by Tara Brown
What the hell?
Chapter 3
How do you say stupid in Americano?
The days turned to weeks before I knew it.
I had made Roland play the video over and over, trying to prove it wasn’t real.
But there was no hope.
The journals read like a fictional novel. The video was too crappy to have any special effects. And the most straightforward answer was that I was a monster too.
It was the one that made the least and most sense.
The symptoms were there, the death of my friend had occurred, and I was left a terrified mess just as he had been.
I withdrew, growing mad, just as my father had. I wondered what had brought him back from the brink. Was it my mother? When I was young and she was still alive, they were happy. I recalled him laughing and smiling. The moments were few and far between, but I remembered them just the same. He became overjoyed at the smallest things, like when I lost my first tooth.
“You must stop this nonsense. Your aunt and uncle have submitted missing-person reports to the police. They have filed to have you declared dead, as was your friend.”
“I wish I were.” My words were as empty as my heart. I glanced out the window, wondering when the trees had turned brown.
“That is nonsense and we both know it. Yes, your friend died as you changed. Yes, the other you might have been the one to kill her, but it was an accident.” He walked to me, kneeling on the ground before me. Worry filled his eyes so deeply I couldn’t see his face beyond them. “Yes, it is the worst thing that could have possibly happened. Yes.” He shook me slightly. “If he had known you were like him, even slightly, he would have taught you about it. Your blood showed nothing of the sickness. Something has triggered this. Don’t you want to know what made you this way?” His eyes displayed something else—anger. “Don’t you want to know who made you the way you are?”
“What do you mean?”
“You were a normal girl, Hanna.” He stood. “Your father tested your blood every year since you were born, and never has it shown the slightest mutation. You were normal. It is possible this was dormant and awaiting a catalyst, something he never imagined possible. Honestly, the change he feared the most was puberty. But you’ve gone through puberty and not a thing seemed altered. You’re eighteen and none of the markers shifted until a month ago. When I brought you here that night, I checked your blood. It has changed. It is his blood now. Someone had to have known they could turn you, but how?”
I bit my lip, trying desperately to recall what had happened.
I remembered nothing. The days surrounding the fateful night were still blank.
“Will I change again?” I feared that more than anything.
“Yes, but maybe it will be slow, like it was for your father. We only have him to compare to, and his changes were several months apart. Then, when he started taking the elixirs, he never changed.”
“How can I get more of the elixir?” Why hadn’t we discussed me taking this elixir?
“There is none and it’s not perfected anyway. The elixir is why he started changing all the time. When he became immune to it and it had no hold over his change, he turned into the monster more frequently. It mutated him further.”
“Great.” I sighed, still defeated and stressed. “I’ll shower and we will go see my aunt and uncle.”
His lips tightened and his eyes avoided mine.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“They’ll think it was you,” he replied. Whatever happened to your friend, they will blame you. You have been gone a while, missing since the night your best friend died. Not to mention, you were the last person to see her alive. They will blame you.”
“Good. I am to blame. I deserve to be sent to prison.”
“What happens if you change in prison? They will experiment on you. The government would use someone like you. Your father dealt with this all his life.”
“What can I do then?” Everything in me said to confess but he was right. How did I confess to being a monster? I would end up in the psych ward until I changed again.
He appeared sickened. “I have an idea.”
His lips moved and his idea was insane, but I nodded along as the plan was formed.
As he finished the story, I conceded, “Let’s do it.”
He didn’t appear pleased with himself when I agreed.
And I didn’t feel pleased when the last thing I saw was the dark object in Roland’s hand coming down on my head.
I closed my eyes and waited for it to be over.
Pain and darkness came at the same time.
Sounds filled the air as the cold clung to me. Blue and red lights flashed even with my eyes closed. Warmth hit as someone touched my arm and a voice spoke softly, “It will be all right.”
Fluttering my lashes, I managed to get my eyes open. I winced in pain from the lights and fuzzy picture as I glanced around, dazed.
My head hurt.
My hand shook as I brought it up from the pool of warm liquid surrounding my face.
The person lifting and wrapping me in a blanket spoke in a gentle voice, “Miss Holland, everything will be all right.” He pulled me to his chest.
It took a moment for me to remember how I’d gotten there, but when I did I knew Roland’s ridiculous plan was working.
“I’m confused,” I whispered.
“I know. It’s okay now. You’re safe.”
My voice cracked but I forced the question from my lips, “Where is Rebecca?”
“The doctors need to see you, Hanna. They need to examine you.” He pulled me back and stared into my eyes. His piercing blue eyes filled my hazy focus. “Everything is going to be different, but I promise you’re safe now, okay?”
“Okay.” I curled into him. Something about him made me believe the things he said, even though I knew they could never be true.
He put me down on a cot and cold air rushed between us, suggesting this was just the start.
The paramedics stepped in to examine me. The police officer who had carried me stepped back to give room for the other men to strap me into the cot for transport. In the small gap of the closing doors, I caught a last glimpse of the dreaded forest. I wished I never had to see it again, but couldn’t help wonder how we’d ended up there in the first place. It looked just as it had in my dream.
