Grave Danger

by K. E. Rodgers

  Debora returned his smile with one of her own as she filled the etched glass with the brewed liquid. She placed a sliced lemon on the glass for effect and reached out across the low coffee table as Corrigan extended his hand to take it from her.

  “Oh,” Debora exclaimed just as Corrigan had taken the glass, “I forgot to get the coasters. I’ll be right back.” Standing up to go retrieve them from the hall closet where she kept other table linens and such. She eyed the two men before saying, “Don’t you dare put those glasses down on my coffee table. If I come back and find even a partial wet ring on the wood, you’ll both be very sorry.”

  Debora left them then, only turning around once to give them a look that said she meant what she said.

  When he was sure she was far enough away Corrigan extended his glass of iced tea to his brother. Taking off the stop of the flask, Trueman poured a good amount into his brother’s eagerly waiting glass. “Don’t be stingy, Trueman,” Corrigan said as Trueman was about to pull back.

  Trueman chuckled as he continued to pour more into Corrigan’s glass. He watched as his brother took several gulps from the glass to make room before he extended it out again for a refill. “You’re a real Irishman, Corrigan.” He emptied the contents into his glass.

  Corrigan’s dark brows drew down as he brought the glass once again to his mouth. He downed half the contents before he moved it away, letting it hover over his right thigh. “That’s a poor stereotype,” he said after he cleared his throat.

  “Maybe,” Trueman said, putting the cap over the now empty flask. “However, I can’t help but note the obvious. You’re overly moody with a volatile temper that could rival Xavier’s if and when you ever let it out.” He held up his now empty flask, shaking it for emphasis. “And you just downed enough spirits to kill an average man. I made this little concoction myself. Don’t tell Debora, because she has issues with drinking.”

  Corrigan just nodded, his glass finding its way back to his mouth. Corrigan had brought the glass to his lips and was swallowing another mouthful when Debora re-entered carrying a stack of pretty little coasters. Trueman hastily tucked the flask down between the cushions as she made her way back toward them. Taking a quick inventory of her coffee table she set the coasters down in front of the men. Looking up she noticed Corrigan’s more than half empty glass.

  “You’re thirsty, aren’t you?” she said as she filled her own glass. Placing a lemon wedge artistically on the rim of the glass she arranged herself on the sofa, her ankles crossed and her dress slacks adjusted so she wouldn’t wrinkle them.

  Trueman stifled a laugh at his wife’s question. Debora gave him a curious look as he tried to wipe his mouth of the grin that was more than evident on it. Shaking her head at her husband’s odd fit of laughter she took a sip of the iced tea she had made. It was good, not too sweet and extremely refreshing.

  Corrigan set the now empty glass on the table, making sure it found its way onto the coaster lest he get an earful from his sister. Trueman did the same. Debora fingered the etched details on her glass as she stared into the mouth of it, watching the tiny glaciers in her tea bob up and down with the slight movement of her hand. The room was once again quiet, the light filtering through the mosaic scene on the far wall, barely reaching them in the darkest part of the room.

  “Do you know why we are here?” Debora addressed the room, still looking into the mouth of her glass.

  “You asked me over to take a new sample,” Corrigan answered automatically.

  Debora looked up then, an embarrassed smile on her face as she realized that she had spoken her thoughts aloud. But it couldn’t be taken back now. “No,” she said, shaking her head as she looked off into a world of her own imaginings. “Why are we ‘here’, why do we exist?” She made a strange sigh as she placed her glass down on the coffee table on a coaster of her own.

  “I don’t know.” Corrigan glanced over at his brother who had put his glasses back on his face. He was adjusting them over his nose when he caught Corrigan looking at him. He frowned as he took his hands away, placing them on the arms of his recliner. “You’re the scientist, Trueman, what do you think?”

