Blackwater

by Tara Brown

  The smell of blood is in the air. I'm feeling wild from it. I know later when I think about it, I will regret every moment of this.

  Whit drives to a dirt road and pulls off. He parks the truck and gets out. I'm bare-chested and gripping my tattered shirt to my exposed breasts. He opens the door and takes my hand. He drags me behind him and after a few minutes I know where we are.

  I see the hiding house and pull on his hand, "Tessa is staying there."

  He looks at me and growls. I back up. I'm grinning from ear to ear. I know blood still lingers on my lips. His are coated in the fresh blood of the police officer.

  He walks toward me slowly. I walk backwards. I can smell the rich blood on his lips. I can smell the sex coming from everywhere else.

  "We shouldn’t do this. I'm going to regret it." I shake my head.

  "You want me." His lazy grin breaks my heart and I grip my shirt to me and turn and run. I trip and he's on me.

  He pins me into the itchy wheat. He kisses my back and my neck and grinds against me. He slides a hand up into my hair and pulls lightly, lifting my head from the wheat. He turns my head and kisses me. His bloody kiss is better than any kiss, ever. I roll on my back as he unbuttons and removes his pants.

  Before I realize what I'm saying I've said it, "There is a blanket in the back seat of the truck."

  He is up and gone, running in his shirt and underwear. Running away crosses my mind, but I don’t. I just think about it, until he walks up holding the blanket and his lazy grin. Then I think about him and rip my pants off.

  He shakes the blanket and lays it flat. I climb on and lie back. He tugs at my boots and throws them on the ground.

  He kneels in front of me and bends to lay soft kisses on the inside of my thigh. I gasp and hold my hand over my mouth. I'd hate for old Aunty Tessa to hear me as his warm mouth plants wet kisses everywhere.

  He rubs a thumb over my underwear and I feel like I'm going crazy. He is torturing me. He is very good at this. He is too good at it. My brain creates an awesome diversion. I have no willpower left. It has to be him that stops this insanity. I wince and let the words slip from my lips, "How many have there been?"

  He lifts his face and looks at me, "How many what?"

  I close my legs and look at him, "Girls?"

  His eyes widen. He processes my question and then decides to be angry, "What?"

  I gulp and sit up.

  The moon casts shadows on his face but doesn’t hide the anger, "Why? Why are you bringing this up now?"

  I shake my head and cross my arms. I need to stall until the blood lust is gone, "All this time you were looking for me, were you missing me or was that only a part time thing? Were you sleeping with other women the whole time?"

  He runs a hand though his hair and shakes his head, "It wasn’t like that. It was just, you know."

  I shake my head, "I don’t know." I bite my lip, "I did, but anytime I got close, I…well…I lost control."

  He processes again and nods, "You ate them?"

  I'm ashamed. As usual, "It was an accident, usually."

  His eyes glow with the same sarcasm that's in his tone, "So, you saved yourself for me, but not on purpose? So you tried but didn’t succeed and that makes me an arsehole?"

  I shake my head, "I dated a few boys in forty-eight years and but none of my relationships went anywhere. I never let them. But then again I wasn’t the one being devout to you. I wasn’t the one trying to win you back." My anger slowly starts to become real. True chick moment.

  He crawls over me and kisses me, "Can't we just let it be ancient history? We can start over."

  I lean back and shake, "I guess it doesn't matter. You murdered my family and even if I can't seem to make that bigger than you, it still counts in my heart. And it's not like we're dating now. I would never date you. I owe them that at least. Sorry, I know I said we weren’t going to talk about it."

  He kisses me again, "What? No. I want to talk about it. I didn’t murder your family and yes, love, we're dating. We have been dating for the entire time." He grins and bats his thick lashes shamelessly, "This is the courting stage where you get me to try to win you over."

  I shake my head. "No, you had sex with other women."

  He shakes his head, "I…I never said I had sex." His Scottish accent is thicker than mine suddenly and his voice gets high pitched.

