by Martha Woods
“Well,” Alexis says with a clap of her hands. “I’ve got to go check on my first shift performers. I assume there is nothing else you need?”
“No, thank you,” I say. “I appreciate your time.”
I am not supposed to be here, not supposed to be investigating this case, but I feel I have found something important that was missed. How is it possible that three women were killed in similar fashion within the span of a month and they all worked at the same place? I know some of my colleagues only see black and white – they will say that there were witnesses, that there is no way to prove these men innocent. But I would be willing to bet that all three men would say they remember nothing of the murder, that they cared for these women deeply, that they would never hurt them.
I said it myself to Jimmy – that’s what they all say, but I believe now that these men were somehow controlled, likely by whatever dark magic I feel here at Centerfold.
I look around the bar and nothing seems amiss, but as I near the front alcove, I see them. Three female ghosts, all still bearing their fatal injuries that their murderers left behind. Those poor girls.
The ghosts are staring at me. Pleading for justice. Their mouths gaping and their wounds seeping stains of dried blood over their clothes. They are all mid-twenties. One is blonde and thin and one is a curvier girl with curly red hair. The third has skin like milk chocolate and a head of puffy, brown hair. They were probably beautiful. Now, they are forever horror movie victims, destined to scream silently at me until I can avenge their deaths and send them on to whatever comes next. Heaven? I used to think all the fairy tales were a lie, but with what has happened over the last year, vampires, werewolves, witches, the idea of Heaven just doesn’t seem so far-fetched anymore.
As I head back outside, I feel the veil of magic lift, as if I’ve left a house full of carbon monoxide and am now able to breathe freely again. I have never felt such heavy, dark magic and it frightens me. I will have to talk with Faye about this.
I check my phone and there are about thirteen messages and texts from Damon and Rick, wondering where I am and if I am okay.
In this moment, I am not sure if I am.
Chapter 5
“Amy, oh my god, where have you been?” Damon asks, his face pinched with worry as he barrels over to me, enveloping me in a fierce hug.
I allow him to embrace me, even though I roll my eyes into his chest at this overprotectiveness.
“I’m fine,” I say. “I was just out checking some leads on a case. I’m sorry I didn’t call.”
“Rick called and said you were going to get DNA samples from a suspect but never came back,” he says, letting me go. “Where did you go?”
“I did get the sample,” I hesitate a moment, knowing that it is probably not a good idea to tell Damon the whole truth, but a moment of guilt compels me to do so, “but something came up with the suspect while I was there. There were all these weird things happening in the labs today – like something was trying to get my attention. I needed to follow up, if even for my own peace of mind.”
“But he said he specifically took you off of field work,” Damon says. “He’s doing this for your own good.”
“He’s doing it because I’ve been acting crazy,” I say. “And because he thinks I’ve been sick because we’ve been lying to him about the truth.”
“Well, better to lie to him than to try to explain that the supernatural exists,” he argues.
“Okay fine, say for the sake of argument that it is best to keep him in the dark,” I say. “But that doesn’t make it okay for him to treat me like a child.”
“He has a department to run,” he says. “He’s just being careful. And he needs to make sure you’re safe, too.”
I’m slightly annoyed by the fact that Damon is now defending Rick and indirectly telling me how to do my job. I need to calm down but my blood begins to boil and I unleash. “Damon, I was able to do my job just fine before all of this. I’m pretty sure I can do it just fine now, too.”
“You aren’t supposed to be investigating, Amy,” he says. “For one, you just went through a heck of an ordeal physically. Second, your boss limited your duties. He said he explicitly reminded you this wasn’t your case.”
“Well, I’m an adult and I can make my own decisions, particularly when it comes to tracking down a lead no one else has found,” I say. “And while I may not be at peak physical strength, I’m still pretty sure I could kick most anyone’s ass.”
“Sounds like this is going to turn into an argument,” Damon says. “Clothes off.”
I growl at him but that is the agreement we’ve made. If we argue, the clothes come off. Somehow, being naked during arguments just ratchets up the honesty level.
I pull my sweater over my head; Damon divests himself of his t-shirt. As we undress I say, “I’m not trying to argue. I just want to be trusted to do what I’m good at. I’m tired of you and Rick conspiring to ‘keep me safe’ when I’ve kept myself safe for quite a long time on my own, thank you very much.”
“You kept yourself safe when the villains were human,” Damon says. “Now you’re dealing with the supernatural and that’s my domain.”
“You forget,” I say. “I’m not totally human myself. I have Awakened, and I haven’t even started to tap the full scope of what my powers might be.”
“I understand that the Awakening is part of you, just like being a Hunter is part of me. But I’ve given that up for you – for us. I thought that trying to be normal, living a normal life together and getting as far away from the supernatural as we could,” Damon says, his muscular arms crossed over his equally muscular chest.
I swear this rule is only designed to make me distracted from the argument. Just looking at him makes me want him, and that’s the last thing that needs to be on my mind right now.
