by Marta Szemik
Sarah.
For the first time, I recognized Helen’s ghostly voice. My aunt died in a car crash one year ago. Shivers ran up my arms. “There’s no way . . .”
The dark end of the long room drew my gaze and I focused on the corner of Helen’s old chest that stuck out from behind a full-length mirror. I tiptoed forward but stopped in front of the mirror. I shook my head, then leaned closer to the reflection and noticed my eyes twinkled with purplish stars. My breath made a round patch of steam on the surface. Stars . . . I closed my eyes,and when I opened them, the stars were gone.
Did I do something different with last night’s mixture? I thought a moment, trying to remember the serum I took. My head hurt again.
Sarah.
“Okay, this is getting weird.” I looked behind me, though the voice came from the chest in the corner. It wasn’t large, but it rested atop a larger coffer. No person could fit there. The trunk screeched across the wooden floor as I pulled on the handle. Kneeling beside it, I wiped the dust from the lid with my hand. A swath of dark-stained wood revealed. The hinges squeaked as I lifted the cover, releasing an aroma I recognized—flowery yet musky. So close to my blue orchid.
I remembered the stranger who had picked up my hat yesterday morning when a gust of warm autumn air blew it off my head. Coincidence? My eyes flew open, and I shivered. “I don’t think so.” My voice echoed.
“Oh, Helen.” I smiled, lifting the photos that topped the pile inside the chest—Helen’s sneaky snapshots, some captured at home, and some from my camping trip. I held up a photo of her as a young woman. She sat in a low wooden chair in front of a log cabin nestled amidst the trunks of old trees, the vines draping the branches created a web of green mesh. Wildflowers in all shades of the rainbow covered the ground; other blooms scattered up the trees from the ground to the heavens. Dense and exotic, the vegetation was more than I’d seen in all of Pinedale. Where was this taken?
I rested my right elbow on my left arm while I chewed the tip of my thumb.
“Concentrate, Sarah, concentrate,” I whispered, but I only felt tightness in my chest.
Setting the photos aside, I lifted the first of a dozen logbooks and turned its pages.
September 9, 1990: Today I bring Sarah home. It’s with sadness and happiness that I come to Pinedale to settle with our angel.
I snapped shut the book as a lump formed in my throat. The remaining dust on the chest swirled in the still air. Helen’s voice had rung in my ears as if she was the one reading the entry in my head.
Pushing the journals aside, I dug deeper into the chest. My hand touched on a rough shape, and I pulled out a ruby ring. The age-tarnished silver shone like copper in the dim light. It fit like it was custom made for my middle finger. I held up my palm, studying the ring and the emblem on its side of three wavy lines. The symbol was unfamiliar, and I wiggled my fingers, watching the angles of the diamond-cut red stone reflecting the light. After I took it off, its weight comfortable in my palm, I threaded the ring onto my silver necklace and tucked it inside the collar of my T-shirt. It rested intimately against my skin, like a cuddling kitten.
A sudden gust of wind blew open the attic window, and I leaped to my feet to close it. Something pulled at my gut, as if my stomach were attached to a hook at the end of a fishing line being reeled in. It hauled me back to the chest, and I saw a corner of paper protruding from its contents. I pulled out an envelope addressed in Helen’s handwriting.
“Sarah Mitchell,” I read. Chills trickled down my spine. I stared at the envelope, then ripped the shorter edge open and unfolded the letter inside.
Sarah,
If you get this letter, it means I’m no longer with you. If I’m not here, then you’re no longer safe.
Your background has been kept secret for your safety. I always loved you as if you were my daughter. Your mother was my sister, Saraphine. She died after giving birth to you—but only so you could survive. Hunted by the seekers, your mother weakened. You were so hungry, Sarah. But do not blame yourself! His blood runs deep within your veins, and you could not stop the feeding. Neither could your mother.
You are who you are because of your parents. Their love for one another was strong; their differences could not stop your conception. You are a true miracle. Your father was a vampire and your mother human. You are a combination of your parent’s best traits.
