The Chronicler and Mr Smith

by Angie Martin

  I opened my mouth to respond, but stopped. His dream? Why did he think—

  The floor shifted beneath my feet, followed by the walls quivering in fear of nature’s wrath. I’d experienced several minor earthquakes since moving to California, enough to lessen my initial anxieties over them, but this one managed to rattle my soul.

  Mr. Smith ripped his hands from mine as he jumped up, pushing his chair back. It screeched across the floor, then wobbled until it crashed to the ground.

  I also shot out of my seat and grabbed the table for support. The tremor ceased, but a stench floated through the room, accosting my senses. I had known the moment was coming, that time when we’d no longer be safe in the café, but Mr. Smith’s inability to understand “timing” with his uninvited talk of emotions and the fluffy stuff of life had distracted me from impending danger. I’d all but forgotten the duct tape over his mouth and rope binding him to the chair when I first awoke in the room – or drifted off to sleep, if this were truly a dream, something of which I was still unsure.

  My neck whipped from left to right as far as it could, searching for the source of the foul odor, but the café remained empty, save for the two of us. I looked to Mr. Smith for guidance, but found him partway across the room, near a freestanding white column wrapped in plastic grapevine, searching for his own answers.

  Something in the air swelled between us, a curious motion as if an invisible object halfway between the floor and ceiling pushed outward, trying to escape a prison. The movement stopped, and I walked toward it with deliberate steps and narrowed eyes. Unsure of what exactly I had seen, I followed my instincts and lifted my trembling hand as I neared the spot. I reached out to touch the air, but my fingers grazed an unseen wall made of a squishy, gelatin-like substance. I pulled back my hand and jumped as ripples branched out in the air, the same as it would if I had disturbed the calm surface of water.

  Mr. Smith turned to see the barrier. He raced to it, but resistance met him when he reached the wall. His fists pounded against it to no avail. Whatever separated us was much too strong.

  Fear crushed my throat as a familiar pull reached into my soul, and I bowed my head in defeat. I didn’t have to turn around to know Dark Man, Mullet Man, and possibly others stood behind me. Mr. Smith called out to me, tried to warn me, but there was no escape.

  I rotated and faced my fate. Five blood seekers, including Dark Man and Mullet Man, waited for me across the café, in front of the emergency exit door.

  “I knew you’d find me again, my pet,” Dark Man said, the words rolling through the air like a hypnotic breeze.

  “It’s a dream,” I said.

  “That might be so,” he said, “but you still found me here. Come to me. It’s time for me to taste you again.”

  Mr. Smith’s muted calls to me did nothing to halt my puppeteered walk toward Dark Man. Beyond my control, my limbs moved purposefully, slowly, as if I were a reluctant bride strolling down the aisle to meet my groom in a forced wedding. The tears dampening my cheeks reflected the fading part of my mind that, unsuccessfully, ordered my body to stop.

  When I reached him, I lifted my head and gazed into his eyes with love and longing, as if we’d made it to our wedding night. The backs of his fingers stroked my cheek, and I nuzzled into his touch as a faint smile crossed my lips.

  His other hand climbed up my bare arm, and he fingered the strap of my tank top, the one I had fallen asleep in. He pulled it off my shoulder and aroused the nerve endings in my skin, filling me with desire. All other sounds in the room ceased as his fingertips teased me from my shoulder up my neck and to my jaw.

  Mullet Man stepped up and offered Dark Man an unremarkable dagger. I tilted my head to the side, and Dark Man pressed the blade to the meat between my shoulder and neck. The pain enthralled me, as I knew what would follow. He lowered his head, and his tongue snaked out over my skin, licking the blood dripping down my upper arm.

  He stopped long enough to look at me. My blood on his lips stirred my need for him, and my lips parted as my eyes closed.

  “You are the most delectable creature I’ve ever tasted, my pet,” he said.

