Charleston Past Midnight (4 page)

Hesitantly, she places her hand in mine and stands, slipping on her flat gold sandals. I observe her carefully, noting that her small features give her the appearance that she is quite young, yet her mouth-watering curves belong to a woman.

“How old are you Calla?”

“Twenty-three. You?”

I smile. “That is very a long story, best kept for another time, perhaps.”

She watches me carefully before answering, “Yeah, we’ll see.”

How interesting.

She simply nods, a bit nervous at the turn our conversation is taking. My eyes track her as she moves over to stand beside the door, looking around one last time before we depart.

I stare down at her, my hand resting on the doorknob. “Before we go up, I want to warn you, Calla. There are others who reside here and it is in your best interest to stay very close to me. Are we clear?”

“Yes. We’re clear.”

The girl may be willful but she’s not dense. She’s only seen a fraction of what we’re capable of and although she senses that I’m not a lethal threat, she knows to be cautious of the unknown. I stare into her eyes and wonder what has happened to her to make her so determined and independent.

Opening the steel reinforced door, I lead her down the minimalist, sconce-lit hallway toward the elevator. Long ago, we built this underground home beneath a once marvelous plantation estate, not unlike the one I grew up in on the banks of the Ashley River. Situated on over fifteen acres, this historic property is accessible from only one lone dirt road. At the end of that is an iron security gate that spans the width of the road. Even if curious history buffs wanted to trek the two miles in on foot, all they would find is a crumbling, once-grand plantation house. We keep the taxes paid and haven’t had any issues in the eighty years we have resided here.

She is looking all around at the spacious rooms that open up off the vast hallway. The décor is modern, in pale tones of soft grays and slate blues.

“How many live here?”

I hold her hand and tag the elevator button before answering her, “Usually four of us. We tend to travel a lot.”

“I see. And everyone, I guess, including the guy I saw earlier, must be out tonight?”

“That’s right.”

We step into the elevator and reach the main floor in no time. The elevator opens and she holds my forearm tightly as we step out into blackness.

Her eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness, but we are in a hidden interior corridor. I place my palm flat against a touch screen scanner. The red light moves across and back one time before the weathered, twelve-foot-high panel door slides open.

The wide-planked heart pine floors creak and groan beneath our feet as we make our way down the once grand hallway. Now hand-painted silk wallpaper hangs in tatters around the detailed wainscoting and carved moldings that are covered with over an inch of dust. She seems entranced by the home and stops near the front entrance to step cautiously into the music room. A lone Steinway, its wood warped and dusty, sits in the center, and across from it hangs an enormous baroque style gold gilt mirror. I wait patiently as she stares around in wonder.

“This place is dreamy. I love homes like this … so much character.” She turns to me, her light jade eyes sparking. “Don’t you?”

“Yes, Calla,” I reply, “I always have.” I lean a shoulder against the fourteen-foot doorframe and let her explore. As I watch her, I try to recall the last time I has a casual conversation with a human woman. It has been decades.

She traces her finger through the dust of the white Carrera marble mantel and asks, “Do you live below for safety?”

“Yes.”

She turns, and her eyes meet mine through the streaks of moonlight spilling in from the tall windows. “Can you go out in sunlight?”

“No.”

“What will happen?”

I drag in a deep breath through my nose. “It wouldn’t be pleasant. Almost immediately I would suffer severe burns and within about one to two minutes I would ignite. At that point, there would be no recovery.”

“Damn.”

“Agreed. Now let’s go, it will be dawn in a few hours and I have every intention of getting you home safely.”

“Wait. How are you planning to get me home? You’re not gonna do that Houdini thing again, are you? ’Cause that sucked in the worst way and I’d rather take my chances walking or hitching than go through that again.”

I shake my head in exasperation at this perplexing girl. Walking over to her, I take her hand and lead her outside, down the wide porch and around the house toward the old shed.

“No, Calla, we only traced because it was one hundred percent unavoidable. In fact, I’ve never traced with a human before, only alone or with others like myself. To be honest, I’m surprised that you made it. But had I not traced us, the gunshot would have killed you.”
And that is something that I never would have permitted.

She begins to tremble, the gravity of this evening’s events becoming painfully clear.

I pull her slowly into my embrace and stroke her hair gently with my right hand, “Calla, look at me.”

Sweeping lashes tilt up and her luminous eyes connect with mine. “You’re going to be fine, all right?”

She nods once and I hug her closer, marveling at the silkiness of her everything along with her clean, natural scent. It reminds me of when I used to play hide and seek with Sabine in the vast lavender fields of Provence.

