Beloved Forever Part 9

He chuckled. "You can keep the three-seventeen, miss."

She relaxed against the seat, not realizing how stiffly she had held herself. Her back gave a twinge as she settled, then quieted. She noticed her headache had gone too. If only her hunger would dissipate.

He merged into traffic and turned on his radio. He didn't look back or try to engage her in conversation during the slow drive through the city. She found her eyes closing and struggled to ward off sleep, not wis.h.i.+ng to have another dream in the back of a taxi. She wanted to remain alert in case Nicholas caught up with her before she reached home.

When they joined the traffic on 87, she wondered why she hadn't gone straight to the police. The thought caught her by surprise, and she nibbled on her lower lip, wincing when her fang broke through. It was a habit she would have to break, or her lower lip would be constantly sore.

Why hadn't she called the cops or had the cabbie drive her to the nearest station? It wasn't to protect Nicholas, she a.s.sured herself. She couldn't think of a logical explanation for not going to the police and opened her mouth to tell the driver to take her back. Her tongue refused to move. She frowned and tried again, with no success. She couldn't speak the words.

She tried something else. "How long until we arrive?"

He looked up briefly in his rearview mirror. "About thirty minutes. You'll be there in plenty of time to get settled."

She frowned. "What?"

"Before the memorial service and funeral tomorrow."

"What funeral?" Even as she asked, her heart seized with dread.

He looked straight ahead again, but answered her question. "Sorry. I a.s.sumed you were going to the service planned for tomorrow morning. Apparently, two kids were found dead in an abandoned funhouse at the Homecoming carnival. Two more kids are missing."

Her voice emerged as a croak. "How did they die?"

He shrugged. "I ain't sure. I heard different versions. Someone said a maniac cut them up with a knife.

Someone else said some wacko with a vampire complex drained their blood."

"And the two who are missing?"

"Ron something. I don't remember the girl's name. Most of the police figure they was kidnapped, tortured and murdered elsewhere."

She blinked. "They don't think they're alive?" He shook his head. "Don't imagine so. The crimes were vicious. I imagine if one of them kids did surface, they'd be questioned pretty thoroughly."

"Uh..." She cleared her throat. "Why is that?"

"Some jacka.s.s FBI agent thinks the two missing kids are the killers." He snorted. "Announced at a press conference that any survivors would be tested to see if they drank their friends' blood."

She blanched. Had traces of Sara and Troy's blood remained in Nicholas when she fed from him? If not, she would still have Ron's blood in her veins. They may not figure out it was his right away, but they would know it wasn't hers. Her throat tightened, and she struggled to breathe. What kind of physical proof would there be of the change? Altered cells, failure to produce her own blood, and sensitivity to light were just a few she could think of. If they discovered what Nicholas had made her, she didn't know what they would do to her. What if they blamed her for Sara, Troy, and Ron's deaths? It was certain they would, if they investigated her physiology. The most she might be able to hope for would be years of experimentation in some government lab, as opposed to a life sentence.

"You okay?"

She blinked and looked up. "What?"

"Are you okay? You're awfully pale and sweating. You sick?"

She nodded. "I'm anemic." Emily bit back a hard laugh that wouldn't hold any amus.e.m.e.nt. Anemic, yeah, that was one way to look at it. "I'll be fine."

He nodded and returned his attention to the road.

Emily turned her gaze out the window, watching the highway as they pa.s.sed. Her stomach cramped with mingled hunger and nerves. She couldn't go home. If she saw her parents, everyone would know she was alive-until they discovered how non-alive she was.

She could feel Nicholas's silk-covered iron fist closing around her. His trap was perfect, leaving her no escape with her family and friends. Had he planned it, or were Sara and Troy convenient, as he had said?

"What about the funhouse?" she asked abruptly several minutes later. "Did they trace the owner?"

The driver's brow furrowed. "I think it was something like Tremont Amus.e.m.e.nts, but the trail led back to a bankrupt company. FBI thinks the owners were running the business on the sly of the government and got scared when they discovered the dead kids. They just cut and ran, probably."

"They aren't suspects?" she asked with disbelief.

"I guess they are. I don't know. The news doesn't cover much about that. They spend all their time replaying the interview with the missing kids' families, begging for the return of their kids." His disgust was evident. "d.a.m.n media goes straight for the jugular."

