A rosy blush pops up on his cheeks long enough for me to appreciate the glow against his skin, then disappears again. He's handsome when you can see what's typically hidden beneath layers of sweat and dirt; sometimes blood. His face is chiseled yet smooth, with blue eyes the color of a storm rolling in. The stubble covering his cheeks and chin makes him appear wild and unruly; his brown hair is thick, with natural highlights placed there by the sun. My eyes travel down his muscular neck and equally strong arms. I wonder what he looks like underneath those road-worn clothes.
I feel a long-hidden desire stir within me.
"I killed him."
Wayne's confession surprises me. I look at him, confused. "Who? Bruce?" I ask, thinking he’s talking about the friend he had to kill before I knew him.
"Jax," he says quietly, not meeting my eyes.
I shake my head. "No, Wayne. The Rev killed Jax. What you did was an act of mercy."
He shrugs. "Don't feel that way."
I scoot closer and place a hand on his arm. "I understand how you feel, but..." I pause to choke down the sob threatening to break through. Crying over myself and my own past won't help him right now. He deserves this moment of grief. He earned it. I won't take it from him. "But you made the right call," I manage.
He lowers his head. "He was so small. The look on his face...I...I..."
I wait for him to continue.
"I didn't want to do it, but I had to get to Erek and Kate, and I was afraid the Rev would finish with Jax and come after us. And, the look on his face...he was so scared, and I thought I was helpin' him. I thought..." He stops talking as the urge to cry overpowers every other need. His shoulders shake as he finally pours out all the sadness that had to wait while he saved Erek's life.
I wait patiently, saying nothing. A few minutes pass before Wayne regains his composure; he looks at me, embarrassed and tired. I wrap an arm around his shoulders. "I've been there, Wayne. I know what it's like. I know how much it hurts."
He wipes his eyes once more. "I'll never get the look on his face outta my head."
"No, you won't," I agree. "Things like that have a way of sticking around."
He looks at me. "How do you keep on goin', then?"
"You find something beautiful to balance out all the ugly. Then, you spend a lot of time hoping for the best." I smile sadly. "Unfortunately, it's not an exact science."
He turns back to the window; peering down at the world below.
"What do you see out there?" I ask him.
He shakes his head. "Absolutely nothin'," he says bitterly.
"Then why are you studying it so hard?"
"I’m tryin' to figure out the best place for their graves."
I reach out and touch his face. "Look at me, Wayne."
He turns and looks at me with those stormy blue eyes and an expression that nearly breaks my heart. I brush his cheek with my fingertips. "You don't have to dig those graves tonight."
"What else is there to do? There's no way I could eat or..."
I lean in and kiss him.
He pulls back, surprised. “Allyson, I…”
I silence him with another kiss. I won't let this brave man say he's not good enough for me or imply he doesn't deserve this moment of tenderness. I move my lips against his until he returns the kiss. His palm rests against the side of my neck, and his tears wet my face. He's broken. I want to make him whole again, if only because I'll never be. I wrap my arms around his neck as his hands disappear into my hair. The kiss deepens, turning into something I didn't expect. My desire for him, while subtle at first, launches itself at me, igniting a flame that refuses to be extinguished.
"I want you," I whisper against his mouth.
"Here?"
I smile. "Well, not right here. We'll fall out the window."
He smiles and stands, pulling me to my feet. His bed is nothing more than several bales of hay, with thin sheets thrown across them. I've slept in this barn enough times to know the hay will scratch my skin, and the sheets won't be thick enough to warm our bodies, but I don't care, I want him.
All of him.
He lays me gently down on the hay and climbs on top of me.
"Are you sure?" he asks.
I nod and pull his shirt over his head, before working my way to his belt. Somewhere close by, I hear an owl call out a mournful lullaby that echoes across the mountain range. I push the sad sound away and pull Wayne closer, intent on making love to him until the sound of our passion is all that remains in this haunted world.
