Death of Night

by Krissy Reynolds

  "No. Thanks, but no."

  "You're stubborn."

  "Thank you," I said.

  "You're also unbelievable."

  I turned my head to look up at him, taken aback. A smile was playing on his lips, but his eyes were intense.

  "What you did in there…" he trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief.

  "It's just a little rain," I replied. "It's not all that impressive."

  "Not just that, Dahlia, not just that." He sucked in a breath. "With Damien. With…me."

  "Oh."

  "I could hear everything in that box. I couldn't move, but I could hear. I thought Damien was going to kill you. Then I heard him screaming in pain, and I cannot even begin to describe the relief I felt. When I started to smell the smoke, when I realized the room was on fire, I heard nothing. I thought you had run to safety."

  "I—"

  He hushed me with a finger on my lips. "But you hadn't. You stayed, you tried to get me out. And if you hadn't broken the lock, you would have been consumed by the flames right there beside me," he said, and then clenched his teeth. "You should have run to safety."

  "I couldn't leave you there," I told him.

  "You could have. Most people would have, to save themselves, and there is nothing wrong with that." He glanced out of the window. "I would be dead if you had left. You saved me."

  "Well, you saved me, too, so we're even," I said, feeling tired.

  He didn't seem to hear me, and still gazing out of the window, murmured, "I lov—" he changed his wording, and I knew it was because he didn't think I felt the same way about him "—care about you, Dahlia. Stop being stubborn and just let me take care of you."

  "Wait a minute," I said slowly, "was that a ploy to get me to drink your blood?"

  He looked down at me, alarmed. "No, no, not at all. But, I won't lie; it would make me feel better if you did."

  The car went around a corner, the force shifting me on Callum's lap. He put a hand on my arm to steady me and I heard him breathe in deeply. He put the other hand on my face, and said, "You are cold."

  "I was cold before," I murmured.

  "No, you're getting colder." He leaned over me. "Liam, turn on the heat and drive faster."

  "Aye, aye, Captain," was Liam's response. The car jerked forward as he accelerated.

  Sleep suddenly pounded into me. I was so tired, so worn, so cold. My eyelids fluttered closed, shutting out the glare of the streetlights whipping past.

  "Dahlia." Callum's voice was sharp. "Dahlia, try to stay awake."

  I couldn't pry my eyes open, and I gave up after two attempts. Knowing Callum was safe and knowing I was safe made relief wash over me, fueling the drowsiness.

  "Hurry, Liam."

  Callum sounded distant now. He was calling my name, pleading me to stay awake. Behind my eyelids, I was seeing piles of dust, orange fire, the treetops spread out underneath me, Callum's eyes shining through the dark. I felt a cold, reassuring hand on my cheek. Only vaguely aware of my words, I whispered, "I love you, too," before I slipped out of consciousness.

  Chapter 21

  * * *

  The world was far away. I was alone in a sea of misty figures, faceless and translucent. They surrounded me and my heart rushed with the overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia.

  A loud clattering sound brought reality rushing back in a torrent of noises and sensations. The mists evaporated and I was solid again.

  Cracking my eyes open, I saw the telltale whiteness of a hospital. But unlike my previous experience here, I wasn't in my own room. Instead, thick curtains had been drawn around the single bed I laid in, trying to procure a sense of privacy and failing. I glanced around, noticing an IV bag attached to my arm but no heart monitors or other fancy equipment. That told me my injuries weren't too serious.

  Moaning, I was propping myself up on the flat pillows when the curtain was thrown to the side and a doctor entered.

  "I didn't think I was going to be seeing you again so soon, dear," the woman said disapprovingly.

  The doctor hadn't changed one bit since I had last seen her, which had been three days after I had gotten stabbed. Her salt-and-pepper hair was sensibly styled away from her face and she scrutinized me with those same gray-flecked eyes. A clipboard was clutched under one arm.

  Managing a smile, I replied, "Me neither."

  "I haven't had a patient come here twice in so short a time who wasn't involved with a gang or some other kind of nonsense," she said, staring at me hard. "You're not in a gang, are you, Ms. Simon?"

