Chapter Five

Katelina woke the following day to filtered sunlight
splashed across her face. Faint impressions of a dream lingered,
like half formed fingerprints in warm clay. Yes, it had been a warm
dream – very, very warm. He’d been beautiful and smooth with dark
eyes and strong hands. It was the kind of dream she wanted to stay
in.
But, she couldn’t, so she slowly opened her eyes,
feeling disoriented and sore. Her head ached and her throat felt
thick and raw. Her mind was mushy as it tried vainly to process why
she felt so bad, and finally concluded that she must have a
hangover.
She rolled over and found herself staring at a set
of heavy orange drapes. A single thought drifted though her
consciousness: Orange? Who in the hell has orange
drapes?
Her muscles complained as she sat up too quickly and
her eyes darted around the shabby motel room. She scrabbled through
a tumble of memories, but the replay stuttered to a stop when a
sharp pain erupted in her shoulder. Her hand went to it
unconsciously. The hardened blood felt crisp beneath her fingers, a
stiff reminder of last night’s events. A strange horror gripped her
as she gingerly fingered the wound and remembered it all – blood,
fear, fire and… vampires?
Still reeling from the memories, she climbed out of
the bed. Miniature clips flashed behind her eyes, encapsulated
events in slow motion: A monster chained to a wall, bodies burning,
something attacking her…
She forced the thoughts away and moved to the
window, her mind in disarray. She jerked the drapes back and stared
through the grimy glass to the world beyond.
The sun, in the last throes of the day, drenched the
scene in blood-colored light. Cigarette butts littered a dingy
sidewalk like crumpled pieces of reality. A random smattering of
cars were scattered around the cracked parking lot. Weeds grew at
the farthest edges of the pavement where the civilized world
dissolved into a dry muttering cornfield. There was simply no room
for vampires here.
She pulled the drapes closed and clicked the light
on. The only thing that really mattered to her was what she was
going to do. First, she needed to talk to Jorick and then
everything else would fall neatly into place. Unfortunately, as her
eyes skipped around the room, she realized that Jorick wasn’t
there.
Her first reaction was a string of obscenities, but
she forced herself to relax. The room was already paid for, so even
if he’d left that was okay. Still, she’d need some food and a ride.
She hated the thought of having no money and being completely
dependent on someone else, even if that someone was Sarah. That
might be what best friends were for, but still.
She fished through her pockets and gave a small cry
of triumph when she discovered a wrinkled twenty-dollar bill.
Everything was going to be all right after all. It might not be
much, but money was money – a real, useful, tangible object she
could hold in her fingers.
She stuffed the money in her pocket and decided to
take a shower before she called anyone. She paused at the bathroom
door, in case Jorick was inside. She cleared her throat loudly and,
that failing, she called his name. There was no answer, so she
cautiously stuck her head inside. The room was tiny and painted the
same boring shade that most of the commercial world used: white
enough to be sterile and unimaginative, yet off -white in a failed
effort of homey-ness. The place was tidy; the shower curtain was
even pulled shut, but there was no Jorick.
She decided it was just as well that he was gone.
She didn’t need him, after all, and she’d begun to suspect that the
man in her dream looked a lot like him. She wasn’t sure she could
look him in the eye with that still clinging to her memory.
She paused by the sink and looked in the mirror. Her
pale skin was streaked with dirt and traces of blood. Her sweater
was torn at the shoulder, with threads of frayed yarn slowly
unraveling around the edges. Her blonde mane was still pulled back
in a ponytail. The memory of her bathroom and yesterday’s scramble
to get to work seemed a world away.
She peeled her sweater off and washed the heavy scab
from her shoulder to uncover two slits about an inch apart.
Jorick’s words returned to her mind yet again: “…you’ve gotten
quite a bite”.
Pushing away the macabre thoughts, she kicked her
shoes off, then moved to the bathtub. She jerked the shower curtain
open and reached inside to turn the water on. Her fingers brushed
the knob just as her eyes landed on the contents.
She screamed.
