Second Life

by Emily Reese

  “What’s up, Buttercup?”

  I couldn’t stop myself from looking at Elliot like he was a mad man. “Who says that?”

  “Me. What’s bothering you?” he asked again.

  “I’m, uh… hungry. Did you get my drugs?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I wasn’t able to make it to the trunk before…”

  “Crap. Okay, I can skip a meal or two.” The town we found ourselves in was too small not to notice a missing person. And without any kind of pharmaceuticals, or a blood bank, whoever became my dinner could not be allowed to tell about it afterward. The thought of actually killing a human after so many years made me nauseous.

  “I got you.” All at once Elliot walked towards me, pulling his t-shirt over his head in one fluid movement. I had a flashback to a few months ago, when Mike offered me the same courtesy. This felt just as awkward.

  “No, that’s okay, I’ll be fine.” I tried to look anywhere else; still Elliot entered my vision, stopping right in front of me.

  “Can you honestly tell me the lack of blood won’t affect you? If we need to run, can you guarantee you’ll be as fast? Will you be able to fight just as well?”

  Reluctantly I raised my eyes to his, cursing the tall men who always seemed to surround me. I actually had to lean back on the bed to accomplish it.

  “I need you at 100%.”

  “Okay,” I said quietly, once again not wanting to look at him. “Could you, um… lie down? You’re kind of tall.”

  “Sure,” he chuckled, oozing masculinity, and I felt my cheeks warm. A second later, I felt his weight on the bed. Suddenly I was arguing… with myself.

  What is the big deal, Claire? You drink from people all the time.

  Yeah, drugged people. I can’t remember the last time I drank from someone lucid.

  What about the people in that vampire bar? They were lucid.

  Barely. Now shut up, brain. I’m not talking to you anymore.

  Says the crazy person.

  Finished with my inner monologue, I found Elliot staring at the ceiling, chest shaking in silent mirth.

  “You said you weren’t going to eavesdrop!”

  “It’s hardly eavesdropping when you’re shouting.” He coughed and made his face a mask of impassivity. “Sorry. Please continue your discussion.”

  I stood, my hands going to my hips while I looked him over. This is going to be difficult. Given Elliot’s size, and knowing the easiest place to feed would be at his neck, I was left with two options. I could straddle him, (nope! Too intimate,) or I could stretch across his chest and let him cradle me.

  “Wait a minute!” I snapped, something just occurring to me. “Are you okay? In the car, you were bleeding.”

  “As you can see, I’m healed.” He held his arms out to reveal a perfectly healthy torso, marred only slightly by a few scars. I noticed one was roughly in the same place on his stomach he’d been bleeding from the night before; it was also more raised and pinker than the rest.

  “You want to explain that?” I pointed accusingly to the mark in question.

  “Not particularly,” he said and let his arms fall to his sides. “But I will if you want me to. As soon as we get on the road again. Now come here.” Once again he held his arms out to me, looking for all the world like he was offering me a cuddle, instead of a snack.

  Mentally bemoaning the entire situation, I crawled onto the bed and into his arms.

  “You are killing my ego, Buttercup. I don’t taste that bad.” He was cradling my head to his neck, but the new nickname caused me to rear back.

  “Buttercup?”

  “I figured Red would be too cliché,” he shrugged.

  “Something wrong with my name?”

  “No. Why, don’t you like it?” When I opened my mouth to retort, he slapped a large hand over it. “Okay, okay, truce. As much as I’m enjoying goading you, we need to get going.”

  He was right. I knew he was right. Still, I couldn’t help nicking his palm with one of my fangs. Just a tiny bit.

  I received an arch of his eyebrow and met it with a sweet-as-candy smile. Then I lowered my mouth to his neck and bit.

  A sharp intake of breath had me worrying I’d hurt him, but his hand was once again cradling my head, holding me to him. It was a good thing — the taste of him, of Elliot’s blood was like nothing I’d ever experienced.