She nodded and once again subsided into silence, searching for a way out. During the last twenty minutes of the ride, she came up with nothing. When they entered the small town of Huxley, population four thousand, she had him pull over to the curb in front of Huxley Grocery. The lights were out because the business had closed at nine. He frowned and eyed the area. "Are you sure this is where you want to stop? I'll take you wherever you're headed."

"This is it," she said quickly. "I'm meeting someone."

He shrugged and took the seven folded twenties before driving away.

Emily watched the taillights of the cab until it disappeared by turning off Main Street. Once the street was quiet again, she hurried around to the back of the grocery store, fis.h.i.+ng in her f.a.n.n.y pack for the employee key given to her when the manager hired her three months ago for cleaning after hours.

A privacy fence to lessen the noise disturbance to homes nearby during deliveries surrounded the back of the store. She went to the back entrance without fear of being observed and slipped the key in the lock. It turned easily, as always, and she entered the stockroom.

Emily flipped on the lights and moved through the dusty back room. Boxes were stacked against one wall, and a large table and several folding chairs sat in the opposite corner. A coffeemaker was on the table, and the area pa.s.sed for a break room.

She exited through the swinging doors and turned to her left, heading for the butcher's department. She didn't know if cow blood would nourish her properly, but hoped it would take off the edge of her hunger.

She entered the meat area and went to the tubs of beef livers stacked in the coolers. She opened one and fished out the liver before draining the blood in three quick swallows. It was cold and slimy and slid down her throat without the same rush of pleasure she had previously experienced. Her stomach was less empty, but her heartbeat was still sluggish. She drank two more containers before her hunger faded to a persistent ache.

As quickly as possible, Emily tossed the livers back in the containers and took them behind the counter to the industrial sink in the corner. She threw the raw livers down the garbage disposal and tossed the empty containers in the trash. With any luck, Chuck would a.s.sume one of the evening employees had disposed of spoiled liver. The last thing the town needed was rumors circulating of someone drinking blood and leaving the livers in the containers. Vampire paranoia must be running rampant as it was.

After her impromptu meal, Emily left the store and stepped into the quiet night. She heard a cat meow from two blocks over, followed by a hissing growl from another cat. Within seconds, a trashcan lid clattered to the ground, making her jump.

Spurred on by the cats' fight and the subsequent fright, Emily walked away from the store. Within a block, she decided Main Street was too visible, even at four in the morning, and cut down Elm Street. As she pa.s.sed Mrs. Johnson's house, she saw several candles displayed in the window. Each burned in candleholders with crosses embedded in the gla.s.s.

She looked around and saw most of the houses had crosses on their doors, candles in their windows, or flowers tied to their doorway. Almost every house had a wreath of garlic around their door or fence latch. She didn't know whether to interpret the candles and flowers as a vigil for the dead and missing, or if they were some obscure way to repel vampires. Emily had never been a fan of vampire books or movies, but now wished she had paid more attention. Jeremy was obsessed with all things supernatural, so she'd had many opportunities to learn from her brother's interest-if only she had known she wouldend up as a vampire herself. Her mouth twisted at the bitter thought.

A thick ball lodged in her throat when her brother's face popped into her mind. She had been so certain escaping Nicholas would be the end of her worries. She would return to her family, who would help her fix whatever he had done to her. She hadn't expected life to be the same with Sara gone, but had really believed she could go back to being Emily Swesso.

She swallowed heavily and turned onto Fourth Street, surprised to find the heartbeats of Huxley had muted to a dull roar. As soon as she thought of them, they returned to a cacophonous level. The more she tried not to think about them, the louder they grew. It was several minutes before they faded, when she was distracted from the sound of the heartbeats by the sound of arguing from a house as she pa.s.sed it.

She wandered aimlessly through town, wanting to cut across the park and head home. She knew her parents would be relieved to see her, but didn't know how to explain what had happened to her.

She paused on Sycamore and leaned against a wooden privacy fence, a few inches from their wreath of garlic. Emily's hand shook as she reached out to touch it, curious to know if it really was a repellent. She touched a bulb, but nothing happened. Emboldened, she leaned a bit closer and took a cautious sniff. A loud sneeze escaped from her, breaking the quiet on the street. Her nasal pa.s.sages burned from the strong odor the garlic gave off, making her sneeze again.

