by A. M. Hudson
forever because I knew David was ther e. I had to get to hi m, to tell him I loved him and that I’d
change for him—that I’d become what he is. There would never be another chance.
I forced myself against gr avity and leaped at the shoes—landing w ith a jolt thr ough my
elbow and knees as they hit the black, marble ground. But in my agony, I owned a smi le as I rolled
onto my back and looked down at my hands; glass, ruby—I got ‘em!
With only a small glimmer of hope that my feet still existed, I imagined them in my mind and
slipped into the shoes, then stood up without another thought, and tapped my heels together.
The whisper of my chant touched my lips—the thing that blocked the air before was gone,
allowing my tongue to move over the dry, metal-tasting cracks left in place.
Cool air rushed down my throat. I closed my eyes tight and crossed my fingers, clicking my
heels melodiously as I willed the beeps to move again. “God, please. If you’re up there, please...?”
Under my prayer I heard a sound; I opened one eye and looked around, sure it was n’t
possible. But then I heard it again. Small and faint, and so quiet between each one. But as my heart
skipped beat when the next one came, I smiled.
It’s back? The Beep. I did it, I did it. “Oh, ruby slippers, I love you.” I ripped them from my
feet and kissed the toes of each one, then l ooked up; it was dark, but I coul d feel my hand again—
holding something in the world beyond.
David?. . . David, is that you?
“Ara?”
It is David’s voice, no stranger at all—it’s David. He’s here. He’s really here.
“Ara.”
You can hear me?
“Yes,” he whispered, quieter than a mouse, then, in a loud er voice said, “Just stay with me,
please—don’t slip away again.”
Overcome with joy, my small hysterical laugh chimed around me. He can hear me. At last, he
can hear me.
“You’re going to be okay, Ar a. You’ve pulled through. You made it,” he whispered in my
ear. “Yes—” his voice became louder, projected to somewhere else, “thank you, Doctor Yamane.”
“Be sure to page me if ther e’s any change—although, in thes e cases, David, we hold little
hope that the patient ever wakes up.”
“Thanks, Doc,” my dad said. My dad? That’ s my dad. I mi ss him so much. “Mike, David,
I’m going down to get a coff ee—I’ll be back in an hour , okay?” he said softly; he sounded so tired,
his voice absent of the smile it always held.
David?
“Ara—can you hear me?”
Yes, David, I can hear you.
A cool gush of air blew across my face; “Oh, thank God!” Something wet and cold touched
my brow; lips?—a kiss? “Thank God,” he said again.
David? Help me. Please? I need to be out of the dark.
“I’m trying, my love. I’m trying so hard.”
I can feel you. My hand. I can feel you.
“Can you feel this?” David asked.
No.
“This?” he asked again.
No. Nothing…. Wait—what’s that? Soft. Silky. So smooth. It’s cold. I can smell…roses.
“Yes. Roses.” David laughed; I could pict ure his elated smile—the dimple, the gl istening
green eyes I thought I’d never see again. “Do you feel this?”
A silky touch smoothed down over my cheek, and a sweet, wate ry fragrance lapped the back
of my throat as I breathed it in. I reached up in my world and touched my face. My hands had no
feeling, but I knew I was holding something. When I looked down in the darkness, I saw a rose; a
full blossom—soft and milky-white.
“Yes,” David whispered. “It’s a white rose.”
Ouch! My subconscious mind jumped back, though my body stayed stiff like a corpse.
The rose slipped away from my grip and fell to the floor in the darkness around me. All the
blood in my fingertip pulsated to one spot where a throbbing sensation consumed my attention.
That hurt.
“I know. I’m sorry. It has thorns,” David said.
I watched as, in sl ow motion, blood dripped down onto the pet al of the lifeless flower and
rested there, folding the silken edge down slightly.
Beauty in blood—it was almost pretty.
David?
His voice was gone again, but I was sure he was still there. Or that, at least, someone was. Id’
never felt that before, but I felt like, down in my dark world, someone was watching, someone was
close. My finger throbbed harder, the sensation travelling up my arm, but the pain dissipated when I
heard a distant sound—something in my dark world. I turned my head to listen, straining my ears.
The vastness of black had always been hollow, like I was standing on a cliff top in the middle
of the night; there was nothing but s pace, and now, an eerie feeling that something more sinister
could be hiding within its depths.
Once I’d have welcomed that, welcomed anything. Only now, with the hope that David could
save me, the idea of anything other than me being in this darkness made my skin crawl. If I was the
only one here, lost , alone with who-knows-what wa tching me, then I would surely be the only one
they could see—the only one they would come for.
Had they stalked me. Watched me . Followed me all this ti me, waiting for hope to restore so
they could drain it from my soul—use it for their own purpose.
My ears rung with the silence. No breeze. No sound. No heat or cold. Just blackness and the
feeling I wasn’t alone.
Then, I heard a whisper.
“Who...who’s there?” I stared forward, my shoulders stiff around my ears. No one answered.
“David?”
