by Devyn Quinn
“Could be some lingering psychic remnant,” Sam suggested.
“Maybe.” A thought occurred. The one thing she’d been putting off suddenly came crowding back into her brain. She’d always avoided making the trip, but now it was time. “Would you do something for me?”
Sam nodded. “Sure.”
“Take me to Memorial Gardens Cemetery,” she said. “I’d like to see Amanda’s grave.”
His head swiveled. “Now?”
She nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
“It would be closed,” he warned.
“Since when has that ever stopped a slayer?” she retorted.
“True.” He paused. “I will if you’ll tell me what happened with Maddox.”
Jesse hesitated. That was something she definitely didn’t want to talk about. She thought a moment. Sam had mentioned Maddox was missing. Perhaps something had happened to him—something bad.
She exhaled a slow breath. “Okay. You take me to the cemetery and I’ll tell you what happened.”
Sam narrowed his eyes. “I knew something was up.”
Nevertheless, he kept his part of the bargain. Wheeling the big car around, he headed in the desired direction. It took almost an hour to reach their destination.
As they neared the cemetery, Jesse felt her blood turn icy. She’d been in the hospital when Amanda was buried. She’d never visited her sister’s grave.
Standing guard on this abode of the dead were twin stone pillars. The gates, of course, were locked.
Sam parked the car and killed the engine before snuffing out the headlights. “You sure you want to do this?”
Jesse pressed a hand against her chest to still the intense thudding of her heart. The organ beat against her rib cage as though trying to tear through her bones. “I’m sure.”
“Come on,” Sam said, leading the way. “I know an easy way in.”
Drawing in a breath, Jesse opened the door. “I guess you would.” Trembling legs would barely hold her weight. She had to force herself to pick up her feet and walk. A few minutes later, they’d climbed over the black wrought-iron fence, landing safely on the other side.
The grounds of the cemetery were neatly kept, grass and hedges trimmed. A huge marble carving of a book with the Lord’s Prayer inscribed into its marble pages sat just past the gate, neatly positioned between two towering weeping willow trees. There were iron benches beneath the trees, inviting the bereaved to sit beneath their shelter and seek comfort from the Savior’s words.
It wasn’t very comforting.
It felt strange to be in this place—she didn’t like coming back.
Sam looked around. “Where is your sister’s grave?”
Jesse numbly recited the plot number. She did not like this place one bit. Instead of huge ornate headstones, all the occupants were allowed for grave markers was a small flat slab—easier to mow over, they said. How sad a person’s whole life should be reduced to a twelve-by-twelve piece of marble.
Pulling out a flashlight, Sam nodded. “Gotcha.”
It took them about half an hour to locate the right spot. There it was, ringed by damp grass, its face beaded with raindrops: the plaque of a life snuffed out too early.
An awful, weak feeling attacked her legs as she studied the grave site. She closed her eyes and bent her head. She was trembling, trembling with a violence that shook her to the core. She opened her eyes and read:
AMANDA AMY BURKE.
BORN AUGUST 18, 1983.
DIED AUGUST 20, 2005.
BELOVED DAUGHTER & SISTER.
There it was—Amanda’s grave.
Except Amanda wasn’t lying beneath the cold, damp ground. No, somewhere out there her demon-possessed body still existed. Forever young, forever beautiful, she walked the earth, a monster preying on the innocent.
Legs no longer able to support her weight, Jesse collapsed. The grass under her knees was cold and wet, the same grass covering her twin’s grave. She put out a trembling hand, touching the plaque. How was it the grass was so perfect, the maw in the ground grown over as if the hole there had never existed, as if Amanda had never existed? She felt the chill seeping into her bones, but was way past acknowledgment.
Tears she had earlier refused to let fall now ran down her cheeks in a torrent. The anguish of the night they’d been taken slithered out of the dark recesses of her mind like a snake, twisting itself around in her skull, biting deeply into her brain tissue with sharp poisonous fangs. The memory most stark in her mind was how they’d been seduced by two seemingly normal young men cruising the bar. The stupid mistake they’d made would not heal, and time was failing to ease the pain.
