Again, the image changed. A man riding a bicycle smiled at a woman as a deep voice spoke of something called E.D. Whatever the condition, a small, blue tablet claimed to be the cure. Adam didn’t understand what he was watching, nor was he prepared for so many warnings regarding his health. Based on the last few minutes of television, the English seemed plagued by everything from depression to life threatening disease. Were all humans this fragile?
The short stories made no sense. A couple sharing coffee and then walking hand in hand. Smiling in bed... Who openly portrayed such intimacies for the world to see?
Appalled, he pressed buttons on the handheld control until the set went dark and silent. “I miss home.”
Collecting his belongings, he braced to face the lingering daylight, exited the room, and headed east. He found himself in a metropolitan area, disoriented by the tall buildings and busy roads.
“Pardon me...” When he spoke, it seemed as if everyone around him was deaf. The traffic light changed, and a small stampede of mortals charged in his direction.
“Miss, could you help me...”
When the woman kept walking, his words tapered off. Did they not speak English? He listened, overhearing the nearby voices inside of passing cars and buildings. He understood fine, so why couldn’t they understand him.
“Excuse me, sir, I’m looking for a road called One.”
A man with a full beard and black-framed glasses paused. “One?” He pushed some sort of contraption between his lips and exhaled a cloud of vapor. “There is no One. You mean Front Street?”
“No, I’m certain it’s One.”
“Sorry, brother. I’m not sure.” And off he went in a fog of skunked air.
Mortals traveled fast by vehicle and foot, always rushing to get somewhere. And when the roads grew congested, they honked horns and yelled obscenities to the people blocking their way.
While Adam possessed inhuman speed, he lacked the hurried agitation of the English. And though he was stronger, faster, and possessed greater sensory knowledge than they could ever imagine, there were more of them than him and he was feeling dizzy and overwhelmed by their presence and innumerable feelings assaulting him.
“She’s not here,” he determined, speaking out loud since no one seemed to pay him any mind.
Some gawked at his attire as they pushed past, but most were too engaged in their handheld devices to notice his presence. His head ached from the bright lights and constant beeps and pings of electronics. Sunspecs were a great idea, because even when night came the English world was bright and alive.
Following the scent of water, he fled to the outskirts of the city where the sidewalks were less congested. Roads widened for speeding cars and large rig trucks, overlapping and branching in various directions, leaving little space for him to travel by foot.
He was drawn to the undeveloped land near the bridges and highways, valuing the silence of trees and water untouched by man. Wooded areas only seemed to stretch a few hundred feet before being interrupted by cement structures and roads.
He circled an area with no destination. This nomadic wandering proved a tiresome and fruitless way to find his mate. And he needed to eat.
Up ahead, a shopping district shined like a beacon. Red brake lights snaked in and out of the complex where cars jockeyed for parking spots. Inside the store was no less welcoming. Strangely dressed English folk pushed handcarts, gathering items and proving an incredible talent for ignoring those right in front of them.
Adam found a cooler and selected a bottle of water. He also found a display of eyewear and chose a pair of sunspecs.
Giggles caught his ear and he turned to find three young women staring at him. Though their hands cupped over their mouths, he had no issue hearing their mocking laughter. While their emotions were curious, there seemed an overall fear he hadn’t expected. Then it clicked.
They didn’t trust him because he appeared different. They mocked his clothing and only recognized their differences, hardly noticing their similarities.
These young women, possibly all under twenty years, filled him with a strange sense of disjointed doubt. What if his mate found his appearance too much of a distraction? He’d never desired to fit in among the English, until now. He collected a pair of dark denim pants that seemed his size and a cotton shirt from the rack.
The hum of electric buzzed around him, drilling into his head. The congested store bombarded him with other people’s emotions—none of which seemed overly pleasant. Overhead lights, unnaturally white, hummed and flickered, too rapid for the human eye to detect, but a distraction to him, nonetheless. He had to get out of there.
