Beloved Forever (11 page)

Casting a look over her shoulder, she wondered if Nicholas knew she was out here. She focused on emptying her mind and allowing only a tiny part to mull over how to escape.

She walked to the iron rail and glanced down. They were at least four stories up. If she jumped, she would surely die. Yet, a bullet through the brain hadn’t kept her from living again, so would a fall? She didn’t doubt it would be incredibly painful for a short time, but the pain seemed preferable to staying as Nicholas’s captive. It was only a matter of time before her body gave in to its urgings. She couldn’t allow that to happen.

Emily returned to the bedroom to retrieve her fanny pack from under the bed before taking her fleece jacket from the closet. As soon as she stepped inside, the roar of heartbeats settled to a muted murmur, and she wondered if Nicholas had caused that. She didn’t want to wait around to ask him, she thought with a quirk of her lips.

Standing in the walk-in closet, she slipped off the ruined shirt and pulled on a plush lavender sweater. Once she slipped on the jacket and fastened the pack, she returned to the balcony. With her first step outside, the mingled heartbeats flooded her senses again, making it difficult to concentrate on the task at hand, which would also make it difficult for Nicholas to read her thoughts.

She stumbled to the railing and took a deep breath, leaning over to look down, seeing an alley below. She used her keen eyesight to scan the recesses, determining the alley appeared to be deserted. She also saw a fire escape just a few feet below and to the side of the balcony. If she could make it to the ladder, she wouldn’t have to jump four stories onto cement.

Emily swung her leg over the railing and gripped it with both hands. Fear surged through her, and she was stuck for a moment, unable to continue, and unable to pull her leg over and go inside.

Finally, she remembered how to breathe again and slowly eased her other leg over the balcony. She maintained a white-knuckled grip on the railing as she eased each foot under the gap between the marble of the balcony and the rail. When she felt secure, she slid her hands down to the balustrades and slowly sank to a crouch. She hung there for a moment, gathering her courage.

Emily grasped the bottom of the railing and dropped one foot from the balcony, into midair. Her left leg screamed in protest at its cramped position, and she moved it away from the tenuous support of the balcony.

She hung suspended from the balcony railing, with her feet flailing for a hold. Emily craned her neck and judged the distance to the ladder, groaning when she realized it was farther away than she had thought. Her eyes fell on hunks of torn metal bolted to the side of the apartment building near the railing. Someone had deliberately ripped away the section of ladder connecting to the main escape.

Nicholas, of course.

She refused to cry out for help or attempt to get back in the room. Carefully, Emily slid her hand down the railing, releasing her left hand to move around a balustrade and grasp the rail on the other side. The world spun when she hung four stories up by one hand, but righted itself with a false sense of security when she again grasped the iron rail with both hands.

Moving slowly, she worked her way to the edge of the balcony. When she had gone around the corner and was pressed against the wall of the brick apartment building, she drew in a painful breath and waited for the vertigo to pass, ignoring the burning pain in her arms while keeping her hands locked around the balustrades at the same time as she kicked out with her left foot, attempting to connect with the ladder.

She missed and returned to the wall. Emily took a deep breath, wincing as her lungs burned, and swung her entire lower body. Her left foot touched the ladder before falling away. Her body jerked when she returned to a hanging position. Her right hand loosened, and she cried out when she started to fall. She immediately tightened her hold and calmed down before swinging again, this time kicking off against the wall from an awkward, twisted angle.

She sobbed with relief when her left foot landed solidly on a rung. She wedged her boot sideways to keep from falling away and hung there between the railing and ladder without moving for several seconds.

Now what? She couldn’t get her right foot on the ladder too. She simply wasn’t tall enough, and the fire escape was too far away. She would have to let go of one of the balustrades and reach for the ladder.

She choked back a cry and forced her left hand to relax its hold. As soon as she did so, she could feel herself sliding. She reached for the ladder and missed, causing her right hand to let go of the balcony railing. Emily started to fall and desperately tried to grasp the railing. She missed that too, and her foot slipped free from the rung.