  Trueman scratched an area on his forehead, running his fingers through his slightly out of place hair before fidgeting with his glasses again. It was compulsive, he couldn’t help it. “If I knew the answer to that, not only would I be the richest man in the world, I’m quite sure I’d destroy every known belief system, past and present and watch as it fell into one crumbling pile of esoteric rubble. That very question haunts every being on this planet. It’s the drawback of knowing your own existence because you’ll spend every day wondering ‘why’. I don’t know and deep down I don’t really want to know.”

  “You’re dying,” Debora blurted out, unable to keep the words inside any more. Corrigan was her youngest brother and even though he was much older than she, there was a vulnerability about him that brought out a motherly instinct in her. An instinct that she couldn’t put to good use because of what she was. “You’re killing yourself, for her.”

  Corrigan sat back in his chair, unsure of how to respond.

  “What Debora is trying to say is…” Trueman tried to express in better words his wife’s harsh accusation, but she wouldn’t let him.

  “No,” she shouted at him. “Don’t make it less than what it is. I won’t let him hurt himself because he feels guilt over what he is. How can I stand by and watch while he slowly loses his mind and turns into a,” she paused, her hand going to her mouth before she finished her sentence on a whisper, “until he becomes a mindless, cataleptic zombie.”

  Corrigan knew what she meant. He’d seen for himself what could happen to his kind when they neglected themselves, their minds lost to them until there was nothing left but a sack of flesh with no purpose other than to consume. They were truly dangerous, but then the creature didn’t last long to cause much harm. They were the kinds of creatures fit for the horror movies.

  Debora came off the sofa in a flash of movement as she came to kneel at her brothers chair. Taking his hand into her smaller one she held it to her mouth. Corrigan was at once taken back by the gesture. He didn’t know what to say so he just sat there looking down at her. He watched the tears slip freely from her eyes, trailing down her unchanging skin.

  “Is she worth ending your existence, slipping away into those dark shadows where we can’t find you?” she said, clasping his fingers tightly to her cheek. “Isn’t it enough to know that I love you as if you were truly my own brother? We are your family, and we would never make you change who or what you are.”

  Corrigan felt a tightening around his chest at the utterance of those whispered words. Yes, he knew that they cared for him, but love, no, he hadn’t known that. But his family didn’t understand that he didn’t want to be an evil creature anymore. Clarissa accepted him for what he was, but even then he wondered if she only suppressed that dark side of him from her mind. Was their love based on lying to themselves and each other?

  “You’ve not been out with Chas in the last week and it’s already showing in your chart.” Trueman crossed one knee over the other, his posture reading one of an observant doctor. But in his eyes Corrigan could see his own worry; it was personal. “You’ve lost substantial weight and both your red and white blood cell numbers are down. I haven’t done enough tests to see but physically I can see the toll your abstinence is taking on your system, your skin and the dark circles under your eyes, the fact that you don’t sleep as you should. You’re wearing thin Corrigan.”

  “Because of the nature of our genetics we must replenish our cells constantly as our bodies attack what cells we have in our system. Right now you’re showing signs of acute hemolytic anemia, which can be treated well enough in a typical human but it’s more serious in our species. In fact it can be more than deadly if left unchecked. You will become a creature without conscious and we can’t allow that. If you continue to refuse to meet the needs of your diet,” h
e paused, his eyes drawing down, his mouth hardening. “If you refuse then we will be forced to take matters into our own hands.”

  “You would force feed me,” Corrigan said, incredulously, knowing his brothers intentions. “You’d force it down my throat like a child.”

  “If it means your health and wellbeing then we will,” Debora answered, moving to stand. “We will do everything in our power to see to your health and safety. It is our job as your family. If that woman thinks to force you to change because of her prejudices against us then she has another thing coming to her.”

  “Clarissa has never made me choose, nor has she ever told me to change my diet. I’m not the victim you seem to think I am. If I decide to hunt less then that is my choice, not yours.” He refused to continue to let them think that Clarissa was the only reason for his change of heart. He had thought this for some time now. He wished more than anything that there was another way, but such things were never easy. He and his family were what they were and there was no way to change their needs to survive.

