Creatus c-1

by Carmen DeSousa

  “Still sleeping. Her fever was high and her pressure was through the roof. I almost lost her. As you know, it’s not always safe to bring someone down like that. But she has a strong heart, and I didn’t have time to wait for days or weeks while I tapered her off slowly.”

  “Why didn’t you just give her Valium?”

  “Because the last thing Kristina needed—”

  “No!” Kristina’s scream reverberated through the apartment, breaking through their conversation. She’d woken up several times in the last couple of days with cold sweats and tremors, but this time, her cry resembled one of her nightmares. It angered him that she still suffered nightly from memories of her mother’s murder, memories of what that butcher had stolen from her. Maybe now he could help her through them.

  “I gotta go,” Derrick said, hanging up, not waiting for a reaction from his brother.

  He barreled across the living room, but inched open his bedroom door quietly so as not to startle her. Kristina was still out cold, so it’d been a nightmare. He didn’t want her to wake before he had a chance to put everything away, but he needed to check her vitals before doing anything else. He sat on the chair beside the bed where he’d spent the last forty-eight hours watching over her. Droplets of moisture still dotted her forehead, but she wasn’t as pale as she’d been only hours earlier. He reached for her wrist to check her pulse and her eyes popped open.

  She tried to sit up, but the straps impeded her movement. “What the—”

  “Hang on. It’s okay,” he scrambled to explain.

  “Okay?” she screamed. “You’ve tied me up?”

  “Restrained you,” he countered. “There’s a difference.” Ignoring her full-on glower, he reached for her wrist again, checking her pulse. It had dropped to a safe level, but it was still high for her age. Of course, being tied up could cause that reaction, he reasoned.

  He unlatched one restraint, and she immediately drew her arm to her chest. “Why did you restrain me?”

  “You had the DTs, Kristina. You were hallucinating, screaming at the walls, but I think you’re finally safe.” He unbuckled her other wrist, his eyes gauging her overall health. Her lovely shade of peach had returned to her face, and her skin was more luminescent than the dehydrated state she’d been in for two days. Actually, she looked better than she had in years. “How do you feel?”

  She moistened her chapped lips with her tongue before speaking. “Thirsty. Tired.”

  “I’ll bet.” He handed her the bottle of water he’d left on the nightstand. She unscrewed the top and took a long pull, her eyes holding his with a hint of caution. He offered her a smile. Not only to comfort her, but because he was overjoyed that she appeared to be over the worst part. “It’s not easy to quit drinking cold turkey, but you did it. You’re going to be okay.” He hesitated. “Unless you start drinking again, that is.”

  After swabbing the area on her forearm with alcohol, he removed the IV from her vein and covered the tiny puncture with a clean cotton square and tape, smoothing the area several times with his thumbs, delighting in just holding her hand in his.

  When he finished, he looked up at her, wondering why she hadn’t spoken more than two words. “You need to call Beth. She’s worried sick. I returned her texts as if I were you, ensuring her you were okay, but she keeps asking you to call.” He paused at the confusion in her eyes then quickly added, “I’m sorry if I overstepped my bounds; I just didn’t think it was right to leave her worrying about you.” He reached for Kristina’s phone on the table and held it out to her, letting her know she wasn’t a hostage, since she was staring at him like a trapped mouse. “Just let her know you’re alive, nothing else.”

  Without offering a word, Kristina finished off the bottle of water, trading the empty plastic for her phone.

  Not knowing what else to say, Derrick stood to leave as she continued to gawk at him. He assumed she’d have more to offer than a few words. He’d rather questions than nothing. Even though she must have been reeling about everything, he was anxious to talk with her. He’d waited so long. Maybe his brother was right; maybe they weren’t supposed to be together. “I’ll give you a few minutes. You’re probably starving anyway. Please don’t mention me,” he reminded her.

  She offered him a nod, so he left the room somewhat contented. It was something anyway. At least she wasn’t catatonic. She just needed to catch her bearings.