She flailed her arms in an attempt to grab onto anything as she fell through the air. Nothing was within reach, and the ground rushed toward her. A scream tore from her throat as she fell past the first-floor window. She tried to brace herself for impact with the ground by putting an arm behind her head, but nothing prepared her for the pain that exploded up her legs, back, neck and head when she hit the concrete with a wet, smacking sound. The cracking sound of several of her bones breaking followed. Agony swept over her in debilitating waves. Emily found herself unable even to cry out, and couldn’t move at all. Her head filled with pressure, and she passed out under the onslaught. Death quickly followed.

Chapter Six

When Emily’s eyes opened, she noticed she still ached everywhere. That her eyes had opened was a good sign, she decided, and tried to sit up. Her back protested, but she was able to move. She sat frozen for a long moment, figuring out what hurt and what didn’t.

A constant dull twinge radiated from mid-back up to her shoulder blades. Her head throbbed with pain. Her legs felt fine, as did her arms, hands, feet and fingers. She lifted a hand to touch the back of her head and grimaced at the squishiness she found. She could feel her skull firming under her fingers.

Emily looked around her, wincing as her neck popped when she turned her head. The alley remained deserted, aside from a moving mass in a pile of boxes nearby. It was too small to be human, so she chose not to investigate.

The night sky was darker, but a steady stream of cars and people continued to move down the street. She didn’t have a watch, but estimated she had been out between thirty minutes and an hour.

The pain in her back had almost faded, and she eased herself into a standing position. The throbbing in her head had diminished to a slight ache, and the bone felt firm when she touched it.

Emily blanched when she looked down to where she had fallen. A huge red stain, still glistening in places, marred the spot. Bits of tissue were mixed into the mess, along with bone fragments. She clamped a hand over her mouth to fight down nausea and took a step backward. Even before she had turned away, she saw several rats peeking out of their box camouflage. A daring one—fat and greasy, with dark-brown fur—walked boldly to the stain and sniffed it.

She shuddered and turned away, putting several feet between herself and the rats. A few feet before she stepped onto 6
^th
Street, according to the green sign, she paused. She must look like she had fallen from a four-story balcony. Blood had surely drenched the back of her clothes, and she didn’t want to speculate about what else had matted her hair.

She shrugged off the fleece coat and held it up to examine it in the meager light filtering from the street. Dark stains had soaked through so deeply into the weave that they appeared to be part of a gruesome dying process. She turned the jacket inside out and found it was mildly better. She slipped it on, unable to hold back a sound of disgust when the stained side clung to the fuzzy sweater, and drying blood—the consistency of gel—soaked through to her skin.

After she stuffed as much hair as possible under the hood of the jacket, Emily checked for her fanny pack, then plunged into the foot traffic of 6
^th
Street. She kept her head down, but her eyes moved constantly to watch those walking with her. A cold sweat trailed down her face, and she was shaking with hunger. Their heartbeats ricocheted in her head until she wanted to clamp her hands over ears and scream. She resisted the urge, knowing she was drawing enough attention already.

Ahead, at the corner of Bleecker and 6
^th
, she saw a street vendor with jackets and shirts. She turned west on Bleecker and pushed her way toward his cart, grabbing an “I ♥ New York” shirt at random, along with a black hoodie. The lights were hurting her eyes, and she added a pair of sunglasses to the pile.

The clerk was staring at her, with his mouth half-opened. Two gold teeth were visible among the shining white teeth that contrasted so vividly with his dark skin. “That be all?”

She nodded and avoided his eyes.

“Thirty-seven dollars,” he said.

She didn’t bother to haggle over the price, even though it cut into her cab money. She fumbled for the money and handed him exact change. “Is there a gas station near here?”

He nodded and pointed. “Keep going down Bleecker, ‘til you get to MacDougal. There’s an all-night station there.”

“Thanks.” She gave him a quick smile and took the clothes, not bothering to wait for a sack. Emily hurried through the pedestrian traffic, anxious to be somewhat inconspicuous as soon as possible. It was only a matter of time until Nicholas discovered she had left, and if he remained true to everything he had said, he would come after her. She wanted to be far away from New York City as soon as possible.

