chapter 18
Peter watched Melody as she walked barefoot down the sidewalk. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as she played a game of “don’t step on the cracks,” as if she were a child. It was still surreal to see her moving so freely. He caught her hand in his, pulling her to a stop so he could claim that soft mouth with his. She pressed against him, all lush curves, and supple softness. He smoothed a hand over her ample backside and she giggled, dashing away up the street. Her golden brown hair glinted in the streetlights, making her look like an angel, haloed in light.
He caught up to her, and gave her a mischievous leer, but his teasing expression faded at the sight of her face. Her smile was back almost instantly, but it was thin and forced, just a bit too wide, a bit too bright. “C’mon,” she said lightly, skipping ahead.
Peter’s steps slowed as he considered what to do. When she had been human, her weaknesses were so straightforward. If she couldn’t stand, he could lift her up. If she couldn’t run, he could carry her on his back. But now, since her change, he felt helpless. She tried to hide it, but there was a sadness in her eyes, sometimes bordering on terror. If he asked, she would only deny it, but he noticed that she seemed most disturbed when she was looking at his face.
He clenched and unclenched his fists, at a loss. What had he done to her? Would her indomitable spirit be enough to let her overcome whatever was troubling her, or had his decision to turn her somehow caused her to snap? He had never felt so helpless in his life.
Melody stopped at the entrance to the park. Her wide blue eyes were luminous in the moonlight. He caught her to him fiercely, feeling that he could somehow shield her from the forces that were driving them apart. “I love you,” he whispered into her sweetly scented hair. He inhaled, breathing her deep, pulling her in.
She wrapped her arms around him and planted a soft kiss on his throat. “I love you too.” But her eyes were closed, and he could smell her sadness. He kissed her eyelids, her cheeks, her nose, her chin, her bowstring mouth, trying to erase her fears. Slowly, by degrees, she relaxed against him and her tension eased. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his and, for a moment, there was nothing there but love.
“What is it you fear,” he whispered against her lips.
She turned her head and her soft breath whispered across his neck. “Me.”
*****
Peter lounged in the waiting room with a cup of coffee and a newspaper while I made my way back to Dr. Walton’s office. The old man met me at the door. His warm brown eyes crinkled at the corner, and his genuine smile went right through me. He gestured to the soft leather couch and I took a seat. I swear the thing had magical qualities. I sank into the sumptuous seat with a sigh and rested my elbows on my knees, all of the energy going out of me. Was there a company of wizards somewhere that made furniture just for psychologists?
He sat in his chair and busied himself finding a pen. He rattled through the silver pencil cup as if he were looking for just the right one. “How are you?” His voice was pleasant and calm. I knew that he knew that I was struggling.
“I’m fine,” I lied, automatically. “Never better.”
He pulled a pen from the cup and clicked it experimentally. “Peter is worried about you.” His voice was light. “He says you’ve been sleeping.”
The absurdity of the statement pulled a half smile from me. Typically, your shrink worried when you weren’t sleeping. Dr. Walton smiled back. “He says you don’t talk much anymore, you aren’t eating the way you should, and that you have a strange look on your face most of the time.” I raised my eyebrows at him and he grimaced. “I think his exact words were…‘creepy grin.’” Okay, so maybe I’d been trying a little too hard.
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. He couldn’t very well learn how to help new vampires if his first and only patient wouldn’t let him. “You’re sure you want to hear this?” I wasn’t sure what he could actually do for me.
He kept his unfazed shrink face in place. “Do you want to tell me?” I narrowed my eyes at him, as he used his tricks to make me feel like I was in control. One corner of his mouth lifted in response. He knew I was on to him.
I rolled my eyes. “I have bad dreams,” I said softly. “Dreams where everyone is dead. People I know, people I don’t know… even me.”
He nodded and I continued. “They’re getting worse. At first it was only when I slept. Now I see things when I’m awake. I think… Doc…” My eyes watered and a sense of panic crept in. “I’m starting to think everyone is going to die.”
He drummed his fingers on the desk. “How often is this happening?”
