Always the Vampire

I hit the gloom of the bedroom in time to see Saber arch his back and emit a prolonged, eerie cry that frightened me more than facing down the Void.

“Burns. Get out, get out!”

He thrashed in sweat-soaked sheets tangled at his hips and twisted around his legs. I flipped on the bedside light as he kicked and flailed his arms and knocked the lampshade askew.

“Saber, it’s okay. I’m here.”

He didn’t acknowledge me, but his voice weakened when he shouted again. “Get out. Burns. Run.”

I didn’t know what he dreamed of, but seeing welts break out on his chest and upper arms heightened my terror. First red, the welts darkened to angry black. Was this the Void sickness or a physical reaction to the dream? Remembered injuries, perhaps? The smell of fear and scorched skin filled the room, and I swallowed back a gag.

“Saber, wake up!” I yelled the order.

Following my instincts, I threw my leg over his hips and captured his wrists, pinning his fevered body with my weight.

“Saber. Saber, it’s Cesca. Wake up.”

His upper body jerked, then he bucked his hips. I clamped my knees tighter and held on.

“Saber, wake up now. Please.”

Suddenly, he stilled. His breath came in short gasps, but the welts began to fade to a deep brown that almost blended with his tan. Almost.

I leaned closer. “Deke? Darling, I’m here.”

A harsh inhalation, and his eyelids snapped open. He blinked, struggled to place me.

“Cesca.”

“Shhh. It’s okay now.” I brushed a kiss across his lips, releasing his wrists as I sat up. “You had a nightmare.”

“Nightmare.” He tested the word as if he’d never heard it.

“Do you remember the dream?”

“Don’t want to talk about it now. I’m hot. Need a shower.”

“Will you be all right while I turn on the water?”

His head lolled on the pillow, and I dashed to the shower stall. With lukewarm water running and a fresh towel on the countertop, I hurried back to help him out of bed.

His knees buckled once, just as I got him on his feet, and again crossing the bathroom threshold. He maintained a grim silence all the way.

“Want me to wash your back?”

He gave me a quick glance. “I can manage.”

So much for my attempt at levity.

He gripped the slate-tiled shower frame with one hand, the shower door with the other. “I won’t be long.”

But he was. Long enough for me to put fresh linens on the bed—the ones with the funky surfboard print that matched my comforter.

Long enough for me to see him through the frosted shower door, his hands braced against the wall, his shoulders heaving.

Long enough for me to pace a rut in the bedroom’s bamboo flooring.

Forget frightened. Forget worried. I was freaked.

Should I ask about the dream? Would he relive the horrors if I did? If he remembered the nightmare but kept it bottled up, would that be worse?

The shower cut off, and I leaped to hand him the towel as the shower door clicked open.

He took the towel like a robot, his movements stiff, jerky. He never looked at me, but I searched his body for remaining signs of those welts. They’d faded more, but I picked up light bruising here and there.

“Saber, it’s all right.”

“No, it’s not.” He toweled his hair then his body, and hung the bath sheet on a brushed-nickel rack.

Finally he met my gaze, his expression flat. Again, I did what my instincts demanded. I crossed the step that separated us and folded him in my arms.

“Talk to me, Deke.”

A shudder shimmied through him, but he didn’t return my embrace.

“I need a glass of juice.”

He spoke as emotionlessly as he stood. I stepped back and nodded.

“You want it in the kitchen or served in bed?” I paused a beat. “I changed the sheets.”

He glanced toward the bedroom, as if measuring how far he could walk.

“In bed.” He swallowed. “And then we’ll talk.”

That simple concession had me zipping to the kitchen. Snowball meowed, and I took a second to open her carrier before I yanked the fridge open hard enough to rock it. Snowball took off for the bedroom, skidding around the corner on the hardwood. With a sixteen-ounce, napkin-wrapped glass filled with Florida OJ in hand, I followed her.

Saber had turned off the bedside lamp, but the Tiffany lamp in the bathroom cast a soft glow on the bed. He lay atop the sheets in the middle of my king bed, propped against the sand-colored padded headboard on two of my four king-sized pillows. He’d put a third pillow longway over his abdomen and lower chest, and that’s where Snowball was ensconced, purring as Saber petted her fur in long strokes.

The hems of his boxer shorts were visible below the pillow. Had he donned them so he’d somehow be less vulnerable?

I could relate.

“Here you go,” I said, keeping my voice neutral as I placed the crinkled napkin on the side table and handed him the glass.