Death Takes a Holiday

by Jennifer Harlow

“You talk funny.”

  “Carlos!” I say.

  “It is alright, Trixie. I do. I am from England, and this is how we speak.”

  “Oh,” The boy shifts on his feet. “Are you Aunt Bea’s boyfriend?”

  “No,” he answers without hesitation.

  “Carlos, stop being rude,” I say. “Go take your sister to the playground. Now.” Carlos has to pry his sister from Oliver, but they obey. “That kid is going to be heck on wheels when he’s a teenager.”

  “He is just jealous of the attention his brother is receiving,” Oliver says. “I remember when I brought Catherine a kitten from the O’Mara farm. Samuel cried for an hour then smashed his dinner bowl. I had to tan his hide.”

  My mouth hangs open a little, but I have no idea what to say. “You’re talking about your children, aren’t you?” finally comes out.

  He doesn’t take his eyes off the playground but nods. “Yes.”

  “What were they like?”

  “Mischievous. Loving. Beautiful. The loves of my life.”

  “Did you ever see them after you were turned?”

  “No. I had no desire for this life to touch theirs. I simply sent funds as often as I could.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “My wife, Sarah, returned to her family’s farm. She and Samuel died five years later of the Black Death. Catherine married her cousin and shortly died in childbirth.”

  “Do you still miss them?” I ask, studying him.

  Those gray eyes turn my way, deep never-ending melancholy radiating from them. “Oh yes. Every single day.”

  We stare at one another, the pain so deep it crushes me again. I reach up to touch his cheek. “I—”

  “There you are!” April calls from behind us. The spell’s broken. I quickly lower my hand and both plaster smiles on as we turn around. April, Javi, and snowflake Manny walk up. “Please tell me you sold my other children.”

  “Nobody would take them,” I say. I look down at Manny. “You were so good. Best snowflake ever!”

  “Thank you,” the boy says.

  “Well, Mr. Snowflake here wants to go to Johnny Rockets for milkshakes. You guys in?”

  I’m about to reply, but Oliver beats me to it. “I am afraid I cannot. I really must be returning to my hotel to pack. Our flight is scheduled to leave in an hour.”

  “Really?” April asks, disappointed.

  “I am afraid so, but it was very kind of you to include me in the festivities.”

  “Of course,” Javi says.

  Oliver touches my back. “Trixie, I shall meet you at the car.” He looks at the Diego family. “It was lovely to finally meet you all.”

  He shakes Javi’s hand and kisses a surprised April’s cheek before walking off.

  “Was it something—” April says.

  “No. Look, I have to drop him at the hotel, but I’m gonna swing by your house later, okay? I have so much to tell you.”

  “I’ll bet. Is this a wine or tequila conversation?”

  “Tequila with a side of moonshine.” I hug her. “See you in an hour.”

  I run off after Oliver, catching up with him at the gate. The huge cross still looms. Without a word I take his arm and lead him up the street to the car. To anyone we’d look like a couple strolling arm in arm.

  “I was rude,” he says.

  “It’s okay.”

  “I simply … ”

  I squeeze his arm and rest my chin on his shoulder. “I know.”

  The ten-minute drive to the hotel is made in silence as we both think about those fatherless children dead for five hundred years. I imagine the girl, Catherine, petite with her father’s brown hair, pale skin, and wicked sense of humor. Samuel was probably a carbon copy of his father complete with mischievous smile and charm. I have a million questions but don’t dare ask. Some things are better left unexplained and in the past. Oliver just stares expressionless out the window.

  I park the car at the hotel’s curb, but he doesn’t get out. We just sit for a minute, neither of us ready to break the invisible tethers entwining us to the other. I have the strongest urge to touch his exquisite alabaster face one more time. “This may be the last I see of you,” he finally says.

  “I’ll fly back to pack up my things.”

  He turns and looks at me with beautiful, aching eyes. “Perhaps.”

  He’s right. This is it. I’ll never see him again. We can swear to call, e-mail, or visit, but we both know we won’t. All or nothing, that’s who we are. Bond forged in blood and tears, the strongest kind there is. I try to hold back the tears but can’t. I shake my head. “I am going to miss you. So much.”