I shrugged. “It used to be just once in a while, now it’s getting more and more frequent… several times a day, maybe more.”
I leaned forward and looked into his eyes. “Did you watch the news last night?” He nodded, looking perplexed. “Some guy and his family were killed. It actually happened three days ago, but they weren’t able to put it on the news until last night.”
He took a deep breath. He knew where I was headed. He wasn’t stupid. “How do you know when it happened? Did they say so in the report?”
I shook my head. “I dreamed about that guy a week ago. But in my dream, he didn’t die the way they said on the news. He wasn’t shot. He was a vampire, and he got in a fight with another one of us.”
Dr. Walton sat back in his chair and slipped off his glasses. He studied my face. “You aren’t by any chance pulling my leg?”
I shook my head. “But that can’t happen, right?”
He pursed his lips. “Have you talked to Peter about this?”
I clenched my fists. “No.” I wanted to make up excuses, but I couldn’t. I knew the real reason I was hiding this from Peter. It wasn’t normal. Something was wrong with my injured brain. Something hadn’t healed when he turned me. I would be like this forever now- and he would blame himself.
Dr. Walton stood and began to pace. He muttered to himself and pulled his chin. He paced to his bookshelf and ran a finger over the bindings of his medical books. I noticed that he never actually opened any of them. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had them all memorized. Finally, he went to the door. “Sue,” he called pleasantly, “please send Mr. Marcellus back.”
I frowned at him. Peter joined us, and I could see the worry on his face, though he tried to hide it. I felt my fake smile start to pull at the corners of my mouth and quelled it, realizing that I probably did look rather psychotic. Dr. Marcellus gestured to the couch and Peter gracefully sank down next to me. I took his hand and gave it a light squeeze. “Don’t freak out.”
He shot me an offended look. “I do not freak out.”
Dr. Walton was pacing again. “Peter, do you know how the brain heals after an injury?” At a blank look from Peter, he waved the question away. “Once a neuron is destroyed, it will not grow back. That neuron is lost forever.”
I glanced at Peter. “But people can get better. We go to rehab and learn to do things again.”
Dr. Walton nodded. “The brain can’t re-grow its lost cells, but it does have what we call plasticity. It can be… remolded. We can’t make new neurons, but we can make new neuronal connections. If information needs to get from point A to point B, but the road there is disrupted, we learn to use a different route.”
Peter nodded. “So different areas of the brain learn to take over the tasks from those that were damaged?”
Dr. Walton nodded, pleased at his pupil’s quick conclusion. “You see, a person with a brain injury uses their brain differently than before. Maybe they even use different areas of the brain than they were using before. Maybe those areas of the brain become more sensitive, more powerful…we have only begun to scratch the surface in our knowledge of how the brain works.” He stopped pacing. “Maybe, if a brain injured person is given increased reflexes and abilities- if the turn magnifies their function- maybe they are able to tap into these areas of the brain that are dormant in the rest of us.”
He stopped and cleared his throat. “You’ve told me before that Melody is really coordinated. She has excellent awareness of her body.” His hands danced in the air as he talked, giving away his excitement. “I think something similar is true of her brain. Possibly there was a recess of her mind that she began to use after her brain injury, and with her vampirism, this ability was heightened.”
Peter turned his sharp green gaze to me. “What is going on?”
I took a deep, bracing breath. “I think….” I glanced at Dr. Walton. He closed his eyes and nodded. “Peter, I think I’m psychic.”
Peter didn’t say anything. In fact, for a moment he went completely and utterly still. He didn’t breathe or blink. Then, he grinned. “This is why you’ve been struggling?” He sounded relieved.
I shook my head in disbelief. I had been hallucinating for weeks, and he was relieved. “It’s not pleasant you know,” I said tightly.
He was still smiling. “I’m sorry, Melody, but it’s just that… well I thought that you were…”
I nodded. He had thought I was going mad. Or that I couldn’t stand being around him anymore. Being a tad bit psychic was nothing to worry about- you know, except for the fact that it meant people were going to die.