  That need to survive beat at his brain every day that he went without the sustenance of living flesh and blood. Corrigan told himself that he could hold out, but he knew he couldn’t. If it went much longer he’d either go on a rampage or become the very thing his sister feared. Then he’d be truly lost them; Clarissa too. He didn’t want that. And drinking didn’t seem to help either. Despite the fact that he’d nearly emptied his eldest brother, Ambrose’s, good stock he kept in a locked pantry in the main house.

  “Does she know what will become of you if you continue abstaining from your diet?” When he shook his head she continued. “Then I think it’s time we had a girl’s night out. If Clarissa is going to accept you and our family as we are then she needs to see us as we truly are and not what we pretend to be. Keeping her closeted in your attic room every night can’t keep the rest of the world at bay forever.”

  She watched as Corrigan looked away and it was in that moment that she saw the truth. He thought that if he could keep her to himself that they could stay that way forever. But she knew better than most that love did not exist in a vacuum. If it was to survive it had to be out in the harsh elements of the world. True love shone bright even in the muck and nastiness of everyday life.

  “Bring her to the house on Friday and we will see if she can hold up to her promises.”

  “What are you going to do, Debora?” Corrigan asked, not liking the tiny smile that worked its way on her youthful mouth. He watched as she wiped her tears and returned to the sofa. “Clarissa has been nothing but polite to all of you. And for the most part you all ignore her presence here. Why do you think I’d allow her to go out with you? Take her on one of your ‘girl’s trips’ when I know it would only serve to alienate her and make her feel more unwelcome then she already feels?”

  “That is exactly why she needs this; why you both need this.” Debora fixed a crease in her pant leg before she leveled her brother with a serious stare. “Drinking yourself into a stupor is not a way to solve your problems. You,” she said, turning her focus to her husband, “should know better.” Drawing her attention back to Corrigan she continued. “If she wants to be part of this family then she will ‘eat’ with the family and only when she sees us at our worst will we be certain of her affections.”

  Corrigan placed his hand over his eyes, stopping his mind from going there.

  Chapter 23-

  Several Days later at the house of Cyrus Cercopoly…

  She needed to remember to breathe or at the very least keep up the allusion that air was passing in and out of her lungs. Ghosts didn’t really breathe like a normal human. The look of breathing however was aesthetically pleasing to the eye, as a chest that did not rise and fall was considered ugly and dead by Eidolon standards. They did not care to look too closely at their own deaths and distanced themselves from all things that reminded them of the physical nature of death. But Clarissa was having a difficult time remembering to ‘act alive’ when inside she was reliving her own death.

  Jackson sat on her left at the table, his hand on the back of her chair, his fingers just barely touching her neck. They were at the elegant dining table of Cyrus Cercopoly who was seated several seats down at the head on the table on her right.

  She fidgeted on the soft cream colored cushion of her chair, hating the lingerie under her rose colored satin dress. Clarissa felt more than naked and reprimanded herself for allowing that ‘little girl’ to put this contraption of undergarments on her.

  “You will wear these garments from now on, Clarissa. It pleases me. Do you understand?” Isabella Canova had said through a tight smile. Then she had touched her hand, a light caress sending shooting pains up Clarissa’s arm straight to her heart – the core of her soul.

  Taking a quick glance down to where Cyrus sat, his posture reading that of a king surrounded by his subjects, she caught sight of Isabella seated to his right. Isabella looked to Cyrus for a moment then her golden cat eyes caught Clarissa’s stare. She smiled down the table toward Clarissa, showing teeth. An evil teenage look of superiority reflected on her deceivingly youthful face before turning away to whisper something in Henry’s ear, who sat on her right. His date to the function, Millicent Carp placed on his right.