  Hesitantly he raises his hand. He touches my wet cheek, wiping a tear away with his cold thumb. I press his hand in mine. “Do not cry, my darling,” he whispers. “I cannot bear to see you cry.”

  “I always seem to be doing it in front of you,” I say with a chuckle. “And you’re the only one. You … ” I can’t say it. It’ll make it all too real. “Just … ” I lean in and embrace him, holding him tight and breathing him in for the last time. I think my heart is breaking for the second time today.

  He hugs me back, holding me as tight as I am him. “Thank you, my goddess. Goodbye.”

  And then in a blink, he’s gone.

  The car door is open, and I’m hugging air. The only remainder is the gold bracelet sitting on the dashboard. I pick it up with a gasp. My charm bracelet. The one Mom gave me. He found it. He brought it back to me. My friend. My partner. My dark angel.

  Goodbye.

  I shouldn’t be driving like this. I can barely see through my tears and my hands tremble, but I have to get home. I want Nana and April

  and my bed and a place to think.

  But I’m not that lucky. Never ever. Halfway home a police cruiser begins flashing its lights, and I have to pull over. Crap. We end up at the corner of a residential street. I take deep breaths to calm myself down. It works. I’m only weeping as the officer shines his flashlight through the window. I roll it down. I sniffle and say, “Here’s my license and—”

  “Hey, Bea,” a familiar voice says. I look up, and Steven smiles down at me. “You look like hell.”

  “Steven?”

  “I would say I’m sorry about this, but I’m not.”

  “What?”

  I see his hand move, but don’t register what has actually happened until after the sharp stab of the needle in my neck. Then the world goes from fuzzy to black.

  After this day, I welcome it.

  TWELVE

  DOWN THE RABBIT HOLE

  I WAKE UP BUT … don’t. Everything seems far away from me. Unreal. Right as I open them, my eyes refuse to stay open. When they open again I have no idea how much time has passed. Seconds? Days? I feel squishy and gooey and sleepy. Very sleepy. This time I force my eyes to remain open for a few seconds.

  I’m lying on a cot. The room is sparse, with a chemical toilet and two bottles of water next to it. That’s it. Oh, and the heavy chain coming from the floor and ending at the handcuff on my ankle. This should be the part where I freak out, but instead I give my eyes what they want once again.

  The next time they open about half the fuzzies have vanished and complex thought is possible. As is walking. Well, after the second attempt. I devour the unopened water of half its contents and use the toilet, but that’s all I can manage right now. I flop back on the cot before my legs give out.

  Okay, I’ve obviously been kidnapped. Again. This makes three after the necromancer and Freddy. They both ended bloody, but at least I knew what they wanted from me. I was a means to an end in both cases. Was this Connor? Likely suspect, but I doubt it. I’m not much use to him unless I’m willing. Who … Steven stopped me. He injected me with something. Steven. But why? I really don’t want to consider the possibilities. I can’t think of a single good one. Pure, unadulterated fear pushes through the drug haze, and I curl into the fetal position. I don’t fight unconsciousn
ess this time.

  The sound of the door unlocking jolts me awake. But instead of my bastard ex-boyfriend, Kristen steps in with a grocery bag in one hand and pistol in the other. Per usual, she is not pleased to see me, pretty face ugly with a sneer, but for once the feeling is not mutual. The woman can’t stand me, so it’s doubtful she’ll sexually assault me. I’m hanging onto any sliver of hope here.

  “Oh God, you’re awake,” she says as if I’ve inconvenienced her. She grips the pistol tighter. “Move and I shoot you.” I stay still as she approaches but try to take the gun out of her hand with my mind. It doesn’t budge. Stupid drugs. She tosses the bag by the bed and a jar of peanut butter rolls out. “Your dinner, Countess.”

  “What the hell is going on?” I ask, my voice cracking. “Where am I?”

  “My great-grandfather’s cabin. The last place you’ll ever be.”

  “What … ” I can’t think of the words. “Where’s Steven?”

  “Helping your FBI buddies search for you. Everyone’s so concerned,” she says in a baby voice.

  “How long have I been here?”

  “A day. Two more to go.”

