by P. J. Burgy
How she ended up in her bed was a mystery; she didn’t remember walking up the steps, getting changed, or climbing under the covers. What she did remember though was the sensation of his lips against hers.
She’d kissed Martin.
Chapter 9
The next few days were a blur for her, and Lizzie alternated between crying softly in her bed and trying to work on Martin’s paintings. She went for a jog after the sun had risen, making her rounds through the neighborhood. While she did it to clear her mind, she also felt compelled to search the area for any clues. The police had been in contact once or twice, having found nothing. Tommy’s parents had called a few times though, and she’d spent hours consoling his mother the previous evening.
She couldn’t bring herself to write.
Her laptop had sat dormant for three days, the office colder than usual. She spent a lot of time sitting on the futon and watching movies on the big screen.
The call had gone to voicemail when she’d called Kate about Tommy’s disappearance. She imagined that her phone was off, stashed in her purse, or dead as Kate worked through her own pain at her sister’s house far away.
And Martin…
He’d been emailing and calling. She hadn’t opened those messages, nor had she answered the phone. His voicemails had been short and sweet appeals for her to please call him back. Begging. He was begging her. She couldn’t imagine what the emails he’d sent looked like.
It was inevitable, Lizzie thought, that he’d drop by again and attempt to reach her at home. He hadn’t yet, but she imagined him appearing on her doorstep at any moment. Perhaps before sunset for a change.
Lizzie sat on the futon, fighting the urge to bite her nails from habit as she watched an old horror movie – a classic from the 80’s that Tommy adored. Her pajamas felt stale and her skin sticky. She needed a shower. Wrapped in a blanket, eating straight from a bag of chips, and working on a bottle of vodka, Lizzie swallowed back a lump in her throat while the bearded protagonist on the screen fought with his jammed flamethrower. One of his comrades had melted into a monster, the eyes bulging and bleeding.
She fell asleep around 2 PM, curled up on her side, her hair loose and greasy across her face.
Her phone rang, waking her a little after seven, and she grabbed for it. Martin. She pondered on answering or not. Their last meeting had been strange indeed and her insides still felt just the tiniest bit unpleasant. Her dreams about him had ranged from sensual to horrifically cringey the last few nights.
‘Dear one…’
She wrung her blanket with pale hands.
Despite her better judgment, her throat sore, she answered the phone. “Hello, Martin. I’m sorry.”
“Lizzie.”
“It’s been a bad time.”
“I’ve been so worried. I considered coming over, you know, to check on you. I would have tonight if you hadn’t answered again. Lizzie, why were you ignoring me?”
She exhaled slowly. “I didn’t mean to but, ah… it’s just so hard right now. They haven’t found him yet. I don’t think they’re trying.”
After a moment of silence, he hummed. “Languishing away isn’t the answer, Lizzie. Your wings have been clipped for far too long. You don’t recognize the sky any longer.”
“What?”
“I mean that you should be focusing on yourself right now. On the things you love to do. Have you been painting? Writing? Hmm?”
After a pause, she swallowed. “Yes. Painting. I haven’t been able to write.”
“Well, why don’t you bring what you have over to my house? It’ll give you an excuse to shower and get dressed. I’d love to see you.”
“Didn’t want to wait for them?”
“At this point, I’d rather see my dear friend.”
“I might not be a lot of fun.”
He hummed again. “That doesn’t bother me.”
“If you’re sure, I can bring the four I’ve finished. They aren’t framed yet though.”
“I don’t mind. I’ll come get you.”
“I can drive over myself.”
“It really isn’t a bother…”
She sighed. “No, I can do it.”
“All right.”
“But how about dinner? I haven’t eaten.”
“Ah… I will arrange something. What do you eat?”
Despite herself, she smiled at his odd choice of phrasing and laughed softly. “What do I eat? Hah, well, I’m a cheap date, Martin. Just order delivery from Vincentelli’s. They have amazing stuffed shells. I think I’d like some of that, if it’s okay.”
“All right.”
“You should definitely try it too. If they ask for sides, ah, I guess a salad. Ranch dressing. Do you like fries?”
“Ah…”
“You should get their chicken parm. It’s the best. I mean, not like five-star thirty-dollar plate cuisine or anything, but it’s really good and you might dig it.”
“All right. I dig it.”
Her mood had begun to lift. “They do late night delivery. I’ll hop in the shower then head over. So, like, eight?”
“Yes. That sounds good.” His tone sounded clipped.
She frowned. “You okay, Martin?”
“Ah, I just look forward to seeing you, that’s all.”
“It’s only been a few days.”
“Felt like an eternity.”
She smirked. “You’re too much. I’ll see you soon.”
They hung up and she went to shower.
She dressed nice and put on makeup for the occasion. True, it wasn’t a meal at The Blue Room, but she felt the need to put herself together a bit more than usual. In a form fitting wine colored dress she hadn’t worn in years, in her nice black shoes and her hair pulled up halfway, she checked her eyeliner in the rearview mirror at a stop sign.
The star on her chest, above her right breast, was barely visible, peeking out from under the dipping neckline of her dress. The thorns on her ankle and calf would be plain to see. When her coat came off, he’d get a good look at the heart on her shoulder.