  Before when I had taken another’s blood, I always got a sense of them; smells and images, feelings, emotions, almost like a character sketch of what made that person unique. With Elliot, the normal rush of what made up a person’s core self became a cacophony. One minute I’d taste the salt of the ocean, but then at the same time I’d smell cedars and snow. Until that moment, I couldn’t even tell you what cedar smelt like, but now it was clear as day. I felt sand and heat, wind, but heard the muffled sound of winter after a fresh snow storm.

  The emotions were worse. There was joy and sadness, so strong and both in equal parts. I tasted determination, despair, loneliness, triumph, wry humor, and floating above everything, discipline. Always control.

  “Can I put my hand here?” Elliot’s voice sounded strained, no doubt from the blood loss he now experienced. I felt his thumb rub against my side, just above the waistband of my jeans, feather-light, waiting for permission.

  Not wanting to stop drinking, I removed my hand from his chest. Reaching up, I gently squeezed the back of his neck.

  “Thanks,” he breathed.

  How strangely comforting. For once, I could be so involved with what I was doing, what I experienced, that I didn’t have time for my inner voice to obsess over each and every way this could make me feel awkward. It just was.

  Careful not to take more than necessary, I finished in just a few minutes. When I pulled back, Elliot’s head was back against the headboard, eyes closed with the hint of a smile on his lips. Almost as if he’d enjoyed my bite.

  “Do you have a bandage or something?” I asked while holding my hand firmly against his wound, stowing his reaction away in my mind for later examination.

  “Yeah,” he answered, sounding groggier than I was comfortable with. “I’ll get it.”

  “You stay,” I commanded and replaced my hand with his. “Where?”

  “One of the bags in the bathroom.”

  Returning with the first aid supplies, I dumped the other hidden treasure I found on the bed.

  “Expecting something?” I gestured to the bottles of orange juice and a box of cookies.

  “Always prepared.” The smile and shrug he gave me were completely unrepentant.

  “Whatever. Turn your head.” Elliot followed my command, and even more surprising, broached no argument when I forced him to down half the juice and cookies. “Did I take too much? I’m sorry.” I stood, wanting to get off the bed and away from a man I’d clearly damaged.

  “I’m fine,” he said and caught my wrist before I could escape. “It’s just been a while for me. You didn’t hurt me, okay?”

  “Do you feed us often?” Elliot did not strike me as the groupie/feeder type.

  “No, not often. But it comes with the job on occasion.”

  We sat in silence for a moment. I wanted to ask him all sorts of things, about his job, about his life, his obsession with discipline and control, and all the things I’d experienced. Still, it made me feel like a voyeur, which is what kept my mouth shut.

  “What did you see?” Elliot asked tapping his temple. “You’re shouting again.”

  “A lot. Too much to make any sense of it.”

  Elliot nodded sagely, finishing his second bottle of juice. “Maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime.” He got up and tossed the empty bottle into the tiny trash can by the door. “For now, we need to get moving. We’re back in Regulus’ territory and it’s only a matter of time before he catches wind of us.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “So where are we headed?” Elliot asked once we were
on the road.

  “Why are you asking me?”

  “You’re the one with the lead on Erica Wheeler. Let’s hear it.”

  “Oh my God,” I groaned, hands flying to my temples. “We’re out here for nothing! All my information was on that little computer what’s his name gave me. It blew up with the car.” I rested my head against the dash, already imagining how I’d look in prison-jumpsuit-orange.

  “No worries. We can get it.”

  I turned my head to look at the man next to me, claiming to have the power of resurrection over technology.

  “Something you’re not telling me? Another one of your super powers, perhaps?”

  Not quite. Even in my head his voice was smug.

  “Gah!” Without thinking, I slapped my temple. “Don’t do that!”

  “Sorry,” he barely managed before turning away to attempt to hide his snort. “What I was going to say,” he managed after a deep breath, “was that the computer Cody gave you backed everything up to a cloud. All we have to do is access it.”

