The Chronicler and Mr Smith

by Angie Martin

  “No way,” I said, laughing. “Poor guy.”

  “Hey, they aren’t bad. Draws in some pretty good crowds. The drummer, though. I feel the worst about him.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “He ended up going a little crazy. Broke into homes of famous drummers to steal their drum kits. Got caught within a year. Went to prison, got out, and started doing it again. He’s in a mental institution now. Talking all kinds of nonsense about the monster that would have made him rich and famous.”

  “That’s not good,” I said. “So, even though the cousin didn’t die, there was still some collateral damage?”

  “You could say that, but we saved countless lives by disposing of that sandman.”

  “Have you had to do that with many people? Somehow stop someone from going public?”

  “Too many,” he said. “Have you ever heard of Bram Stoker?”

  “Bram… uh, no.”

  “There’s a reason you haven’t. There’s a book by him in the library you should read. It’s a fictional account of a blood seeker. Dracula. Name of the book and the blood seeker.”

  “Dracula?” I choked on my laugh. “What an odd name.”

  “It does sound weird, doesn’t it?” The corner of Mr. Smith’s lips turned up. “Trust me, it was nothing like blood seekers really are, but we still had to stop it from circulation. Couldn’t risk some strange fad about Draculas, or something where teenagers think it’s cool to be a Dracula. Anything like that could eventually lead to the truth. It was a great book, though.”

  I smirked. “I didn’t know you read books. You sure didn’t seem to like them at all when we first met.”

  “Oh, I read. Just not trashy romance novels.” He winked as a smile formed.

  Shaking my head, I said, “I can’t wait to read Dracula, but it does suck that a great book and a great song were never released to the masses. It’s like we’re robbing the world of things just so no one learns about monsters.”

  “I hate to say it, but the collateral damage of missed music careers and possibly groundbreaking novels is worth it in the end.”

  “You’re right,” I said, nodding. “It does sound awful.”

  “We’ve saved enough people to make it worth it.”

  I mulled it over for a few seconds before saying, “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to contribute like I need to. I don’t feel capable.” An exasperated chuckle left my lips. “I can’t even feel my legs right now, I’m so sore. There’s no way I’m going to be in any condition to help. I would only slow you guys down.”

  “You’re probably the best chronicler I’ve seen. Your connection with the chronicles is unbelievably strong, and you’re growing at an abnormally fast pace. The other things will fall into place. When we do this mission, I’ll be there, watching your every move, making sure you’re safe.” He moved closer and locked eyes with me. “I’m not going to let anyone hurt you. I swear that to you.”

  The connection between us solidified in that moment, one that had started when he confided to me about his brother, but seemed to disappear whenever we were at odds with each other. Or, maybe that was why I was always at irritated with him. To avoid anything other than an intense dislike of the man. Now, with the setting sun, the fresh air, and his honesty – and the close proximity of his body – I couldn’t help but experience the true Mr. Smith. The one that awakened something inside of me, something long dead.

  It both excited and frightened me.

  His lips parted to say something else, but noise from the canyon below caught our attention. I looked over the edge. Distant headlights flooded a dirt road.

  “Who’s that?” I asked, my body tensing with fear.

  “That, Madison, is the rest of our crew.” He glanced back at me and said, “The ones on the scouting mission.”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said. “I suppose we should go find out what they learned.”

  He paused for a moment as he studied my face, then said, “I suppose we should.” He turned to go back into the complex, leaving me confused about his personality – and our relationship – as I trailed after him.

  Chapter Twenty

  M y head threatened to implode from the tension in the elevator ride down to the second floor. The awkwardness seemed to come only from me, as Mr. Smith appeared as collected as he normally did. At least his presence felt calm. I refused to look at his facial expression to confirm my theory.

  Anger boiled inside me as I pushed aside thoughts of his little touches here and there, the intensity of his blue eyes, the way my heart had raced when he neared me. I had yet to think of him in terms outside of a grade-A, first-class, high-quality jerk. But, he broke through a part of me, and suddenly, I saw him as something different. As… Spencer. Whoever the hell that was.

  My nails scratched furiously at an itch irritating my jawline. I squirmed a bit as imaginary hives broke out across my back. My right eye twitched to the same beat as my left thigh muscle, and my throat dried out, which made me cough. I must have been a sight: squirming and itching and twitching and coughing. But, my body wouldn’t stop its allergic reaction to Mr. Smith.

  The doors opened, and Mr. Smith told me to wait a moment while he grabbed Jia, Jiong, and Sandra. I pressed the “Open” button so hard that my knuckles ached after a few seconds of depressing it. The thought of abandoning him and going to the first floor by myself crossed my mind, but then I’d have to explain why I couldn’t manage to keep the elevator doors opened for half a minute. At least when he returned, I wouldn’t be stuck with him alone.

  The four of them piled into the elevator, and I let go of the button. After pressing the button for the first floor, I shoved my body into the far, back corner, behind Sandra and beside Jiong, who separated me from Mr. Smith. To stem my mini freak-out, I told myself I was nervous because of the upcoming mission, the one that seemed even more real since the other night stalkers had returned. The intelligent part of my brain, the little dot of it that still existed, argued with me otherwise, but I ignored it.

