Blood Memories

"Did someone cut you?" he asked, grabbing my arm.

For an answer, I started crying, and his face contorted in distress.

"This way, dear. Come back here and we'll tie up your arm and call someone to help."

His manner was so sweet and reassuring that I didn't like the idea of hurting him. With one hand on my shoulder and one holding my injured arm, he led me around to a TV room behind the front desk.

"Just a minute now and we'll have the bleeding stopped," he said. "Put your fingers here behind the wound, and I'll get you a bandage."

He trotted off and came back quickly with a first-aid kit. "Now, let me see."

When he leaned over to take a closer look, I brought my right elbow down on the back of his head hard enough to drop him. He fell like a sack of grain and lay unconscious.

He'd been nice. It bothered me to give any kind deed such a shoddy return, so I made sure he was breathing and then pushed two hundred dollars into his jacket.

The keys were hanging in shiny rows on nails behind the front desk. Wade must be asleep by now. I quickly found the key to room 10 and bolted out the door.

Room 10 was close. Putting my ear to the door, I listened for him. Nothing. Tentatively, I cast about with my mind, trying to pick up conscious thought patterns. Nothing. The key fit smoothly into the lock.

Click.

We have several advantages that I rarely, if ever, think about: like night vision. Many of my concepts of vampire lore were picked up from American culture. Film portraits of some handsome romantic undead hero bemoaning the fact that he'll never again see the sunrise have always made me gag. Edward and I used to go to the theater when we were bored and giggle during those silly scenes. We probably annoyed a lot of people. But after the first few adjustment years, I never missed the sun. My world is dark, and if I want light, I just stay home and run up the power bill. Why should anyone living an unnatural existence long for natural light? Ridiculous.

From the doorway I watched Wade breathing softly on his bed. The curtains by his head moved slightly in a night breeze. Moving in, I let the door close behind me. His clothes lay neatly across the back of a chair with his shoulder holster positioned on top. A streetlight outside the window reflected glittering points off the handle of his gun. This would be too easy.

I quietly unsnapped the little leather thong over the trigger guard and found myself pulling out a 9mm Beretta. It felt heavy and alien in my hand. For some reason, I had a feeling it had never been fired outside a target range.

Wade's breathing changed slightly, but he just rolled over in his sleep. How had Dominick known to cut Maggie's head off? I just couldn't get that out of my mind. How much did Wade know? Who else had they told about all this? Who else believed them?

Without really thinking, I walked over and pointed the gun at his head, but not close enough for him to grab.

"Wake up."

He stirred.

"Wake up, or I'll just kill you now."

Two very light brown eyes looked up at me from a narrow face.

"You stay out of my head," I whispered.

He gasped and sat up.

"Don't," I said. "Is this thing loaded?"

He nodded slowly, realization dawning. "What are you doing here?"

"Murdering you."

"No! I didn't know Dominick would kill your friend. We never talked about that. He's just gone off the deep end trying to figure this thing out."

"What thing?"

"You know."

"Don't cops have their own laws? If you're so sorry then why didn't you do something? Why haven't you at least turned him in? Shooting a woman in the back and then cutting her head off might be construed as slightly overzealous. Don't you think?"

He didn't answer for a moment, but watched my face and the gun. He seemed fascinated, like he wanted to spit out a thousand words but couldn't find them. "I can't turn him in."

"Why not? You jack-offs stick up for each other? Even for something like this?"

"No, it isn't that. It's… We don't work for the Portland police anymore."

At first, that surprised me, but then again, I remembered Dominick was no longer wearing a uniform.

"Then why are you here?" I asked. "Why are you following me?"

He struggled for an answer. The corner of his left eye twitched as if with effort. His almost-white hair looked as if it had once been worn short and layered, but had long since outgrown its cut and simply rested in shaggy, messy tufts over his ears.

"Eleisha, I can't-"

The sound of him speaking my name made me jump. "Don't do that."

He pushed the blankets back and put his feet on the floor. All he had on was a pair of gray drawstring pajama pants.

"No, listen. I won't hurt you," he said. "I can't believe you're standing here, but I don't know how to tell you all this. It would take forever."

"I've got some time."

"There's a faster way." His face was guarded now.

"No."

"I want to help you!" he almost shouted. "Please… put the gun down and come here. Aren't you curious? If you just got inside my head for two seconds, you'd believe me. Please."

I didn't move.