  I pull back and tilt my head, "It doesn’t matter. We're just using each other for non-sex, from blood lust. This isn’t anything. Let's be real. You aren’t making me dinner and bringing me flowers and wine. You don’t sleep over. We are screwing around in the grass. This is so us not dating."

  "Lass, I took you to dinner." His grin makes me laugh.

  I shake my head, "No, you took me to kill people and eat them. It's not the same thing."

  His face flushes like it used to and he smiles and looks down, "I don't want to date. My intentions for us have not changed in forty-eight years, Lorelei. I want to marry you and take you home to meet the family. I want to be with you forever."

  The word family strikes a chord with me. "You killed my family."

  He looks like a little kid, "You hated your family." His eyes look sad. "Except your sister. But I did my best there." He looks at me calmly, "Besides, I meant meet my family. My family isn’t dead."

  I don't understand, "What? How old are you?"

  He bites his lip and thinks, "Five hundred and one. My mother and father and brothers are alive."

  It doesn’t make sense. "Y'all are like this?"

  He nods, "All."

  "How?" I'm not sure I want the answer.

  He shrugs, "Just are."

  I shake my head, "I want answers."

  He leans over me, "And I want to take the remaining clothes off. I will explain everything later."

  I kick him back and hold him there with my foot on his chest, "No."

  "Then let me explain about that night."

  I shake my head.

  He sighs, "You’re a mood killer." He plants a kiss on my shin and stands. He offers me his hand. The blood high is leaving. We will both be normal again shortly. I almost want to jump him and let the high take over but I don’t. My willpower is returning, unfortunately with it is my severe love of this man.

  I take his hand and stand next to him. The wheat whispers to us. I remember the last dawn, the one where he begged me not to leave him. I hate him. I have to remember that.

  I pull my hand away and walk back to the truck.

  I can hear him sigh, but I let it get lost in the whispering wheat, along with my sex drive. When I look back his face looks the same as it did the night he begged me, not far from where we are standing.

  He drives in silence. He's pouting. It makes me smile.

  He drops me off at my motel. I hop out of the truck clutching my bloody shirt to my chest. I must look ridiculous, bloody and in my panties.

  "Can I pick you up tomorrow? I have two things I need to show you still." His voice is soft again.

  I glance back and nod. "I have house things to do but you can get me at the mansion at midnight. The contractors refuse to be there after ten."

  He smiles hopefully, "I can help with this you know. I'm actually very good with my hands."

  I shoot him a look, "Well you know what they say, practice makes perfect and let's face it sugar, you’ve had loads of practice."

  His eyes narrow, "I meant the building part of using my hands."

  I open my motel door and slam it when I'm inside.

  "I still want you." His voice is muffled outside my door. "But more than anything in the world, I still want my chance to explain."

  His hand brushes the door. I press my back into it and try not to cry.

  Chapter Thirteen

  I sneak alongside the Governor's mansion. I am standing in the exact spot where Whit saved me. I look into the window of the basement. I see lights flickering a few rooms away. I can't believe she married him.

  A voic
e breaks the silence, "This is like holy land for me and you."

  I jump and turn to see Whit smiling down on me. He points and grins, "Remember when I saved you here?"

  I shake my head and give him my best-uninterested look, "No. Shhhh." I creep along the side of the house to the back basement windows. I walk until I reach the window with the flickering light. I see bare feet and legs. I tilt my head and gasp. Angie, who is a little old lady, is on top of a naked old man, not Martin Ryan. She is riding him like a five-dollar mule.

  "Damn. She looks good for sixty-nine." I whisper.

  Whit peeks and then gags, pointing and backing away, "I don’t want to see a woman of that age having sex and hear you say the number sixty-nine."

  I laugh and shove him. I walk away from the window.

  He jogs up to me and laughs, "That could have been you."

  I grimace, "Who is that man? Luke said she's married to Martin now. I know what Martin looked like and even old as they are, that ain't him."

  He makes a disturbed face and shudders, "Her lover, one of the many. Martin has his lovers; they all resemble you in a creepy sort of way. The dead Huntington girl."

  "What?"

  He nods, "Angie was in the woods with Martin that night. They were getting it on when the shit went down."

