by Heidi Lowe
There was resistance when I drew my hand from hers, but she finally let me go.
“I have to get back to work,” I said, despite wanting to stay down there in her arms all night until closing time, and then back at home in our bed.
“I want you to know that I will never stop fighting for you. I never have and I never will,” she said to my retreating form.
The minute I stepped back upstairs and walked into the bar, the door burst open and a small army of armed cops charged in, to the collective shrieks of the patrons and staff, myself included.
They cleared the way for Sheriff Lindley, who charged in like a bull, broad shoulders pushed out. He wore his signature hat and his usual look of murderous intent; his face said he was out for blood.
The band ceased playing, my coworkers stopped pouring drinks. Everyone sat or stood still.
“Listen up,” his voice boomed, echoing across the room. He put his hands on his hips. “We're looking for the owner of this bar, Jean Posey. Now, before any of you think about keeping schtum if you know where she is, I wouldn't if I were you. She's considered highly dangerous, and she's wanted in connection with a serious crime.”
Whispers and murmurs circulated, as did the looks of terror. It was these looks that prompted me forward, suddenly overcome with rage at the vicious lies this jerk was spreading, putting fear into Jean's loyal customers.
“That's not true. She's not dangerous. She's never hurt anybody.” Even though I was trembling, it was half through fury, half through fear. Once I spoke I found that my voice didn't come out as loud as I wanted.
Sheriff Lindley, the huge mountain that he was, took slow, measured steps toward me, the crunching of his boots on the granite floor the only sound heard. He towered over me, glowering down at me with a look of disgust. He smelled like burned rubber.
“What's your name, girl?”
“Lissa.”
“There's only one reason why someone would come to the defense of a beast like that. Vampire-lovers like you disgust me.” He turned to all the patrons. “All of you are a disgrace to our race, frequenting a place like this, putting money into their pockets. It's why they think the rules don't apply to them.”
“You'd know a lot about that, wouldn't you? About rules not applying,” I said.
His glare returned to me, his hand stroking his gun ever so slightly. I knew he was only trying to scare me by doing that; even he wasn't crazy enough to shoot an unarmed girl for making a comment he didn't like.
“Keep running that little mouth of yours, fanger-lover, and I'll take you in too. They'd eat you alive in there. But you'd probably like that, wouldn't you, you little freak?”
He shoved me out of the way and I crashed into a table, hitting my side. That received several outraged shrieks.
“Do I need to remind you all,” he trumpeted to the bar, “that if you know where a criminal is and you refuse to tell us, it's obstruction of justice.”
“We don't know where she is,” came Robyn's assured voice. She was holding it together much better than I was. “What is this about?”
Suddenly Jean appeared from the back slowly. “It's all right, I'm here.”
Every cop in the joint raised their weapons in her direction, their hands shaky, faces shiny with sweat. Nobody ever wanted to arrest a vampire, because you had to make sure you were a good shot. Although they couldn't outrun a platinum bullet, they could break your neck before you got to shoot it.
“Hands in the air.” The sheriff also had his gun pointed at her, but he wasn't shaking or sweating.
Jean raised her hands slowly. She looked at me holding my side, grimacing. Then her expression turned to fire. “What the hell did you do to her?” She went to step forward, but Lindley took the safety off his gun.
“Take one step closer and I'll empty this chamber into your black heart.”
“No!” I screamed. “You'll kill her.”
“What do you want?” Jean demanded.
“Cuff her,” the sheriff ordered, and four officers rushed forward to restrain Jean. She let them pull her hands behind her back, but as soon as the cuffs touched her skin, she cried out in agony. I could see the smoke, smell her burning flesh. Platinum handcuffs. It was the only way to hold them. With those around her wrists the burns wouldn't heal.
“Stop it! You're hurting her,” I yelled, forgetting my own minor pain and worrying only about her. Her face was red, scrunched up in agony, her teeth clenched together. I noticed that her fangs were also out. It must have happened through her anger.
“That's the idea,” Sheriff Lindley said, a hint of glee in his voice. He squared up to her, now that she was cuffed and restrained. She glowered at him with enough hatred to set him on fire. “See, it doesn't feel good to be locked up, does it?”
As soon as he said that, I knew what this was about, and my body grew cold. Goosebumps spread over my flesh. Tommy must have talked, the lying piece of shit.
But oh was I wrong.
“None of you know this – you'll hear it on the news in the morning – but my nephew Zack woke from his two-month coma this evening.”
Jean and I now wore identical looks, our faces communicating the same concern: Zack Lindley's alive?
“A miracle, we're calling it. Now, I know what you're all thinking. You didn't even know he'd been found, right? Well, that was the plan. When his body was discovered in a ditch a couple of months ago by chance, it was obvious he'd been kidnapped and had tried to escape. We didn't want his kidnappers to know that he was still alive, because we suspected they would come for him if they thought he could identify them.”
“No,” I mouthed, the feeling of dread filling my body. I knew what was coming.