  Isabella had swept Clarissa away on a shopping spree to Paris days earlier. Contracting a private plan out of the Sanford Airport, they had spent the day and part of the evening darting from store to store, amassing a hefty bill that could very easily make a mockery of the national debt. Clarissa had been measured and poked at for much of the day. Until that day she never thought she could say with a straight face that shopping was torture; with Isabella Canova she had found those words to ring true.

  When she wasn’t commenting on the differences between Clarissa’s adult body and her own younger looking physic, she was insisting on garments that would help boost or disguise her obvious physical flaws. However, while Clarissa stood for hours in nothing but her ‘grandma-looking’ underwear, not once did Isabella remove any of her clothing.

  Clarissa felt Jackson’s fingers on the cool flesh on the back of her neck and it instantly brought her back to the moment. She refused to look at or acknowledge the man sitting next to her. If she did, she was sure she would have some kind of conniption and pass out. Could a ghost even pass out?

  Her brain was scrambling through so many sequences of events, flashing through her brain like a slideshow on drugs. The images whizzing by in a blur, yet each somehow crystal clear. Once again she saw that woman lying on the floor, her life’s blood draining out in dark rivers on the floor beneath her. The dagger poised over her stomach where it had made sure work of tearing into the meat of her body. Then the image of the man above her, only now the face was no longer held in shadow, it was clear of the allusion her brain had forced into place out of self-preservation. She could see clearly the handsome and charming face of a man whose heart she had foolishly believed had held a lasting connection to her own. But he had ripped her heart to shreds, both emotionally and physically, leaving her to die on the hard sidewalk outside the Orlando hospital.

  Clarissa held herself in check as a horrible and sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. Olivier Prince sat with his dinner knife poised over his lamb chop using the gentle movement of his hand to slice the meat from the bone, a precision that was both beautiful and deadly. That hand had cut out her heart. Clarissa refused to look higher than that hand lest she do something she couldn’t take back.

  The death bokor brought his fork to his mouth, a satisfied grin on his face as he took a bite of the tender meat. Everyone around him was deep in conversation or into their plates of food. Two options had been served, one for those of the living persuasion and those that were not.

  Olivier knew Clarissa was watching his hands, just as he knew she finally recognized him. He’d wondered how long it would take for her to come back to herself; to remember from her past. When they were first being introd
uced she had given him a blank stare as if he were a stranger in her eyes. Then as they were seated for dinner he felt the change come over her, washing through her system until her mind was flooded with repressed memories. The only one who had noticed however was the boy she had come to the function with. He seemed to be watching Olivier carefully over Clarissa’s head as if he knew more than the others.

  Olivier reached for his dinner roll just as Clarissa reached out for her glass of water. Their hands collided sending a spark of electricity that knocked her glass over and left a burned mark on his dinner roll. Clarissa hastily brought her hand back, holding it to her middle in the exact same spot where she had first felt the knife in his hand slice through her flesh.

  At once heads turned, curiosities rose as they turned to the cause of the commotion. Cyrus’s gaze fell on Clarissa’s, his stormy gray eyes closing a fraction as he connected with her. He was one of the few who could delve deep into the psyche of others. She couldn’t stop him even if she wanted to and her terrible truth was exposed to him. She swore she could feel the range of emotions coming from him as their connection lasted; only a fraction of a second but for him it was enough. She could feel his anger at her deception. When he pulled back she felt coldness steal over her heart, but it didn’t stop or overshadow the ache in her stomach.

  Clarissa rose from her seat. She couldn’t stay here anymore. Even as voices called her back or questioned each other as to what had just happened, she fled from the dining room, not caring if it was rude to her host. He could stuff it up his ancient non-corporal ass.

  As she reached the safety of the foyer, she expelled a breath of cool air from her lungs.

  “Clarissa,” she heard Jackson’s voice just behind her. Clarissa turned about in the direction of his voice as Jackson was closing the double doors behind him that lead to the dining room, sealing them in. “What was that about?” he said as he came to stand in front of her.