  When we landed on the first floor, I snuck out as fast as possible and moved as far away from Mr. Smith as I could get. My ears welcomed the sound of the voices in the lobby; I could keep avoiding Mr. Smith with that many distractions in one room.

  Keira waited for us in the hall. She linked arms with me and pulled me close to her side. “How’re you holding up?” she whispered.

  Oh, that’s right, I thought. My parents found out I was dead today. Somehow, I’d forgotten that, just as I kept forgetting about my life outside of the complex walls. What was wrong with me? To Keira, I said, “I’m fine, really.”

  “If you need to talk, you know where I am.”

  “Thanks, Keira.”

  “Did you like the view from the top?” she asked.

  Did everyone know that Mr. Smith showed me the balcony? Embarrassment heated my cheeks, despite nothing having happened. Just the thought of being alone with him – and others knowing about it – was enough to throw me back into a tailspin.

  “It’s gorgeous,” I said.

  “I go up there whenever I’ve had a rough day,” Keira said, oblivious to my desires to race back upstairs and jump off that cliff, all while enjoying the view. “You’re welcome up there whenever you need to clear your head or whatever.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  We reached the group in the lobby, and I glanced at the new faces. Each one appeared exhausted, some with bags under their eyes, some slouched over on a couch, but all five of the newcomers had grime, sweat, and even some blood on them. It told the story of a difficult scouting mission and hinted that the upcoming one to go after the blood seekers who killed Brent would be just as difficult, if not impossible.

  Garrett sidled up to Keira, leaned around her, and waved at me. I smiled and lifted my hand, then turned my attention to Mr. Smith when he spoke.

  “I know you’re all tired, so we’ll make this brief,” Mr. Smith said, his voice hushing
the quieter conversations.

  “Before we start,” Keira said, “this is our new chronicler, Mads.”

  I nodded as the others issued greetings. “Nice to meet you all.”

  “We’ll get you introduced to everyone tomorrow when they’ve had a chance to rest up,” Mr. Smith said. “Colin, why don’t you give us the rundown.”

  A blond-haired man, lanky and lean, stood up from the armrest of the couch where he sat. “They’re holed up about two hundred and fifty miles to the east. There’s at least thirty of them, but two days ago, ten or so of them left and didn’t return.”

  “We ran into a smaller group of them on the way back,” another man said, his long, sandy-colored hair pulled into a ponytail at the base of his neck. He glanced at me before adding, “I’m Brady, by the way.”

  Without missing a beat, Mr. Smith asked, “What happened?”

  “Rich, Brady, and I snuck up on them,” Colin said, “while the others set up a blockade. Took out three, but the others got away. Went right past our blockade without us knowing it.”

  A woman in the back of the room raised her hand, as if in school.

  “Morgan?” Mr. Smith pointed to her.

  “Andre and I followed a few of them for an hour, but lost their trail.”

  A hulk of a man with shoulder-length dreadlocks in the middle of the group, who I assumed to be Andre, added, “There’s something different about these ones, Spence. They’re quicker, stronger, smarter.”

  “It’s like a mutation,” Colin said. “And, with that many blood seekers, it’s going to be tough.”

  “Twenty left in the nest?” Mr. Smith asked.

  “Give or take,” Colin said. “But, we don’t know when the others are returning.”

  “There could be more we didn’t see,” Morgan said. “We could be looking at thirty or possibly more.”

  “Spence,” Keira said with a serious tone, “we’ve never gone up against that many before. We have to find a way to separate the nest.”

  No one spoke for several seconds while Mr. Smith appeared to contemplate the logistics of the job. When he did speak, it was with more authority than before. “Colin and Morgan, after you’re cleaned up, let’s meet to go over details. Jiong and Sandra, I want you to work with Rich and Andre on the coordinates and figure out the best plan of attack. Garrett, you and Jia can run communications with the other complexes. Find out if anyone can spare a few night stalkers. Let’s also find out what others may know about a new breed of blood seekers.”

  Mr. Smith’s eyes fell on me. “Madison, search the chronicles for any information about evolved blood seekers. If their abilities have changed and shifted in the past, maybe another chronicler notated that. Everyone else, please get some rest. We leave in five days to eradicate this nest.”

  The group broke up to head in their ordered directions without so much as a mutter about the short timeframe, especially given the new information from the scouting team. Was the man crazy? A nest of thirty or more blood seekers with only nine night stalkers and one amateur and out-of-shape chronicler? Maybe a few extra night stalkers if we were lucky? He should have indefinitely postponed the mission until we had better intel and more bodies for battle.

  Still, I followed directions and headed straight to the library for my part of the research. It was going to be a long night.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  T he odor of rotting flesh woke me from a deep sleep. I gagged on the smell and instinctively reached for my nose. My eyes flicked open to find Mr. Smith sitting across from me at a two-person table. The duct tape over his mouth didn’t allow for any coherent words to emerge, and he struggled against the binds on his arms.