“Damon,” I say, “this has nothing to do with whether I want to get away from the supernatural or not. This has to do with the fact that I have a job to do – a job I’m good at – and you two men are trying to control me.”
“I have never tried to control you,” he argues. “I just want you to trust me enough to call on me when you need help. You’re so stubborn and you run into things trying to be a hero, without thinking of the consequences.”
“Well, I’d rather run in and try to be a hero than stand by and watch people I love get murdered,” I say tersely.
“People you love,” he says blandly. “As in, Cara and Vincent.”
I look away, biting my lip.
“I care about them both, yes.”
He turns away, his fists in tight balls. “You said love,” he hisses as he turns back to me. “You love him?”
“Not the point,” I say. “My feelings for Vincent are irrelevant to this conversation. I am a grown woman and I’m tired of people trying to control me. People and non-people, for that matter. I just want to make my own choices.”
“And I just want you to be safe. Because, god knows why, I really love you, Amy. I love you and I need you to be safe. I’d do anything to protect you. Don’t you see that?”
“I do,” I say. “I really do, and I feel the same. That’s why I came to save you from the Sisters, even though there was a chance you’d never know, that you’d never love me again.”
“But you feel the same about Vincent?” he spits. “You were lured right into a trap when you knew he was being tortured. You ran right in to save him.”
“And Cara,” I say. “My best friend was wasting away. I thought I could save them both, and I did.”
“Barely,” he says.
“Well, thankfully I had Mika, Ivanka, and Joseph to help me,” I answer. “But I was willing to die, yes. I would have given my life for you, for Cara, or for Vincent.”
“Mika, Ivanka, and Joseph,” Damon repeats their names with venom, making a sour face. “Vampires. You have to know what a slap in the face it is for you to have such sympathy for the monsters I’m sworn to kill.”
“I think that you’ve been brainwashed to hate a specific species of creature. I think that’s extremely close minded.”
He laughs loudly, but the sound is humorless. “I’m close minded now, because I don’t trust vampires? That’s rich.”
“You were trained to think they’re all bad, but just like with humans, there are shades of gray. You need to stop thinking of them all as monsters.”
“Amy, we are not having this conversation right now,” he says. “There’s not a chance in hell that you’re going to talk me into having some breakthrough over a species of monster that drinks blood to survive. And just because they didn’t kill you doesn’t mean they can be trusted.”
I make a noise of frustration. “Fine. You know what, Damon? I’m not going to try to change your mind. And I won’t explain myself. I did what I thought was right, every time. And I saved lives.”
“Including mine,” he says, coming closer. “You saved my life. But next time might not work out so well for you. And I can’t lose you.”
“And I can’t stop doing what I think is right. And right now, three women are dead and I’m not going to stop until I find out why.”
I’m done with this conversation. I walk away from Damon, find some running shorts, a sports bra and a t-shirt, which I pull on hastily, followed by my running shoes. As I pass him on my way to the door, he narrows his eyes.
“Where are you going now?” he asks.
“None of your business,” I snap.
“I don’t feel like this issue is resolved,” he says.
“It will never be resolved if you continue to try to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do,” I answer. “And I’m going to check on Cara. I’ll be home later. We can talk again when we’ve both cooled down.”
I don’t even give him a chance to respond as I head out the door, slamming it behind me.
* * *
As I drive to Cara’s I think about my conversation with Damon. I am not wrong. These two men are controlling me under the guise of acting like I need protection. I mean, I understand that it was impulsive to run in to fight the Sisters and save Damon. I get that I was manipulated easily by Olivia once she knew I would react so easily to the feeling that Cara and Vincent were in danger.
I am not naïve. I realize that vampires can’t compel me and I can often read their thoughts and feel their feelings. This is a useful skill to have, and they might not kill me, but they would enslave me to have access to my abilities.
I still think I did the right thing. I fought for the people I cared about in both situations. And both Damon and Vincent have been there for me when I was in trouble. How is this any different?
When I knock on Cara’s apartment door, I feel suddenly nervous. What if she doesn’t want to see me? She opens the door, looking much better than the last time I saw her.
“Amy,” she says, her eyes wide in surprise. “This is a surprise.”
“Am I bothering you?” I ask.
“No, not at all,” she says, opening the door to welcome me in. “Come on in.”
We wander in and my mind immediately goes to the last scene of her here, naked and in thrall to Charlie, her abusive, vampire boyfriend. It hurts to think about it. More so to realize that it was partially my fault that she got caught up with him in the first place. I had distanced myself when she questioned my relationship with Damon.
“How are you?” I ask as we sit down in her lavishly furnished living room.
“Good, okay,” she says. “Getting back into the swing at work. I’m honestly shocked I didn’t get fired but Tommy really went to bat for me. Law firms aren’t really known for showing compassion but I think they felt bad when he told them I’d been caught in an abusive relationship. Or maybe they just felt awkward about it.”
“Maybe both,” I say. “But it’s good they let it go. Rick is still on my case after these past few, weird months.”
Cara’s eyebrows scrunch together. “Amy…I don’t know what’s been going on with you. With us. But I feel like we’re really different people now than we were a year ago.”