  His mouth fell to my wound, and he sucked hard enough to lift the skin around the cut. A sharp pinch of his teeth into my flesh made me grimace, but only for a second as I fell deeper under his spell. I slipped into a waking coma of sorts, and my legs seemed to disappear from beneath me. Someone caught me from behind so I wouldn’t fall, and Dark Man continued his sensual feast.

  I never wanted it to end.

  When it did, I begged for him to continue, but he shushed me. “I don’t want to drain you,” he said. “You need to get your strength back.”

  Whoever stood behind me and Dark Man helped to turn me around. Crouched to the floor behind the invisible wall, Mr. Smith’s turmoil shone through in his creased brow, pinched face, and glassy eyes.

  “It’s your turn,” Dark Man whispered in my ear. “Blood from a night stalker is quite a treat.”

  Remembering the sinful deliciousness of Liz’s blood in my last dream, I smiled. Mr. Smith would taste a thousand times better.

  “Once the virus is in you, we can bring him with us so you can feed from him whenever you want.”

  My tongue snaked across my lips in anticipation, but the word “virus” struck a part of me that remained human. I didn’t want to be infected. I didn’t want my insides to decay, and I didn’t want to feed from anyone for survival, let alone Mr. Smith.

  Mr. Smith… I looked across the barrier at him, his pleading eyes, concerned lines around his mouth. His words reverberated in my mind. “I haven’t stopped thinking about you.” I hadn’t stopped thinking about him, either. I wanted to hate the man, wanted to push him away with everything I had, but another part of me knew, eventually, I’d have to face that I felt something for him. No matter how that “something” was defined.

  I took a step away from Dark Man, toward Mr. Smith. One foot, then the other, I made my way across the room. Dark Man protested from behind me, but I blocked out the sound. I couldn’t risk him controlling me again.

  The gelatinous, clear wall separating me from Mr. Smith disappeared as I passed through it. Maybe, there had never been a barrier; it was imagined, possibly inserted in our minds by Dark Man.

  “Madison!”

  I turned at Dark Man’s voice. One last glimpse at the monster I had almost become in my dream.

  “You will be with me soon. There’s no escaping our bond, my pet.”

  I wanted to respond, but determined that engaging him further would only end badly. Instead, I faced Mr. Smith and accepted his outstretched hand. A flash of light blinded me, then darkness.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  I don’t know how long I remained curled up in bed, wide-eyed and numb from my nightmare. My body paralyzed, the thought of leaving the comfort of my covers terrified me. Even if fear didn’t have me stuck in one position, my sore muscles from the torturous workout the day before had no intentions of moving an inch. I had no choice but to lay still and analyze my dreams.

  Something about them… they didn’t feel like normal dreams, no matter how many of the others in the complex told me they also suffered from nightmares. These were as if reality had seeped into my sleep, as if everything had truly happened. As if Mr. Smith had been with me, as if he had said…

  I shook my head and snapped back to the present. The blood seekers were bad enough without Mr. Smith rambling on about emotions and feelings and all those wretched things. Outside of contempt for taking his brother’s place as the new chronicler, some tolerance toward me had shone through the cracks of his hard exterior. I figured that was as good as it could get with us. Tolerate each other long enough to get the job done and nothing more. Never anything more.

  Then again, for a romance writer, I never really dated. I wasn’t gushy in real life, didn’t care for romantic gestures. No one would ever hold a boombox outside of my bedroom window. I would be way too cranky abou
t the noise. Flowers just died, which was what all of my six short-lived relationships since high school had done. And, who needed diamonds? Much too flashy for my taste. No, if I ever married, it would be to someone low-key, someone who understood that while I could write the heck out of love scenes, I had no use for them in real life. But, finding someone to tolerate me long enough to love me was a foreign concept.

  There was that word again. “Tolerate.” Mr. Smith tolerated me. He could snap back, too. Match my sarcasm with something wry. Or, just ignore me altogether. Abilities I knew I would have to find in any man that stood a chance in my life.