Jorick lay in the bathtub. His skin had the ashen,
bloodless color of a corpse. Both his eyes and mouth were closed.
His hands rested on his chest and stomach, perfectly still. His
black hair fell over his shoulders and spread out to fill the space
between his head and the chipped white porcelain. He was clearly
dead.
Katelina stared helplessly. She knew she should call
the police – but she had no idea what she’d tell them.
Fighting to maintain logic, she chewed her lip
thoughtfully and began to pace the tiny room in circles. She had to
do something. She couldn’t just ignore this – or could she? She
reasoned it out logically. What if she just got dressed and left?
Could they find her? Would they try to pin his death on her? Would
anyone believe that she didn’t know what had happened to him, or
that she didn’t even know him? Would they say she’d done something
to him? Would they find a way to blame her for his house burning
down? And there would be bodies in the ruins, wouldn’t there? After
all, with the stress of Patrick’s murder investigation, the
detective didn’t like her very much. They’d be happy to get her for
something.
The questions ceased and she came to a single
conclusion: this was a very, very bad situation.
She made two more circuits of the room, then knelt
by the bathtub and studied Jorick again. As she stared at him, a
strange thought flitted through the chaos in her mind: He was very
good looking – maybe even beautiful – and dead as a doornail. A
beautiful corpse in a chipped bathtub. Just her luck.
She leaned over him and tentatively reached a
trembling hand towards him. She’d never touched a dead person
before. Reluctantly, she pressed her fingertips to his neck,
imitating what she’d seen on television. His skin was ice cold and
she winced as she searched for the faintest hint of a pulse. Her
brows furrowed in concentration and she was forced to admit that
she didn’t even know what she was feeling for, but, she decided, it
hardly mattered. One look was enough to pronounce the man beyond
aid of medical help.
She took her hand back and studied him, wondering
what had killed him. She didn’t think people just died
sporadically, unless there was something seriously wrong with them
to begin with. Maybe he’d had a heart attack, or died of a drug
overdose. That sounded like something that would happen to one of
Patrick’s friends.
She poked him again. If he had drugs on him would
they arrest her, too? She’d just decided to search his pockets when
his eyes popped open; dark orbs that stared straight through
her.
With a horrified scream, she fell over backwards and
sprawled across the floor on her butt. She propped herself up with
her elbows and stared in disbelief at the bathtub.
He drew in a shuddering gasp, like he’d been
drowning and had only just escaped. Then, slowly, he sat up and
turned to face her. He stared at her, a lack of comprehension on
his face. They gazed at one another, their eyes locked, his
confused and hers wide with fear.
The silence stretched. His dark eyes pulled her in
until she was drowning; she couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. Time
ceased to exist as the silky depths captured her attention, warm
and whispering about things that her primitive subconscious seemed
to understand. She started to feel lightheaded but, before she
could actually humiliate herself, he broke the spell by murmuring,
“Hello.”
She fought to regain control of her faculties and
banished the strange feeling to the back of her mind where it
belonged.
“Hello?” she repeated sarcastically, glaring at him.
“You scare me half to death and all you can say is hello? I thought
you were dead!” As she stood she scooped up her ruined sweater and
pressed it to her chest like a shield.
As if just realizing she wasn’t fully dressed, he
looked away politely, the hint of a smile on his lips. “No, I’m not
dead.” He glanced back to her he added, “I just feel like I should
be.”
“Yes. You–” but she stopped herself from telling him
how truly dead he’d looked; he’d only argue. Besides, there were
more important questions, and she started with the most obvious.
“Why are you sleeping in the bathtub?”
“Oh, probably sleep walking.” He shrugged casually.
“It happens quite often.”
She stared at him incredulously. “You sleep walked
into the bathroom, climbed into the bathtub and laid down?” In
order for them to be having this conversation one of them had to be
crazy and it wasn’t her.
“I don’t know, I was asleep.” He hoisted himself to
his feet and tugged his shirt smooth. He rolled his neck, stretched
his back and arms and then moved to stand close to her, a look of
amusement on his face.