Please be careful. The vampire blood is strong—especially with you. Continue the serums! Find the right serum to turn you back to human! Otherwise the seekers will find you. The serum conceals you from them. Should your instincts become stronger, they will sense your presence.
I crumpled the paper in my hands.
“The seekers are hunting me?” The tension released from my throat. I stood still. Time stood still. Was this a dream? Would I wake up if I moved? My mouth opened, but I couldn’t speak. The slowing beating of my heart reminded me to breathe, and the rhythm resumed its normal, human pace.
My hands shook as I stared at the letter. I wished could ask it questions, and that it could, in some magical way, start talking to me. Seconds passed. The sweat from my palms began to dampen the black ink, releasing its metallic odour.
Why hadn’t Helen told me earlier? I’d always known what I was. The dark nature I denied had been buried for twenty one years. The last time I’d used it happened on my camping trip as a teen. My vampire emotions had been dormant, my sickening traits hidden.
Who were the seekers? Why did they chase my parents? How do I fit into all this?
“His blood runs deep within your veins.” I shivered.
Mom. Was my dream of her a real memory?
I see her face, almost identical to mine, smiling lovingly. She secures my infant body in her arms, humming and softly hushing me to sleep. I satisfy the first hunger I feel as a baby and see her nightgown turn crimson. Her eyes lose their glow as tears trickle down. She places her right hand on her heart. “You will always be here.” She taps her chest. “I love you,” she whispers. I return her smile. She sighs and seems to go to sleep. I see a puddle of red liquid on the floor and the red imprints of my tiny palms on her cheeks, urging the eyes in the ashen face to open. They never do.
The dream always ended with me missing her more than ever. I’d wake up struggling to breathe, as if all the air had been sucked out of the room. I’d cry until sunrise.
A dump truck honked as it rumbled past outside. A tear rolled off my cheek. “I’m so sorry,” I sobbed, releasing the pressure behind my eyes.
She died at the hands of the monster within me, the monster I despised, the monster created by my vampire father. The craving for blood, the uncontrollable hormonal impulses, revolting instincts and needs I’d suppressed—how were these “best traits”?
I’d never seen a vampire and didn’t want to see one. They were not alive the way I was, and I never wanted to be one. I allowed the serum to spread through my body to control the needs and desires of this other side I wouldn’t acknowledge. The serum changed the circadian rhythm of my days; it controlled my dreadful nature, my strength, my thirst.
“You’re a true miracle.”
Did she say that because vampire conception was impossible?
“But I was born from a human,” I whispered. All I’d ever wanted was to be human. I just wanted to belong.
The tug at my heart made it skip a beat in argument, and I rushed to unfold the rest of the letter.
Find William—he’s the only one who can help you. I hope you found the ring; keep it with you at all times. It always shows your true self. Protect it.
I wish I was here to explain more. I’m sorry.
Love always, Aunt Helen
“William,” I whispered. He’s real. He’s not just in my dreams! Until today, I thought he was a figment of my imagination, because when I slept he was always there. . .
We sat in a corner booth at a dance club somewhere in New York City. I sipped on a Fuzzy Navel; William’s favourite, a Bloody
Caesar, set in front of him.
William took me by my shoulders. His touch sent electric shock waves through our bodies. The aches didn’t stop us, and he stepped closer. William’s turquoise eyes sparkled, both in the sunlight and at night. I saw my own identical pair reflected in his. I felt his breath on my face and concentrated on his strong jaw and lopsided smile.
Taking my hand, William gently kissed it and asked me to dance. We walked out on the parquet floor. Stepping behind me, William slid his arms around my waist. His shirt was open, and I felt his bare chest against my back, exposed in a Marilyn Monroe-style black halter dress that plunged to just above the swell of my buttocks.
Our heartbeats behaved. We moved slowly despite the fast rhythm of the music, building up endorphins that gave us power and control. With each touch, these changed to a natural aphrodisiac. Our being there was simple. We had to be together, as one.