  I raise an eyebrow, "The shit? You mean you killing my family?"

  He shakes his head, "Anyway, they were in the woods, having sex. That’s the gossip anyway."

  I feel sick suddenly, "The girl in the black dress. I watched him drag her back there. She was so drunk."

  I look back down in the window and shake my head. I am desperately saddened by it. He used her. The same way he used Margery Banks. I just know it. "He always was scum." I mutter.

  He takes my hand and pulls me along to the gazebo, "Remember when we came here?"

  I shake my head, "No. My memories of before are fuzzy." It's a lie. I remember every smell and sensation like it was seconds ago.

  He grins, "But the memories of me murdering your family are sharp?"

  I nod once as we walk up the stairs.

  He pulls me into his arms and spins me once, "I loved you the minute I saw you."

  I shake my head, "No, you didn’t. I don’t believe in that. Instant love is as fake as Angie's seventy-year-old breasts."

  He makes a gagging noise. I laugh and rest my face against his chest. It's nice to be with someone I can't hurt. I can smell him and let my mouth water and not worry. I let myself like it for a minute and pretend it could be anyone.

  "That was cruel," he mutters.

  I laugh, "No crueler than murdering my entire family."

  His body becomes rigid against mine as he grabs my arms and pulls me back. His dark eyes are filled with desperation and emotion. He lowers his face onto mine. His lips brush my lower lip as he sucks it into his mouth softly. He bites down gently and drags his teeth along. I shiver from the slow and sensual effect of it. He kisses next to my mouth and murmurs, "I never murdered them. I saved them."

  Rage instantly flares. I shove him back hard and stalk away, shaking my head and clenching my jaw. I could kill him. "Saved them." I groan and walk to the truck. I see a shadow alongside the house.

  "Lorelei, would you wait up." he calls after me. I stop, but it's not for him. It's for the green eyes watching me from the shadows. A wrinkled old hand creeps up to the stunned lips of the face that's partly hidden in the dark shadows.

  "Lorelei." she whispers but I can hear it as well as if she'd shouted it at me. I don’t know what to say or do. She steps from the shadows, shaking her head, "How?"

  My jaw hangs open. I glance around, looking for him. He's gone, of course. God forbid he ever sticks around for the hard stuff.

  "Good evening ma'am." I say softly, trying to thicken my accent and pray she doesn’t really recall me.

  I feel his warmth up behind me suddenly, "Compel her to forget." he says softly.

  I take a step forward. Her green eyes grow; a tear leaks down the side of her too-tanned and too-tight cheek. She shakes her head and the tears take over. She sobs uncontrollably. I wrap myself around her.

  "Why did you let me grow old? Why didn’t you take me with you?" she sobs.

  I hold her to me and try to speak soothingly, "You look the same as before. Just as beautiful as before." It ain't a lie. She looks the same to me. I still see her face and her wickedness. The man on the floor in the window was proof of that. She is as feisty and spicy as she ever was.

  She trembles, "I thought you died. I thought you were gone."

  I pull back and look into her eyes, "I did. I'm dead, Angie."

  She shakes her head, "You're warm, you're real. You're young and pretty."

  I shake my head, "I live on the deaths of others. I'm not real. I'm a monster." I glance back at Whit and feel tears leak from my eyes. I don’t know how to do any of this.

  She gasps. I wipe the black tear and nod, "The Devil's tears. Nothing is the same for me."

  She grips my arms, "Your daddy and Em?"

  I shake my head, "Dead. All dead."

  She looks me over, "Like you?"

  I shake my head again, "No. Real dead." I slide my hands down her face, "How has it all been? How was real life?"

  I need it to be amazing. I am terrified it was horrid and she was miserable. She wipes her tears and sniffles, "It was awful at first. I never left for New York or California like I wanted. I stayed and helped poor Martin with his grief. We fell in love and he asked me to marry him."

  I kiss her, tasting the damp salt on her cheek, "Of course. I'm grateful you were there for him." I don’t want her to know I know the truth of the matter. I would never embarrass her that way. Not at the end of her life.