Dr. Walton’s next client arrived and we had to end our session. I hesitated as Peter preceded me down the hallway. The Doctor stopped me with a hand on my arm. “I think you should tell him,” he said seriously. I glanced at the doctor in surprise. I hadn’t told him that Peter was one of the dead people. The old man nodded toward Peter’s departing back. “I don’t think you are crazy. I don’t think this is some kind of delusion or hallucination. I believe what I said just now. And if that’s the case, you need to act.”
*****
Peter and I sat on a park bench the next night, while I explained my nightmares. He had sat silently though my first explanation, not even breathing. Then he had taken my hand and simply said, “Tell me again.”
“At first, it was only the dead people,” I said slowly. “But last night, I saw one of them- the murders.” I shuddered at the memory of the man’s face. He had smiled at me as he stepped out from behind the seething, evil black cloud that always hovered in the corners of my nightmares.
Peter considered this for a moment. “It could mean something,” he said finally. “Do you remember what the murder looked like?”
I laced my fingers though his, drawing comfort from his calmness. Just thinking about the dreams tended to get me all on edge. “He was about your height,” I closed my eyes, picturing the man’s face. “He had brown hair, down to here.” I gestured to my jaw line. “And a big scar across the one side of his face.”
I opened my eyes to find Peter lost in thought. “Silly, isn’t it,” I said, embarrassed. “What could give a vampire a scar?”
He sighed. “A blessed blade. Wielded by a very pissed off priest, against a new vampire. In full sunlight.”
I started to laugh. Then I realized that he wasn’t joking. “You’re serious? You know the man in my dreams?”
Peter stood and drew me to my feet. We headed toward home under the light of the waning moon. “I need to speak with Leah. You’ve never met Lee; there is no way you could dream of him. This must have meaning.”
I followed in his wake, perplexed. “Who is Lee?”
“He was a member of my master’s coven once, a long time ago.”
*****
I got the call around nine o’clock that morning. My cell phone vibrated merrily, rattling its way across the bedside table. I stretched and levered myself out of bed to stop the incessant noise. My heart seized, and adrenaline sent my teeth shooting out the moment I heard my mother’s tearful voice.
Chelsea. She had been hit by a car while she was on her way to class. As I sat holed up in my comfortable prison, my sister lay in the ICU. “Please come,” Mom begged, her voice breaking. “I know you haven’t been happy with us, but… they… she might not….” I closed my eyes. She might not live.
“I’ll be there,” I said softly. “As soon as I can.” I glanced at the window, seeing the pink light of the rising sun peeking past the shades. “It might be a while.” Once the sun went down, I thought, cursing my new life.
I could tell that Mom was angry, aghast that I wouldn’t just drop everything and rush over. Why would I take my time at a moment like this? I was a terrible child- heartless.
When Peter came in a few minutes later, smelling like dew and carrying the newspaper, I was waiting at the door. I picked up my purse and gave him a defiant look. “Take me to the hospital.”
His sharp green gaze ranged over me, taking in my general lack of composure. “What happened?”
My hand clenched on the straps of my bag. “Chelsea.” I couldn’t say anything more. I was distraught, but I was holding it in check. I pulled my lips back in a grimace, showing him that my fangs were still retracted, that I was in control. “Can we please go now?”
He took a deep breath and shut the door, turning the lock with a snick. “Melody,” his voice held weary warning. “You know better.”
I clenched my teeth and fumed. “My sister is hurt… she might be dying.” I paused and tried to get a grip on the sudden urge to rip someone to shreds. “I’m going to the hospital.”
He crossed his arms, his face sad and resigned. “If you go there, you might be the one to kill her.” He spread his arms in supplication. “Sweetheart, the sun is up. You’ll be covered in blisters. Besides, do you have any idea how difficult hospitals are?”
I narrowed my eyes at him, struggling to keep my calm. “I’ve been doing so well lately.” Then, more forcefully. “You can’t keep me a prisoner here.”
He closed his eyes in a long blink. When he opened them, they were completely silver. His aura wrapped around me like a blanket. I struggled, pulling my own aura up as a shield, but it was no use. He had made me, and everything in me knew he was the boss. I felt my will bend to his. “You are not going.”