We knew better, she thought through a veil of tears she could no longer distinguish from the rain. We shouldn’t have been out that late.
“Where are you now?” she sobbed, the words escaping through numb lips. The quiver of betrayal in her broken voice went unheard by living ears. Her head sagged on her shoulders. She felt so tired, so awfully, horribly tired. When something hurt a heart this much, it was almost unbearable. She’d tried not to let the past hang on to her, but it was impossible—the loss of her twin was just something she could not get over.
Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she tried to dam up the fresh sobs rising from her chest. Hopeless remorse won and she began to cry again, the crying of a soul lost and so alone. Strangely, she wished Maddox were there, to fold her in his embrace, to comfort her. But he’d gone off into the arms of another woman.
Once again she’d been cast adrift. Only this time she hated it. It was true Maddox hadn’t made her any promises, and he owed her nothing. The realization of how alone she was struck her full force. She heard the sounds of evening traffic in the distance, but it didn’t register on her benumbed senses.
I have to depend on myself, she warned herself.
She was drowning, but she didn’t know how to ask for help without appearing to be weak and foolish. She was trapped in a pit of despair, a pit she kept digging deeper. The edges were threatening to crumble and collapse on top of her, burying her.
A heavy hand fell on her shoulder. “You all right?” Sam Chen asked.
Jesse gave herself a hard mental shake. Somehow she had to find the strength to go on, to keep fighting the beasts that had destroyed her family.
She slowly dragged herself to her feet. A burning sensation washed over her body. She’d been crouched on the wet grass for too long, and her cramped limbs were beginning to rebel. Her nerves were strained to the breaking point, and apprehension sent pinpricks up her spine. For a moment she feared she would be ill.
She caught a breath of cold air. That helped clear her head. “Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks.”
Reaching for her arm, Sam drew her away from the grave. “I think it’s time to go.” Somehow he got her out of the cemetery and back into the car.
Jesse collapsed limply against the seat, a wet huddling mass. She shivered. “I’m so cold.”
Sam turned the heat up full blast. “I kept my end of the deal,” he said. “Your turn to spill.”
Wiping a hand against her eyes, she attempted to block out everything around her. Did she really have enough nerve to admit she’d had sex with Maddox? And apparently hadn’t satisfied him because he’d left her hanging while he sought out another woman.
She sighed. “Shit.”
“What’s up with Maddox?” Sam prodded again. “If something bad is going on, Reyen and I need to know.”
Jesse gritted her teeth. “Something happened, all right.”
Then without moving her hand, she began to tell him the entire sordid tale.
Maddox felt like hell. Even though a couple of days had passed since he’d given in and visited Nayia, he’d expected Jesse would be waiting for him when he got home. A rude awakening awaited him.
Jesse had taken her meager belongings and vanished.
Just like that, she was gone.
His first impulse was to go after her. But he didn’t. Ma
ybe it was better she was out of his life. At least he wouldn’t have to look her in the eyes and admit the incredibly stupid thing he’d done.
He’d fallen to the bite—again.
Every time he did, he’d promised himself it was the last time. And then he’d be all right, managing to ignore the cravings tearing at his soul like a wild animal. It was a blasphemy to want it, to need it, so badly. His addiction had turned him into a liar, a man who deceived his friends and comrades to feed a disease he despised.
As for Jesse . . . What he’d done to tempt the demon inside her was disgraceful. She fought the beast, wrestled against its temptations; yet he’d urged her to give in to her hunger.
Shit. He was so pathetic.
Feeling that too-familiar lump begin to rise in his throat, Maddox swallowed hard. The movement hurt—maybe because his throat was still bruised by Nayia’s bites.
Shaking his head, he reached for the fresh bottle of Jack Daniel’s he had tucked away for an emergency. If ever there was a time a man needed liquid courage, now was that time. Sitting beside the bottle was a six-shot .38 revolver.
Not really focusing on what he was doing, he cracked the seal on the fresh bottle of whiskey and poured himself a generous shot. Downing it in a single swallow, he repeated the action three times until the burn of the whiskey cracked away the iciness inside his gut.
