chat window popped up. He was online.
BLOOD ORIGINS- BOOK ONE
Good morning, Rena.
With a sense that I’d stepped into something surreal, I
typed back good morning.
How are you today?
Fine. How’d you find my facebook? Well that sounded
stupid. Like my Facebook was some big state secret?
Rena isn’t a common name, the message came back. And
your picture confirmed it was you.
I glanced at my picture. It was one of the few I have
where Cecile isn’t pictured too. It was from last Halloween,
and I was wearing so much makeup that I couldn’t believe this
picture was all he’d had to confirm my identity. I wouldn’t
have expected someone who knew me well to be absolutely
sure who they were looking at in that photo.
He must have really been paying attention to me
yesterday. I wasn’t sure if that was flattering or creepy. Then
again, I wasn’t sure if Cryder himself was flattering or creepy.
what are you up to? I typed, realizing I wasn’t holding up
my end of the conversation.
Wondering if you’d like to go get that scone with me this
evening.
* * *
“You should definitely go,” Cecile said. “You need a
little fun.”
“I can’t take you seriously while you’re doing that.” She
was lying chest-down on her bedroom floor, back arched up so
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her butt was over her head and her toes touched the ground on
either side of her face. I sat cross-legged? on her bed, computer in hand, staring at Cryder’s still-unanswered Facebook
message. I was so freaked out by the situation that I’d had to
wake Cecile and fill her in. I should have known her advice
would be to leap in with both feet.
Cecile rolled down out of her yoga pose and stretched
into Downward Facing Dog, butt high in the air. “When was
the last time you went on a date, Rena?”
“Homecoming.” Brett Troyer. We’d gone as friends.
She shifted her weight to lift a hand and wave it
dismissively at me. “Doesn’t count.”
“Why doesn’t it count!?”
“Did you kiss him?”
“Brett? Of course not.”
“So.”
“So what, you want me to kiss this person? I’ve spoken
to him for all of five minutes, Cecile.”
She stood upright and stretched her arms back over her
head. “That’s why you go on the date. Get to know him and
find out if you want to kiss him.”
“I don’t know about this.”
“Go on. It would be good for you.” She shook out her
limbs and came over to sit beside me on the bed. “You never
have any fun, Rena.”
“I have fun!”
“No, okay, I know you do, but you always have the
same kind of fun. You need to get out of your comfort zone.”
BLOOD ORIGINS- BOOK ONE
“Why do I need to do that? I like my comfort zone. It’s
comfortable!”
She laughed. “Do it for me. If you don’t have fun, I’ll
bake you apple tartlets to make up for it.”
I could hardly say no to that. “You promise?”
“Scout’s honor!”
With a deep breath, I turned back to the Facebook
conversation. How’s five o’clock?
The reply was immediate as though he was waiting on
my response. Perfect. I’ll pick you up.
* * *
The doorbell rang promptly as the digital clock over the
oven clicked to 5:00. “He’s here!” Cecile sang out, dropping
the mascara wand she’d been using to put ‘finishing touches’
on my look. --- “We’re just grabbing coffee,” I’d told her. She’d rolled her eyes somewhat smugly and said, “you never know,
though!” ---
I scooted off my stool, waving a hand at Cecile to quiet
her, and opened the door. There stood Cryder, a massive
bouquet of flowers in his arms. His light brown hair, which I
remembered being in disarray when we’d first met, was now
combed neatly and parted to the right. He wore pressed slacks,
shined shoes, and a blazer and bow tie. Thank God I’d taken
Cecile’s advice and put on a sundress instead of the jeans and t-
shirt I’d wanted to wear.
Cecile came up behind me. “Nice bow tie.” She took
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the flowers out of his hands. “I’ll pop these in a vase for you,
Rena.”
“Thank you,” Cryder said, with no apparent trace of
humor. “It was my grandfather’s.” He turned to me. “Rena, I
thought perhaps we could begin the evening with dinner?”
“I only have money for coffee.”
“This would be my treat.”
“She’d be delighted,” Cecile cut off my objections.
“Rena, just remember that Mom wants you home by midnight,
okay?”
“I’ll have her back in plenty of time,” Cryder assured
Cecile.
“Excuse me,” I said, annoyed. “I am standing right here,
you know.”
“Of course, you are,” Cryder held out his arm to me.
“Shall we?”
His gaze locked with mine, and I felt my irritation
dissipate like fog. He was so odd, but so oddly charming.
Showing up here with those flowers, dressed so smartly. .he
was a real gentleman, not anything like the boys I knew at
school. I let him take my arm and lead me out the front door.
All through dinner, I was barely able to swallow a bite.