  "No," I laughed hoarsely, "no, I'm not." I didn't add that being in a gang would be so much simpler than what I was involved in.

  She walked around the bed and detached the IV from my arm. "Well, in my opinion, you shouldn't involve yourself with whatever you are involved with any longer. It doesn't seem to be working in your favour."

  I said nothing, mostly because she was right and partly because she didn't understand. So, I rested my head on the backboard and watched her jot down words on the clipboard. I wondered what exactly had happened, what time it was, if Callum was here.

  "You do remember what happened this time, don't you?" the woman asked. She had come to a standstill at the end of the bed.

  "Not exactly," I murmured. "I mean, I remember what happened to me, but not arriving at the hospital."

  She huffed, brow furrowed. "That same devastatingly handsome man brought you here, along with a friend who was quite irritating. He kept touching my equipment."

  "Liam," I grinned.

  "I believe that was his name, yes. Friend of yours?"

  I thought about it. "I guess you could say that."

  Shaking her head back and forth, she continued, "The two of them left about an hour ago. Seemed to be in quite a rush."

  I sat up straighter. "What time is it?" I asked.

  "About six in the morning. You've been sleeping for the past two hours," she replied.

  Callum and Liam had been cutting it close if they had left at five. The sun rose at five-thirty this time of year, and it took at least twenty minutes to get to Callum's house from here. I hoped they had made it okay.

  The doctor tapped her pen against her clipboard. Turning my attention back to her, she said, "I recommend you stay overnight, but you are free to go. Your injuries were more external than internal this time around. A transfusion, a few stitches, and some rest set you right." I touched my neck and the arm that the two vampires had bitten into. They were covered in bandages. "You might have a few nasty bruises later on."

  "Great," I said, throwing the white sheet off my legs. I was still wearing my clothes, which consisted of dirty, ripped jeans and a sullied T-shirt. Soot was smudged everywhere, black and grimy. I hated to think what my face and hair looked like.

  Pulling the curtain aside for me, the doctor nodded at the bedside table. "Don't want to forget your keys, dear."

  "Sorry?" I asked. I glanced at the small table and noticed a set of keys. I reached over and grabbed them. One of the keys had a Mercedes logo on it. Laughing softly, I tucked them into my pocket. Liam had left me his brand-new car. I hadn't even gotten the chance to show him my driver's license yet. A friend, indeed.

  The doctor walked me passed the other curtained beds and out of the room. Once we had reached the lobby, she stopped and touched my arm and said, "Do me a favour and stay out of trouble for awhile, would you?"

  I gave her a smile, replying, "I'll try."

  She nodded and had me sign the release papers. She walked into the bustle of the people. I stood there for a moment, one hand going up to the bandage on my neck, thinking about how close I had come. How close all of us had come.

  A sudden thought struck me and I walked to the nearest desk. The woman that sat at the computer looked up at me unenthusiastically. "How can I help you, ma'am?"

  "Yes, I'm looking for one of your patients, William Murdoch?"

  "Are you related to him?" she asked quizzically.

 
"I'm his fiancé," I lied. They wouldn't let me see him if I didn't lie a bit.

  The woman turned to her computer, typed in a few words, and said without making eye contact, "Room 411. Fourth floor, intensive care."

  A wave of fear washed over me. Intensive care. "Thank you," I said softly.

  I made it halfway to the elevators when I turned back and went back to the lady. I laid my arms on the top of the desk, looking down. "Can I borrow a Post-it note and a pen?"

  She frowned at me slightly, but handed me a pad of Post-its and a pen. I drew them towards me, wrote a few words, and peeled off the top Post-it note. Handing back her things, I smiled quickly. "Thanks."

  Even at six in the morning, the elevators were packed. I managed to wedge myself in between a man in a wheelchair and a grief-stricken family. Staring at the big metal doors, I waited as we went up to the second floor, third floor, fourth floor. As soon as the doors squealed open, I was rushing out of there, neon pink Post-it clutched tightly in my hand.