“And as luck would have it, folks, he could. And he had some very interesting things to tell us.” Here his false smile and joviality faded as he stopped addressing the bar and turned back to Jean. “Turns out it wasn't a couple of men out for revenge against his father. It was this dead bitch here.” He all but snarled at her when he said that, his face only inches from Jean's.
“I don't know what you're talking about. Your nephew's a liar,” Jean said, still grimacing. “What motive would I have to kidnap him?”
Lindley grabbed her by the jaw as three officers held her steady. “You're gonna burn, fanger. And I'm gonna have a front row seat to watch.”
He clicked his fingers and gestured for his officers to take her away.
“No! She didn't do anything wrong,” I screamed, trying to stop them, but a couple of officers held me back.
“It's all right, Lissa. I'll be fine.” Even through her pain she was trying to reassure me. Even though she was being dishonest. She wouldn't be fine, not in lock up. Only being deep underground would prevent her skin from burning once morning arrived, she'd told me that. I knew the town jail didn't have an adequate space for her. It might not kill her, but her skin would scorch and wouldn't heal as long as she was in there.
As they escorted her away, not taking any care, Sheriff Lindley sneered at me, seemingly delighted by my falling tears.
“If you're looking for a replacement, there are plenty of lonely sociopaths in maximum security prisons around the country looking for a cute pen pal.” He chortled heinously then followed his men out of the bar.
TWENTY-FOUR
Jean's attorney was a tall, good-looking man with a head full of dark hair, and the sort of face that won cases. As soon as he strutted into the mansion the following afternoon, shook mine and Robyn's hands with a firm, assured grip, I instantly felt a tiny bit of doom slipping away.
I sat nervously on the couch, my hands between my legs, while he and Robyn got down to business.
“What are we looking at? What do they have on her?”
“It's the boy's word against hers. Now unfortunately, in this case, the boy has a name. An important one.”
“What's the charge?”
“They're laying it thick, stacking on just about any charge they c
an get away with and hoping for the death penalty. Kidnapping, assault, you name it.”
“What's our defense?”
“Our best bet is to try to discredit the kid.”
The more they talked strategy, the more that little smidgen of hope I'd had when he arrived disappeared. It sounded hopeless. They were talking about the death penalty! She hadn't even killed anyone. If she had, it probably would have worked out better for her.
“Where is Jean now? How is she doing?” I cut in, urgency in my voice. Nobody had mentioned anything about her state, how they were treating her. Was I the only one who gave a damn?
They both turned to me with grave looks. It was the attorney who gave me the news. “They're refusing to move her to a more suitable holding cell while she sleeps... She's suffering because of that, and she's unlikely to heal properly in there when she wakes up, because the only blood that's available to her is from already deceased animals.”
I covered my mouth to stifle a cry. She was suffering. Her skin was probably burning as we spoke, and there was nothing I could do to help her. No Amnesty International for vampires; no human rights.
“When can I see her?” I asked.
“She isn't allowed visitors besides her legal counsel,” he said.
“And what about bail? Will she get that?” Robyn questioned.
He shook his head. “She's considered a flight risk, and extremely dangerous. She'd never get it. No vampire ever does.”
It all appeared hopeless. No one would ever believe a vampire over a Lindley. That family of assholes seemed destined to screw me over in every way imaginable. If only I could have told them what that devil's spawn had tried to do to me, and why Jean had stepped in to help. But that would have been an admission of her guilt. Right now, no one knew the truth. Robyn may have suspected she was guilty, having known of my attack. It wouldn't have been difficult to put two and two together. But as yet they'd been unable to get the story from her. I wasn't going to tell it and risk implicating her.
Once the attorney had left, I wept inconsolably, as I had been doing since they'd escorted her away the previous night.
“Keep it together, will you!” Robyn snapped, but her face was missing its usual harshness. Surprisingly, she hadn't been dismissive of me at all once this whole sorry mess started. I'd expected her to push me aside the way she had been doing throughout my relationship with Jean, but instead she'd kept me informed. I still couldn't believe she'd allowed me to sit in on the meeting.
“I'm scared,” I said through my tears, my vision blurred by them.
“What good will it do if you fall apart? It won't help her, will it? You need to stay strong. She's going to be fine.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because she has the best lawyer in the state on her side, and no evidence thus far against her. That's why.”
I wanted to hug Robyn right then, for being all the things I couldn't be; strong, calculated, optimistic. This was what Jean needed, not some crybaby little girl who couldn't get anything done. I understood immediately why she'd kept Robyn around, and why she spoke so fondly of her. She was a godsend.
I wiped the tears from my eyes, once again feeling the doom gradually retreating.
For two days I moped around the house in my nightwear, but mostly remained in the bedroom – crying, hugging Jean's clothes to me for comfort. Sandra would come in with food, dried streaks of tears down her face, but I would turn it away. I didn't think anything I ate would stay down. I just wanted my girlfriend home, with me, where she belonged. I yearned for her touch, her kiss, her scent, her taste.