As the clerk tallied his items, he asked, “Do you know of a road called One?”
She studied him, chewing a wad of mint-scented taffy. “You mean Route One?”
Perhaps. “Yes.”
“That’s Old Lincoln Highway. Turn left when you leave here and you’re on it.”
His chest zipped with a spark of excitement. He was close. “Thank you.” Collecting his bagged items, he stopped off at a restroom and changed.
Automobiles filtered in and out of the congested lot when he left the store. He watched the headlights as they turned and trailed over the exit and his pulse raced when he spotted the sign he’d been seeking.
Route One. It was exactly as he remembered it from his dream.
He stuck to the dense trees alongside the highway. Rumbling trucks and vehicles rushed by. The volume of traffic, weaving and veering in and out of segmented roads left him woozy and on high alert. He barely survived a collision for how fast the cars were speeding. If he wasn’t careful, he’d wind up run over by an English vehicle, and he must avoid any chance of exposure. Staying alert was imperative.
Perhaps it was more than motion sickness overwhelming his senses. He drifted deeper into the woods, away from the noise and movement, to feed.
A wild doe awakened his hunger the moment its hoof crunched over the underbrush of the forest. He’d fed that morning, just before dawn, yet his gut cramped with the sudden need to feed.
Slinking into a grove of trees, he subdued his breathing and waited. The doe gradually trotted, nosing through the brushwood and pausing when it sensed a predator near.
The steady beat of the animal’s heart met his ears and Adam’s fangs elongated. Deer were no easy target. They could run long distances at a pace of thirty miles an hour, a speed Adam would not be able to sustain for long with his current level of hunger.
The farm had spoiled him, and he’d forgotten the challenges that came with hunting in the wild, as well as the thrill. His pulse quickened as his fingers splayed. It came down to speed and accuracy. His pupils dilated as his stare zeroed in on the animal’s carotid artery, just six inches below its flicking ear.
He pounced, sinking his teeth deep through the fur and sinew until warm blood coated his tongue. The doe’s pulse spiked then slowed as he dragged a calming hand down it’s back, filling the creature with a sense of safety as he slaked his ravenous thirst.
Drinking his fill, he slowly retracted his fangs and loosened his hold on the doe, careful not to waste a single drop. His saliva would mend the wound within a few minutes, leaving the animal weakened but not harmed.
“Go now.”
It staggered in a daze to its feet, finding its graceful balance again, and scampered off.
Feeding had removed the edge of his hunger, but there remained a tugging sense of unfulfilled thirst. Tipping back his head, he breathed deep, seeking any sense of his mate nearby.
Nothing. In two days, his only victory had been finding the road from his dream, but for all he knew, she could still be a thousand miles away.
He followed signs for a town called Bensalem. As he crossed through residential towns, he sensed the slumbering minds of humans nearby. There was less traffic and fewer emotions bombarding him, making it easier to use his senses for his search.
Reaching a crossroad, he paused. His breath hitched as somet
hing snagged his focus, something familiar.
Houses, trees, empty stores in the distance. What was it?
A traffic light clicked, but the roads were empty. In the distance he could hear the highway where cars rushed by, but not as frequently as a few hours ago.
Something stopped him. What though?
He turned, slowly scanning his surroundings until his gaze jerked back to a metal signpost. His cheeks stretched as certain rightness filled him with a satisfying heat. He was on the right track. He was sure of it.
Approaching the street sign, he breathed deep. There, with delicate white petals perfuming the night air, he found his second sign. Honeysuckle.
Confidence renewed, he snapped off a bud and pressed it to his nose, inhaling deeply. His chest purred.
She was close. With renewed hope and a clearer mind, his senses unfurled like a flower, inviting her in. He stretched his mind, seeking her familiar presence.
His hunger returned with a satisfied growl as he caught something to the east. The delicate pull teased like a feather, stroking softly against his mind, and he loped toward the suburban set of homes in the distance. His mate was near, and he was beyond ready to collect her and return home.
