Shannon Bailey - [Blackwell 01]

by Forever David's (lit)

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The Truth, but Not the Whole Truth, Told

  The next thing I was aware of was the cold and then the voices. They sounded muffled at first, but as they became audible, so did the realization that I was being carried. I felt strong arms under my legs and at my back as the person cradled me against their chest.

  “You’ll stay and watch over her. And when she’s ready, see her safely home.” I heard David say.

  “Aye. And when she asks about what really happened?”

  “Depending on how much she recalls, tell her as much of the truth that will ease her immediate concerns.”

  I tried to open my eyes and speak, demand an explanation right then and there, but I was too tired and I fell back into the darkness.

  The next time I came to, I heard the distinct sound of snoring. It was the deep, throat rattling snores of a man. At first, I thought it was Jeremy, but then I remembered I hadn’t slept in the same bed with him in over three years.

  And in an instant, the whole night’s events came rushing back.

  With my eyes popping open wide, I sat straight up and blinked at the darkness. To my left, I noticed a digital clock that read 1:07 a.m. and realized I must have been at the hotel room. And I knew where there’s a bedside clock, there would be a bedside table, so I fumbled around in the dark until I found the lamp and turned it on.

  When my eyes finally adjusted to the light, I checked my arm where Develyn had punctured it. A nasty bruise was already forming and it was tender looking.

  Glancing around, I saw my sweater and purse atop the round table across from the foot of the bed and that one of the two gaudy mauve chairs was missing.

  Throwing back the covers, I slowly climbed out of bed and crept toward the end of it, tripping over my shoes in the process. Peeking around the wall that separated the bathroom from the sleeping room, I found the other chair and the source of the snoring.

  It was Robert the hippie. He was slumping in the chair facing the door. His head was resting on the back of the chair with a white washcloth over his eyes and his mouth hung wide open.

  Approaching him warily, I poked him in the shoulders with my finger and whispered for him to wake up. When that didn’t work him, I poked him again, none too gently, until he stirred and awoke with a snorting gasp.

  Sitting up abruptly, the cloth fell to floor and he gave me a sleepy smile. “Sorry. Must’ve drifted off,” he said, carefully rubbing his red-rimmed and blood shot eyes.

  As he did that, I pretended not notice how painful they looked or remember that I had been the cause of it. And when he asked how I was feeling, I blushed guiltily and told him I was fine.

  But truthfully, I was freaking out. I was still in shock over what had happened just a few short hours before and I wanted answers.

  And although I shouldn’t have cared about Cara after what she had gotten me involved in, I did. David Blackwell had seemed intent on inflicting some sort of punishment on her, and even though she was no longer my friend, I cared whether or not she was harmed and so I asked, “Where’s Cara? What’s happened to her?”

  “No harm has come to her,” Robert replied as he stood. “And as for her whereabouts,” he said, stretching his arms over his head, “I kinna say. But if she knows what’s good for her, her ample arse is somewhere far from here by now.”

  “What!” I screeched in disbelief. “She just left me here, alone, with you?” I demanded.

  He looked highly offended and his brows came together abruptly. “Now see here, gurlie, I’m not the one that meant you any harm. That’d be yer friend that got ya all mixed up in this business. I’m thinkin’ you should be glad to see her gone.”

  Robert was right. As far as I was concerned, I hoped I never laid eyes on Cara again and I sighed heavily. “So, what happened last night after I, uhm, fainted?”

  “Well, while I went and found yer friend and escorted her out of the house, Mr. David carried you to my van. We all drove to her car where Mr. David collected yer things from the trunk. You and I then followed Mr. David and her, here, to the hotel where yer friend promptly gathered her things and ran out that door,” he said, thumbing over his shoulder, “without so much as a by-yer-leave.”

  As I digested his matter-of-fact delivery of the events, my mind was racing and I shook my head. “It all seems like a weird dream,” I muttered sickly. “Did it really happen? I mean, did David Blackwell really drink my blood?”

