by J.M. Cagle
Chapter 6
It happened quicker this time, the sense of numbness that seeped into her body everywhere the man’s, or whatever’s, skin touched her. Her breath began coming in quick puffs, her lungs no longer filling completely. She slapped her hands on her thighs, unable to move any other part of her body. Again she was convinced she was about to die.
Jackson grabbed her upper arms, yanking at her in a way that probably would have hurt had she been able to feel it. He snapped his teeth at something behind her, reminding her of a Rottweiler Dotty once had when she was a kid. Something cried out, something otherworldly and the pressure on her chest began to lessen. She was able to take a single breath before something slammed into her from the front.
Joey was no longer breathing. Her lungs were filling with fire. An image of Dotty occupied her mind, and she felt a deep sense of regret that she would not be able to see her again. She could feel tears on her cheeks, which surprised her since the rest of her seemed to be gone. She closed her eyes as her body jerked forward. She thought the SUV had stopped moving, but she wasn’t sure.
And then Sam was there, his hands caressing her face.
“Can you hear me?”
She nodded as she realized that she could feel his hands and that she was breathing. She tried to sit up, but he pushed her back down. “Rest,” he said, relief soaking that single word until she began to wonder why it was so important to him that she survive.
She couldn’t remember a time when anyone else had cared that much. No one but maybe Dotty.
And then she fell asleep, her dreams filled with Sam and demons and pain.
She must have slept for hours because when she woke the room she found herself in was bathed in darkness. Not even the vague illumination of the moon broke through the completeness of this darkness. It took her minutes to adjust to the lack of sight. She lay still, afraid to move, afraid of whomever might come out of the darkness.
Her body should have been sore, covered in more bruises like those she had found after Saturday’s attack. But she felt rested, felt as though she had just had a ninety minute massage.
What was happening to her?
She ran her hand discreetly over her chest, her belly, looking for bandages, for evidence of what had happened in that SUV. She hadn’t been breathing. She remembered that distinctly. She remembered the ache in her lungs, the fire that seemed to be consuming her from the inside out. Yet, there was nothing. She was not in a hospital; there were no bandages on her skin. Her clothes weren’t even torn.
“You’re not hurt.”
The voice in the darkness belonged to Jackson. She turned toward the sound but could not see anything. Then a light came on, a small light like a child’s nightlight. She could see him, sitting in a chair against the wall, his legs crossed casually, as though he spent all his evenings watching a co-worker sleep.
“What are you doing here?”
“Watching over you.”
“Why?”
He jerked his head toward the far side of the room. “He told me to.”
“Who?”
Again, a softer tilt to his head. “You know him as Sam.”
“What name do you know him by?”
Jackson leaned forward slightly. “He goes by many names, Jo.”
The use of that name that she only allowed Jackson to use made her stomach clench. “I don’t understand,” she whispered, tears beginning to slip over the curves of her jaw.
He came to her, her Jackson, the Jackson she had known for two years. He took her hand between both of his. “It’s a lot,” he acknowledge with an aching amount of tenderness in his voice.
She sat up and buried her face against his shoulder, grateful for the familiarity of his embrace. He kissed the top of her head lightly as his hand moved slowly up and down the length of her spine. He let her cry for a long while, never wavering in his movements of support. When she had cried herself out, he gently laid her back against the pillows, taking her hand between his once more.
“You have questions.”
Joey looked away, unable to calm her thoughts enough to figure out what to ask first. “Those things,” she finally said. “In the car . . .”
“Nephilim,” he said, repeating the term he had used in the car. And at the school, she realized now, a word she had misheard as felon.
“What are they?”
“Lost souls, what you might call demons.”
A flash of memory, the dark, ugly face she had seen behind Mrs. Hernandez’s mask, moved through Joey’s mind.
“No, not like that,” Jackson said, touching the side of her face with his hand. “Nephilim were once a type of human, like you. They walked the earth, giants who walked among men. They had both natural and spiritual forms, but they were not of God. Therefore, when they died, they were doomed to wander the earth, constantly suffering with hunger and desire.”
“Ghosts?”
“Not exactly. They are angry spirits, creatures who have lost what they once were. So they spend their time causing chaos, inspiring evil.”
“Nephilim.” Joey closed her eyes, reaching for a vague memory. “Children of angels and humans, right?”
“Yes,” Jackson agreed.
Joey ran her fingers through her hair with her free hand, finally recalling a story her mother had once told her. “God sent the angels to watch over the humans, but they became enamored with the female children of man. They married and children were born, children who were giants, who ate and partied until they became such a distraction from God’s love that he sent the Great Flood to rid the world of them.”
“Yes,” Jackson said again.
Joey shook her head as she pulled her hand from Jackson’s and climbed from the bed. “That’s just a crazy story my mother told me.”
“Just because she is insane does not mean your mother did not know what she was talking about.”
The door opened as Joey turned to argue with Jackson’s logic. When it did, it bathed Jackson in light. Joey stepped back, nearly tripping over the same chair where he had been sitting just a short time ago, her hand clamped to her mouth. Jackson’s familiar façade, the soft caramel skin, crooked nose, and box-like jaw were gone, altered in a way she could hardly put into words. And his body, that tall, anorexic body was thick, muscular, filled out as though he had received the results of years of weight training in moments.
And his teeth.
The fangs had not been part of a dream.
“It’s okay, Jo,” he said as he stood. “I’m a vampire.”