"You wanted to get rid of her, didn't you?” she went on. “You were fed up. You couldn't take anymore of her calling you, her pleading with you, her harassing you. So you went to see her that last day, when she was alone in the pool. And you killed her. You saw she was drinking, you saw she was alone in the pool, and you gave her some sleeping pills hoping that something ... convenient ... would happen, hoping that she would drown. You tried your luck, and you were lucky."
He shook his head slowly, as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing. “No ... you've got it all wrong. It didn't happen like that. I was there that day, but it didn't happen like that. I would have never, never hurt your mother."
The raw, painful sincerity in his voice startled her. Now it was her turn to be baffled.
CHAPTER 16
Sadash took Valeria into his arms and hastened to the window.
He had already opened it. It looked out over the front gardens and beyond to the street. With Valeria in arms, he leaped up like a cat to the window sill. Crouching, he narrowed his eyes and listened to the night.
The front door was situated far from this window, three bedrooms over to the right. So much the better. Anyway, it didn't matter. The party was at its highest point, there was no one in the entrance or in the driveway. The music, the laughter pulsated from the back of the house.
For a moment he closed his eyes. He could listen to Alana and Antonio talking in the next bedroom. He also had a vision of Humberto walking in the corridor towards his father's bedroom.
Then he looked at Valeria. Still dead.
There was not a second to lose. He had to be quick. He had to get out of here.
He leaped into the air and flashed upwards to the sky, fast, as fast as his power allowed him, enveloping her in a tight embrace and praying she wouldn't wake from death before he was finished with her.
He flew high over neighborhoods, highways, swamps, small forests. All the time brooding about what he was about to do.
He didn't want to waver. He knew what he had to do, for his sake, for Alana's sake, even for Valeria's sake. The hell, he should have got rid of her a long time ago!
A few minutes later he was where he wanted to be—in one of his many hiding places, a small country house in the outskirts of the city. Cozily desolated. With a cellar. Always the most important thing, a cellar.
Sadash landed on the roof of the house and then leaped down to the ground.
For a second he glanced up at the crescent moon, silver and bold, perfectly outlined against the velvet darkness. There was a delicious stench in the air, warm and moist and earthy. The mad shrieking of crickets and coquies was overwhelming, too, as if even they could feel the power of Sadash's emotion and excitement.
A moment later he found himself deep in the concrete cellar, where it was cool and damp and the air stank with humidity. He put Valeria on the floor, her hair spread around her face like melted gold.
She was still dead.
Do it now, now, don't wait another second, before the heart quivers with that sudden first spark of immortality, do it, now, for you, for Alana, for...
He had never told Alana this.... Well, there were a few things about vampires she still didn't know, a few things he had not told her. It's not that he had kept this knowledge under his sleeve ... not exactly. There was a way, even after the exchange of blood had been made, of permanently preventing a mortal from turning into a vampire: burning the body to ashes while it's still dead.
Standing over Valeria, his black hair tousled and his dinner jacket stained with blood, he lighted a match and prepared to drop it on her dead body.
* * * *
"So you admit it—you were there that day. You saw her,” Alana said.
She could almost feel his inner struggle.
"I...” He hesitated. “Yes."
"Why did you lie just now, when I asked you?"
He gave a sigh. “I don't know,” he said. “I really don't know. Your question ... took me by surprise ... after all these years. I never knew she kept a diary."
"Well, she did. I didn't know it either, until last night. That's why I'm here now. I know for a fact she was killed, and you just said you were there that day, and I want to know if you killed her!"
He suddenly smiled, bitterly. “And do you think I would admit it, even if I killed her? Do you think I would be that stupid?"
"Did you?” she breathed.
"No. I didn't kill her. I just told you, I would never have hurt Laura.” And then he added, more to himself then to her, “I loved her ... in my own way, I loved her.” He went over to the bar and poured himself half a glass of whiskey. Tilting back his head, he swallowed it all in one gulp. He sighed. Then he turned and looked at her. “Do you want a drink?” he said sullenly, assuming she needed one too.