Cryder had chosen one of my favorite Italian restaurants, but
my head was so packed with questions that it was all I could do
to keep from interrogating him over breadsticks. He didn’t
seem that hungry either --- when his plate of spaghetti was
delivered, he set about cutting it into bite-size pieces and
nibbling at them methodically. I’d never seen anyone cut their
BLOOD ORIGINS- BOOK ONE
pasta into a grid before. Didn’t everyone just twirl it up on
their fork, the way I always had? One more question for the
growing pile.
Cryder dabbed his mouth with his napkin. “You
haven’t eaten much,” he said, indicating the lasagna on my
plate. “Was it not good?”
“No, it’s fine.”
“Because we can have it sent back to the kitchen.”
“No, no. I guess…I guess I’m just nervous,” I admitted.
A smile cracked Cryder’s face. “So am I.”
“Really?” A knot of tension I hadn’t been aware of
suddenly loosened in my chest. His confession put us back on
even ground, somehow, even though there was still so much I
didn’t know about him.
“Why don’t we get out of here and take a walk,” he
suggested.
“Sounds perfect.”
Cryder flagged a waiter and paid the bill --- cash, I
noticed, who carried that much cash around anymore? --- and
we headed out into the dimming light. After a brief stop at the
coffee shop next door for iced lattes, we turned our steps
toward Palermo Park.
“So why did you
decide to find me on Facebook?” I
asked. The change in setting, walking side by side instead of
facing each other in the mood lighting of the restaurant, had
made it easier to talk, somehow.
“I wanted to see you again,” he said.
“Just based on one chance meeting, though?”
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“I don’t really believe in chance meetings.”
“How can you not believe in chance meetings? What
else do you call it?”
“Fate.”
“You think we were fated to meet outside Book City?”
He squinted at me. “You don’t believe in fate.”
“I guess I just find it hard to believe the universe cares
what happens to me on a day-to-day basis.”
“Why not?” We’d arrived at the park, and he took my
hand and led me to a bench under a boxelder maple. “Do you
think of yourself as someone who could be overlooked?”
I swallowed hard. The truth, though I didn’t want to
admit it on a date, was that if I accepted fate as a reality, I
would have to acknowledge that I’d been fated to lose my
parents in the awful way I had. I couldn’t stand to let myself
believe that was something the universe wanted for me. Ever
since they’d died, I’d felt repulsed by any suggestion of an
organizing principle to the universe, be it fate, religion, or
karma. Sometimes terrible things just happened for no reason
at all. It was the only way I could make sense of it.
I forced the unpleasant memories out of my head. What
kind of girl thinks about death when a cute guy is rubbing his
thumb along the back of her hand and staring at her like she’s
a work of art? “You found me on Facebook because it was fate
that we met?”
“Yes,” he said softly, leaning in, his face now only
inches from mine. “Because we’re meant to know each other.”
I felt breathless, mesmerized. “But how can you be so
BLOOD ORIGINS- BOOK ONE
sure?”
“You tell me,” he whispered, and closed the distance
between us.
The moment his lips met mine, I was transported. A
slight moan escaped my throat, but it was as if I was very far
away from the sound, lost deep in his embrace. It wasn’t my
first kiss ---there had been boys from school; nothing serious,
the odd afternoon make-out session. But in those instances, I’d
always felt detached, half of me plotting my escape even as the
guy in question groped for the hem of my shirt. This was
utterly different. I was immersed in Cryder, in the warm press
of his mouth against mine, the tingles of excitement that shot
down my spine every time he moved. One of his hands was
threaded in my hair, a thing I’d never allowed because guys
always found a way to accidentally pull at loose strands. I
couldn’t even bring myself to worry about that this time. His
other hand rested on my lower back, holding me to him. I
waited, but he didn’t try to slip under my shirt. I probably
would have let him, too. What an amazing turn of luck to be
on a date with such a gentleman!
Maybe it was fate.
Whatever it was, I was more than happy for it to
continue. Cryder cupped my head and tipped me back,
deepening the kiss, and I wondered—are we going to lie down? I
wouldn’t have minded. We were in a public place, on a hard
bench, on a first date, and if this boy wanted to lie on top of
me and kiss me, I was going to allow it.
He didn’t, though. The gentlemanly behavior
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continued. He held me up so I was lying in his arms. I wrapped
one arm around his shoulders to secure myself and, blissfully,
let the other trail off the side of the bench to graze the ground.
I had never been kissed this way before in my life.
Dimly, I registered my fingers trailing in something
warm and wet. Mud? I must have made a noise, because Cryder
pulled away. “Is everything all right, Rena?”