  While I sat there wondering at the way technology could even take care of itself, Elliot took the next exit and pulled into a glowing, big box electronics store.

  “C’mon,” he told me. “They close in a half an hour.”

  *****

  In exactly twenty-five minutes, we were back on the road. I drove while Elliot unpacked, installed, tinkered, and whatever else he needed to do to get my (second) shiny new computer running, complete with a tiny accessory that made the internet travel with us. I couldn’t explain how it all worked to save my life; I was just glad it did.

  “Let’s switch places.” Elliot pointed to a rest stop coming up and I pulled in. “Cody sent me your login information,” he told me and tossed me his phone to me across the roof of the car. “You should be good to go.”

  “I liked that kid, Cody. Does he work for you?”

  “No, he’s a contract hire for the Council, but I’m thinking about getting him on retainer.” Elliot started the car and pulled back onto the highway. “He’s smart, and more importantly, he’s young.”

  “Why is that so important?” I typed as I talked, anxious to get back into my research.

  “I work for individuals with exceptionally long lives. For them, keeping with the times is difficult. I’d have decades before I needed to worry about that with Cody.”

  “Got it!” I pumped my fist, beaming at the nice, orderly document with all my notes on Erica Wheeler. “Where are we?”

  “Uh… headed northwest on 460.”

  “Okay, that’s perfect. We’ll hit her college friends in Richmond, then head up to where her parents live. Just stay on 460.” I exhaled heavily and closed my laptop. Resting my head back against the seat, I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “What’s funny?” Elliot asked with a smile.

  “For a second, I thought that was it. All I could see is me behind bars, dressed in bright orange.”

  Elliot’s mouth pinched into a grim line while he remained silent.

  “Oh, shut up. I wouldn’t look that bad.” Still nothing. I’m at least a little funny. “What?”

  “It’s nothing, Ms. Wallace.”

  Ms. Wallace? A cold stab of fear pierced my chest. “What is it? Would I really be locked up for that long?”

  “No,” he replied curtly.

  “Then is it really bad, vampire prison?” I couldn’t hold back my morbid curiosity.

  “Vampires don’t go to prison, Ms. Wallace.”

  I sat silently, mouth open. Surely I misheard. Either that or something in my brain just short circuited.

  Seeing my face, Elliot cursed and banged his hand on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. I thought you understood.”

  “I’ve been joking about prison for days, and now you tell me it’s death or nothing?”

  “I thought you had a strong sense of gallows humor.”

  “Yeah, this is hilarious,” I laughed ruefully; I was one step away from hysterics. Trapped in the car with a person I had begun to trust, only to discover he could very well be driving me to my Second Death… it was more than I could process at the moment. I opened my laptop again and worked on finding more on Erica Wheeler, refusing to even acknowledge Elliot’s presence. Anything to keep my mind off the present.

  *****

  An hour and a half later, we pulled into a visitor’s space at the University of Richmond. It had been a long, tense drive, but at least one good thing came from it. On the way, I was able to pretty much memorize the U of R map. As soon as we parked I bolted out of the car and walked quickly toward our destination: Erica Wheeler’s best friend Hailey.

  “Ms. Wallace!” Elliot called. “Claire, please.” He jogged and eventually caught up to me. I didn’t use my vampire speed — the campus wasn’t completely deserted — but I was pretty close. I had no intention of making anything easy on him.

  What do you want from me?

  His voice in my head stopped me so fast I nearly fell.

  “Out!” I shouted, spinning to jab a finger in his face.

  “The question remains,” he replied stoically.

  “Fine. I’ll tell you what I don’t want,” I hissed. “I don’t want to die.”

  “I don’t want that either.”

  “Really? Because it seems to me that whoever you’re working for feels differently.”

  “I know that’s how it appears, but I’m—” Elliot stopped abruptly and looked around, eyes peering into every shadow. Without a word, he grabbed my arm began marching me in the direction of Hailey’s dorm.