  Derrick walked out into the hallway and then took the elevator to the café in the lobby to get something to eat. He had plenty of food, but he didn’t have any way to cook it, and she needed protein. He also wanted to be out of earshot in case she told her friend about him. The lobby wouldn’t be far enough, but he could make an effort to tune out her voice. He didn’t want to hear anything that would make him have to turn her in. He would never allow them to kill her; he’d destroy anyone who tried. The only thing he could do was hope she fell for him.

  He’d only looked to be in his early twenties when he met Janelle, but they had become great friends. In actuality, he’d already lived more than thirty-five human years at that time, but most of his kind lived to one hundred fifty, so they didn’t count their years the same. His family had warned him he was too young to fall for a human and that he should stick to his own kind. He’d heeded their words, but since Janelle and Kristina had lived in such a rough area of Boston and were all alone, he’d always felt compelled to check on them. Something his father and grandfather had done for complete strangers in the early days of America, before everyone had a video camera on their phone.

  He was now at the age where he wanted to make a lifelong commitment, and Kristina was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, something Vic and he’d discussed numerous times. No matter how many times Vic or Michael tried to change his mind, he wouldn’t bend. Kristina was the woman he wanted.

  Derrick ordered a double-egg and cheese bagel sandwich and a latte for Kristina, and then headed upstairs.

  “I brought you a vanilla latte,” he called out as he walked inside the apartment. She didn’t respond, so he peeked in the bedroom, hoping she was decent. He blanched when he didn’t see her. “Oh, Kristina,” he shrieked. “They’ll kill you.” He loped to the front door and jerked it open, as if she would be standing in the hallway waiting for him. Of course she’d left. He probably scared the heck out of her by strapping her to the bed. But if he hadn’t, she would have hurt herself. He needed to find her before they did.

  “What are you screaming about?” she spoke behind him. “My head is pounding. Please don’t yell.”

  He whipped his head toward the sound of her voice. “Oh, thank God.” He released a deep breath. “I thought you left.”

  She shrugged. “Why would I leave? I’ve tried to get your attention for six years.” She ambled over to where he stood rooted to his wooden floor, accepted the coffee cup and bag of food, and plopped heavily onto the sofa. “Oh, this smells to die for.”

  Interesting choice of words, Derrick thought as he sunk into a chair facing Kristina, drinking in the sight of her. Her hair was damp and she was wearing one of his t-shirts. She’d recovered faster than he’d anticipated. Of course, he’d always known she was strong.

  Fiddling with the paper bag, Kristina stared at her lap as though she’d forgotten he was in the room. Finally making eye contact, she moved her mouth toward the sandwich and then stopped as if she’d decided on what she wanted to say. “So, Derrick…” She paused, measuring her words, it seemed, then took a bite, chewed, and washed down the food with a swig of coffee. “Why don’t you start at the beginning? I think I was still drunk the other morning. I don’t remember much. Exactly what are you?”

  He let out a burst of laughter. There was the girl he thought he’d known. He’d hoped she was somewhere inside that drug and alcohol-saturated body. “I’m so glad to finally meet you, Kristina, but why don’t we hold off on the deep inquisition for a while. It’s good you don’t remember much. Now we can g
et to know each other under better circumstances.”

  She ripped off another piece of bagel with her slender fingers then stood again, walking over to the wall of windows overlooking the harbor. “Nice place. What do you do for a living?”

  Good, he thought. She really didn’t remember. “I’m a doctor.” She turned to face him and the light from outside made its way through the shirt, illuminating every curve beneath the thin white cotton. “Umm… Kristina, you’re standing in direct sunlight.”

  She glanced at her choice of clothes and then traipsed toward the sofa, her hands roaming over the soft leather. “Nothing you haven’t seen before if you’re a doctor,” she teased, a lightness in her voice he hadn’t detected earlier.

  “True,” he allowed. She definitely had spirit.

  Her eyes roamed over the black and white nature prints he’d hung on the wall behind the sofa. “What type of practice?” she asked, making eye contact with him again.

  “Family medicine.”