Behind the fence, a dog started barking. It sounded large and angry, with a deep growl that was sure to wake its owners if it continued to bark. Emily stood up and hurried down the block. Her feet guided her to the park, where she hesitated.

Emily looked behind her, then at the expanse of the park that covered an acre. She stepped onto the damp gra.s.s and took a few tentative steps in the direction of the shortcut. If she turned at the dugout and cut across the baseball diamond, she could be squeezing through the hole in the fence just a minute or two later. She was less than five minutes from home.

Home had never seemed so far away.

She plodded through the gra.s.s to the dugout, but instead of crossing the diamond, she settled on the bench inside the dugout and stared out at the empty field. Her heart ached when she realized she and Sara wouldn't be playing on the softball team this year. Never again would she pitch a curveball while Sara taunted the batter from her position as catcher.

She wouldn't be doing any of the things she had planned. There would be no welcome packet from NYU in the coming months. She couldn't ever return to Huxley Junior College to finish out the rest of the year. Her chest ached when she thought of all the missed tests she wouldn't sit for. What she wouldn't give to have finals as the biggest challenge she faced.

Tears streamed down her cheeks when she remembered Sara and Ron would miss everything too. Sara would never be the fas.h.i.+on designer she had dreamed of being from the time they were little. Ron's tenure as halfback had been painfully short. Even Troy, as big a jerk as he had been, deserved to graduate from college and go on to make many women miserable. He didn't deserve to be dead at twenty-two. No one did.

She hated Nicholas at that moment. Even the dark attraction she felt for him wasn't enough to overcome the surge of emotions. If she had the chance, she would kill him for everything he had taken from her. Emily leaned back and propped her feet on the bench so she could rest her head on her knees. The tears seemed never-ending, as did the sobs that soon issued from her. The tears finally dried up, and the sobs turned to hiccups, but the aching sadness remained.

When she lifted her head, Emily found her feet sliding from the bench to the ground. Her body tensed as she stood, and her legs carried her across the field, in the direction of home. She couldn't walk away without a last look, just as she couldn't leave without saying goodbye to Sara. She wouldn't be able to attend the memorial service, but could watch from a distance as officials put her friend in the ground. The image would remain forever in her memory, acting as a constant reminder of why she couldn't give in to Nicholas.

She slipped easily through the hole in the fence, which had been cut with a pair of wire cutters by her next-door neighbors years ago, before the oldest son went off to college. From there, it was a short walk to her house.

She froze near her backyard. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and a peculiar sensation of being watched swept through her. She looked up at the second-floor windows and saw all were dark.

She hesitated a moment longer, drinking in the sight of her backyard. Her father had removed the Koi from the pond for winter, but the hose still fed the pond with a gentle bubbling sound. Nothing was in bloom. The scene seemed tense, as if waiting for something to shatter the preternatural silence.

She thought about sleeping in the treehouse her father and Uncle Bernie built several summers ago. The two-room Victorian-style was more than s.p.a.cious enough for her to lie down, and Jeremy probably had a sleeping bag up there, along with his hidden collection of erotic magazines stolen from Uncle Bernie.

She took a step toward the ma.s.sive oak before freezing. Something didn't feel right, and she turned around, back toward the fence. Emily paused once more at the hole and lifted her hand, waving goodbye to her family inside, although they couldn't see her. She whispered a quiet farewell and slipped through the hole.

Emily returned to the dugout and curled up on the bench. The night was cold, and she noticed it for the first time. Had she been preoccupied, or was her tolerance for cold higher now?

She closed her eyes and tried to rest without falling asleep. She had almost dozed off when she heard leaves crackle under someone's feet. Her eyes snapped open, and she saw a short, slender form approaching. Muscles tense, she didn't move, hoping the person crossing the diamond wouldn't see her.

She was more exposed than if she had been naked in Times Square.

The other person stopped a few feet from the dugout. He or she wore a coat with a hood, obscuring their features. "Emily?"

She jumped at the whispered query, recognizing her brother's voice. "Go away," she said, trying to sound menacing.

He ignored her and walked closer. Jeremy pushed off the hood to reveal dark-brown hair and blue eyes the same shade as his sister's. "You're alive." His voice was a curious combination of relief, excitement, and fear.