  “Until?”

  “I’ll let your imagination run wild with that one.” Keeping the gun on me, she pulls out a hypodermic needle. “Time for your medicine. I laced it with something fun this time. Move or try any of your magic mind shit, and I’ll blow your fucking brains out.”

  She presses the barrel right into my temple, and as hard as she can, jabs the needle into my neck. I cry out in pain as the bitch just smiles.

  “Pleasant nightmares,” she says before fading to black.

  When I open my eyes, heavy as boulders, there’s someone standing in the corner of the almost black room. The only light emanates from the hanging bulb swinging left and right like a pendulum. As with everything else, the person is distorted, at a slight angle, and out of focus like watching a 3-D movie without the glasses. But when he steps into the light, I scream. Leonard Bentley, the man I killed as a child, remains motionless as worms crawl in and out of his flaky yellow skin. A zombie, he’s a zombie. He studies me, his mouth contorting into a grotesque smile. Cockroaches climb out all over his face. He lunges at me, howling like a madman, and I flip on my side, pulling my knees to my chest. But he doesn’t touch me. I lay there sobbing and rocking myself for a few minutes. “It’s okay, it’s okay” I say in a loop through the sobs. He’s gone. He’s not real. He’s not real, and he’s gone. He’s gone. When I can breathe again, I quickly turn my head over my shoulder just to make sure he’s not there.

  “He went away,” a woman’s voice echoes though the silent room.

  I know that voice. My boogeyman has changed form. I catch only a glimpse before I shriek again, close my eyes, and put my fingers in my ears. This doesn’t stop my tormenter. My once beautiful mother, now bloated and red from the gas, rests on the bed next to me. I feel it move under her weight and can smell her White Diamonds perfume as she lowers her head to my ear. Though my ears are plugged, her voice is as clear as day. “You murdered him. The only man I ever loved. Then you killed me. I couldn’t stand the fact you came out of me. I hated you. You killed the love of my life, you selfish bitch! I’m dead because of you! You’re a freak! An aberration! A fucking monster! I should have killed you in the womb!”

  “No!” I bellow.

  I swat at her, but she’s gone. Gone, gone, gone. I’m all alone. Alone, alone, alone. Forever alone. I close my eyes again, panting until I can’t breathe. I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. Is this bed real? Is the smell of urine real? This must be what it’s like to be crazy. Trapped in your own mind, not trusting anything or anyone. Madness. A lunatic. It’s finally happened.

  “Oh God, help me,” I cry into my hands. But am I really? Are these my real hands?

  “What the fuck did she do to you?” a man asks.

  Real fingers open my real eye, and I view Nick kneeling beside me. He seems concerned and shakes his head. When he pulls away my eye closes again. I struggle not to fall back into my hell for a few seconds. “Hey,” Nick says, “Kristen did something to her.” He pauses and I slip away. “I don’t know … ”

  I open my eyes again, but my prison has changed. I’m back at the mansion in my own pink bed. Everything is so bright the light stings my eyes. I blink a few times to bring the figures in the room into focus. Bad idea. Oliver, dressed in a tuxedo complete with cape, sucks the blood from a woman in a red satin dress. I blink a few times to make sure what I’m seeing. She’s me. Or was me. Her arm is limp and her head lolls to the side, blood dripping from the side of the other me’s mouth. Oliver gazes up from her neck, giving me a bloody grin before sinking his fangs in again.

  “He is such a pig,” Will says. At least I think it’s Will. A giant, furry wolf wearing tattered pants sits cross legged in the chair beside me. The green eyes are the only remnants of him.

  “No, he’s not,” I say meekly.

  “Look at him.” I do. Oliver sinks has fangs into the other me’s neck for the third time. “He doesn’t know when to quit. He is a hedonist. Pure excess. And let’s not forget he’s dead. He’s not human. He will never be able to give you what you need. Fidelity. Normalcy. Home.” Oliver drops my corpse to the floor like a sack of garbage and wipes the stray blood from his chin. “He will tire of you. Leave you. And in the end, he will destroy you.”

  I close my eyes. “I know,” I whisper. When I open them again Oliver is gone, but my corpse remains.