  “Aye, he did.”

  I shook my head again as if to clear the memory from my mind. “What are they? Some kind of wannabe vampire cult,” I asked incredulously.

  He hesitated for a moment and then said, “Tis more like a very selective secret society. All the members are either drinkers or suppliers, who knowingly and willingly participate in certain, eh, ceremonies.”

  “Blood letting and blood drinking ceremonies?” I repeated for confirmation.

  He nodded. “As I said tis a very close knit group and tis assumed that anyone who attends A Gathering is there knowingly and willingly.”

  “And Cara was a part of this society?”

  “Aye.”

  “And so she was what? A supplier, I take it?”

  When he nodded again I actually felt the color drain from my face. “My God!” I croaked. “I had no idea she was into that kind of stuff! You think you know someone . . .”

  Feeling sick to my stomach, I wrapped my arms around my waist and went and sat down at the end of the bed. “What was she thinking? That I’d want to join the club too! Like I’d be, ‘Oh cool, please tap into my vein and drink away? Or pass me a big ole glass of B positive.’ How sick is that?” I cried disgustedly. “Had I known what the party really was, I wouldn’t have ever agreed to go,” I mumbled aloud.

  Robert stepped around the chair and came to stand before me. “We figured as much,” he said with a nod. “This sort of thing happens every year. There are always those who trick unsuspectin’ souls into comin’ to A Gatherin’. Mr. David knew yer friend had brought you there under false pretenses and because of it, there was going to trouble. Which tis the very reason,” he said, pointing at my arm, “why he Marked you. To make you off limits, sort of speaking, to the others.”

  To say the least, I was offended by this last bit of information. “Marked me? Like a tomcat marks its territory!” I snapped back

  His thick eyebrows quirked and he rocked back on his heels. “Ah, somethin’ like that, I s’pose.”

  With a disgusted sigh, my annoyance quickly turned into righteous indignation. I was used as a pawn in a twisted little fantasy played by a bunch of Goth freaks with a sick and dangerous fetish. As if any of them had the right to involve me in such a thing! “How dare she?! He! Them!” I spat angrily, shooting to my feet. “What was that anyway? Some kind of sick little game those two play! You know, the good versus the evil twin thing,” I demanded angrily.

  Robert raised his hands placatingly. “In a manner of speakin’, but with much higher stakes to be sure. But to be fair, if you’ll recall, I warned ya and tried to get ya to leave before things got out of hand,” he said, his Irish brogue becoming more pronounced with his agitation.

  “Yes, but I thought you were referring to drugs. People doing drugs. I didn’t know that ‘Wait outside while I fetch yer friend,’ was code for ‘Leave now or we’ll assault you and drink your blood!’” I said, growing louder and more emboldened.

  Shushing me, he said, “Please, Miss Emily. We don’t want any trouble.”

  “And I don’t want to cause any, trust me. I just want to go home and forget all about this night. But you tell Mr. David and Mr. Develyn that if I caught so much as cold from their society’s little party, I’ll be back with the police.”

  Robert stiffened and his mustache twitched. “I understand, but I kin promise ya, gurlie, ya dinna contract any illness or disease from Mr. David. And if you go home and get some rest, you’ll see that this will all be distant memory soon enough.”
>
  “I certainly hope that’s true. And if that is the case, then I promise you, none of you will ever see or hear from me again.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Truth Surfaces

  Robert was reluctant to leave when I first asked. He was determined to see me safely home as David had ordered. But after I assured him that it wasn’t necessary and I preferred to take a cab, he conceded, made the call to the cab company and left.

  While I waited for the cab to arrive, I stripped off the nurse uniform and scrubbed my face and washed my wounded arm. I removed the chopsticks from my hair, fighting the urge to snap them in half, and brushed the tangles out. Changing into a pair of jeans, a black turtleneck sweater and a pair of low, wedge-heeled black suede boots, I left the room and waited for the taxi in the lobby.