The story of Zack Lindley's miraculous recovery and Jean's subsequent arrest was all over national news. The well-connected Lindley clan had been able to spin the story to drag Jean's name through the mud. Suddenly she wasn't just a kidnapper, she had apparently “lured countless young people into her sinful bar in order to drink their blood”. The crap that people were saying about her, absurd and nonsensical fiction, infuriated me so much that I switched the TV off and vowed never to watch another news channel again.
On day three, Sandra came into my bedroom without knocking.
“Lissa, hun, have you seen today's news?”
“I have better things to do than watch a bunch of liars with an agenda sully my girlfriend's name. No thanks,” I answered miserably from beneath the duvet, which I had covered over my head.
“I think you need to see this.”
I dragged myself out of bed and plodded down the stairs behind Sandra, unsure of what I would see. As soon as I stepped into the living-room, Hilarie's face greeted me on the screen. I grabbed the remote and turned up the volume.
“...comas are complex things that even as medical professionals we don't quite understand. No one can truly know whether someone will wake from one. The family never gave up hope, refused to switch off his support, and thankfully they made the right call, because he's alive and well today.”
The remote fell from my hand. I couldn't even move. I sat, mouth agape, staring blankly at the screen, wondering how life could be so cruelly ironic.
“Lissa? Lissa?” Sandra's voice pulled me from my reverie. “Are you all right? You look like you've seen a ghost.”
I shot up. “When I'm done with her, she will be one.”
“I'm coming, I'm coming,” Hilarie's voice called from within. I'd been thundering on her apartment door – my old residence – for a whole minute. I knew she was home, because I saw her Sedan parked in her designated spot.
When she pulled the door open, I charged at her, grabbing her by the scruff of her dressing gown. From the disoriented look and tousled hair, I could see that I'd just woken her.
“What did you do?” I screamed.
“Get off me, you're hurting me, Lissa.”
I finally let go of her and she tumbled backwards onto the couch.
“You piece of shit!” I pointed a trembling finger at her, squeezing back my tears. “How could you? How could you?”
Hilarie bowed her head, and with that I knew she knew why I'd come.
“I didn't know, I swear. I didn't know he would say that about her.”
“Zack fucking Lindley, that was your special patient? This whole time?” I shook my head in disbelief, feeling betrayed. “The only reason she donated was because you made it sound like it was a kid, not a violent rapist...” Only when I'd said it did I realize that I'd let information slip that wasn't supposed to be known. I quickly tried to cover my tracks. “I mean, he's everything else, he might as well be a violent rapist.”
“I'm sorry, really. I couldn't tell anyone who it was because the family didn't want the information getting back that he was still alive.” She gave me a sympathetic little smile. “If it makes any difference, I don't believe Jean did it. I think he has a vendetta against her for some reason.”
Yeah, he has a vendetta against her because she did do it.
“Oh spare me your sympathy! Your opinion isn't going to get her out of jail, is it?”
“I wish there was something I could do. Maybe if he knew where the blood came from that saved his life...?”
“They would probably use that against her if she ever gets off these charges.” That was how ungrateful and vile the Lindleys were, how low they would stoop to get their own way.
“I'm sorry, Lissa,” she said for the third time.
“Save it.” I couldn't listen to any more of her apologies without wanting to punch her in the face, so I left.
I was already halfway along the exterior landing when she came to the door and called out to me.
“Lissa, what about the other boy? Didn't he say they were taken by men in the beginning? If they should believe any of them, it should be him. I'm still surprised anyone is believing what Zack is saying. He's so disoriented he's not exactly reliable.”
I didn't thank her for her information, though she had no idea how valuable it was.
I knocked on the door of the Vogel h
ouse like a girl with nothing to lose, or everything to lose, depending on how one looked at it. Fearless. I knew, as the girlfriend of the defendant, I shouldn't have been there. But if it meant I could help Jean in any way, I had to take that chance.
A well put together middle-aged lady yanked the door open seconds after I rang the bell.
“Our son has already told you everything he knows. When will you people leave us alone?” she asked in a vexed, impatient tone.
She must have thought I was a reporter or something. She went to close the door in my face.
“No, please, wait, I'm not a reporter. I'm a friend of your son's.”
She gave me a skeptical look. “You're a friend of Tommy's?”
I had to think fast. How could I distinguish myself from every other person that had come to his door, so he knew who I was?
“I need to talk to him urgently.”
“Everyone needs to talk to him urgently these days. I don't think you're a friend. Please, get off our property.”
“Tell him I'm the girl from that night!” I shouted quickly, just as the door was closing. I didn't know what else to say.
As I started my retreat from the door, I heard it open. When I turned around, Tommy Vogel was standing there. No one would have known his previous ordeal had they looked at him now. He looked as healthy as he had done the night of the attempted assault.
We stared at each other – victim and attacker – and didn't know where to go from there. His eyes shifted guiltily.
“You remember me, don't you?”
He nodded.
“I want you to know that I'm disgusted with myself–”
“I didn't come about that. Jean already told me. I believe you regret it.”
His eyes met mine again, relieved. “Then why did you come?”
“You and I both know what she did. But she's going to get the death penalty if they find her guilty. And why wouldn't they if they take Zack's word for it?”
“But she is guilty.”