  Room 411 was quite a ways down the stark white hallway. The floors were glossy, reflecting the florescent lights that were lined above on the ceiling. It smelled sterile and much too clean, as all hospitals seem to. My shoes sounded unnaturally loud, echoing down the hallway as I walked. My eyes roved over the numbers on each door, looking for Will's.

  I finally reached a door with the unadorned number '411'. My hand hesitated on the door handle. Gathering a breath, I pushed it down and the door opened silently.

  Peering around the doorway, I crossed my arms and hunched my shoulders. The end of a railed bed came into my field of vision, along with a few large machines sitting beside it. An impulse to close my eyes filled me, because whatever condition he was in was my fault.

  I heard the sound of heels clicking in the hallway, and I turned my head to see a doctor walking towards me. Feeling silly just standing there outside the open door, I walked in the room and shut the door behind me.

  Flowers decorated the bedside table, each with small cards attached. Sweeping my gaze from the flowers to the bed, I looked at Will.

  I sunk into the chair next to the bed, knees weak. I stared at his face. Thankfully, he was asleep. The bruises were black and blue with a faint edging of brown and yellow. His left eye was swollen shut, a pinkish colour. A bandage trailed from his forehead to his temple, clashing with his tan skin.

  "My God, Will," I whispered. "I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry."

  The monitor beeped steadily as I reached out and touched the back of his hand. It lay still on top of the sheets, knuckles scabbed with old blood. I gripped it tightly and squeezed my eyes shut.

  After a couple of minutes had passed, I stood. I replaced my hand with the pink Post-it note. You could read my writing from where I was standing.

  Get well soon. I'll be back. –'Lia

  I left Will's room thinking two things: I needed at least five cups of Earl Grey tea, and Damien was lucky he was already dead because I would have gone and killed him right that second.

  * * *

  The early morning sunshine was pale yellow, not warm in the least, just bright. I bumped the door of the Mercedes closed with my hip, slipping the keys in my jeans' pocket. Liam would be happy; I hadn't so much as dirtied the car on the way home from the hospital.

  I crossed the street and headed up the path that led to the front door of my apartment building. After punching in the code '1234' on the digital keypad, the door buzzed open for me. I headed up the three flights of stairs, anxious to get into my apartment. Tea, a shower, more tea, then sleep. That's what I had planned for today.

  The apartment was dark and quiet like no one had lived in it for awhile. Suddenly tired and cold, I sighed against the door. I listened to the silence until the shrill of the phone came from the living room.

  "Hello?" I said when I put the receiver to my ear.

  "Simon, it's Montgomery," the gruff voice on the other end said.

  I dropped my head into my free hand and cringed. "Hi, Mr. Montgomery."

  "Did you lose your watch?" he asked.

  Cursing under my breath, I replied, "No."

  "Did you forget that you are currently employed by Montgomery Private Investigations?"

  I scratched my head. "No."

  His next words were bitter. "Did you die last night and rise from the dead, forgetting that you have a job to do?"

  "Getting warmer," I told him.

  Ayden was quiet for a couple of seconds before saying, "What?"

  "I just got back from the hospital."

  "You did?" he said, voice carefully expressionless.

  "Uh-huh."

  "We're going to need to talk about this new habit of yours. It's bad for business."

  I laughed, sounding jaded. "I'm sorry, Montgomery, really, I am. But my life's a bit…complicated these days."

  "I'll say." He sighed, the noise muffled over the phone. "You didn't get stabbed again, did you?"

  "No, nothing quite so dramatic this time," I answered.

  There was a moment of silence, and then, "Jesus, Simon, what are you doing these days to get you into so much trouble?"

  "I'm not doing anything. It's everyone else who is."

  "Who exactly is 'everyone else'?" he demanded.

  "No one," I replied quickly.

  "Simon…" he growled.

  "Really, it's no one to be concerned about."

  "I'm a private investigator, Simon. I can find out without you telling me if I want to."

  "Don't." My breath caught in my throat. "Just – just don't."

  Taken aback, he said, "What's got you so riled up, Simon?"