  When it arrived, I climbed in the back with my purse and bag and the driver peered at me in the rearview mirror.

  She was a large figure of a black woman who introduced herself as Loretta P. Jackson.

  I would later find out that the driver was a friend of David’s. She was the niece of a woman Develyn had turned in 1979.

  “My dispatcher says you’re needing to go clear to Dixon? That’s quite a ways,” she said, her penciled-on eyebrows rising. “Do you have enough money on you, baby girl?”

  “Well, I can pay you twenty now and when we get there, we’ll have to stop at an ATM, but I promise I’ll make it worth your while,” I said, praying she would accept the fare.

  She studied me for a moment and then said, “Are you all right, baby girl? You look a little . . . shaken.”

  At the time, I was surprised by her seeming perceptiveness, but I played it cool. “Yeah. Fine. It was one heck of a party and I’m just tired is all,” I said with a weak smile.

  She made an affirmative sound that indicated she didn’t quite believe me, but would accept my answer. “Well, then, you just sit back and relax and let ole Loretta get you home,” she said and flipped the meter on.

  As a way to avoid her probing gaze or any further questions, I asked if she minded if I dozed on the way and she assured me it wouldn’t bother her at all.

  Covering up with my gray cardigan, I laid my head back and peered out the window at the night world going by. And although I thought I was too wired to fall asleep, I did.

  At first, my dream seemed like a typical dream. But as it continued, it became so vivid it was as if I was actually reliving the night, but in slow motion.

  I could feel the heat of the room. Smell the sage and candles. Hear the music pounding in my ears. See David speaking with the cowgirl.

  It continued to play out until the point when Develyn punctured my arm with the stryker–

  I awoke with a gasp and sat up clutching my arm to find Loretta looking at me in the rearview mirror. “Now that must’ve been some party,” she commented suspiciously. “You were out before we even left the city.”

  Mumbling in agreement with her, I looked out the window and was shocked to see that we had just passed under the Dixon arch on Galena Avenue. Which meant I was almost home.

  Happy to relay directions instead of discussing my night any further, I instructed Loretta which ATM to stop at and from there, how to get to my house. When we arrived, I gave her a generous tip and thanked her for the ride home.

  I went inside and Sir Galahad came running, but stopped short and hissed at me before turning and running off down the hall. I thought it was odd, but was too tired to care. Not bothering to undress, I climbed into bed and fell asleep immediately. And the dream started up again, oddly continuing from where it left off in the cab, as if I had pushed a pause button on my memory . . .

  Develyn had just punctured my arm and David was coming toward us, but then it skipped forward, to where David was drinking from me. And from there, it shattered and splintered off into a thousand different directions. Images popped and flashed through my mind like jumbled high-speed video clips, but minus the audio.

  I recognized Robert and a few other people from the party, but there were dozens and dozens of faces I had never seen before.

  There were men and women, varying in age and race, who wore clothing and hairstyles from eras going as far back as the end of the 19th century. Some were tormented and toyed with as I had been at the party, while others were viciously attacked. They were cut open at the necks and wrists with strykers and blood gushed from their wounds. And to no surprise, it was Develyn I saw, who lustfully drank from them all–

  Gasping awake, I sat up in bed. And with shaky hands, I brushed my hair away from my face. I wasn’t sure if I was going to scream or throw up, so I clapped a hand over my mouth, threw back the covers and ran for the bathroom.

  Hovering over the toilet I waited to be sick, but nothing happened, and after a few moments and calming breaths, I stripped off my clothes and got into the shower. But the hot water did little to calm my nerves. I was shaking and my mind was racing and when I ran a soapy hand over the puncture mark in my arm, David’s face, the mask of fury and hunger it was at the time he attacked, flashed before my eyes. It was so vivid that I screamed and jerked backwards, almost slipping in the tub.