Chapter Eight
Annalise had no idea where she was. It was daylight, yet somehow still dark. Insects chirped while frogs called and birds sung. The buzzing climbed until it muffled her hearing in a dull roar, and then a steady screech that grew louder and louder, piercing her eardrums and making her deaf to all other sounds.
She covered her ears and ran, her feet sinking into the soft ground, as the night stars gleamed overhead. Her lungs tightened with each strenuous breath and when she turned to see how far she’d run, the open land was gone, replaced with a boggy forest.
“Hello?” her voice fell through the buzz, swallowed by too many smaller voices. “Anybody?”
She spun as a phantom touch ghosted down her spine, but nothing except shadows surrounded her. Heart thundering with the need to escape, she raced through the trees.
Her foot caught on a root, propelling her into the air. Her palms sank into the wet forest floor and an earthworm wove through her muddy fingers. She jerked her hand away.
“Is anyone out there?”
She recognized the distinct sound of beetles stepping through the reeds of the nearby marsh and the friction of locust wings. But how would she know such sounds?
Scuffling back to the trunk of a nearby tree, she scanned the area with jerky motions, brushing away the tickle of insects on her skin. Driven mad by the endless noise, she covered her ears and screamed.
Everything silenced.
Her hands loosened from her head as the forest became as still as a painting, the only sound her rapid breathing.
A canopy of trees formed overhead, lush shades of green blooming before her eyes with vibrant flowers in every shade of red. Where was the light coming from?
She pushed to her feet, entranced by the colorful foliage. Trickling water whispered in the distance. She reached through a curtain of vines, cautiously separating the strands, and revealing a magnificent spring.
Her breath hitched as she stepped through into the fern-covered grove dappled in golden light. Patches of moss adorned the wet bedrock. The scent—intoxicating as a spring shower—left her drunk from simply breathing.
Sunshine pierced the canopy, each ray accompanied by the angelic hum of a harp. Where was the music coming from? She followed the stream to a ridge that formed a waterfall. A flash of blue caught her eye and she pivoted.
Dancing in the air, a vibrant butterfly fluttered, bluer than a Caribbean Sea. Annalise gasped as several more erupted from the leafy vegetation in a flash of azure.
Her body moved through the sultry air the way one wades into the shallow waves of a calm ocean. Holding out her hand, she laughed as a butterfly landed its delicate feet on her wrist. Then another. And another.
There were so many. Thousands. Each one a striking masterpiece of blue. They covered her in a delicate gown of beauty.
Then something startled them, and they flew away in a whoosh. She shielded her naked curves from the light as a lone, red butterfly fluttered to her shoulder.
Crimson wings with hues of gold and a bold white stripe waved slowly as it landed. Another appeared, coming to her as well, and she laughed. This had to be a dream.
More red butterflies and more landed on her until every indecent inch of flesh was covered. Their cumulative weight was notable. Another swarm arrived, batting around her for a place to land and filling even the tiniest gap until the sense of suffocation slowly took hold.
Something pinched, and she struggled to lift her arm, carefully pushing away the sleeve of red wings, but as she pushed the butterflies away more came to land.
A thin rivulet of blood slid to between her fingers. “What the...”
A strange itch crawled over her skin and she swept a hand down her arm again, knocking the delicate creatures away with less care than before. Smears of crimson marked her skin leaving the tingle of fire inside each little bite. Frantic, she tried to shove them off, but some were already latched to her flesh.
She flicked harder, plucking away their bodies, careless of their wings. As they pinched and bit her skin grew overwhelmed by their tiny teeth, outnumbered by their abundance.
Claustrophobia stole her breath as she ripped them off her, damaging their wings and weakening at the sight of so many bleeding bites marking her flesh.