Her reply disappeared as she stared into his face
and her skin flushed at his nearness. She couldn’t help but notice
he was just as attractive alive as he’d been dead, maybe more
so.
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” His eyes, so dark they
almost seemed black, stared into hers, suffocating her with their
gaze.
“Uh... No... I guess not,” she stuttered. Once again
the world tilted dangerously, threatening to spin away from
her.
“You’re probably hungry.” He tore his gaze from hers
and checked himself in the mirror.
It took all of her conscious effort to not follow
his eyes into the shiny silver surface. She forced herself to look
into the empty bathtub instead and tried to gather her scattered
thoughts. “Yeah, I’m starving,” she murmured and realized it was
true.
Jorick nodded. “Take your shower, and when you’re
done we’ll see about finding some food.” He glanced at her once
more. Her face burned as she imagined that he could see through not
only the sweater she clutched against her chest but all of her
clothing. The fact that it didn’t give her the creeps made her feel
even worse.
“Okay,” she half whispered, looking at the floor and
not daring to meet his eyes.
He slid smoothly past her; his body too close for an
instant, and then left, leaving her flushed and shaken.
She exhaled and leaned back against the cool wall,
her body feverish. A few moments ago she’d been terrified because
she’d thought him dead and now she was nervous because he was
alive!
Katelina took a fast shower, blushing furiously the
whole time. She wondered if Jorick was sitting in the motel room,
imagining her naked, or if he was indifferently flipping channels
on the television and wishing she’d hurry up.
Dressed and washed, she walked into the room to find
Jorick sprawled across the rumpled bed, the television remote in
his hand and his eyes trained on the glowing screen. At least she
had the answer to her question, though somehow it disappointed her
a little.
“All done?” he asked casually and clicked the
television off.
“Yeah, I’m as clean as I’m going to get.” She tried
to smooth her wet, tangled hair. She couldn’t help but wonder what
he’d done to make his hair look so good, since neither of them had
a hairbrush, but it seemed too personal a question to ask.
He swung himself into a sitting position on the edge
of the bed. “Before we go, let me look at your shoulder.”
She moved to stand in front of him, her mouth dry
again. She berated herself. This had to stop – she wasn’t a
schoolgirl! She was an adult woman in full control of her
faculties, facing a man who quite possibly was not in control of
his – no matter what he looked like.
His hand caught her neck and pulled her forward, so
that she bent into him. His fingers were cool, but not
uncomfortable as he brushed her ruined sweater back from her
shoulder and gazed at the bite. “Hmmmmm... It seems to be healing
as well as expected. I think a bandage wouldn’t hurt.”
She nodded and waited for him to release his hold on
her neck, telling herself that he hadn’t just been trying to get a
free look at her cleavage.
As if reading her mind, he let go. His eyes dropped
away from hers quickly and his head followed so that he stared at
the floor. She’d sworn that for just a second she’d seen guilt in
his eyes.
Katelina straightened up. She no longer had an
excuse to be close to him. A faint feeling of regret shimmered
through her but she mentally brushed it away.
“We should go get some food,” Jorick said suddenly.
He stood without looking up, and Katelina had to shuffle backwards
quickly.
Wordlessly, he headed to the door and unlocked the
requisite row of chains and bolts. He opened it wide then plunged
through into the gathering darkness.
Quietly, she followed him out the door and wondered
how they were going to get home when neither of them had a car, but
she decided to wait until she’d eaten to worry about it.
Night had fallen since she’d woken up, and the
garish outdoor lights gave the world a surreal quality. Her wet
hair was ruffled by a cool breeze that was heavy with the smell of
dead leaves, dying grass, and car exhaust. In the grip of darkness,
the world was once more opened to the possibilities of monsters,
despite the closeness of civilization, and she could no longer
discern fact from fiction in her mind. Had she been attacked by
vampires and saved by the man walking only a few feet in front of
her? Were any of her memories real, or were they all fantasy?
Staring at Jorick’s broad shouldered back, she
wondered if she wanted to find out what was real and what wasn’t.
After all, what if she didn’t like what she discovered?