The station came into sight, and she started jogging, pushing aside a couple of people in her rush. She heard someone shout obscenities behind her, but ignored them. At the crosswalk, she crossed with several others. Halfway across the street, one of the girls tripped.

Emily almost fell over her, and skidded to a stop, swaying, inches from the girl. She watched as a boy knelt beside her to examine the cut on her knee. She licked her lips when she saw the blood flowing, and her stomach rumbled. With a cry, she hurried around them and across the street, running through the lot to the outdoor bathrooms around the side of the white station.

She cursed when she found the knob locked. Emily looked over her shoulder and saw no one nearby. She grasped the handle and twisted firmly, feeling it slowly give under her hand. With a cracking sound, the doorknob turned freely, and she pushed against the door, stepping inside.

It was a one-person bathroom, without a stall for privacy. She had the room to herself, to her relief. Halfway through breaking the lock, she had briefly wondered if it wasn’t locked by station policy, but because someone was inside.

She looked at herself in the mirror, alarmed to see how pale she was. She felt weak, and her body cried out for sustenance. Emily knew what she needed, but denied it, telling herself it was all in her head while she slipped off the jacket and sweater. She wet a paper towel and washed her face and hair as best she could. Blood had spattered her neck, and she washed that area with a fresh towel.

More blood was on her stomach, where several of her ribs had punctured the skin. Faint lines remained, but they were the only indication of a wound. The bones felt whole and strong under her probing fingers.

She didn’t bother to remove the jeans and wash her legs. She knew her right leg must be covered with blood, because there was a hole in the denim and a bloodstain, indicating her bone had punctured skin and material alike in the fall. It felt fine now, and she had no fresh pants, so didn’t take time to investigate.

She found a small travel brush and hand lotion in her pack. She used the brush to smooth her hair before rubbing handfuls of the raspberry-scented lotion over her body and through her hair, hoping to partially disguise the scent of blood. After returning the items to her pack, she slid on the dark glasses. Her eyes immediately felt better.

When she had cleaned up as best she could, Emily slipped on the white T-shirt and black hoodie, and then tucked her hair inside the hood. She stuffed the ruined sweater and jacket in the trash before leaving the bathroom.

Emily crossed the street again and got back on Bleecker, hoping to hail a taxi. One sped by, but ignored her raised arm. She continued walking, and
Il Mulino
caught her eye. She was starving for a plate of spaghetti. Just from the scent wafting from the restaurant, she could almost taste the warm marinara, paired with perfect al dente noodles and plump meatballs.

She gagged when her imagination changed the meal to worms wriggling in her mouth, covered with blood, and served with eyeballs. She lost all appetite for Italian food as she continued on her way, spotting three taxis in a row in front of the building housing Terra Blues, and sprinting the half-block distance to ensure that at least one remained available.

She chose the first one and slipped into the back.

The cabbie craned his neck to look at her. He was in his forties and of Mediterranean descent. “Where to, miss?”

“Can you take me to Huxley? It’s about forty miles from Goshen.”

He whistled and looked at his dash clock. “I’m due to go off-duty in twenty minutes. That’ll take a couple of hours, one-way.”

“Please? I really need to get there.” She opened her fanny pack and counted the money. “I’ll give you one hundred forty-three dollars and seventeen cents.”

He chuckled. “You can keep the three-seventeen, miss.”

She relaxed against the seat, not realizing how stiffly she had held herself. Her back gave a twinge as she settled, then quieted. She noticed her headache had gone too. If only her hunger would dissipate.

He merged into traffic and turned on his radio. He didn’t look back or try to engage her in conversation during the slow drive through the city. She found her eyes closing and struggled to ward off sleep, not wishing to have another dream in the back of a taxi. She wanted to remain alert in case Nicholas caught up with her before she reached home.