  My mouth was dry as I answered, "Just forget about it, please. I can take care of myself."

  "I'm aware of that." There was creaking sound in the background, like he had leaned his chair back. "If this is something illegal, I'll fire your ass before you can say—"

  "It's not illegal, Montgomery," I interrupted. "I told you, it's nothing to worry about."

  "Mmm," he murmured coldly. "Somehow, I just don't believe you."

  I exhaled noisily. "I—"

  "Listen, Simon, here's what I'm going to do. I'm going to put you on sick leave for the rest of the week. So, you're off until Monday. Except Friday, which is when you're doing that job for Mr. Knightley. Got it?"

  That job wasn't so much a job, but a date. But he didn't need to know that. "Got it."

  "Good. Now, get some rest and try not to die on me."

  He hung up before I could say anything. Talking was never his strong point.

  * * *

  It wasn't long before I was settled down in my bed, clean and comfortable. My head was resting against my pillow, the covers tucked in tightly around me, a full mug of tea by my bedside. Though the curtains were drawn shut to block out the morning light, some still managed to peek through.

  I watched the steam swirl on the surface of the tea, then curl upwards like a smoke. Thoughts and memories were stuck in my head, making sleep difficult. I kept seeing ash eat its way through the bodies of vampires, turning them into nothing but small mounds of dust. It wasn't so much disturbing as it was ignominious. All those years, decades and decades, of living, and to be reduced to that was just…anticlimactic.

  The image of Fyfe's face smiling distantly as her chest exploded filled my mind. The feel of her hand melting into dust in mine made my fingers twitch. I rolled over onto my other side and buried my face in the pillow. She hadn't deserved to die.

  More snapshots of the past twenty-four hours flashed behind my eyes. I saw Will's body twisted on his living room carpet, the rain falling violently outside Thanatos' house, the torches flickering on the walls of the basement, Damien's angry black eyes, the silver chains around Callum's wrists, the mists swirling above on the ceiling while it rained inside, the lone coffin in the middle of a dark room.

  When sleep finally did fall over me, it stayed.

  The room was dark when I opened my eyes, a sign that I had slept
the day away. The glow of the digital alarm clock hurt my eyes, and as I squinted at it in displeasure, I saw that it was 11:34. Nearly thirteen hours of sleep. Not bad.

  As I rolled onto my back, yawning and stretching, my hand brushed against something that wasn't part of the bed. I turned my head, my heart beating frantically, and saw the form of a man lying on their side. I flew upwards, clutching my pillow to my chest, and screamed.

  There was a flash of green in the dark before the figure moved to flick on the lamp. Light flooded my bedroom, illuminating a most amused Callum Knightley. He had his elbow bent, face propped in one hand.

  My mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, then I threw the pillow at him. "Don't—don't do that," I managed.

  Catching the pillow easily in his free hand, he smiled dazzlingly at me, showing that one dimple. "I'm sorry," he said, and I wasn't sure if he was or not. "I didn't mean to frighten you."

  I put a hand over my heart, willing it to stop its frenzied beating. "How long have you been there?" I asked, my voice a bit breathy.

  "Since the sun set," he answered.

  Glancing beside me at the clock, I turned back to him and said, "That was over two hours ago."

  "Yes."

  Brow furrowed slightly, I studied his face. He just looked at me, expression still smiling, softly now. Lying on top of my bed, he still looked like a work of art. But no work of art could capture the brilliance of those eyes. Nothing could.

  "The door was unlocked," Callum murmured.

  "What?" I said, not hearing him fully.

  "The front door was unlocked," he repeated.

  "It was?"

  He nodded with his head still resting in his hand. The dimple had faded, and so had the smile.

  "Oh," I said, tucking a long strand of hair behind my ear. "I must've forgotten to lock it after Montgomery called."

  "Try not to forget next time, Dahlia," he told me seriously.

  "Vampires can't come in without an invitation, though," I said. "Anyways, Damien is dead, along with his little group."

  "Except for one," Callum said.

  I jerked my eyes to his. "Who? Who lived?"