Tears leaked down my cheeks as my purse slipped from my fingers. Peter came and gently helped me out of my coat. “I know you hate me right now,” he said quietly, “but I can’t let you risk the lives of everyone in that hospital. You have been doing well. But this is a different situation. You’re upset, and the place will be full of the strongest of human emotions.”
I sat on the couch for a long time. Peter went about the house, tidying up, doing dishes, folding laundry. Hours passed, with my cell phone chiming about every thirty minutes or so. I knew it was my parents. How could I treat my family like this? At first, I was filled with rage. I swore that the moment he released me from this compulsion, I would kill the green-eyed devil who was vacuuming the living room. Taz came by to sniff at me a few times, but he looked weary. He took up a position on the other side of the room, pretending to sleep while he kept his eye on me. Finally, I calmed down enough for Peter to release me.
“You will not leave this house,” he said firmly, adding a bit of compulsion to ensure that I couldn’t.
I clenched my fists in frustration, but nodded. He was right, and I knew it. I had lost my control simply hearing my mother’s voice. How much worse would it be in a building surrounded by people, most of them pumping out pain and fear, sadness and desperation?
Peter’s expression softened and he reached out to hesitantly touch my hair. “I’m sorry.”
I saw the pain in his eyes. He felt like a monster for smothering my will, but he was willing to bear it to protect me and everyone else. I stepped into his hesitant embrace and let him comfort me. “I’ve lost my faith in everything,” I said against his chest. “Last night, I prayed for God to bring only good things my way from now on. Then this happens.” I took a sobbing breath. “Now I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid to hope, afraid to pray. If I ask for something good, something bad might happen.”
My sense of the order of the world- of right and wrong, and fate- was crumbling. I envisioned all of Chelsea’s dreams, all of her potential, washed away in a heartbeat. “This can’t happen,” I said softly. Just when my world had started to make sense.
I lifted my head. “If I can’t go, then will you?” I fisted my hands in the front of his shirt, clinging in sudden hope. “You could heal her.”
He looked down at me sadly and shook his head. “And if I do? Say I manage to go there and feed her my blood. Then what- she miraculously heals and walks away? Don’t you think that might cause some problems?” He was right, of course, we would all be in danger, from humans and vampires alike. “Then there is always the risk that I would turn her. If she is very close to death and I were to heal her at just the right moment…well…”
If she were turned, Chelsea would still lose the life she was meant to lead. I stepped back from Peter. “What would happen if I did it?” My voice was hesitant, scared. “I’m weaker than you, and I’m not even as strong as the typical newbie. What is my blood like?”
His hands slipped to my shoulders and he started into my eyes for a long time. Finally, he seemed to collapse in on himself. “Go read a book or something,” he said tiredly. “You are not leaving this house.”
“If my sister dies, I’ll never forgive you for as long as I live.” I stormed to the bedroom and slammed the door, shattering the frame. Peter left me alone for a long time.
I squared my shoulders and marched to the window, intending to open it and leave. No way could he keep me here. The first few steps were easy, but then I felt my movements slow. It was like trying to walk through a sea of tar. The closer I got to my destination, the worse the feeling grew, until I couldn’t even lift my feet. I fought, and struggled, cursed and grunted with effort, but I couldn’t move one more inch toward my destination. I could turn around though. I walked back to my bed with ease. The compulsion I was under wouldn’t allow me to leave the house.
I collapsed on the bed, pounding my fists on the mattress in a frustrated rage. When the anger was spent, the tears came and I cried until I thought my heart would break. Finally, numb, I watched the sunlight make its way across the room. Then it started to fade and shadows appeared.
There were light footsteps in the hall and Peter appeared. “Get your coat and shoes,” he said softly. “Then come to me so I can put you under.”