  I jumped out of my seat and raced to his side. His head turned toward me, and I ripped the tape off his mouth. He exercised his jaw muscles while I worked on the ropes tying him to the chair. As I fumbled with the knots, my vision blurred, the stench in the room burning my eyes more than the sky snowing cotton in a field of blooms in springtime.

  “We have to hurry,” I said as I finished loosening the last knot. “I can smell them coming.”

  “It’s too late,” Mr. Smith said, his voice even and solid with conviction.

  I moved back in front of him and crouched beside him, one knee on the ground. “No, it’s not. They aren’t here right now.”

  My gaze wandered around the room, as if I needed to prove to myself we were alone. No one – no blood seekers or any other creatures – invaded our space, but I recognized the room as the café where I met Mr. Smith for the fake interview. At least, all the furnishings remained the same. The dusty plastic vines, and even the white walls were off a few shades. Just enough to notice the dullness of it all.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Mr. Smith said. “You need to leave without me.”

  I glanced him over, and no obvious wounds to rendered him unable to leave with me. “I’m not leaving you. Get up.”

  He didn’t move a muscle.

  “Get up!” I rose to my feet and tugged on his arm, trying to pull him to a standing position. His dead weight, however, made the attempts futile. “Why aren’t you getting up? We have to go!”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, his voice still at a normal level without a hint of anxiousness at the situation. “I need to stay here and distract them so you can get away.”

  “I can’t do this without you, Spencer.”

  His eyes widened, and he finally rose from the seat, but not to leave. Taking my hands in his, he said, “You’ve never called me that before.”

  My lips parted with a sharp gasp, and I stepped away from him, but he held onto my hands. “We have to go now. They’re going to be here any minute, and—”

  “This is a dream, Madison. They don’t have to come here if we don’t want them to.”

  “A dream?” I shook my head. “But, everything is so real.” Right down to the warmth of his hands surrounding mine, the eager flapping of butterfly wings in my stomach, and the irregular beating of my heart. I wriggled my hands free, uneasy at the emotions his touch stirred inside me.

  “I promise you,” he said, “only a dream.”

  Phantom hives broke out across my stomach, neck, and chest again, but I resisted the urge to rake my fingernails over them. Dream or not, I didn’t want to perform the crazy lady scratch dance for him, one where I’d writhe in an effort to relieve the itching while my face contorted like I’d sucked on a thousand lemons.

  Instead, I pleaded with him once more to leave. “I can’t stop them from coming. Just go with me. Please. There’s no reason why you can’t.”

  “One day, you’ll understand that sacrifices need to be made. I’m not going to let what happened to Brent happen to you.”

  I shook my head and plopped down in my seat. “Then, I’m not leaving, either. I can’t let you stay here, knowing that you’ll be killed.”

  He huffed and stared at me for a moment. On the other side of the table, he grabbed the top of the chair and carried it over to me, setting it down so it faced my seat. He sat down and leaned over, his elbows on his knees, uncomfortably close to me once more. “You will leave,” he said. “But, we have some time before they come.”

  My frustration with him boiled over. “What do you want with me?”

  He responded without blinking. “The same thing you want with me.”

  My throat dried out, but I managed to say, “I don’t want anything with you – from you.”

  “I think we both know that’s not true.”

  “No, I know it’s true. From the minute we met, you made it clear that you have a strong dislike for me. Even when you’re attempting to play nice, you’re not. We can barely say two words to each other without—”

  His hands found mine again and encased them. “I shouldn’t do that to you,” he said. “I should have welcomed you into this life, but I didn’t know how. I had just lost Brent, and I wasn’t ready for a new chronicler to come in and take his spot. Pushing you away
is so much easier, especially considering—”

  “Considering what? That we’d likely kill each other if left unattended?”

  He smirked, but his face instantly sobered. “Considering that from the moment I saw you, I…” He averted his gaze to our hands and lowered his voice. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.”

  My racing heartbeat – maybe in conjunction with his? – pounded against the veins in my hands, coursing through my wrists and up my arms. The air thickened in my lungs, constricting my airways. “I can’t… I mean, I don’t…” The words wouldn’t come, wouldn’t even form in my mind so they could find a way to my mouth.

  “You push me away, too.”

  I closed my eyes and ran my tongue over my dry lips. I did push him away. Every chance I got. Distance made tolerating him so much easier. At least that was what I had told myself. Maybe there were other reasons, ones I didn’t want to admit to anyone.

  “It’s time we’re honest with each other,” he said.

  Honesty didn’t work for me in this situation, and probably never would. “Why do we have to go to that extreme?”

  “You know why.”

  What is my subconscious trying to tell me in this dream? I wondered, but I didn’t voice my thoughts. “What’s the point? You said it yourself. This is only a dream. It does neither of us any good to talk about this here and now. And, talking about it out there in the real world wouldn’t work, either. I don’t want to know how you feel about me, and I sure as hell don’t want to know how I feel about you. Things need to stay the way they are between us, and if we eventually kill each other, so be it.”

  “Maybe, I need to talk about it,” he said. “Maybe, I’ve been trying to deny that I feel anything for you, and that’s not working for me anymore. If I tell you this in my dream, then I can keep suffocating it when you’re really in front of me.”