A thin, silver chain necklace hung around her throat, her red, teardrop earrings dangling as she turned her head.
She arrived at his house a little after eight and he met her outside as she parked. He’d dressed nice, as he always did. She was the one breaking character. Lizzie opened the trunk to her car and began to lift out four paintings, careful not to damage them. He appeared at her side to help only to stare at her in the stark light.
It felt a bit bad – she felt guilty, didn’t she? – to see him gawk at her. She blushed. “I got it.”
“Yes.” He stepped away.
She hoisted up the paintings and eyed him, suddenly wary of the way his eyes focused on her chest. It seemed unlike him to be so indecent. And yet, he looked worried, not leering, or lewd. “Martin?”
“Let me get those, please.” He held out his hands, standing back a foot or so and staring down at her.
She handed him the paintings, shut the trunk of her car, and followed him into his house.
They sat together in his dining room, the table long and oaken with candles lit in the center. He was at one end and she the other. Her dinner, the stuffed shells and salad she’d requested, had been moved to nicer plates and he had poured her a glass of wine to sip on. As promised, he’d also provided a glass of water. Room temperature. No ice.
His change in behavior caused her some concern. There was no plate at his end of the table. No drink. Nothing. He watched her as she cut into her food with black steel utensils. His eyes kept drifting to her plunging neckline.
She finished chewing and swallowed. The flavor was blander than she remembered it. Her fork hovered over the plate. “Aren’t you… going to eat?”
“I’ve eaten.”
“Oh, if you’d mentioned that, I wouldn’t-”
“No, it’s fine. Enjoy your meal.” A stiff smile spread across his lips and he steepled his fingers.
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nbsp; Lizzie blinked at him then looked down at her food. For a moment, she wondered if he’d poisoned her and was waiting for her face to plop down into the marinara. “Okay… Well, ah, thank you.”
“I’ve made it awkward. I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” She stirred the sauce lazily, meeting his gaze. “Just… you’re not eating, and I am, so I feel weird.”
“No, please don’t.”
“Not that I know a lot about normal, but…” Taking another bite, she chewed slowly.
He looked at the table, blue eyes lost. His dark brows lowered. “Normal.”
“Martin, if there’s something on your mind…”
“There is actually.” He looked up.
“What is it?” Her skin prickled at the sight of him growing so intense again. She’d nearly forgotten how it felt to be in his sights. His gravity hadn’t caught her like the last time.
“Perhaps we should retire to the entertainment room, yes? I want to tell you something. Something very important. Something I’ve wanted to tell you for quite some time now, Lizzie.” He stood, hands on the table.
She wiped her mouth with a cloth napkin and nodded.
With a gesture toward her throat, he grimaced. “Could you take that off? Please?”
“My necklace?”
“Yes.”
She’d sat on the couch, and he hovered a few feet away, again gesturing toward her jewelry.
Lizzie narrowed her eyes but complied. “Why?”
“Would you please put that in your purse? I’ll explain after.”
She nodded, sliding the necklace into one of the smaller compartments in her purse. As soon as it had left her fingers she was reminded of his powerful gravity and stared up at him while he stared down at her.
His lips parted. “Lizzie.” Martin sat beside her, reached for her hands, and took them in his, his flesh cool. His piercing blue eyes, like the sky on a clear winter morning, locked onto hers and he bent toward her.
“Yes?” She licked her lips.
Martin struggled to form words, his lips mouthing unspoken secrets. And then, he nodded. “I’m a vampire.”
She blinked at him. “Eh?”
“You asked before and I told you, but I knew you didn’t believe me. I am though. I’m a vampire. I’m six-hundred years old, Lizzie.”
Her head tilted to the side completely on its own, her shoulders tensing. “Ah, you… okay. Um. That’s why you sleep in the cellar, right? Yeah?” She smiled. “Martin, what are you talking about?”
“I’m telling you the truth. I want you to know because it’s important to me. Having a long-term contract would bind us together, after all,” he said. “I wanted you to be aware of what that would mean.”
“And what would that mean?”
“It means you’d be mine. All parts of you. Your mind and soul. Your creations. You. For as long as you may live.” After a terse nod, he smiled. “Of course, you’d move in immediately…”
“You want me to live with you?”
“Yes.”
“That’s the contract you offered me? That I said ‘yes’ to?”
“I haven’t offered it officially. Not within the rites. I can’t until you know the truth,” he said, face stern. “It’s one of the rules, you see, in a contract with someone like me – with a vampire.”
“Ah, um.” She bit her bottom lip. “I should go.”
His face fell. “You… do not wish for that?”
“Martin, you do realize what you just said to me, don’t you? There’s no such thing as vampires.” She began to stand but he held fast to her hands. His grip was like stone.
“I understand that you don’t believe me. I could show you, you know,” he said, staring at her.
“Ah, sure.”
“But then, I don’t want to influence you. I don’t know what it would do to your mind. Your abilities. I could prove it another way if you let me.” His brows knit.
“Why don’t you let me go home and I’ll sleep, and we’ll talk about this another time, right?” Again, she tried to stand, and he held her hands tightly. “Martin?”