“Yes, that’s probably true,” I say. “A lot has happened.”
“I’m worried our friendship can’t survive it,” she says, tears springing to her eyes. She plays with her long, blonde hair and looks away.
I swallow back the lump rising in my throat. “No, no, that’s not true, Cara. I care about you. I’d do anything for you. We hit a rough patch but everything is okay now.”
“Is it?” she asks. “I mean, I haven’t seen you since I got home from the hospital. You didn’t visit when I was there.”
“I was…not well myself,” I say. “It took time to heal.”
“So tell me what was going on with you, Amy. Tell me. I’m your best friend. You’re supposed to tell me everything.”
I look away, feeling my shoulders tense. I am so tired of lying to people. “I can’t tell you about this, Cara. But know that I would if I could.”
She sits quietly for a long time. Finally, she says, “I’ve got some work stuff to catch up on. Maybe we can talk again when you feel like being honest.”
“It’s not that I don’t feel like being honest, Cara,” I say. “There are just some things that would put you in danger if I shared them with you. That’s the nature of my job sometimes.”
“And it’s your job that has caused all of this for you. Made you unwell, I think is how you just put it?” She looks unconvinced.
“Because of a case, I was pulled into some things that got very ugly. I mean, you know my dog was killed as a threat to me, right?”
Her face softens. “Yes, I remember.”
“It got worse. Much worse, and since then, I’ve been pulled into some pretty dangerous business. But it’s not important now. What’s important is that we’re both safe and healing.”
“I really wish you could open up,” she says. “I wish you could explain, because I feel like I don’t know you anymore.”
“Maybe someday I can,” I say. “But I promise I am here for you if you need me.”
“I’m not sure I believe that,” she says tensely, crossing her arms. She inhales and exhales sharply. “I think it would be good if you could go now.”
I stand and nod. “I’m sorry, Cara. I love you. If nothing else, remember that. You are like a sister to me.”
She doesn’t respond as I walk out the door.
Still mulling the tense conversation, I decide to take a jog before heading home. Cara’s neighborhood is quite a bit nicer than mine, and feels safer for a nighttime run.
I start out slowly, knowing that that last thing I want is to end up cramping like I did earlier. The pace is good, though, and once I’m over the initial cardiovascular stress, the running feels amazing. I can’t even begin to describe what running does for a person like me. I tend of overanalyze things, the scientist in me perhaps, and running allows me to put one foot in front of the other and focus only on my form and my movement and the way my body feels.
As I push forward, I’m so lost in my thoughts that I don’t notice Vincent until he grabs my arm, jolting me to the moment. I immediately go into self-defense mode, launching a round-house kick to his sternum.
It helps in getting him to let go of my arm, but it’s also like kicking a tree, so I hop around a little, my foot and leg smarting a bit, while he looks at me with a semi-amused expression on his beautiful face.
“Vincent?” I stammer, holding my hand to my rapidly beating heart as I shake out my leg. “You’re lucky I didn’t take your head off just now. You can’t just go around grabbing people!”
“I doubt very much that you could accomplish such a feat,” he says, smirking. “I barely felt that kick and I assume that you are stronger than most human females.”
“That is true, and frightening,” I answer. “Guess I’d better start carrying a wooden stake, then. I bet you’d feel that.”
He nods, considering this. “Yes, I believe I would,” We both p
ause for a moment. A sense of longing lingers between us. It has felt like an eternity since the last time we saw each other. “But that is irrelevant to the reason I came to find you.”
I can’t help myself, maybe it is all the endorphins from running, but I suddenly find myself unable to control my emotions. “Oh, you mean you came to tell me where the hell you have been?” I ask, jerking my arm away. “I nearly died saving you and then you just disappear?”
“I thought you might want…space,” he says. “You were very badly injured and I felt it was safer to leave you alone to process and heal.”
“You just…left,” I said. My heart is still beating fast but it’s not because of the running or because he startled me. “You left, after I told you I thought I was in love with you.”
He stares at me like he can see right through me, his blue eyes brilliant in the evening light. His long, blonde hair flows around his broad shoulders and he reminds me of the cover of a romance novel.
“I don’t think that you understand, Amy,” he says. “I nearly killed you. I thought I had killed you. I was ashamed.”
“You were…ashamed?” I ask, confused. “Vincent, you’re a vampire. I can’t have been the only person you’ve ever drank dry.”
“No, that is true,” he says, “but I very much like you alive. As well, I knew that you were willing to give your life for mine, and that was too much to bear. I have had more than 500 years on this earth. You are so young. It is not an even trade – your life for mine.”
“Well, that’s what you do when you…” I don’t finish the sentence. I switch gears, saying, “You have done the same for me, and for the people I care about. I was simply returning the life debt.”
“For what it is worth, it has been torture leaving you alone. I have thought of you many times,” he says. “I have thought of your sacrifice, of course, but also of your bravery.”
“I thought you were going to say you’ve thought of my body,” I say, laughing nervously. “Sorry, I make weird jokes sometimes.”