I shivered and tried to relax into the cot.
The doctors examined me at the hospital. Everyone was excited about my survival of whatever had happened. They would find small traces of GHB. And I looked underfed from not eating. I hated that my own guilt and depression helped me pass for an escaped captive.
When grilled about the events by the young blue-eyed police officer, I played the part well. I was devastated about my dear friend’s death and sickened by my lack of memories. I was generally no help whatsoever as I recalled nothing they could use. I didn’t have to lie—I remembered nothing and my heart was broken. Despite everything, they’d never believe I had turned into a horrid monster. I didn’t even believe it, regardless of what I’d seen.
I lay in the bed, quietly gazing out the window at the city of Portland, pondering how to begin the search for answers. Lost in thought, I hardly noticed when my aunt and uncle finally made their first appearance.
I watched, studying their responses. My father had believed them to be evil and behind it all. Roland had let me in on that little tidbit just before he bashed my brains out. When they found out I’d turned into the monster, he and my father worried my aunt and uncle had tried to kill me, maybe for money. I didn't believe it.
My aunt’s grief-stricken face showed true relief as genuine tears rolled down her cheeks. She sat at my bedside and sobbed. “Oh, thank God. We thought you were dead. We thought they hurt you, like your friend.”
My uncle squeezed my hand as his lower lip trembled. “What can you remember, love? Did they hurt you?”
“Nothing—I remember nothing.” I
squeezed his hand back and wondered how much of what Roland had told me was true and how much was complete crap.
My uncle glanced down at his shoes, plainly sickened and upset by it all. I believed my father had too easily pegged my aunt and uncle as culprits. After watching them, I had no doubts in my heart. They had not done it. They never knew a thing about my father, beyond his lack of parenting abilities. They wouldn’t know how to make me be like him. They had no reason to do it.
“Are Rebecca’s parents okay?” I asked, trying to focus on her.
“No.” My aunt shook her head. “First the brother and now her. No.” The words burned my soul, what remained of it.
“I’ll need to see them.” I needed to punish myself. I needed the horrific pain that seeing them would bring. And since I had no knowledge or memory of my best friend’s death, I could be there for them and feel their loss with them. It was my loss too. I had nothing but a bunch of weird stories to convince me I was responsible.
“Well, when do you get to come home?” my uncle spoke softly.
“Tomorrow.”
Something happened in that moment that caused me doubt. An exchange between them occurred. I didn’t know what it was, but it stood out: his tone and her eyes darting at him. They knew or feared something.
“So soon?” My aunt appeared confused.
“Yeah.” I smiled sweetly. “I’m excited to come home.” Again their eyes exchanged a look. It was so subtle that had I not anticipated it, I would have missed it.
“The doctors don’t think maybe you should stay?”
“No. There is nothing wrong with me, beyond a concussion and malnutrition.”
My aunt pasted the fakest smile on her face. It was rigid. “Well, you get some sleep, sweetie. We will see you at the house tomorrow.”
“Will you pick me up?” I didn’t understand what was happening.
“Oh right.” My aunt chuckled to herself. “Of course. Silly me. Yes, we will be here in the afternoon.”
My uncle nodded along. “Night, Hanna.”
Their incredibly short visit and strange behavior made me suspicious. Something was up. Of that I was certain.
Roland came to visit me directly after they left as if he had been awaiting their departure.
He was handsome for an old man, in a white golf jacket and black chinos. I smiled at his inability to look casual.
He smiled back at me, sweetly. “Well, good to see you on the mend then.”
“Yes, my head is starting to feel better. Slight concussion, they said.”
He winced. “I wish there had been another way.”
“No, this is perfect. It’s exactly as it should be.” My eyes misted. “I deserve at least a smack on the head.”
“No, you deserve to be rid of this curse, which is why I’m here.” He stared at the floor momentarily and mouthed something as if arguing with himself. “Against my better judgment, I bring a message.” He cleared his throat nervously. “A Mr. Marcus Dragomir would like you to accompany him out tonight.”
I didn’t understand. “I’m not allowed to leave here until tomorrow.”
“Yes, he will take care of that.”
“Marcus Dragomir—the man from my father’s stories that took place in the 1800s? The one whose blood had healing properties, according to my deranged father?”
“Yes.”
“It’s too much, Roland.”
“Perhaps.” He nodded once sharply. “He will pick you up at eight sharp.”
“I have nothing to wear but a hospital gown. I’m not leaving here with my ass to the wind, alongside one of my father’s fictional characters. You need to let this die, with my dad. It’s insane.”
He picked up a large shopping bag I hadn’t noticed he had brought in with him.
“Stop cussing. Everything you need is in here.” His eyes grew serious. “I can’t advise you on this, and God knows your father never listened to me, but I would be careful with Mr. Dragomir, if I were you. He is not what he seems to be. His plans always benefit him, even when they seem to help you. But he is the one person who worked with your father on these tinctures before and the only person to have had any luck with them. Your father’s recent attempts to cure this have failed and we are out of options.”