  Werewolf Will’s barely there lips are pulled back into a smile, his jagged teeth visible. “Thank you,” he says.

  “Why?”

  “Now it’s just the two of us. Just the way I want it.”

  “But you don’t want me.”

  “I want you more than any man has ever wanted any woman in history. As Romeo wanted Juliet. As Paris wanted Helen of Troy.”

  “You rejected me.”

  “To save you.” He gestures to himself. “From this.”

  “I don’t mind you like that.”

  “I do,” he says. “This and this alone is how I see myself now. As the beast. As that.” We both turn our heads to the sight behind him. A second Will is on top of me, biting and clawing at me as I try to fight him off. The other me screams and cries, but the wolf’s snout rips my throat out. “That is all I see when I think of you. I’m no better than him.”

  I blink. The wolf and corpse are gone. My Will has tears cascading down his furry cheeks. I reach across and wipe them away. His pelt is so soft, like feathers. He nuzzles my hand. “This is not the you I see.” I push myself up and lean across, kissing his lips right under his nose. When I pull away, he’s transformed back into human form. “This is the man I love.”

  “Then maybe it’s time you tried to save me for once.”

  “Do you think you’ll let me?”

  This time he kisses me. It’s deep, passionate, perfect. He moves his mouth to my ear, his hot breath against my neck, and whispers, “Only one way to find out.”

  Something wet splashes my face and my bedroom vanishes, replaced with my real dank, dark prison. Nick and Steven, who holds a water bottle over my head, stand beside the bed. Neither seems pleased. I thrash and wipe the liquid off my face.

  “What … ” I ask. That one word takes quite the effort.

  “I’m gonna get her some new sheets and pants,” Nick says. “You’ll be okay?”

  “Yeah. She’s still drugged.” Nick nods and walks out, locking the door behind himself. “Thirsty?” Steven asks. He tips the water bottle into my mouth, and I drink until it’s all gone. Steven grabs the bag Kristen left then sits on the bed. I shrink away. Shaking his head, he pulls out a banana, peels it, and puts it against my mouth. Hunger replaces common sense, and I eat.

  Nick returns with sweatpants and sheets, tossing them at Steven. “I’m gonna take off,” Nick says. “If anyone asks about you?”

  “Taken care of.”

  “Okay.
Artie’ll stop by tomorrow afternoon to check on her.”

  “Okay. Safe drive back,” Steven says.

  “You too.” Nick barely glances at me before leaving.

  A smiling Steven looks down at me. “Still hungry?”

  “Fuck you,” I slur.

  He’s taken aback. “You know, that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you cuss. Doesn’t sound right coming from you.” He picks up the peanut butter and spoon from the bag, feeding it to me. I spit it out. “You know I’m trying to make this as painless for you as possible.”

  “Let me go.”

  He stuffs more peanut butter in my mouth instead. This reminds me of the time he had this horrible virus and was bedridden for a week. I came over and fed him soup, much like he’s doing now. “Sorry. Not happening.” This time I spit the food right into his face. He flinches then smacks me across the cheek, fresh pain blossoming through the haze. He raises his hand again but groans and hits his leg instead. “Jesus Christ, Bea! Why’d you make me do that?”

  My cheek throbs so bad. I stifle a sob. “What are you going to do to me?”

  “We’re going to sacrifice you. To a troll.”

  Okay, not expecting that answer. “What?”

  “Six months ago Kristen inherited this place. She was surveying it and found an old mine shaft. It led to a cave, and there he was. Best we can figure, her great-grandfather kept it as a pet. She found his journal, and apparently once every two months, it came out on the new moon. After he fed it, it passed out and he harvested some of its blood. Bea, the man died at age one hundred fifty! You have no idea what this shit does. I can bench press four hundred and run ten miles without stopping. It’s fucking amazing!”

  “You’ve done this before?” I ask, shocked. “You’ve killed people?”

  “But I’ve saved more! I stopped a gangbanger with my bare hands. Jawan ran down a pedophile for three miles. We usually only take the homeless. Criminals. It’s for the greater good.”

  “And doing this to me? Is that for the greater good?”

  “I just figured your blood is special. It can only add to the potency of the troll’s.”