When he felt calmer, he reached for the gun and snapped the cylinder open to spin it around. Just last night he’d methodically cleaned and oiled the blue-black metal until it gleamed.
The .38 was in perfect working order.
Maddox contemplated the smooth clean lines of his gun in the lamp’s light. It was beautiful, an absolutely lethal piece of art. And there were six bullets in the chambers. Tipping it, he extracted five.
One was all he would need.
A great sense of relief filled his body. So, here it was. He had made his decision and decided to stare the Grim Reaper in the face. If he could not serve his purpose on this earth, he might as well step aside.
He looked from the gun in his hand, a snub nose, to the bottle. A few more drinks and he would press the barrel of the .38 to the soft flesh under his chin. He could imagine the feel of the cold metal pressed against his clammy skin; he could savor the sensation of his finger coming down on the trigger. He would leave no note. Reyen and Sam wouldn’t care why he’d redecorated the place with pieces of his head.
A man’s angry voice interrupted his suicidal reverie, echoing through the dark, empty space beneath the derelict hotel. “Maddox, you son of a bitch!”
Startled by the deep boom, Maddox hastily put down his gun and rushed to the kitchen sink to throw up. His hand groped for the faucet to turn on the water. Nothing came up but the whiskey and yellow bile. He heaved, running cold water into the sink to splash on his pale face.
“Go away,” he rasped under his breath. “Leave me alone.”
The far-removed but insistent voice continued to curse. “If you’re in that rat hole, you have one minute to get your ass out here.”
Lifting himself up, Maddox snagged a dirty rag to wipe his mouth. By the sound of things, Reyen was definitely pissed. It might be better to pretend he wasn’t home. Barrel-chested and brawny, the Indian hated trying to squeeze his massive bulk through narrow spaces. That was one of the reasons Maddox had chosen such an inconvenient place to live—Reyen didn’t like it and wouldn’t come in.
Maddox sagged against the counter. Reyen would get pissed and go away. Once he left, Maddox could finish the job he’d started.
The game plan sounded like a good one until he heard the sound of wood tearing and splintering. The shatter of brittle glass followed.
Realizing there was about to be trouble and then some, Maddox rushed out into the dilapidated lounge. He passed the bar just in time to see Reyen kicking his way through the stained-glass panels of the bar door.
The Indian stepped into the abandoned lounge. “Looks like we’re open for business,” he grunted with no small satisfaction. He was wearing a white T-shirt and black leather jacket, and his legs were clad in skintight leather chaps. His bowie knife was strapped beneath his arm, holstered within easy reach of his hand.
Reyen’s cold gaze settled on Maddox. “There you are, you frog-eating bastard.”
Maddox raised a weary hand. Shit. This was exactly what he didn’t feel like dealing with right now. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
Without saying a word, Reyen charged straight for him. He slammed Maddox back against the wall, pinning his forearm across Maddox’s throat. His eyes burned behind the narrow slits of his lids. “I heard you’re on the bite again,” he snarled.
Barely able to breathe beneath the crushing weight, Maddox clawed at Reyen’s leather-covered arm. The move wasn’t only ineffective, it was useless. Exhausted, half-drunk, and weak as a newborn lamb, he was in no shape to fight back.
He ceased to resist, letting his hands drop. “It’s true,” he mumbled.
Reyen immediately stepped away. “Shit.”
Supported by nothing but his own ineffective legs, Maddox slid to the floor. He licked papery lips, trying to find a bit of saliva to moisten his desert-dry mouth. “Don’t say anything, man,” he moaned, his voice barely a rasp against his ears. “I already feel like hell as it is.”
Reyen ignored him. Hunkering down on his haunches, he grabbed a handful of Maddox’s hair. He produced a small but powerful penlight, aiming the penetrating light toward Maddox’s neck.
His smoldering gaze assessed the damages. “Jeez . . . I’d hoped I wouldn’t find you like this. You’re really hooked man. Bad.”