“I’m fine, it’s just ---” I lifted my hand to show him, my
other arm already pulling him back to me, annoyed at the
interruption.
And then I blinked.
The liquid on my hand wasn’t mud. It was thick, red,
and tacky.
Cryder’s eyes flew wide and he pushed me away from
him so hard it bordered on violent. “Rena.”
“Wh-what?”
“Get up. Let’s go.”
Frowning, I looked down. There was a pool of red on
the dirt beside our bench.
“Rena!” Cryder snapped. “Don’t!”
I leaned over.
And screamed.
Lying under the bench, facedown, was the body of a
man with blood coming from a gaping neck wound. Though
his eyes were open, they were utterly empty, and his lips and
fingers were blue. He was dead.
BLOOD ORIGINS- BOOK ONE
Chapter Five
“RENA. RENA!”
Cryder’s voice was a growl, blending with the car’s
engine as we sped through the streets. I came back to myself
abruptly, aware that it was the third or fourth time since he’d
whisked me out of the park. He kept calling my name, calling
me back. I kept drifting away.
“Rena!”
“W-we have to call the police.” My teeth chattered as a
tremor ran through my body. Cryder made a displeased grunt
and did something to the heat. Maybe it would make a
difference. I didn’t know. My hand—the one that I’d trailed in
the ground (in the blood)—felt contaminated, disgusting,
appalling. I wanted to plunge it into boiling water. I held it as far from my body as I could, behind the seat, reaching into the
back of the car like if I didn’t have to see it it wouldn’t have to belong to me.
“Stay with me,” Cryder said, and took the next corner
without slowing down, throwing me sideways into the door of
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the car. I wanted to scream. Slow down. Slow down. I couldn’t
get the words out.
“Cryder, we have to call the cops.”
He shook his head. “We need to get you home.”
I fumbled for my phone, reaching across myself with
my uncontaminated hand to fish it from the opposite pocket of
my dress. “Kids play in that park.”
“Someone else will find it.”
“I’m calling 911.”
“Rena, just hold on, okay? Wait until we get home, I’ll
do it for you. Take a deep breath, you’re hyperventilating.”
Of course I am. I touched a dead body. This car is going to
crash.
“Close your eyes,” Cryder said.
“I can’t.” What, and not watch the road?
“Okay, then look at…” He paused, and I became aware
of the fact that my gaze was flitting around like a butterfly on
speed. “Look at this,” he said finally, removing a hand from the
steering wheel to touch the air freshener hanging from his
rearview mirror.
“Keep your hands on the wheel, all right?”
I expected a
n argument—Cecile always argued when I
tried to correct her driving, and she knew why I was anxious
about it—but Cryder just nodded and returned his hand to the
two-o-clock position. Grateful, I forced myself to fix my eyes
on the air freshener.
“Breathe in,” Cryder said. “Count to four.”
I did.
BLOOD ORIGINS- BOOK ONE
“Hold it for six,” he said. “Now exhale for eight.”
I breathed out. I only made it to a count of five, but
Cryder nodded. “That’s good. Better. Keep doing that, okay?”
“‘Kay,” I huffed out, breathing.
By the time Cryder turned onto Cecile’s street, I was
surprised to find that the technique had kind of worked. I
didn’t feel calm, exactly, and I still wanted to scour the skin
from my hand, but the dead man’s face wasn’t flashing before
my eyes every time I blinked anymore. I didn’t feel like I was
slipping in and out of conscious thought. “How did you know
that breathing thing?” I asked Cryder.
“Just something I picked up.” He parked the car. “Let’s
get you inside, okay?”
I registered with some surprise, but less alarm than I
would have expected, the fact that he was inviting himself in.
Leaving for our date, I’d been unsure exactly how I wanted it
to end—would he try to kiss me when he dropped me off, and
if he did try, would I let him? It was a strange thought now
after the intensity of our connection in the park, but that, too, had come out of nowhere, and if it hadn’t been for what
happened next, it would have been the most surprising thing I
could have imagined. As things stood, I was glad to have
Cryder’s hand on my elbow, escorting me to the door. I was
glad he was going to stay with me. I didn’t want to walk in
there alone and explain to Cecile and her parents what had
happened, what I’d seen. They’d think I was crazy.
I had a key to the house, of course, but Cryder rang the
doorbell before I could reach for it. Through the door came
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the familiar beat of socked feet running down the stairs and
across the floorboards, and I leaned heavily into Cryder. A
moment later, Cecile threw open the door.
“Rena! You’re back already? Curfew isn’t until…” She
stopped, took in my face. “Are you okay?”
“Can we come in?” Cryder asked. It was strange that he
was asking permission to bring me in—I did live here, after
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