“A-ra....” It’s whisper trai led off to a de ep, raspy breath and the e erie crawl of something
behind me slithered over my spine, creeping out over my shoulder and onto the ground in front of
me, like a long, fingering shadow.
“Ah!” I screamed, whipping around to face the nightmare. The shadow screeched, erupting
into a vast cape and spreading out before my eyes like a splash of black paint.
My arms grabbed the air behind me, forcing my shoulders to twist away from the sinis ter
shape as my heels spun slowly over the cold, glassy ground; with the weight of a body trapped under
water, I ran—lost in the slow motion pull as I fled the darkness—leaving the rose and the blood
alone behind me.
The shadow hovered, closing the gap quickly—announcing its presence at my spine wit h a
warm breath over the back of my neck. As I turned my head, my feet caught s omething beneath me
and the shadow overtook, smothering me as I fell; my hands splayed, failing to catch me before the
ground met my face and a tight, dull ache blotted my mind into white.
“Ara, my love? Can you hear me?”
I could hear hi m—but he could no longer hear me. I sat in the dark again, shi vering from
what I could only assume was another nightmare, making myself smaller in case it had been real and
might still be watching. I had no way to hide, lost out in the open space of never-ending darkness.
I understood then; I was a prisoner in their world. David was right beside me, and I couldn’t
even look at him—couldn’t even hold him. They’d never let me go; I belonged to them now.
“Ara!” David’s hand swept my br ow, desperation rising up in his contr olled tone. “S
’il te
plait mon amour, lute, bats toi pour vivre.”
No. No more. I shook my head and rested it on my knees. I’m so defeated. I can’t fight
anymore. I’m just too tired.. .
“I’ve lost her,” the words trembled from his lips. “Mike, I’ve lost her.”
No. I’m here, I’m still here, I whispered with weakened resolve.
As if David had felt me give up, his cold hand sl ipped behind my neck and lifted my head.
“Ara? My love, I’ve lost you again.” A wave of panic stole the smooth, milky sound of his voice; his
arms wrapped me tightly, his hands searching, touching every inch of me as if to caress me back to
life. Then, as the panic reduced to realisation, his hands slowed and his chest shook; a cold drop
of liquid fell onto my forehead.
“Ara, please? Fight. I can’t lose you.”
I’m so sorry, David. I loved you—you were everything to me. I’m so sorry I never got to tell
you I’d change for you.
He took a deep, strained breath and pressed his lips to the top of my head. “Je vous en prie,
Dieu, sauvez-la.” He took another laboured breath and sobbed. “S'il vous plaît, ne l'enlevez pas loin
de moi. Ne me l'enlevez pas.”
His words hung in the back of my mind, resonating with a tone of understanding; as if I were
right in front of him, they looped around me, pulling me into him, and as I touched my face to his
chest, they became suddenly very clear; “I’m begging you, God, save her . Don’t take her fr om me,
don’t take her away.”
His devastation broke my heart. Oh David. I’m so sorry. I love you. If you can hear me,
please know that. Please take care of Mike—tell him I love him, too. It’s just...it’s time for me to let
go now. This is for the best.
He didn’t answer. I needed him to answer ju st one more time—just so I knew he heard me,
heard how much I loved him, heard the words I wished I’d said when he asked me to change for him.
David? Can you hear me?
Nothing…
David? My throat hurt when spoke.
“Ara?” Something moved under me as he spoke—my body, I c ould feel my body, f eel the
bulky, uneven surface I was laying on. A cold grip held my waist, tig htening ever so slightly every
second. “Ara?”
“David?” I tried again; I could hear the terror in my cry, but it was real—my voice—it came
from somewhere different than it had before.
David laughed from behind me. “Yes. Yes, my love. Yes. You’re talking. Open your eyes,”
he spoke into the side of my face.
They’re closed? Gravity pulled my skin, dragging it down. I fought against t he push and
lifted my eyelids, blinking rapidly.
Bright. Light. Tears rushed to my irises to protect them from this new experience, burning my
vision into a white blur. I couldn’t focus on anything, but I l oved it more than the breath I could
suddenly feel through my lips.
“David?” I smiled. “Am I...am I out?”
“Oui, mon amour, oui, you’re safe.”
“You...you saved me. You pul led me out.” I held his hand tight over my belly as the gift of
sight restored and I felt his arms become the cold that was restraining befo re. His chest shook under
me; tears dripped from his chin be side my ear and fell on to my shoulder as I took in the room. A
white room, a bed, a chair—a glass window looking onto the corridor of a hospital.
“What...happened, David?”
“I—” he started, but couldn’t finish.
“We lost you, baby,” said Mike.
Oh, Mike! That’s when I felt my heart—it was still beating, and it was strong. “Mike?”
“Yes, I’m here, Ara—I’m right here.” He appeared then, by my side. The warmth, the hand I
felt in my darkness—it was Mike. I didn’t imagine it.
“I don’t understand. What am I doing in a hospital?” I asked, rubbing my face.