  Kristina returned to the sofa, plopping down and then tucking her leg underneath her. Resting her elbow on the armrest, she focused a poignant gaze on him. “This is kind of awkward. You know I’m not really suicidal, right? I hate my life, but I knew you’d come. I didn’t want to die.”

  He nodded, nibbling on the inside of his cheek, still a bit perturbed by her stunt that could have killed her. “Did you call Beth?”

  “No. I needed a shower, and I wasn’t sure what to say. I didn’t tell her I was going to jump off a bridge. I just told her I’d be happier wherever I was. She, as always, assumed the worst.” She took a sip of coffee and then her gold-flecked eyes peeked up at him under long blond lashes. She was even more beautiful than her mother had been.

  “Why don’t you call Beth while I get cleaned up, and then we’ll go out and get some fresh air? I have the week off work, so we can do whatever you want.”

  She inhaled a deep breath and then let it out. “Anything I want except leave. Otherwise they’ll kill me, right?”

  Chapter Four

  Kris stared at the stranger sitting beside her in the front seat of his car, surprised he didn’t feel like a stranger. It felt as though she’d known him her entire life. And in a way, she had. Since he’d saved her from the same fate her mother had succumbed to by the hands of that thief in the alley, Derrick had consumed her. Every night since that day, he’d occupied her dreams. His leading role had turned more seductive since she’d become a woman, though. As a child, she’d thought he was an angel sent from God, an angel dressed in black. But now that she was able to stare into his fathomless dark eyes that seemed to go on forever, she realized he wasn’t an angel, but a man. A man she wanted to get to know better, fully. She wondered for a second if he was real this time or if she’d wake up any minute, realizing she’d taken her fantasies to another level.

  Derrick pulled up in front of her apartment and turned to her. “You’re so quiet. What are you thinking about?” he asked, reaching for her hand.

  His warm touch sent a surge of pleasure through her body and she smiled softly at the feel of his hand around hers and his comment. “I’m not quiet. Actually, my friends, teachers, and employers have always called me a blabbermouth. Said I just spouted off whatever I wanted without thinking.” She curled her hand around his, loving the intimacy she already felt, even though he was hiding something from her. She’d never experienced familiarity with any man, even if they’d dated a few weeks, which was about the extent of her relationships. But just in a few hours—well, days but she’d been unconscious most of the time—she believed she could trust Derrick. “I was thinking about you. Wondering if you’re really here.”

  He returned her smile, but then frowned. “That’s what you were thinking? If I’m real again? How can I prove I’m real?”

  This time an even broader smile lifted her cheeks. “I’m sure I’ll think of something. But first off, I guess I should get into my own clothes. Not that I don’t feel all warm and snuggly in the sweatshirt you insisted I wear, but what will your family say if they see me wearing your clothes?” She opened the door and hopped out, noticing her Grand-Am was sitting in its normal parking spot. She spun toward Derrick and caught him with his mouth open as if he was ready to speak, but she interrupted him. “How did—did you bring my car here?”

  “I had my brother...” He shook his head, throwing his hands up. “What do you mean, ‘meet my family’? How do you know about my family?”

  “You said something the other day I remembered. About choosing.” She glanced up and down the road as she walked around the front of his Navigator. “Come on up. I suppose you have my keys.”

  He pulled her key ring out of his pocket and handed it to her, a look of concern on his face. But then he followed her up the three flights of stairs to her apartment without speaking.

  Kris opened the door and stepped inside. Her home looked exactly as she’d left it, but it felt different, as if there was a subtle alteration she couldn’t place. She wondered if Derrick or his brother had searched it. Not that they had any reason, but still, it felt strange standing in her doorway, as if someone had been here.

  It wasn’t as though she had anything to hide, and even if she did, she certainly didn’t have any place to hide it. Her home consisted of three small rooms, shaped in an almost perfect rectangle. The front door opened into the living area, no foyer; and off to the left, sat a galley kitchen with its tiny dinette. Her bedroom was directly on the other side of the living room. Again, no hallway, just one door that led to her bedroom. She had an end unit, though; so all three rooms had windows overlooking the alley, and then the bedroom had a second window overlooking the street.