He removes my shirt gently, taking his time to appreciate my body. I close my eyes. His lips feel good against my skin. Suddenly, I hear a sharp intake of breath, and he pulls away. I don’t have to open my eyes to know what alarmed him.
He's seen my secret.
The one I've been protecting.
I open my eyes and look at the man standing in front of me.
The man I've been lying to since we met.
Chapter Thirty-One
Chloe
I wake to the sound of Erek moaning. It’s a soft, happy sound; I almost go back to sleep, thinking he’s dreaming, but he could be hurting, so I blink a few times to clear the sleep from my eyes and turn on the lamp beside us.
The pale light illuminates his bandaged skin. It looks moist.
He’s sweating.
I’ve not moved from his side since I crawled into bed with him a couple hours ago. I must be making him hot. I reach out and touch his arm to let him know I’m going to move to the chair so he can rest better. As soon as my fingertips connect with his skin, I know something is wrong.
He’s sweating, but his skin feels cool and clammy under my fingertips.
My heart rate increases. Is it infection? Could it have already happened? I think back to my health classes in college. It was so long ago, but it seems like I remember it taking anywhere from one to three days after an injury for infection to set in. Depending on how dirty the nails were that impaled him earlier, I guess it could come on quicker.
Still, it seems early.
I try to get his attention. “Erek?” There’s no response. I shake his arm again, harder. “Erek? Can you hear me?”
He opens one eye and looks at me. After a few seconds, his vision clears, and he smiles at me. “Hey, Princess.”
I return his smile. How can I not? Even when I’m scared out of my wits, I can’t resist that grin. How did I fight my feelings for him for as long as I did? I brush my thumb gently across his cheek. “Hey. How do you feel?”
He looks at the ceiling. “Pretty bad.”
I press the back of my palm against his forehead. “I think you have an infection.”
His eyes close for a moment. “Well, that sucks.”
I roll my eyes. “Erek, I’m scared. What should I do?”
He licks his cracked lips. I can tell he’s thinking as hard as the fever and pain will allow, but he’s struggling. Finally, he says, “If we can’t find an antibiotic, the only thing you can do is pray my body can fight the infection on its own.”
Tears spring up in my eyes. “That’s a terrible plan, Erek.” I look at the wounds covering his body. “There must be something else we can do.”
“Not really, Princess.” He grimaces. “Better go find Wayne. He’ll know what to do.”
“Okay,” I say. “He’s in the barn with Allyson. I’ll go get him.”
Erek grabs my arm. “Chloe.”
I stop. “Yes?”
“Please be careful. It’s not safe at night.”
I nod and hop off the bed. He’s right. It’s dark outside, and the walk to the barn will be scary...terrifying, even...but nothing scares me more than the thought of losing Erek.
* * *
Allyson
I stare at Wayne, saying nothing. I don’t know what to say. It’s not something you forget to tell someone and then try to explain it with a “oops, sorry about that” when they see it. So, I just stand there, staring at him, hoping he’ll fin
ally break the awkward silence.
“When?” he asks in that gravelly voice of his.
He doesn’t need to elaborate. I know what he’s asking.
He wants to know when I got bit.
The first time.
Maybe the second and third time, too, but definitely the first time because that should have been the bite that killed me.
Obviously, it didn’t.
I clear my throat. “Right after the first attacks. My sister, Mary bit me.” Saying it out loud after all this time causes the long-buried sadness to resurface.
“How are you still alive?”
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
I wish I could read minds. I wish I knew what he was thinking right now, but he’s so good at camouflaging his feelings that I may as well be trying to interpret a Rorschach. He takes out a cigarette and lights it. “Don’t tell anyone else,” he says without looking at me. “Not until we have a better explanation than ‘I don’t know’, anyway.”
“Okay.”
I can’t move. Fear has me glued to this spot. Someone else knows my secret now; will it be a repeat of the past? Will he still want me? I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t.