They climbed over her chest, biting her breasts and closing in on her throat. She choked, swallowing futile puffs of air as she slapped them away. She could feel them drinking from her, sapping her strength and pulling her under some sort of spell.
Wounded butterflies dropped to the moss-covered ground, twitching and fluttering back to her exposed, bloody skin. They landed on her face and eyes, blinding her, stinging her, eating her alive.
“Get off of me!”
“Annalise!”
She jerked forward, running full speed as the ground disappeared and she landed with a painful thud.
“Holy shit, are you all right?”
Panting, she held her hands defensively in front of her as she searched the darkness. “Kyle?”
He flicked on a lamp and she winced at the brightness. “You fell off the bed.”
She scanned the room. No insects. No waterfalls. No damn butterflies. Just Kyle, which...
She must have fallen asleep here. Not the first time and still no less awkward than the last. Time to make a fast exit.
“I had a bad dream.” She couldn’t recall having nightmares since she was a child.
“You want some water or something?”
Her heartbeat slowed and she nodded. “Thanks.”
She glanced at the curtains. It was morning. She should head home.
Kyle returned and handed her a glass. “Wanna talk about it? Sometimes that helps.”
She took the water and guzzled it down. God, she was thirsty. Maybe she needed to start taking supplements or something. “No. It’s stupid. You’ll laugh.”
“No, I won’t.”
Pursing her lips, and not expecting him to keep his word, she said, “I was attacked by butterflies.”
As predicted, he laughed. “Butterflies?”
“Yes. It was scary. And you promised not to laugh.”
He dragged a hand over his face, wiping away his smirk. “Sorry. That does sound terrifying.”
“They weren’t normal butterflies! They were drinking my blood.”
“Oh, well, you didn’t say they were vampire butterflies.”
She set the empty glass on the nightstand. “It was very Stephen King. Her skin itched at the memory. “There were thousands of them. They were suffocating me.”
“Once I watched a documentary on vampire bats and they mentioned a butterfly that actually drinks the blood of animals. Sort of like a mosquito moth.”
“Shut up.”
“I’m seri
ous. Look it up.”
Calling his bluff, she snatched her phone out of her pocket. “I will.” After a quick search of blood sucking butterflies, she gasped. “What the fuck?”
“Told you.”
She thumbed through the images, each one exactly like her dream. She must have skimmed over a picture of them on Instagram or something, because there was no way her subconscious could make such a thing up with such remarkable accuracy.
Her skin itched as if lined with ants. “I have to go.”
“It’s five in the morning.”
“I have class in three hours. I need to go over my notes.” And take a shower.
He followed her as she slipped on her shoes and gathered her things. “Do you want to hang out again tonight? We can watch another movie.”
“It depends how much homework I have.” She grabbed her purse and unlocked the door.
“Wait, I’ll walk you out.”
“It’s fine. Go back to bed.”
Not sure if it was the dream or something else, the last thing she wanted was a kiss goodbye, so she pulled the door shut before he could follow her. It wasn’t her greatest exit, but she just wanted to get home.
She’d been having vivid dreams lately, but last night’s nightmare felt more like dropping acid in Ann Rice’s imagination with the moth guy from Silence of the Lambs. She shivered and tossed her bag in the car, hugging the wheel like a shield.
“Stupid butterflies.”
The good thing about driving this early was the lack of traffic. Street Road existed in a perpetual state of gridlock. The vacant roads only added to the eerie residue of her nightmare.
She slowed at the light just before the jug handle to Route One. Music. She needed music.
Reaching for the stereo, she stilled. Her head angled toward the window, a strange sense that she wasn’t completely alone seeped in.
Her breath caught as her gaze landed on a dark figure. A man. All alone, face hidden under the shadow of a hat, yet she sensed him staring at her. She suddenly wished it was rush hour.
Her fingers nudged the lock button on the door and his head cocked to the side. Bizarre eyes, so blue they seemed to glow in the fading shadows of dawn.
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