  The wood floors and walls were whitewashed white. She loved the solid alabaster color; it felt clean and fresh. The only color she’d added to her simple décor was green by the way of plants. She enjoyed the tropical feel of her apartment with its exotic foliage, sheer curtains, and sparse furnishings and wall decorations. Everything she owned, other than the plants, was white, tan, or black, as she’d seen in home magazines. She’d mimicked Caribbean cottages with their simplicity and inexpensive furniture. She’d made sure the warmth she couldn’t find in Somerville was always present in her home.

  Derrick looked around appreciatively; though, her place was nothing like his high-rise apartment with its dark walnut floors, chrome appliances, and leather furniture. In fact, if you compared their homes to their personalities, she realized, they’d have nothing in common. She hoped that wasn’t the case.

  Kris gestured to her tiny couch with its white jacquard slipcover she’d found on eBay. “Make yourself comfortable, Derrick. I’ll only be a minute.”

  He sat as directed, looking completely out of place. Like Adonis himself in a peasant’s home, she thought. She skipped off to her bedroom, her heart pounding. Kris went directly to her full-length wicker-framed mirror, a bargain she’d found at a thrift shop. She twirled once as she inspected her body, marveling at the way her skin glowed and her hair appeared glossy, healthy. Amazing what a couple of days of no alcohol or drugs could do. But there was more; she looked good mentally too, happy even, an unusual occurrence. She tugged Derrick’s sweatshirt up around her face and inhaled. The scent took her back to when she was a child, curling up next to her mother on the loveseat as they’d watched a Disney movie. Derrick used the same fabric softener her mother had used. Somehow, envisioning him using fabric softener made her laugh.

  Deciding to keep his sweatshirt on a few more minutes, she removed her vintage shredded skirt from the other night. When Derrick had left his bedroom this morning, she’d yanked off the blankets to reveal that she was in her undergarments. She didn’t remember undressing so she could only ascertain that she’d finally passed out and he’d undressed her. She didn’t know how she felt about him undressing her, but then again, her clothes had been soaked. He’d washed her clothes and had them sitting out for her, but the sheer peek-a-boo tank wasn’t appropriat
e for the daytime. Heck, it was hardly appropriate for the nighttime, the reason she’d sifted through his closet for the t-shirt.

  Anxious to get out to Derrick before he disappeared, Kris rummaged through her closet, selecting a pair of faded capri jeans and a long-sleeved black t-shirt. The simple attire would complement Derrick’s tan khakis and plain white button-down oxford. She could picture him with a white jacket over top and a stethoscope around his neck. Although, the image that popped into her head was of a doctor on a soap opera, not any of the physicians she’d ever seen.

  If Derrick had been her doctor, she would have never fussed about going. In fact, she probably would have made up excuses for regular examinations. His brooding eyes, dark features, and onyx-colored hair over light olive skin gave him a Mediterranean look. But then again, she’d dated several Portuguese and Lebanese men over the years with similar skin tone, but neither of them had Derrick’s high, prominent cheekbones, slender nose, and square jawline. And of course, his striking almond shaped eyes with their immense depth. Somehow, he looked to have a touch of American Indian, Mediterranean, and Asian appearance all at once. He resembled no man she’d ever seen in person or a celebrity.

  Was he real? He’d asked how he could prove it to her. And right now, she could only think of one way. Since she’d only used her finger and toothpaste to brush her teeth earlier, she darted into the bathroom to brush her teeth before she tested his tangible existence.

  Taking one long look at herself in the mirror, she drew in a deep breath, steeling herself. Would he agree, she wondered. He seemed attracted to her. He’d called her beautiful after all.

  Determined, she marched out of her bedroom, but then stopped when she entered the living area. He was holding up a picture of her mother and her, taken a few months before she was murdered. Her mother had taken her to see Santa Claus and then they’d jumped in one of those photo booths. They’d taken silly and serious photos. Kris had enlarged and framed the serious one.