In my dreams I’d known him since childhood, yet he seemed like an alien from another planet, visiting only when I slept. My hope to one day meet him turned to a quest, because now, I was certain he was real.
I glanced back to the letter.
Helen wanted me to find him. Now that I think about it, whenever I’d mentioned William from my dreams, the lines on her face had always creased up in approval.
And her warning about the serum—why would I stop taking it? The serum allowed me to sleep. Okay, so I had reduced the dose occasionally to stay awake at night to study, which had always displeased Helen. Now I knew why. It also kept me hidden from . . . the seekers.
My stomach clenched with hunger and I hefted the chest to carry it downstairs.
I set the wooden box of mementos on the table and pulled a bowl from the kitchen cupboard for cereal.
Since the kitchen was still dark, I looked out the window checking for trespassers. The sun’s rim peeked through the golden-brown trees on the horizon. “What am I doing?” I said aloud. This was Pinedale, after all, one of those towns you could find on a map and know you could die from boredom. Yet for me, this town was ideal. No creatures from my dreams would ever think of coming here. It was home—my home.
I pulled the carton of milk from the fridge and checked its date. “Great. Expired two weeks ago. What the heck. It’s not like it could kill me.” The milk flowed in the bowl. White chunks splattered the table. A wet spot stained my khakis. Crap! I threw the empty carton into the sink. Sipping from the rim of the bowl, I made space for the cereal and then tipped in some Cheerios.
Helen would flip if she saw this! I set the box down and snagged the dish cloth to wipe the wooden table. Turning toward the mantel of the unused fireplace, I lifted a spoonful toward a small urn. “See, Auntie? I’m eating.”
I swallowed the cereal, then took a sip from the bowl to wash it down. With my eyes closed, I let the flavours soak my taste buds. Even spoiled milk is better than blood, I lied to myself. Animal blood tasted almost like blended carrot and beet juice. My lips parted at the thought as I licked them over. The tugging at my arteries reminded me to fill my veins—a necessity I couldn’t avoid if I wanted to keep my tawny complexion and heart beating.
I’m such a freak!
I left the empty bowl in the sink. My brain stormed for more answers, and I needed them now: even if I risked running into the demons from my dreams.
Chapter 3
I pulled out my backpack from under the hall table and frowned at a loose stitch along a patch covering a hole. Helen’s chest barely fit into the pack. I threw two syringes and the serum on top of it, hoping William would come back when I napped.
Two weeks had passed since I’d last dreamt of William. Perversely, when the dreams stopped, I felt closer to him. I would turn my head to look across the street, expecting him to be there, but he wasn’t. I’d wake up in the middle of the night and glimpse a shadow that disappeared. Only a scent of jasmine, rose, and lilac with a woody musk undercurrent would remain. I smelled William in my room, but he wasn’t there.
A rustle from the living room drew my attention. Sunlight creeping in the hall window hit my eyes. I lowered my sunglasses from their usual hair accessory placement. It’s time. The crate in the corner of the living room housed my meal. Inside, guinea pigs huddled under a pile of wood chips. One twist broke their necks, and I sucked them dry. A rush of new life swam through my veins but I stuck my tongue out in disgust, as if I’d eaten cooked liver with strained peas. It wasn’t that it tasted bad—it tasted sweet yet sour. Sometimes I imagined a blend of sunshine and falling, stars in my mouth. But I refused to accept it. I had to make a face.
Sated, I grabbed a sweater and the backpack and walked out the double glass door into a warm autumn wind carrying the tantalizing aroma of baking pumpkin pies. Everyone in Pinedale baked on the weekend before Halloween, preparing for the annual bake sale in the town square.
I walked quicker than usual to my flower shop but had to stop when a gust of wind blew my hat off just like yesterday.
A stranger picked it up and held it out to me.
“Thank you,” I said, accepting it. I hesitated, examining the familiar dimple in his chin. “Have we met before?”
“No.” He dropped his head. The sharpness of his voice took me aback.