“Thank you, Roland. I will be careful with the mysterious magical character.” I rolled my eyes.
He leaned in and kissed my forehead softly. “Goodnight, miss.”
“Night.”
He walked to the doorway but turned back toward me. “Your aunt and uncle, did they betray you as we suspect?”
“I don’t know, but something is off with them. They acted weird.”
“Very good.” He walked from the room, leaving me even more confused.
As he left, the young policeman entered, smiling and carrying a tea. “Hi.”
“Hi.” I smiled back. Something about him made me happy.
“How’s the head?” He passed me the tea.
“Sore, but not nearly as sore as my back from lying in this bed.”
He laughed. “Yeah, these beds make you want to get better.” His dark-blond hair and blue eyes gave him a wholesome boy-next-door look. “I need to go over your statement again,” he said quietly. “If that’s okay with you.”
“Sure.” I sipped the tea. “I don’t think I recall anything else.”
“The first few hours are usually the best.”
“Wow, then we’re screwed.”
He laughed again, sending a shiver over my body. “Well either way, let’s try, shall we?” He pulled out a pen and a small pad of paper and smiled. “So you were seen with Miss Macmillan the night you both disappeared. Can you recall where?”
“No.” I shook my head. “We always did the same things though, so if I had to guess—”
He stopped me short. “No guessing. If you don’t recall, it’s okay.”
“Nothing then.”
“Okay. Well, you were at a Starbucks. You were caught on video camera around eight in the evening. It’s the last place you were seen.”
I smiled, lost in the thought for a second. “The pumpkin-spice latte.” The words were a whisper.
His eyes jumped in surprise. “You remember?”
I did. “Yes, we went to Starbucks because it was the first day of the pumpkin-spice latte. It’s her favorite. She always gets a latte on the first day.” My voice cracked as tears trickled down my cheeks. I stared off into space, not blinking, suddenly recalling the evening as if someone had turned on a switch. “We went to my aunt’s house first. Rebecca called her mom and dad because we wanted to go to a movie, but they weren’t home. My aunt had made cookies—pumpkin chocolate chip. We ate a bunch of those.”
“Did you have a latte too?”
“What?” I blinked out of the memory.
“The drink. I’m just trying to see if you both ate and drank the same things.”
“God no. I don’t like espresso. I had an Americano.”
He chuckled. “That is espresso.”
“It’s coffee.”
“No,” he argued. “It’s espresso and boiling water. It’s what they made in Italy for the Americans who hated the espresso.”
“Oh.” I frowned. “I didn’t know that.”
“What happened after the cookies and coffee? Did you make it to the movie?”
“No.” I shrugged. “I remember not feeling well. I was sort of sick or something. I told Rebecca I couldn’t do the movie, my stomach hurt. I don’t think we went to the movie.” I bit my lip, searching my mind. I couldn’t tell him anything else even if I remembered. Anything else would incriminate me. The hazy memories stopped at the stomachache. “I don’t know. There is nothing else.”
“Well, remembering Starbucks and the cookies is something.”
“Yeah.” The memories I did have plagued me. My memory of Rebecca’s face was clearer than any other. I was holding my coffee and laughing about the good-looking and extremely flirty barista.
He reached forward, putting his warm hand on mine, encompassing it completely. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”
When our eyes met, I wanted to tell him everything. His honest face demanded it from me. I hated the idea of lying to him.
“I’ll see you at your parents’ house tomorrow,” he said, standing. “We’ll be posting a watch at the hospital tonight and at your house tomorrow as more of a statement. The drugs that the kidnapper used on you are blocking your memories, but they might not know that.”
I bit my lip. “You think I could still be in danger?”
“Whoever did this to you and Rebecca may want to finish the job.” He squeezed my hand once before letting go. “Don’t worry, we won’t let anyone hurt you.” He walked from the room.
When he was gone I whispered, “Can you stop me from hurting anyone else?”
Chapter 4
Master Marcus
Unsure about whether the Marcus guy was coming or not, I changed into the jeans and sweater Roland had left for me. He’d even bought the very clogs I’d wanted from the shoe store at the mall. I frowned, wondering about him, and put them on as I waited for the mysterious Marcus Dragomir to enter my room.
I remembered the face I had given him in my dreams, but I wondered what he’d look like in real life.
I didn’t have to wait long. But oddly enough, I sensed his presence before I saw him. The room grew cold and my heart rate quickened. A slight breeze lifted my hair, a breeze filled with dark ambergris incense. My focus went to the entrance of the room, somehow knowing he would walk through.
He stepped in, appearing exactly as I had dreamed. Only his clothes were different. He wore dark jeans, tailored to fit perfectly, and a peacoat. But not a single hair on his head was different and he wasn’t old like my father, even though they’d met when my dad was young. He was another mystery to add to the ever-growing pile of confusion.
“Hello, love.” His dark voice, though spoken softly, echoed in the small room.
“Hi.” My voice cracked with nerves.
“I’m Mr. Dragomir. Please call me Marcus. How are you feeling, Hanna?” His English accent was awesome.