I pressed my head to the car’s passenger-side window as we drove, taking comfort from the chilled glass as my mind ran the same well-worn paths again, and again. Why hadn’t I seen Chelsea’s accident with my new “abilities”? Why had I failed her? What could I have done differently? I was awash in grief and guilt. When we reached the parking garage, and the car finally came to a halt, I turned to Peter. His eyes were silvery and his aura was overpowering. I nodded and looked into his eyes, willing myself to go blank and be swept under. He would control me like a doll if I didn’t resist, and that was exactly what I wanted. I could go under his control, or I could not go at all. I likely wouldn’t even remember what had happened, but it was a small price to be able to save my little sister.
*****
My parents’ house was filled with a restful stillness. Mom and Chelsea were sleeping, but I knew that Dad was still up. I could hear his quiet movements, and sense the slow beating of his heart.
I paused just outside the study. The room was hushed, and a small fire danced merrily in the fireplace. A bit of sap popped and I heard Dad shift in his seat, then the shush of sliding paper as he turned a page. I smiled sadly as I remembered him sitting by my bed, reading. I knew that ever since my car accident he had suffered from sleeplessness. I had thought this would improve after I moved out, but here he was, a cheesy western clasped in one thick hand while he looked for a place to escape- an alternate reality where everything could be solved with a hard look and a six-shooter. A place where good always won and the damsel in distress was always rescued from the mustached villain.
I slipped into the winged chair next to his, and he looked up in surprise. He cleared his throat and marked his place before setting the book aside. “Hi Dad,” I said softly.
He took a sip from the tumbler that sat on the end table. “What’s the matter, honey,” he said quietly. “Couldn’t sleep?” I could ask him the same thing. We’d all had a long week, but Chelsea was home now, and she was staying here until her casts came off. It was hard to take care of yourself with a broken arm and leg.
I took a deep breath and refused to go along with his everything-is-okay attitude. “I know you worry,” I said softly. “Maybe even more than Mom.” Because he was our protector- our man, the glue that held us all together. “But you’ve done a good job. You’ve done everything you could,” I hurried to assure him. “You think it’s not enough, but it is.”
This wasn’t just about Chelsea. It was about me. The daughter who hadn’t come home okay. I took his hand and gave it a squeeze, seeing that his eyes looked a little misty. “I know you’ve hung on to me- the old me- for a long time, right here.” I put a hand over my heart in illustration, ignoring the fact that the slow thump beneath my palm wasn’t normal.
He sighed and gave me a look. “Are you saying it’s time to give up and let her go?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m saying that she doesn’t exist. It’s only me. It’s only ever been me- just the person I am now.” I sighed, knowing I was doing this badly. “I just want you and Mom to see me. Right now. Right here. As I am. There is no other me- no other reality. It is what it is, right here in this moment.”
I looked down at our clasped hands and the shiny koi charm that rested between our wrists. “This was always what was meant to be. The other stuff- all those what-ifs- those are just things we created in our heads. They were never real, so we shouldn’t be disappointed in things that never existed in the first place.”
My dad chuckled. It was a dry, hesitant kind of thing, and I brought my eyes up to meet his. “You’ve changed,” he said, sounding awed.
“Yes.”
“You’ve grown- a lot.”
“Yes.”
“Is it because of him?” He and Mom both continued to treat Peter like he was some kind of criminal, but I thought they might be starting to see how much he meant to me.
“No,” I said truthfully. “It’s because of me. He just gave me a little push.”
Dad slipped his wire-rimmed glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “Then I hope he knows how thankful I am,” he said, surprising the hell out of me. “And I hope you know that whatever you do and wherever you go, I’m proud of you.”
I blinked fast to fight back the tears. “And I’m proud of you Dad,” I whispered softly. I was sure he had doubted himself and blamed himself endlessly since my injury. As a parent, he had probably always wondered if he were doing all he could to help and protect me. But he was able to see that I was standing on my own two feet now, and that the responsibility was no longer his.
I slipped from the study some time later, feeling as if a burden had been lifted. The weight in my chest that was my family was still there, but the feeling of it had shifted. Its cold, hard edges had become soft and warm, so it was easier to bear.
Every time I faced down a fear or a worry, I felt stronger; my footing felt more sure. I slipped into bed, knowing it was probably the last time I would see my old room for a long time, and welcomed the deep sleep that shouldn’t be mine, accepting who I was for this moment.