No, of course not. I nodded, ready to move, only to halt in mid-step, confused—curious. Not at his answer, but the familiar scent: floral and woodsy and musky. I turned to look at his back as he strode away, and confusion soothed into the same comfort I felt in my dreams. Yes, the tall stranger’s build was similar to William’s. I pushed my sunglasses up. His movements brisk but precise, the similarities were remarkable.
“Wi . . . William?” I whispered. It can’t be.
William did not dress like a vagabond, I told myself. The hem of his long, worn coat was stained dark with mud. The black jeans soiled, and the untucked flannel shirt had been too casual. No, William’s sleek style didn’t reflect this homeless man’s look. As a well-dressed buff in my dreams, William modelled a clean-shaven face, not what looked like two days’ worth of stubble on this man’s face.
Still, my heart skipped a beat. I clenched my fist to my chest, pressing it against a rhythm I did not recognize. My sucked in breath acknowledged the new pulse as I quickened my pace toward my store.
I bumped into someone and looked up at another stranger. “Oops, I’m sorry.”
“It’s Sarah, right?” the man said with confidence.
I stared at him like he was a movie star. Tall, with a fit body, the man posed like a model. Even a thick sweater and loose jeans couldn’t hide his well-defined limbs. In a hurry, his cheeks blotched with red spots, and his chest rose and deflated in a quick rhythm. He studied me from behind his aviators, as if making sure he had the right person.
“Yes. Do I know you?” I asked.
His head skidded a fraction to the right, as if listening to something I couldn’t hear. “No, I’m sorry.” He moved his face closer to mine, holding his sunglasses with his fingertips. “I mistook you for someone else.” A hint of purple sparked, reflecting from the lenses. He walked away. “What now?” I heard him mutter to himself.
“Wait—” I called, but he was gone, quicker than the vagabond.
This is going to be a strange day.
I resumed my trek along the narrow sidewalk, but I sometimes peeked over my shoulder, at the top of the two-storey buildings I passed, expecting to see someone looking at me from the roof. No one was there. My gaze shifted toward the windows but couldn’t see anyone peeping. The deep and narrow alleys that ran between the brick buildings didn’t scare me, but it felt like mysterious watchers would step out any minute. No one emerged. Nerves, I thought, but a frisson swept through my body. Rushed, I did not stop until I reached the front of my store.
I admired the greenery behind the glass window. As I reached for the handle on the front door, my cell phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out.
“Hi Mira!” I leaned back against the front window.
“Sarah!” She almost screamed.
I smiled. My upbeat friend could permanently engrave a grin on my face.
“Haven’t heard from you in a while. Is everything okay?” There was tension in her voice. A while for Mira was anything over twenty-four hours.
“Yeah, why?” I ignored the fact that I’d bumped into two strangers in Pinedale this morning, “I had the weirdest feeling that you’re going away somewhere without telling me.”
“Me, going away? Ha!” I let out a sarcastic laugh.
“Weird, isn’t it? I just thought, if you were leaving, you’d at least say goodbye.”
“Mira, I don’t think I’ll ever leave this town.” My jaw clenched at the sudden yearning to go away. “Or you,” I added to ease her worry.
“Well, you know what I always say . . .”
“Never say never!” We both laughed. Around Mira, I felt as if I were still in my teens, acting goofy and odd.
“Meet me for dinner tonight?” she asked.
“Um, how about Saturday?” I tried, stalling, then quickly added, “I have a few orders to finish.” The truth was, when alone with either of the siblings, I had a strong urge to tell them about my ability to foresee the future through my dreams, and about the real me. But I never did, too afraid to be shunned.
“That’s way too long,” she whined.
“Only four days,” I adjusted my voice to a higher pitch.
“You know how many things can happen in four days?” she exclaimed.
“In Pinedale?” I snorted. “Oh, that’s right—that black bear from our camping trip finally found your scent and came to get his revenge,” I teased.
“Yes, you’re so funny.” She sniffed. “First of all, it’s not my scent as much as Xander’s he’d be looking for. And now I’m starting to hope he’d get you two confused.”