When they joined the traffic on 87, she wondered why she hadn’t gone straight to the police. The thought caught her by surprise, and she nibbled on her lower lip, wincing when her fang broke through. It was a habit she would have to break, or her lower lip would be constantly sore.

Why hadn’t she called the cops or had the cabbie drive her to the nearest station? It wasn’t to protect Nicholas, she assured herself. She couldn’t think of a logical explanation for not going to the police and opened her mouth to tell the driver to take her back. Her tongue refused to move. She frowned and tried again, with no success. She couldn’t speak the words.

She tried something else. “How long until we arrive?”

He looked up briefly in his rearview mirror. “About thirty minutes. You’ll be there in plenty of time to get settled.”

She frowned. “What?”

“Before the memorial service and funeral tomorrow.”

“What funeral?” Even as she asked, her heart seized with dread.

He looked straight ahead again, but answered her question. “Sorry. I assumed you were going to the service planned for tomorrow morning. Apparently, two kids were found dead in an abandoned funhouse at the Homecoming carnival. Two more kids are missing.”

Her voice emerged as a croak. “How did they die?”

He shrugged. “I ain’t sure. I heard different versions. Someone said a maniac cut them up with a knife. Someone else said some wacko with a vampire complex drained their blood.”

“And the two who are missing?”

“Ron something. I don’t remember the girl’s name. Most of the police figure they was kidnapped, tortured and murdered elsewhere.”

She blinked. “They don’t think they’re alive?”

He shook his head. “Don’t imagine so. The crimes were vicious. I imagine if one of them kids did surface, they’d be questioned pretty thoroughly.”

“Uh…” She cleared her throat. “Why is that?”

“Some jackass FBI agent thinks the two missing kids are the killers.” He snorted. “Announced at a press conference that any survivors would be tested to see if they drank their friends’ blood.”

She blanched. Had traces of Sara and Troy’s blood remained in Nicholas when she fed from him? If not, she would still have Ron’s blood in her veins. They may not figure out it was his right away, but they would know it wasn’t hers. Her throat tightened, and she struggled to breathe. What kind of physical proof would there be of the change? Altered cells, failure to produce her own blood, and sensitivity to light were just a few she could think of. If they discovered what Nicholas had made her, she didn’t know what they would do to her. What if they blamed her for Sara, Troy, and Ron’s deaths? It was certain they would, if they investigated her physiology. The most she might be able to hope for would be years of experimentation in some government lab, as opposed to a life sentence.

“You okay?”

She blinked and looked up. “What?”

“Are you okay? You’re awfully pale and sweating. You sick?”

She nodded. “I’m anemic.” Emily bit back a hard laugh that wouldn’t hold any amusement. Anemic, yeah, that was one way to look at it. “I’ll be fine.”

He nodded and returned his attention to the road.

Emily turned her gaze out the window, watching the highway as they passed. Her stomach cramped with mingled hunger and nerves. She couldn’t go home. If she saw her parents, everyone would know she was alive—until they discovered how non-alive she was.

She could feel Nicholas’s silk-covered iron fist closing around her. His trap was perfect, leaving her no escape with her family and friends. Had he planned it, or were Sara and Troy convenient, as he had said?

“What about the funhouse?” she asked abruptly several minutes later. “Did they trace the owner?”

The driver’s brow furrowed. “I think it was something like Tremont Amusements, but the trail led back to a bankrupt company. FBI thinks the owners were running the business on the sly of the government and got scared when they discovered the dead kids. They just cut and ran, probably.”

“They aren’t suspects?” she asked with disbelief.

“I guess they are. I don’t know. The news doesn’t cover much about that. They spend all their time replaying the interview with the missing kids’ families, begging for the return of their kids.” His disgust was evident. “Damn media goes straight for the jugular.”

She nodded and once again subsided into silence, searching for a way out. During the last twenty minutes of the ride, she came up with nothing. When they entered the small town of Huxley, population four thousand, she had him pull over to the curb in front of Huxley Grocery. The lights were out because the business had closed at nine.

He frowned and eyed the area. “Are you sure this is where you want to stop? I’ll take you wherever you’re headed.”