without turning around, I run. I bolt past the paramedic, aiming for the steps of my apartment.

  Several shots fire behind me, and the guttural cry of an animal echoes down the street, bouncing off the brownstones and into the night.

  No human could make that sound.

  It’s a wild, crazy thought and nothing has felt truer in my life.

  It’s the sound of a pig being gutted alive on the slaughterhouse floor, and the sound of its suffering being drawn out slowly on a cassette tape.