"No."
"How do you know she was killed?"
"I can't tell you that, but I know it for a fact. Take my word for it."
He considered this for a moment, somewhat skeptical.
"I wouldn't be here talking to you, if I weren't sure of it,” she added.
Something in the gravity of her voice, in the ardor of her deep black eyes, must have made him believed her. “My God...” he mumbled. “When I left her ... she was just fine."
"Why did you go to see her that day? What did you talk about?"
"You wouldn't understand. You were just a little girl in those days, you wouldn't understand."
"Try me,” Alana said coldly. “I'm not a little girl anymore."
"She was driving me crazy. I never made her any promises, I never made her any commitments. She just assumed I did. She was just...” He shook his head, his dark eyes glazed, as if his thoughts were going back in time. “I don't want to hurt your feelings, I don't want to hurt Laura's memory. That's just the way I was—the way I still am. I've never been able to make commitments to any woman, not even to Humberto's mother. I went there that day because I was hoping to reason with her. I was hoping she would realize our affair was over. I didn't want to hurt her, but—"
"You used her."
For a moment he stared at her. “What do you want me to tell you?” he said at last. “Yes, I used her."
Anger rose within her. She felt like striking him. But something was wrong. This man had not killed anybody. Alana would have sensed it. If there was murder in his past she would have sensed it. There was guilt in him, though. Strong remorse. But not from murder. But she wanted to do something, hurt him in some way, even mildly. She wanted, somehow, to avenge her mother's frustration and suffering.
"You fed her sleeping pills. You made her addicted to sleeping pills!” Alana said.
"How do you know that?"
"She wrote it all in her diary,” she bluffed. “I told you already."
"I used to take them, now and then. She wanted them, she said she had trouble sleeping. She begged me to give them to her. She said she hated doctors. What did you expect me to do? She was a grown woman."
"But you knew she was an alcoholic. You knew you would be putting her health in danger."
"No, I didn't know she was an alcoholic, not at first. I thought she just liked drinking. It was after one year of our affair that I realized she was dependent."
"But still you gave them to her!"
He remained silent. He suddenly seemed overwhelmingly old and tired. “I've always felt sorry ... and guilty for what happened. You're young, Alana. You wouldn't understand. People make mistakes. When you're old, when you reach my age, then you'll understand.” He poured himself another shot of whiskey, and drained it all in one gulp.
But he was wrong. She understood. Oh yes, she understood.
Alana walked over to him, clasped his face between her hands, and forced him to look into her face.
He was so surprised by the extraordinary strength of her arms that he let the empty glass of whiskey fall to the carpet. He gave a strangled whisper, and stared at her with startled, widened eyes.
With perverse satisfac
tion she read his thoughts ... Not human.
"Did you give her any sleeping pills that day?” Alana asked, her voice almost a grating hiss.
"No."
"Did you give her aspirin—anything—that day?"
At that moment the door opened and Humberto came into the room.
"Alana?” Humberto asked, taken aback. “What's going on here?"
But Alana ignored him. “Answer me!” she said to Antonio, pulling his head even closer to hers. Since she was much shorter than Antonio, Antonio's head was inclined over hers, and the position looked very unnatural. She tightened her clasp, and his face reddened.
"No...” Antonio replied.
"Alana, what are you doing?” Humberto said, coming closer to them.
Alana flashed Humberto a wild, menacing look. “You stay where you are!” she ordered him.
Humberto halted, mid-step, frowning, his brown eyes wide with disbelief.
"I didn't give her anything,” Antonio went on. “She was fine, when I left her. I swear it! She cried a little after our argument. And she was a little drunk. She was drinking wine. But she only complained of a headache, that's all, she seemed fine. I offered to bring her some pain killers, but she said she had already had some. I swear it! I was there only twenty minutes or so. She kept asking me to leave. She was anxious about you coming early and finding us there. I kept all this to myself, after her death. I didn't want to get involved. I was afraid the police might think I was guilty, that they might think I was in some way responsible. But I wasn't!"