He looks at me for a long minute, saying nothing. Finally, he says, “Tell me everything...startin’ at the beginning.”
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I close my eyes. In a flash, I’m back in Asheville. It’s the middle of May, and everything is hot and sticky. I can feel the beads of sweat forming on my brow, and my thick hair sticking to my face as I walk to my car after a long shift at the library.
I draw in a deep breath, trying to decide where to begin. When I release it, I say, “It had been a terrible day.”
Part Two
Allyson’s Interlude
May 13, 2019
I glance at the digital clock in the dashboard…5:38 PM...thirty-eight minutes later than I normally get home. The late-afternoon Asheville traffic, always congested during rush hour, was worse than usual today; I had to maneuver around three separate fender-benders before I even made it past the university.
I sigh and hit the turn signal.
What a day.
I pull my late-model silver sedan into an empty parking space at the far end of the paved lot. The low monthly rent at this particular apartment complex, while a great match for my low monthly salary, doesn’t include assigned parking for each unit, so you get what you get…and when you get home at 5:38 PM, you get a parking space at the farthest end of the lot.
I grab my purse and lunch bag from the passenger seat and slam the door shut behind me. This day could go down in history as the worst day ever; I spilled a 20 oz. cup of coffee all over my desk and nearly ruined my keyboard; I had to reshelf books after one of the first-shift librarians called in sick, and two others failed to show at all; and to top it all off, I came out this afternoon to find a parking ticket shoved under my windshield. It’ll take a week of eating ramen noodles and working overtime to cover the cost of the undeserved fine.
I glance around the crowded lot as I make my way toward the glass doors of the apartment lobby. Several people are shoving luggage and bags into the cargo spaces of their vehicles; other cars and SUVs are unattended, doors and trunks wide open. That’s weird. Emergency sirens shriek in the distance, followed by more honking and the sound of squealing tires. What is going on today? Is it a full moon? I glance up at the sky, searching for the outline of the moon, but a low-hanging fog obscures my view.
I stop at the glass doors and punch in the code given to me when I signed the lease on my apartment last year. While I wait for the door to buzz, I look at the cars parked closest to the building. A woman I’ve seen a few times at the pool is strapping an infant into his car seat. When she turns around, our eyes meet, and the hair on my arms stand on end. She looks terrified. I enter the lobby, mulling over possible reasons for the woman’s fear. Maybe she’s running from the child’s father. Maybe she just received some unexpected bad news about a friend or family member and needs to get to them. I punch the call button for the elevator and wait. A man and woman are walking toward me; she’s arguing with him about going to his mother’s house instead of hers.
“Good luck getting the elevator tonight,” he says as they pass.
I start to ask what he means, but the woman shoots him and me both a nasty look, so I just turn and head toward the stairs. Four flights later, I’m standing in front of apartment 401; the smell of sandalwood incense wafts out from under the door, making me smile despite this terrible day.
I open the door and walk inside my apartment.
My older sister, Mary looks up and smiles. “Hey, sis. Rough day?” she asks.
She’s standing at the kitchen counter, cutting fresh tomatoes for the dinner she promised to make for my birthday.
“Rough would be an understatement,” I mumble as I toss my keys on the counter.
“Wanna talk about it?”
I shake my head. “Not really.” I lay my purse and lunch bag on the floor beside the counter. “I’m gonna go change into some comfy clothes, then I’ll come back and help you.”
“Nope. It’s your birthday,” she reminds me. “You go change and then you can rest while I finish dinner.”
I make quick work of changing clothes; I want to get this horrible day off me as fast as humanly possible. A few minutes later, I’ve traded the fitted skirt and pressed cardigan for my favorite pair of jeans and a thin t-shirt sporting the name of a popular 80’s band. I slip on a pair of bedroom slippers and head back to the kitchen.
“So, how was your day?” I ask Mary.