  Nope. There were no feelings there. Either way. Not from me, not from him. In fact, placed together in a room, love and even “like” couldn’t breathe. Our mutual frustration and anger with each other blew way too much carbon dioxide on any positive emotions outside of “tolerance.” Love couldn’t survive around us. Definitely not with us.

  Satisfied I had straightened out my confusion about Mr. Smith, I turned my thoughts to the blood seekers. In particular, Dark Man. In my nightmares, he had a way of controlling me. Forcing me to gravitate toward him, and in a most disturbing way. My complacency with him, my compliance… while it scared me, it also saddened me. Was I such a weak soul that something evil could turn me so easily?

  I would be face-to-face with a blood seeker soon enough. Mr. Smith’s mission to avenge his brother guaranteed it. Surely, when I saw one, when I was close enough that the odor of decay overwhelmed me, I would resist anything that came my way. They couldn’t control my mind, and they wouldn’t turn me into one of them.

  A knock on my door startled me into a sitting position. The door opened, and Keira came through, bubbly and dressed in spandex shorts and a tight workout tank. I groaned and flopped back down on my pillow.

  “Come on,” she said, drawing out the last word. “You know you want to hit the gym hard today.”

  “No, I really don’t,” I said. “I honestly don’t know if my muscles even work still. I think they’re all broken. No, more like shattered.”

  She bounced down on the side of my bed and sighed. “It gets easier, I promise. After a week, you’ll crave working out.”

  “Easy for you to say. I mean, look at you.”

  She broke into laughter. “You think I always had muscle? Oh, when I first came here, I was in worse shape than you. I was pudgy in all the right places.”

  “The milkshakes, huh?” I asked, sitting up.

  “Damn milkshakes plus greasy diner food all the time.”

  Her smile brought my mood back around to a good place. I had only known her for a few days, but it seemed like much longer. She could already read me, already knew how to handle me, and her presence warmed my soul.

  “Let’s get the gym out of the way now,” she continued, “then you can head off to the library for the day.”

  “He’s really pushing this mission through fast.”

  “Do you blame him?”

  I paused before answering. “No, but I’m worried. Probably just anxiety over it being my first mission. Four days from now… doesn’t seem like enough prep time, even for an experienced team.”

  “It is aggressive,” Keira said.

  “Do you ever get scared?”

  Lips pursed, she looked down. “Not for myself. I know this life is dangerous, and if it’s my time, that’s the way it is. I just can’t lose Garrett. That would kill me faster than any blood seeker.”

  I reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I couldn’t imagine that kind of fear.”

  “Losing Brent was hard enough. Losing anyone here… They’re my family.” She raised her head and smiled. “They’re your family now, too.”

  Her words rang through my mind, and I knew she spoke the truth. Keira was more than a friend; she was the sister I never had. Our marks united us, just as it bonded me to everyone in the complex, and even those in other complexes. Despite being an author and being part of that community, I never experienced true belonging. Like if I disappeared one day, I wouldn’t be missed by anyone other than my family and friends. But this… this was different in so many ways. I was born into this life, even if I hadn’t been called to it until now. I had finally discovered my reason for being.

  Not wanting to dwell on the topic, I asked, “Do I have time to take a shower before the gym?”

  “Not today,” she said, getting off the bed. “You can after, but I want to get you in there now so you have more time in the library for all your research.”

  I groaned again, louder than when she first came into my room. “I’ll throw on some clothes.” I climbed out of bed. “Can I at least brush my teeth?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Yes. Please, please do.”

  Laughing, I headed to the restroom to get minty fresh.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  S o, Spence took you up to The Ridge last night.” Playful accusation and insinuation underscored Keira’s tone.

  I ignored it and kept jogging beside her. “Is that what it’s called? The Ridge?”

  “Yeah. It’s beautiful up there.” We ran in silence for a moment before she added, “You know, that’s where Garrett proposed to me.”

  My lips tightened. I was still recovering from too weird of a dream for all this romance talk. “It was nice to get my mind off everything with my family and friends.”