Maddox swallowed, acutely aware of the pain in his neck. “I couldn’t help myself. I lost it, just lost all control.”
“So I heard.” Reyen snorted. “That was really rotten of you to use that little girl the way you did.”
Maddox winced. “You talked to Jesse?”
The Indian grunted. “She’s with Sam. He found her wanderin’ around like a lost puppy.”
Shame morphed into worry. “Is she okay?”
Reyen hesitated. While it was clear he didn’t like Jesse, he had enough of a heart to recognize some bits of humanity still lingered inside her. “She’s confused. She followed you that night, saw you with another woman.”
Maddox winced again. “Oh, man.”
“She doesn’t know you were seeking out a Consanguine,” Reyen said. “She thinks she didn’t please you. Sexually, that is.”
Relief poured through him. “Good.” He sighed. “I wouldn’t want her to know—”
“That you’re hooked on the bite?” Reyen laughed. “Oh, trust me. Sam’s already given her the lowdown on your perverted desires. She now knows you—a slayer—get your jollies by having your blood sucked out of your body.” His features twisted in disgust. “Freak.”
Maddox leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. “I’m a lowlife. I know it.”
“I can’t believe you’d keep seeking out the darkness.” Reyen prodded him with one booted foot. “Every time you do this, you tarnish Serafina’s memory. Man, don’t you remember how they tortured her? She died a warrior’s death, and you betray her memory by letting one of those fucking things feed off you. She pulled your ass out of the fire after you were infected, showed you what you were born to be.”
Maddox shook his head. “I never wanted to be a part of this damnation.” A man couldn’t look hell in the face and come out unscathed, especially when hell offered such sweet temptation.
Reyen barely suppressed his disdain. “Damnation?” A mirthless laugh rolled over his lips. “You don’t get it, do you, Maddox? You don’t have a choice. A mere man never does. We’ve been called to stand at the right hand of the Enlightened One, to deliver her judgment on these creatures. Yet you call it damnation. You need to get over that way of thinking or get out.”
An image of the .38 sitting on the table flashed through Maddox’s mind. If only he’
d been a little bit faster to pull the trigger, he wouldn’t be sitting here now, listening to Reyen shred his already-frayed psyche.
“I was just about to,” he admitted quietly.
His answer caught Reyen short. “About to what?”
Maddox sighed and lifted his head. Cocking his thumb and extending his forefinger, he pressed the pretend gun against his throbbing temple. “I think they call it the coward’s way out.”
Reyen shot him a look of disbelief. “No way.”
Tired of sitting on the filthy, cold concrete floor, Maddox dragged himself to his feet. His entire body ached, throbbing with the neglect and abuse he’d leveled against himself for the last three days. He wanted to feel bad; he deserved to feel bad. He’d sworn to himself he wouldn’t fall to the lure of the bite again. He was weak and stupid—a fool.
“It’s true,” he said, and walked away.
Reyen followed him as he led the way back to the rooms he occupied. A single dim oil-burning lamp flickered, giving the small place a shadowy, closed-in look. He didn’t care. Any hole he crawled into would do.
He dropped back into the chair sitting beside the kitchen table. Painfully, slowly, he reached for the pack of cigarettes sitting beside the half-empty bottle of Jack. His hand trembled more than a little as he pushed one into his mouth and then lit it with a cheap plastic lighter. Sapped by the lack of food and a generous donation of blood, he felt his hand shake more than a little. The .38 still sat where he’d left it.
Reyen’s searching gaze quickly assessed the sorry scene. “Guess you weren’t lyin’, man,” he muttered.
Maddox sucked in a lungful of smoke. Damn, it hurt to breathe. Even his head felt as if someone had smashed his skull and scattered the pieces. He doubted he’d ever be able to pick up the shards and put them back together. “I’ve been thinking. About how it all started for me. About . . .”
“Serafina?” Reyen filled in, saying the name of the woman Maddox could no longer speak aloud without feeling a spike of pain penetrate straight through his heart.
He exhaled, sending out a stream of white smoke through his nostrils. “I still miss her,” he said quietly. “She was everything to me.”