"Someone killed her, someone who was there that day!"
"She was alone in the house. I didn't see anybody, only your blonde friend, Valeria, but that was before I even entered into the house."
For a split second the whole world halted inside Alana's mind.
Valeria ... ?
"What?” she whispered.
"When I was in the car, on my way to your house ... I saw her—from far away—coming out the door..."
"You saw Valeria coming out the door of our house? Are you sure?"
"Yes ... But surely you don't think..."
"Did she see you?"
"No ... no, I don't think so. She started running in the opposite direction of the street. She had something in her arms, her skates, I think."
"My God...” Humberto whispered. He seemed confused, but he had obviously grasped some of the meaning and implications of what he had listened. “Dad ... you were her mother's lover? You were there the day she drowned?"
"Yes, but I didn't kill her!"
Alana shoved Antonio away from her, propelling him towards the wall. He collided against the wall and collapsed onto the floor, uttering a faint, incoherent curse.
"No!” Humberto said, darting towards his father. He kneeled beside him on the floor, and made sure he was all right. “No, Alana,” he said, turning to her. “He's not a killer. I believe him. You must believe him."
"Oh, I believe him,” Alana said. She was shattered. “And I forgive you, Antonio Curet, for what you did to my mother. I know about mistakes, and I forgive you. I'm really sorry for this mess, but I just had to know.” She walked towards the door, then stopped and turned around and fixed her gaze upon Humberto.
"Alana, wait. Would you mind telling me—” Humberto began.
"Don't ask me, Humberto. I'm sure your father will explain."
His eyes were so pure, so beautiful, so full of perplexity and love. She could have drowned herself in those eyes, cleansed herself of all the darkness.
"Never, never lose that look in your eyes,” she said. Then she added, “I would never have killed him, Humberto. Not even if he had been the one responsible for my mother's death. I would have sacrificed my revenge—for you.” And she went out of the room.
She walked to the next bedroom in a steady, unperturbed pace, her fists clenched, slowing her breathing, as if by doing so she could make a little of the agony go away.
But Valeria wasn't there anymore.
* * * *
Alana didn't stop to think about Sadash, or about where he might be at this moment. She was immersed in her thoughts about Valeria. She climbed to the window sill and leaped down to the garden. She felt as if she were under a spell, so numb, so totally despondent. She crossed the front garden like a zombie, unaware of the music, unaware of the little bunch of youngsters who had gathered in the driveway to smoke pot.
Walking through the front gates, she had a vague glimpse of Sadash's Porsche parked across the street.
And then, all of a sudden, she willed herself to rise, to float into the air, and she took off, ascending, ascending, ever so higher, closing her eyes. For an instant she saw herself screaming high up in the sky, shouting Valeria's name. But she didn't do it. She didn't scream. She continued to race through the night, the cool wind flapping her hair and the skirts of her gown, until she reached her old apartment.
Why had she come here? She couldn't have answered this. She didn't know.
She landed on the balcony on her hands and knees, scratching and bruising the palms of her hands and scraping her knees with the impact. Then she sprang to her feet and went inside.
The place was empty. She knew it would be empty. She still didn't know why she had been compelled to come here.
It still smelled of Miguel. It still smelled of his death. Grimacing, she walked from room to room as in a trance, her eyes scanning the place for ... what? She didn't know.
And then she found it.
On top of Alana's bed, she found it.
A note. Valeria's handwriting—confusing, mad, utterly childish scribbling. Alana had always told her she should have been a doctor.
To the Virgin Vampire,
By the time you find this I'll be either dead or immortal.
Hopefully immortal—if everything goes according to plan.
Forgive me.
You must understand why I couldn't tell you.