  "We were married a year later. We had a toast to you and yours at the wedding. It was nice. We moved to Washington for a spell. Then Martin decided he wanted this. So we came home. Lord Lorelei, you look the same. It's frightening." Her voice is the fakest I have ever heard it be. It's like we don’t even know each other. I hate it. I'm still stuck in the time when we were best friends and she knew everything. She is the fake sweet Southern lady that she only ever used on strangers, never me.

  I smile warmly, "Did you have kids?" I know the answer.

  She nods and sniffles, "Yes, lord we got us four that got themselves a bushel of grandkids for us." She points and scowls, "Don't you dare call me a grandmamma. I will kill you." She says it keel, like we always did. Typical Louisiana talk.

  I put my hands up defensively, "You know you love it."

  She smiles and for the first time I see happiness in her eyes, "I do. God help me, but I do. I got my charities and such. Martin keeps busy. I figured he'd retire by now but no such luck." Her eyes sparkle and I see the pain that she is too well bred to show it purposefully.

  I grin, "He always was a hard worker." I hate him still. I need to know why he married her and if he made her life hell. The thought of it all is killing me inside.

  She laughs, "Where are you staying?"

  I shrug, "Nowhere. Just here to check on things, like always."

  Her eyes narrow, "Well I did hear, from a very reliable source, that a grandchild of the Huntington's was at the house, rebuilding it."

  I nod, "That would be me. I am cleaning it up for Tessa. She been living there in the dirt and the mud for too long."

  She crosses her old lady arms, "That old bat is still alive?"

  I laugh and look at the source, "She is."

  "She's gotta be clear a hundred."

  I cross my arms, "She only was a few years older than me." It's a lie but I need to make sure she ain't too suspicious.

  She looks past me and frowns, "Who's your friend? Where are your manners, Lorelei?"

  I shake my head and lean into her face, I feel my eyes fix on hers. My breath becomes hot, "You didn't see him. In fact, he is no one. You never saw me. You saw Aunt Tessa's granddaughter who looks a lot like me but you could tell right away it wa
sn't me. I died in that old house forty-eight years ago, in that fire. I'm named Lorelei after my cousin who died forty-eight years ago. I was looking for a shoe in your grass. I took a short cut and lost it." I blink and wave, "Night Mrs. Ryan, thanks for helping me find my shoe."

  She looks dazed for a second. I hear her start to breathe again and with every inhale she takes, I take a step away. My heart hurts, at least the hole that used to be a heart hurts. I hate that I left her. I left her to get old and suffer for half a century.

  "She seems good." Whit's there suddenly.

  Disgust fills my face as tears burst from my eyes, "Good? She was never gonna marry, she was gonna have fun and be a stewardess or a CEO's top secretary. She was gonna be free. The smile on her face was as fake as her breasts and white teeth. She ain't happy. She's married to that scum because I died. She took my place. Something must have happened. He raped her and got her pregnant and she married him. I would bet the entire plantation that fucker hurt her for the last forty-eight years and I let him." My footsteps become something menacing.

  He grabs my arm, "Where are you going?"

  I look back at him and point, "You go back to the house and make sure she don't recall none of that conversation. I'm not great at that eye magic shit. I'll be back." I don’t even recognize my own voice, it's a growl and a mean one at that.

  His eyes sparkle, "Don't do anything you'll regret."

  "I ain't done nothing but shit I regret." I grumble and stalk off into the dark and hate the way the word shit sounded like sheet. My accent is getting thicker.

  He laughs behind me, "When did you get such a foul, countrified-mouth on you?" I sneer and ignore him.

  My boots crunch along the ground; I don’t know where I'm walking to. I sniff the air. I can smell him but it's faint and in every direction. "Damned humidity." It's like he's hiding under a blanket.

  "Maria?" I call into the night skies, "Auntie Maria, you there? I need your help." I am about to keep walking, certain I can't call on the dead, when I feel it.

  The cold air is refreshing as it hits, "You calling me, child?"

  I shudder when I see her, white mist floating in the air. I swallow and try not to be terrified. "You know where I can find Martin Ryan?"