David looked at Mike, then they both looked at me. “You lost a lot of blood—they had to put
you on a life support system.” Mike’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Okay, but, what happened to me?” My memory hit the foggy wall of perplexity. I don’t even
remember getting up this morning.
“It wasn’t this morning.” David answered my thought.
“When?”
“Ara, you’ve been in a coma f or three months.” Mike’s voice trembled; he turned away so I
couldn’t see his face, but I only had to see his shoulders shaking to know he was crying.
What? Three months? I tried to look around the room to get my bear ings. Three months? I
felt nothing then, except the t hrobbing in my finger from where the thorn of the rose had broken the
skin. David squeezed my hand, and I noticed the white rose then, sitting on the floor—discarded
and unimportant—lost to the world I was in, a world I would never be going back to.
But how did I get there—how did I lose three months of my life?
“Okay.” I took a few deep breaths, bringing myself to terms with this new information. “So, a
coma—but why? How did I get in a coma?” I swallowed to moisten my dry throat.
Mike’s shoulders rolled forward even more.
“Mike?”
He just shook his head, refusing to look at me.
What happened? Did I have another accident? Am I hideously scarred again? I looked down
at my hands, felt my face, my throat, checking for something, anything that would give me a clue.
Then, I fel t the s ilky, lumpy rise of gathered skin on my neck, and as I looked down, to
nothing in particular, saw the horrid parallel lines of raised pink skin down the length of my forearm.
I drew a breath, tracing the scar with wide eyes, afraid to touch it—not sure if it was really there, or
if this was some nightmare. “Did I do this to myself”
Mike let out the sob he’d been trying to hold back, and David held his breath, cr adling me in
his arms—pressing his cheek firmly to mine with as much intensity as his grip around my waist .
Then, with a wash of cold trepidation, the memory hit me.
Jason did it?
David squeezed me tighter.
I rubbed my head, letting the tears spill out over my lashes. Jason. He—he hurt me. The cold.
The dark. I remember. My chest moved rapidly with each panicked breath.
“Shh, hush, my love, it’s, it’s going to be okay,” David said.
“What’s happening?” Mike leaned over me and, placing his hand on my forehead, studied my
face as I fell apart inside. “Why is she breathing like that?”
David moved out from under me and laid me down, studying me carefully.
“Get the nurse,” Mike ordered David, moving a pillow out from under my head.
“No!” I held my hand out, taking deeper, more controlled breaths. “No, I’m okay. I’m okay.”
“Ara, you’re as white as a ghost.” Mike folded himself around me, and the warm smell of
home reminded me that I was safe, that was okay now and the darkness was gone—Jason was gone.
I rested my chin in the curve of his neck while I looked at David.
David?
He looked at me, his emerald-green eyes shining from under his low-pulled brow.
Did he find me, David? Did Mike find me? I clutched Mike’s shoulder tight ly, studying
David’s face for proof of a lie, tr ying to feel my heart beating—to steady it—but after months of
sensory deprivation, everything was so loud and so bright. I couldn�
�t feel it beating anymore.
David closed his eyes, nodding, and looked away.
I knew what Mike would’ve seen, I knew what David would’ve seen in Mike’s head—even
he couldn’t look at me. “I’m sorry, Mike,” I cried. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.”
Mike let out a gust of air and his sad gaze drew me in as he pulled back. Tears streamed over
his cheeks, his eyes falling stunned into the silence that stopped on his lips. “Ar, I...I...”
My cheeks flushed with heat; I turned my face away.
“No.” Mike took my chin in his fingers and made me look at him. “No, Ara, You have
nothing to be sorry for. You di d nothing wrong. This is something that was done to you.” Mi ke
sighed and looked down for a second. “He didn’t do anything else, Ara. The man who took you. He
didn’t—” Mike couldn’t even say the words.
“He was going to do it.” I looked at David; he closed his eyes.
“I know, baby. But...I think we scared him off. That’s what the cops are saying.”
“He bit me.” I touched my neck.
“Yes.” Mike’s eyes, with desperat ion hiding in the corner s, met mi ne. “Do you remember
anything else?”
I looked at David, who lif ted his head when he read my thought; He bit me, does that mean
I’m a...?
He shook his head.
I’m not a vampire?
He closed his eyes and shook his head again.
My breathing slowed entirely; I lowered my head and r ested my hand across my lips . Why?
Why aren’t I dead, then? He bit me. I should be dead, right?
Our gazes locked again; David nodded.
“You were strong, Ara,” Mike started, “I found you—in the dark.” He stared into the distance
as his face contorted with the obvious imagery in his mind.
Reflexively, I looked at the jagged pink scar littering my skin from the base of my palm up
half the length of my forearm.
“Do you remember who at tacked you?” Mike asked, looking at the bite-slash-tear, then at
David. My eyes fell on David’s face, too. It was so good to finally see him again. All I wanted was
for him to hold me—to make all of this better. What do I tell him, David?
“If you remember, Ara, you can tell us,” David said, though his eyes said the opposite.
I shook my head. “I don’t remember anything.”
Mike moistened his dry lips, th en wiped a palm across his mouth. “I wish I’d never let you