She moved to a sitting position, knowing he wasn't going to leave until he was ready. She patted thebench beside her and frowned when he warily approached. "What's wrong?"

He shrugged and sat down, wedging his shoulder against the wall opposite from her. He eyed her uncertainly.

"Are you afraid of me?"

He shrugged again. "I dunno. Maybe."

Emily's mouth dropped open. "Why? I wouldn't hurt you."

Jeremy sighed. "That FBI guy says if you're alive, you killed Sara and that guy."

She shook her head vigorously before pausing. She did share responsibility for Ron's death-for them all, in fact. If they hadn't been with her when Nicholas found her, they would still be alive today. "I didn't kill Sara or Troy," she said in a thick voice, trying to convince herself along with her brother.

He nodded, instantly believing her. "That's what I thought, pretty much."

"How did you know I was here?"

Jeremy looked across the field, in the direction of their house. "I saw you from my window. Since you disappeared, I haven't slept well. I guess I'm afraid someone will take me too." He sighed. "Those cops parked in front of the house should make me feel safer, but they don't."

She froze. "Cops?"

"Yeah. They told Mom and Dad they're around in case you come back." His mouth curled. "Dad says the feds are hoping you'll turn up so they can pin the murders on someone."

She blanched at her brother's casually shared information. "I didn't do it."

"No one who knows you really thinks you did, sis."

She breathed a small sigh. "Just a little doubt?" she asked, so softly he didn't hear.

"What happened to you?"

She almost bit her lip before remembering her fangs, as she considered how much to tell him. "I can't tell you."

He frowned. "Are you really a vampire?"

Her eyes widened. "What?"

He dropped his gaze. "A couple of guys at school say you and Ron are vampires."

"Ron's dead." Her voice cracked. "I don't know what I am." Copout, her inner voice admonished. "All I know is I can't come home. Not right now anyway."

Jeremy's blue eyes welled up with unshed tears. "Why not?" He surrept.i.tiously brushed at the tears while she pretended not to see them. She didn't want to embarra.s.s her thirteen-year-old brother. "It isn't safe." The threat posed by the FBI paled in comparison to the haunting presence of Nicholas, who had sworn to follow her anywhere. She couldn't believe she hadn't considered what he might do to her family if she led him back to her home. He was ruthless enough to do anything to ensure her cooperation.

"When can you come home?"

She forced a confident smile onto her face-a confidence she was far from feeling. "Soon." She ignored the disbelief in his eyes that she knew must mirror her own. "You need to go home now, Jeremy."

He shook his head. "I want to stay with you."

"No. Go home. I promise I'll see you soon." Her heart stuttered at the lie, but she forced her voice to remain steady.

He slowly got to his feet. He stood before her for a long time, just staring, as if he was memorizing her face. "Hurry home, b.u.t.t-breath." His voice broke on the insult. "Mom and Dad miss you."

She forced a smile. "Don't even think about moving into my room, twerp." She waved at him as he turned and walked away. Emily watched him until he slipped through the fence, wondering if she would ever truly come back, or if that author whose name she had forgotten was right about not being able to go home again.

She spent the rest of an uncomfortable night in the dugout, waiting for the sun to rise. As the sun peeked over the horizon, she left the park and walked to the cemetery, moving with cautious paranoia, convinced the police were watching the entire town. To her surprise, she made it to the cemetery without anyone stopping her. It was so early in the morning that few people were up and stirring yet.

At Huxley Cemetery, whose simple name fit well with the identical marble markers flush to the ground, she searched for a hiding place. The only structure around, aside from the mortuary across the street, was the groundskeeper's shed. She tried the door and found it locked. The flimsy pushb.u.t.ton handle was no deterrent for her. She turned it once with a burst of strength, and the k.n.o.b fell into her hands. She cursed under her breath as she opened the door.

Emily put the handle back in the door as best she could, attempting to hide her presence. She hoped Mr.

Grinden wouldn't be doing any upkeep until after the funeral, because there was nowhere to hide from sight in the shed.

It had a dirt floor, and the earthy smell filled her nose like a cloying perfume. Gasoline from the can near the lawnmower mingled with the scent, causing the air to take on an acrid tinge she probably wouldn't have noticed last week.