It was an accident, a reckless accident, but
nevertheless it was my fault, and I could never
stand the doubt in your eyes.
I just had to have it, this power, this immortal gift,
before you found out the truth.
I'll never approach you, not until I know you've
forgiven me—if ever you do. I love you too much
to do otherwise.
Forever yours—and now truly, literally, forever,
Your Twin Soul
Virgin Vampire? Was there mockery in these words? She could almost picture Valeria, writing these words with a wicked little smile on her face, biting her lower lip.
Alana crumpled the note in her hands.
Suddenly startled, she felt a strong familiar presence behind her.
* * * *
Sadash wrapped his arms around Alana's waist. He sighed heavily. He wanted so much to heal her sorrow, to erase the awful taste of betrayal.
"Now you know why I didn't want to tell you,” he told her, lowering his head and rubbing his cheek against hers. “I'm sorry."
"You knew it, you knew it all along ... and you never told me,” she whispered, her voice filled with sadness, filled with bitterness.
He turned her around, forcing her to face him.
"I wanted you to find out the truth,” he told her. “I did. You had to know it. But at the same time I knew how much you would be hurt. It was a no-win situation."
"Tell me something, Sadash. Why did you say it wasn't so simple? Why did you say hidden emotions were involved and not even you knew the absolute truth?"
For a short moment he found himself admiring her deep black eyes. He couldn't help it. He could never get over them. Black eyes, slightly slanted, gypsy eyes. Such a contrast with her pale skin and rich red hair.
"It happened like this, Alana,” he began, now willing to tell her everything. Well, almost everything. “Valeria went into your house that day, looking for you. She had forgotten you were at your skating lessons. She talked to your mother by the
pool. Laura was drinking wine. She complained of a headache, and asked Valeria to bring her the migraine pills, which, as usual, were inside the little pill box by her bed. Valeria went into Laura's bedroom, but standing in front of the night table, she stopped. There were two pill boxes there. Now, this is the part I'm not sure of. Either it was a complete accident, and she brought Laura the wrong pill box ... or Valeria—quite conscious of what she was doing—left it to luck and snatched the first pill box she thought of, anticipating the possible consequences. Laura, already drunk, took the sleeping pills believing them to be pain killers. Laura had already done this many times before—mixed wine with sleeping pills. It wouldn't have been such a big deal if she had not been by the pool. But after seeing Antonio she jumped into the water, she swam a little, and some time after that she must have passed out and drowned. It didn't take me long to realize what had happened."
Alana stared at him, aghast. “What are you saying? That it was a little game for Valeria? That she knew one pill box contained the pain killers and the other pill box contained the sleeping pills ... but yet she didn't stop to check which contained which ... and just snatched up one of them and left the consequences to luck? Like Russian roulette? But why?"
"I don't know,” Sadash said, making a helpless gesture with his hands. “I'm not sure. Face it, Alana. She's always been obsessed with you. Jealous. And sickly protective. Maybe she didn't want your mother to cause you more pain. Maybe she wanted you to be an orphan, just as she herself was. I don't know. I'm not a psychologist! But again, I don't want to be unfair, and don't want to judge her wrongly. Maybe it was an accident, a terrible reckless accident, just as she wrote you in that note. I can't be sure. I can't penetrate everybody's secret thoughts. I'm not omnipotent. And she's strong. Her psychic power is strong. More than you think."
"Oh, don't worry, I know,” Alana muttered. “I couldn't see through her, even with my preternatural power, I couldn't see through her. I couldn't even tell if she was lying last night, when I asked her about my mother. Only for a moment I perceived a keen flash of guilt, but that was all. I didn't catch any images from her.” She drew away from Sadash and walked over to the glass doors, her eyes peering far off into the night. “Do you know what I did tonight?” she asked in a small voice, her naked arms falling limply at her sides. “To Valeria?"
Embraced by the Shadows Page 26