“I’ve made it awkward again,” he muttered, releasing her. He watched her as she stood and slid her purse over her shoulder. “I wish you could understand.”
“I’m going to go,” Lizzie said, stepping back from the couch. She glanced toward the next room. “I’m sure you believe that you’re a vampire. I don’t doubt you. But it’s late, isn’t it? I should sleep. I’ll work on your paintings some more tomorrow.”
“The ones you brought are beautiful. I know they’ll all be,” he said, chin low.
“Thank you for dinner, Martin.” It took everything she had to step away from him, the urge to fall back into the room and disappear into him growing overwhelming. She expected him to stand, to stop her, but he didn’t.
She left quietly, driving home with her stomach lurching.
Lizzie resisted texting Margo about what he’d told her. At home, changed into her pajamas, she paced her room and dug around in her memories for any red flags she might’ve missed. He was crazy. Certifiably.
Her mind racing, she felt like sleep would never come. She flicked the light off around eleven and crawled into the queen-sized bed – so empty now.
While pulling the covers over herself she heard a tap. Then another. Tap-tap-tap. A sharp tap, like someone rapping a knuckle against glass. It came from the bedroom window. It came from the window in her bedroom, on the second floor of her house.
Lizzie stiffened, sitting up in bed. The streetlights shined dimly, flickering, and a vague shape could be seen in the shadows, part of which fell across the ceiling of her bedroom through the tiny gaps in the blinds. A dark thing out there in the night.
She slid out of bed when another few taps sounded. Slowly, she walked to the window. Parting the blinds with two fingers, she peered out and blinked at the sight of a pair of bright blue eyes. Martin’s eyes. He tilted his head.
A numbness entered her guts as she searched for a reason he’d have climbed a ladder and knocked at her window. She raised the blinds. He hung there like a marionette, backing away.
As if to attempt adding levity, he offered a shrug and smiled, floating in the air outside of her window. Lizzie blinked at him, looked down at the ground, then back up at him in rapid succession.
She fainted.
Her body ached from having spent hours on the floor. When she woke up, the sky brightening, she coughed and rolled onto her side, shaking as if roused from a bad dream.
Martin had been floating outside last night.
Lizzie searched for explanations. Maybe he had poisoned her food and she’d hallucinated? Perhaps he’d orchestrated a little show involving a complex system of pulleys and cables?
She drank from the sink, parched, and then checked her phone. Ten missed calls from Martin starting after eleven and ending at 1 AM. She imagined him floating in the freezing night air, looking in at her body on the floor through her window, trying desperately to make sure she hadn’t just keeled over from a massive coronary.
She stomped down the steps and swayed in the living room first. Then, she swayed in the kitchen. Opening the fridge, she pulled out some drying pizza and ate it cold, staring at the countertop.
Signing into her laptop, she found quite a few emails from him. The latest one was an apology.
‘Lizzie, I shouldn’t have done that. Hope you’re well. Please come back and we can talk. If you don’t want to, I understand, but please consider it. I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t want to see me anymore. – Martin’
Her insides went cold.
She questioned her own sanity. Even more so when she wrote him a quick reply.
‘Martin,
I’ll come over tonight. I believe you. I’m just confused. Let’s talk. I need to know everything.
Lizzie’
She sent her message.
Forcing herself out of the house, Lizzie shoveled the sidewalk.
She’d waited far too long to do it and it had snowed another night since. The footsteps by where Tommy had disappeared were trampled through and indistinguishable from her own boot prints and the Wiener-man’s three little devils’ paw prints. The police had walked up the sidewalk as well. She’d never even gotten a picture.
She paused, sweat on her brow as she leaned on the shovel. As warmly as she’d bundled up and as hot as her head felt under the wool hat, her insides had frozen up again as she thought about Martin. And Tommy.
Tommy standing on the porch next to Martin a little after midnight, saying unkind words to him while the vampire – a vampire, really? You’re losing your mind. You saw it, but maybe you didn’t see what you saw, Lizzie. You are a little unreliable yourself, you know. A real loon – smiled at him and waves of danger radiated in the air.
Fear for Tommy’s safety, even then, even before, had reared up. A natural defense mechanism. A rabbit stomping its foot to alert other rabbits when it saw the hawk’s shadow flitting across the grass.
Lizzie the bunny hadn’t stamped her foot repeatedly, but she had let Tommy in as quick as she could.
The dead women… drained of blood…
Phoebe McEntire and Tina Summerset never saw the hawk, or if they did, they didn’t run fast enough, did they? What had Margo said about Martin at the gallery? He came to a small town to hunt bunnies. That’s what she’d said.
Her gloved hands trembled.
The phone rang a few times before Margo answered, sounding distracted. The line was jostled, Margo cursing softly before picking up again. “Hey, Lizzie, how’re you holding up, girl?”
“Not too great, but I’ll make it through the day,” she replied, sitting cross legged on computer chair in front of her laptop. “How are you?”
“I’m at the shop but it’s dead. Huh, not a soul in sight. Not going to lie though, it’s a relief. A few folks came in the other day to ask me about Tina again. And the Millers…”