  “What’re you doing? Hey, let go!” I wrenched my arm away but Elliot was still on top of me, practically stepping on my toes. The steel in his eyes made me lean back a little, despite the knowledge I could probably still take him in a fight.

  Someone is following us. Keep walking.

  Without another word, he turned and kept moving. I had two choices: stay and try to prove Elliot wrong, or catch up. I chose the latter.

  “Who?” I whispered.

  In your head please. I’d rather they not know I’m aware of them for as long as possible.

  Fine. Where are they? How many?

  At least four. They’re watching us from the shadows over by the library.

  So what are we going to do about them? My neck was already tingling, feeling four sets of eyes burning into it.

  We’ll go talk to the girl. They aren’t risking exposure, so no reason to turn around now. We’ll deal with them once we’re done.

  The walk was tense but brief, and before long we knocked at the door of Erica Wheeler’s closest friend.

  “Who is it?” A voice asked through the door.

  Shit. I hadn’t thought of an answer to a now obvious question.

  “Private detectives, ma’am,” Elliot responded, his Northeast accent completely gone and replaced with a southern drawl. “The Wheeler’s hired us.” The door cracked open, still secured by a chain. A pale girl with circles under her eyes peered through the crack.

  “I.D.?” To my surprise, Elliot produced a business card and identification from his wallet that seemed to satisfy her. She nodded and closed the door, a metallic scrape telling me she was undoing the chain. I took that moment to look at Elliot for some kind of explanation in regards to his alter ego.

  All I got was a quick Later, before the door opened again and we were invited inside.

  “What can I do for you?” Hailey asked. She stood stiffly with her arms crossed over her chest, clearly uncomfortable with having us in her dorm. I felt the pain and regret coming off her in waves; the disappearance of her friend had nearly ruined her.

  Go ahead, Ms. Wallace, Elliot prompted.

  “Right,” I coughed in an attempt to hide my search for a starting point. “Why don’t you start by telling me about Erica?”

  “She was my best friend.” The tears came at once, but Hailey angrily wiped them awa
y. “Look, I don’t really know what I could tell you that I haven’t already told the other guys. Or the police.”

  I looked at Elliot unsure what to say; how was I going to pull the information out of this broken young woman before me?

  Tell her the truth.

  “Are you sure about this?” I asked him aloud. Hailey’s eyes darted between us, taking in our one sided conversation.

  I’ll handle it. Tell her whatever you need to about your experience, just get the information. We need to move on to the men outside.

  “It’s your funeral,” I sighed. Turning to Hailey, I gestured toward the ratty and lonely couch in the center of her tiny room. “May we sit?”

  “I guess.” It came out as more of a question, but she joined me on the sofa.

  “I think I know what happened to your friend.”

  “Have you told the police?” Erica was back on her feet in an instant. “Where is she?”

  “I’m not sure, Hailey. But as far as I can tell, I think a very bad person took her.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” she yelled.

  “When I was younger, someone kidnapped me. It was a miracle I escaped, but I did. Your friend Erica fits the description of what my kidnapper looked for in a victim.”

  “Then why are we sitting here?” Hailey hastily pulled on a hoodie. “We need to tell the cops where to find this guy, and —”

  “He’s dead, Hailey. I killed him.” My final sentence stopped the poor girl in her tracks. I felt the intense chill of fear an instant before her hands began shaking. “Elliot, this isn’t working,” I told him.

  “I got it,” he answered softly. He walked to the girl and put a hand on each side of her face. “Hailey, look at me, honey.” The second she met his eyes her body relaxed, the cold fear replaced with a peaceful disinterest. “There’s a girl.” Over his shoulder he asked me, “What do you want to know?”

  “I need to know more about her personality, what she did outside of school. The harder a girl fought, the more…” I had to stop, bile rising in my throat at the memories of Collin’s sadistic fantasies.