Blood Memories

Chapter 8

Ten minutes later, I doubled back about two blocks behind them and crouched down. I waited for Wade to wake up, not knowing how close he needed to be for mental contact. I wanted to stay as near as safety allowed, but with enough distance to get away from him if he tried to track me down.

It was hard not to think about Maggie, hard not to wallow in hatred. I'd never seen a man so unaffected by Maggie's beauty. Dominick hadn't even flinched.

As my mind ran back over the horrible scene of him pinning her to the ground, I began to focus on a few things more clearly. He hadn't seemed surprised when his gunshot didn't kill her, even though he'd caught her square in the back. The memory of his face floated in front of me so solid and sharp it might have been there. The emotions flowing across it had run a rapid course-fear, hysteria, hatred-but not surprise, never once surprise. Why? Wade didn't know what I was, so he couldn't possibly know about Maggie. Yet Dominick severed her head. How had he known to do that?

The only way to permanently destroy one of us is to somehow destroy the body: decapitation, fire, explosion… A stake through the heart is not enough. I've read that old European vampire hunters believed after staking an undead they also had to cut its head off-something about saving the soul. A stake through the heart would probably incapacitate any of us long enough for some zealot to perform a decapitation. The shock alone would cause temporary paralysis.

But how had Dominick known what to do?

It suddenly occurred to me that his gun had been lying on the ground somewhere close to me after the psychic pain of Maggie's death faded away. All I'd had to do was pick it up and shoot him. But no, I'd run off like a scared rabbit.

Something began stirring softly inside my head. Wade was awake. Without attempting to push him from my mind, I thought about nothing. I pictured a huge black hole covering the world. He would still be able to read my presence, but hopefully couldn't pinpoint my location or extract any information.

I didn't try to read his thoughts or do anything besides crouch there, picturing a black hole. He cast about for me in weak thought patterns and then stopped, probably exhausted. I moved toward the alley until Dominick's voice became audible.

"Just stop it then! She's long gone by now. If I had half a brain, I would've gone after her. Jesus, Wade, I thought you were dead."

When Wade answered, he startled me. Dominick's voice sounded exactly like he looked-mean and ugly. But Wade's voice was clear, kind of breathy. It didn't match his roughly scattered thought patterns.

"You killed her, Dom! You killed that woman. What are we going to do?"

"We're going to get the hell out of here. Can you walk?"

"We can't just leave her. There's a bullet from your gun in her back."

"No, come here and look. It went straight through her."

"Then it's still here somewhere. You know the routine. They'll find it."

"Come on, Wade. She looks like just another hooker. Nobody's gonna search this alley."

I'd never seen a dead vampire before. I mean… we're undead, but Maggie was dead now. Edward once told me that our bodies would begin cracking within moments, and then start turning to ash. This would eradicate any evidence of her existence. I had a sick feeling Dominick knew that or he wouldn't have been so flippant about the missing bullet.

Their argument grew muffled, and I could pick out only bits and pieces. Then they started moving. I kept the black hole in my mind in case Wade tried to search again, but I was beginning to realize that he didn't know much more about focusing his psyche than I did.

I followed them as closely as possible. It would have been a lot easier if I simply could have gone inside Wade's head and viewed his physical surroundings through his eyes, but that would have given my position away.

They eventually ended up on Fourth Avenue and got into a silver Mustang. I panicked for a second. Having to follow them in a car never occurred to me. The dark streets were nearly empty. Then I spotted an overweight teenager unlocking a dented Ford Escort.

The Mustang pulled out from the curb.

I ran to the pudgy kid. "Hey," I said, smiling. "Do me a big favor? Quick. For twenty bucks?"

His face melted in a simultaneous mask of suspicion and interest. "What kind of favor?"

"Follow them," I said, pointing to the disappearing Mustang.

He stared at me. "You're kidding."

"Just do it, okay?"

"Old boyfriend?"

"Something like that."

"Okay, get in."

"You're a prince."

He was actually pretty good behind the wheel and caught up to the silver moving target within a few seconds.

"Not bad," I said. "You practice this?"

He lit a cigarette and held it between thick lips. "My girlfriend dumped me for a hockey player. I used to follow 'em around sometimes."

"What happened then?"

"I got over it."

"Good for you. I heard hockey players make lousy lays, anyway. Too many bruises."

"Yeah." He smiled. "That's what my dad said."

Dominick drove all the way out to old Highway 99 and parked by a single-story motel called the Rosewood. But daylight was only a few hours away, so whatever I was going to do had to be fast.

"Here's my stop," I said. "Everyone please depart in a calm and orderly fashion."

The kid laughed softly, and I handed him thirty dollars.

"Thanks a lot," I said. "I gotta go."

"Hey, wait." He wrote something quickly on a book of matches and gave it to me. "That's my number. If you get over this guy, give me a call."

Sometimes I forget that I look seventeen. "Just might have to do that. Always did like a man who can drive."

As he pulled back onto the street, I fell out of charming mode and crouched down behind a Chevy pickup. Dominick slipped into room 6. Wade went into room 10. Instinct told me to ignore Wade and cut his partner's heart out, but common sense pushed that vision away. Dominick might know more than he should, but he was useless and blind without Wade.

For a moment, I considered knocking on Wade's door and taking him by surprise when he opened it. But the scene of Maggie's death flashed by me, and I decided he'd have to be caught while sleeping. For that I'd need a key.

The lobby of the Rosewood Motel was dead at three o'clock in the morning. A middle-aged clerk sat reading a tattered issue of Playboy behind the front desk. After peering through a set of glass front doors, I used my teeth to tear my own left wrist open and then smeared blood all over my arm and face before staggering into the lobby, bleeding on the cheap, indoor-outdoor carpet.

"Please, help me."

The clerk's stunned expression would have been comical at another time. Dropping the magazine, he hurried toward me, muttering, "Oh, dear. Oh, dear."

I hadn't heard that in years.

"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.

"You need to see my thoughts when we aren't running," he rushed on. "I've been dreaming about this since that first morning when you reached inside my head."

Reached inside his head? He had pushed into mine.

"I can read everybody's thoughts." His voice was shaking. "No one but you can read mine."

How should I answer? Somehow, on some level, his words meant something to me. It's hard to explain. I still hated him for what he had helped do to Maggie, but I couldn't stop listening to him.

"You can read other people's thoughts?" I asked.

"Yes, everyone's." He nodded excitedly. "I can… Eleisha, just come here. We don't have to use words."

Slowly, I put the gun down. He looked tall and slender and white-blond-almost like an angel sitting there in his pajama pants. An angel. What a joke.

"What now?"

"Just sit down," he said.

"Don't touch me."

"I don't have to. But if you're standing you might fall… like earlier. It doesn't have to be like that."

When I didn't move any closer, he dropped down on the carpet. "Here, come sit on the floor."

It's strange how he judged me by normal mortal reactions, mortal fears. What did he think I was afraid of? That he'd rape me? Is that what he thought? I'd been playing the frightened little street urchin so long that maybe it just emanated from me. What would he think if he knew what I was really afraid of? That he'd find out I was undead. That I lived off the blood of others. What would he do when he found out about William?

"You don't have to show me anything," he said quickly, as though reading my face. "Just learn to focus. Just search inside me, and I can show you all of the past six weeks. I can show you pieces of my whole life."

It was urgent for me to learn about him and about Dominick, why they were here, how much they knew, what they wanted.

Crossing over, I knelt down on the floor. Wade's features were animated, excited. We didn't say anything. For a moment we didn't do anything. Then, with my mind, I reached out cautiously and tried to see through his eyes. For nearly an hour, that's the last conscious thought I had.