  “I remember when the police found my ‘body.’ One of my cousins ended up cremating me. None of my immediate family showed up to my wake. A few people from the diner where I worked decided to make an appearance.”

  I faltered in my running and came to a stop.

  Keira skidded in front of me and turned around. “What is it?” she asked.

  “I’m just sorry, that’s all. I’ve been doing nothing but blabbering on about my family, and yet I wish you’d had as good of a family as I did.”

  She smiled and shook her head. “Nothing to be sorry about. I am right where I’m supposed to be, and I couldn’t be happier. Maybe if I’d had a great family, I wouldn’t have been called to be a night stalker.”

  Her outlook on her life gave me hope that I could find the same positivity in my situation. “How long did it take you to get used to all this?” I asked.

  “Several months and a few missions. You’re doing much better accepting everything than I did.”

  “I don’t feel like it,” I said. “Every time something happens – a press conference or finding my ‘body,’ I think I’m going to crack. I think that’s why Mr. Smith took me to The Ridge last night. Get my mind off everything.”

  “Sure,” she said with a smirk. “I just want to know what’s going to happen when you stop calling him ‘Mr. Smith.’ That’ll be interesting.”

  “What are you—”

  “You weren’t dating anyone when you came here, were you?”

  “I… I don’t…” I shook my head and realigned my thoughts. “I don’t really date.”

  “What? Of course you date. You’re a romance author.”

  “I know, and Liz would kill me if I admitted the truth to anyone. I’m supposed to give off an appearance of having all these romantic relationships and the occasional clandestine rendezvous. But, dating doesn’t appeal to me much. I’ve maybe had six boyfriends since high school. All short-term.”

  “Don’t ever tell Garrett that,” she said. “He apparently sees the image of you that your publicist painted.”

  I laughed. “I don’t know why it’s such a big deal. It’s not like a thriller or mystery writer kills people before they write about it. No one cares if they lead non-murderous lives.”

  “I’m with you,” she said, “but Garrett is a super-fan of yours. In case you didn’t pick that up earlier.”

  “I love Garrett,” I said. “He’s the perfect fan, but so down-to-earth. He doesn’t blow my author status out of proportion.”

  “Not to you, he doesn’t. After you guys chatted the other night, he was fangirling all over the place. Wouldn�
��t let me sleep.”

  My stomach rocked with a hard laugh, and I doubled over. Keira joined in, just as tickled at her effeminate husband. “You’re definitely the man in that relationship, huh?” I asked.

  “You have no idea. I drink whiskey, he prefers red wine. He yells for me when a remote doesn’t work or even when a light bulb needs changing. I’m addicted to those true crime shows and football, and – well, you know, he watches every desperate housewife and love-seeking reality show ever created.” She rolled her eyes and leaned in to me. “Between us, I think he’s ecstatic you’re here so he can finally have someone to watch television with.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “I have no problems indulging him in all those shows. I’m just glad I don’t have to give them up.”

  “Thank you,” she said in a loud whisper. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  I laughed again. “I guess we have to get back to our workout. I really want to get to the library soon, you know, before my legs fall off.”

  Chuckling, she said, “I don’t think that’s ever happened here, but I know how you feel. By my day two here, I wanted my legs to fall off just so I wouldn’t have to work out ever again.”

  “I don’t suppose the doctor here would perform unnecessary amputations?”

  “Not today,” she said and took off running.

  I rushed to catch up to her, my muscles screaming with every movement. I couldn’t envision a time when my body wouldn’t ache, but Keira had promised I would soon crave the exercise. The only thing I craved in that moment was a shot of tequila with a candy bar chaser.

  The half-mile track was built around the gym, most of it behind walls with only a large opening to exit the track. The corridors forced the runner to follow through with the distance. Markers on the wall relayed our progress with the run, and I was pleased to see the final marker before the exit.

  “Can we stop here?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Like a loquacious, annoying child on a road trip, I’d voiced the question at least four other times during our run.