  I knew there was something wrong. My dreams and visions were more than just memories and recollections. They were more like hallucinations. Drug induced hallucinations. I was sure of it. But since I didn’t take any drugs willingly or even had a chance to grab a drug-laced drink at the party, there had to have been something on the tip of the talon Develyn had stabbed me with. And since the only way to prove it was a drug test, I decided to get to the lab right away.

  Finishing quickly, I pulled on a pair of jeans, my favorite angora turtleneck of powder gray and the black boots I had worn the night before, and I was out the door without bothering to dry my hair or applying any make-up.

  I hurried across town in the cold, predawn light and was at the hospital lab by 6:17. I was surprised, but glad to see that the waiting room was empty and that the new med tech was the only person behind the counter.

  Benny Gerardy had been working in the lab for about a month. He was in his early twenties, so he still had that boyish shyness about him and we had only just begun greeting each other when passing in the halls.

  He seemed genuinely nice and intelligent, yet totally clueless of how good looking he was. He was tall with an athletic build that even his loose-fitting gray scrubs couldn’t hide. He had dark black hair, sapphire blue eyes and a devastating smile, complete with dimples. So whenever he wore his black-rimmed readers, he definitely gave off an old school Clark Kent vibe.

  Benny looked up from the computer screen and stood, greeting me with a dimpled grin. “Hey, Emily. What’s up?”

  I was too anxious and distracted to come up with a clever excuse for what I was about to ask, so I came right out and said, “I need a drug screen done, Benny. Quickly. Quietly. Can you help me?”

  His eyes bulged and then narrowed behind his glasses as he studied my face. “A drug test? You? Ah, well, yeah sure . . . Is everything all right?”

  I was growing weary of everyone asking me that because the truth was, no, I wasn’t all right! I hadn’t been since I passed through the gates of the Blackwell house the night before. But I, of course told him that I was fine in hopes to move things along. And thankfully, he didn’t push the issue and sat back down.

  “Boy, that must have been some party,” he commented casually as he began to type.

  When I heard that my heart stalled in my chest and I demanded to know how he knew about it.

  Stopping in mid-click, he looked up at me, his face flushing red. “W, well, people around here talk, y, you know,” he stammered. “I heard that you and that Goth chick went to some big party in Chicago last night. And then she came in about an hour ago and cleaned out her locker and took off. And now you, you come here for a drug test and– ah, crap! It really isn’t any of my business. Sorry,” he said, blushing a deeper red.

  (When Cara cleaned out her locker, she h
ad also left a forwarding address, somewhere in New Orleans, with the night supervisor and hasn’t been seen or heard from since.)

  “Look, Benny–”

  “No, really. You don’t gotta explain yourself. I didn’t mean to be all up in your business,” he said, shaking his head.

  “No, it’s okay. I don’t mind. I’ll tell you all about it some time, but for now, can we please keep all of this quiet?”

  “Quiet? You mean, like off the books,” he whispered, looking around conspiratorially.

  “Oh, no. I want everything properly documented and I’m gonna do a self-pay, I meant just keep everything between us. You know, you perform the test and contact me with the results as soon as you can . . . and not talk about this with anyone else.”

  Smiling, he bobbed his dark head eagerly. “Oh, no, yeah! Sure. My shift ends in like a half an hour, thank God! I hate the freakin’ night shift! But anyway, yeah I got this. And I got your back. So, just leave your ur–, eh, sample, in the bathroom and your number with me and I’ll call as soon as I can.”

  The sun had just broken the horizon when I returned to my car and I drove home in the growing dawn.

  This time when I stepped inside and called for Sir Galahad, he didn’t bother making an appearance until I tapped the can of tuna with a fork. And even then, he approached me warily.

  Having fed and reacquainted myself with my cat, I went into the living room and lay down on the couch. Covering up with a cozy red chenille throw, I waited for Benny’s call.

  I fell asleep immediately and the nightmares started again. They were the same as before, only this time, they were in high def and surround sound.