“Pretty great, actually. I worked from home,” she says. She lays a bright red tomato on the cutting board and begins quartering it. “Apparently, there’s a nasty virus moving through the office. Steve sent us all home early.”
I hop onto a barstool and rest my elbows on the kitchen counter. “We had several people out today, too. Do you think it could it be the flu?”
Mary wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “I don’t know. It’s kind of late in the year for the flu.”
“It’s probably just one of those summer viruses. They can be almost as nasty.”
“Can you grab the cucumber from the fridge?” she says.
I stand and walk to the refrigerator. “It’s been an odd day, to say the least.” I pull the cucumber out of the crisper and shut the door. “What time did you get over here?” I ask.
“I don’t know. Maybe 5:00?” she says.
“Did you notice anything strange on your way in?” I ask, recalling the cars sitting with their trunks propped open.
“I saw some people packing their cars, but it’s Friday afternoon,” she says with a shrug. “I just figured they were heading out for the weekend.”
“And all the people getting sick?” I ask, unable to shake the uneasy feeling spreading through my veins.
“You worry too much,” she says with a wink. “It’s just a virus working its way through the city…like they always tend to do…and it’s just people going on vacation, because that’s what people do in the summer.” She reaches over and pats my cheek. “The world isn’t coming to an end, Alli.”
“I guess,” I say, although I’m not convinced.
“If it is the flu, I got my flu shot in January after they lifted the restrictions, so I should be good,” she continues.
“I don’t get any shot I don’t absolutely have to get,” I say. “Besides, people usually end up getting the flu from the shot.”
Mary laughs. “That’s not true. I get vaccinated every year and I’ve never gotten the flu,” she says, rapping her knuckles against the wooden cutting board for luck. “The people who get the flu after getting vaccinated picked up a different strain. Simple as that,” she says, slicing into the cucumber.
“I never get…”
Something heavy slams against the front door, startling us. We wait, looking at each other with wide eyes and listening for addit
ional noises; a few seconds later, a soft groan reaches us from the other side of the door. Mary lays the knife down on the cutting board. “Where’s your phone, Alli?”
“I left it in the bedroom,” I say, pointing down the hall. “Where’s yours?”
“I accidently left mine at the ‘plex,” she says, talking about her small duplex a mile down the road. “Go grab yours in case we need to call emergency. I’m gonna go check on whoever fell in the hall.”
Being the obedient little sister, I stand and go to the bedroom to retrieve my phone. I hear Mary opening the front door. Her voice is muffled by the walls, but I hear her say, “Sir, are you okay?” I know my sister well enough to sense the underlying concern in her tone. It must be bad.
I scan the room, trying to remember where I laid the phone down when I changed clothes earlier. I finally spot it on the bed, partially hidden under the cream-colored cardigan. I pick it up just as Mary’s scream rips through the small apartment. Running back to the living room, I find the man who lives two apartments down from me latched onto my sister’s throat; his teeth rip through her soft flesh, spraying the front door with blood. Mary’s hands claw at his face, trying to fight him off, but it’s no use…he’s much too strong, and he seems…different. A low, feral growl escapes his lips as he bites; he seems more like a wild animal than the man from apartment 405. I grab the large wooden walking stick propped in the corner by the door. I bought it last year at a local craft fair; it was such a pretty thing, hand carved from the branch of a mighty tree by an artist’s hand. Now it will be used to battle my sister’s assailant. I strike the man with the stick over and over until he finally turns Mary loose and falls to the floor with a sickening thud.
I gasp for breath.
I’ve never had to hit another person before.
I turn to check on my sister. I’m not a doctor, but I can tell it’s bad. She’s losing a lot of blood. Suddenly, the man sits up, and the groaning I thought had ended, begins anew. He grabs a fistful of my shirt and starts pulling me toward him. His mouth is curled into a nasty snarl and the irises of his eyes are white. I scream, pulling away from him until my shirt rips.
Revenants Series (Book 2): Remnants Page 16