That was so long ago, when everything was still wondrous and innocent, before we ever moved to America to take over our deceased uncle’s plantation.
Before everything went to hell ….

* * *

We take the Meeting Street exit off the Ravenel Bridge and I expect to turn left when she informs me, “No, turn right. I’m just a few blocks up from here, on Nassau Street.”

My lips tighten but I say nothing. She shouldn’t
ever
step foot in this area of town, much less reside here. It’s a wonder she hasn’t been assaulted already.

As I turn down the derelict street, she points to a faded yellow two-story Charleston single style house that is squeezed tightly between two others like it. Both look abandoned. It’s leaning at a noticeable angle and it’s a feat of physics that the old wicker furniture is able to stay on the sloped porch.

I pull to the curb just as a young dealer in his early twenties rolls up on a BMX bike. He stops just outside my window and lifts his chin while scanning the street with narrowed eyes. It’s no wonder. He thinks I’m here to score. Why else would a Mercedes G Class SUV worth over 100K with tinted windows be making a pit stop after four in the morning this far into the hood?

I roll down my window and shake my head back and forth. The guy wearing diamonds in both ears hisses in annoyance before peddling off, calling out, “Punk-ass motherfucker” as he rolls away to disappear into the dense shadows.

I look over at the girl, so stunning sitting on the black leather of the large seat beside me.

I sense she’s embarrassed. I watch her fingers smooth her white cotton skirt as she says, “Sorry about that. It’s really only bad around here at night.”

“You shouldn’t live here, Calla. It’s not safe.”

Avoiding eye contact, she stares out her window toward her crumbling house. “Yeah, well, it’s all I can afford, all right? Thanks again for the lift, and also for earlier, with the trouble. Guess this is goodbye.”

She turns her face briefly to mine. Our eyes roam each other’s faces for a thick moment before I say softly, “Yes, it is. Goodbye, Calla.”

Without another word, she steps out of the vehicle onto the filthy sidewalk.

As the passenger door closes gently, I watch her walk away. I whisper into the black interior, “For now.”

Chapter Four

Eighteen Years Earlier

Parker’s Grocery Store, Westin, West Virginia

“B
rant, please stop! It’s so cold!”

“Hush up, Calla,” my brother whispers quickly as he shoves the package of frozen hamburger meat down my favorite but filthy and moth-eaten kitten sweater. He tucks the hem into my sweatpants before quickly zipping up my jacket.

“You know this is the only way we’re gonna eat today. I got the spaghetti up my coat sleeve. Let’s get outta here before someone catches us.”

I follow along behind my eight-year-old brother. My feet are cold and wet from the snow. I stare down at my tennis shoes.
At least one still lights up ….

We’re avoiding eye contact as we make our way to the exit door. I stare out at the heavy snowfall and suddenly want to stay here, even if it means an empty stomach. At least it’s warm.

Out of nowhere a deep man’s voice calls out, “Whoa, there, Hart kids. Stop right there.”

Terrified, I latch onto my brother’s arm as he looks up at the tall man with glasses who’s blocking our way.

Brant answers him in a shaky, nervous voice, “Y-es, sir?”

“Why aren’t you two in school today? It’s ten in the morning on a Tuesday. What are you doing out and about?”

I watch my brother almost sigh with relief. “Ah, we, um missed the bus, sir. Had to stay home. Ma can’t drive us in all this snow.”

The man sighs. “You tell that mother of yours that if I see you two around here again during school hours I’m gonna have to call the sheriff on her, understood?”

“Yes. Yes, sir. We understand.”

Suddenly the man’s eyes land on the bulge in my chest. I watch his face as my eyes fill with tears. I clutch my hand against my coat, not wanting him to see how dirty my fingernails are, but I’m afraid that he’ll take our food away, which would be worse. I watch as something changes in his face, he looks at me like one would a hurt dog, pitifully, before tilting his head to say, “You kids go on now, go on home. There’s a bad storm comin’ ” The tall man’s voice is hoarse, different, as we race into the whiteout.

We are well away when Brant looks at me. “Man, that was a close one, Calla!”

I struggle to keep up with him as he clutches my cold hand, nearly dragging me along. He grumbles, “Ma ain’t been to the store in like ten days. Daddy sent money weeks ago. I saw the envelope and I’ve taken the trailer apart looking everywhere for it. She must have spent it or somethin’.”

I don’t understand why she sits at that old table all day, hand wrapped around the bottle of clear liquid. It smells bad, and I’ve made myself a promise that when I get grown I’m not gonna go near that bad stuff with the red label.

“When do you think Daddy’s coming home, Brant?” I look up at my brother, who seems focused on reaching the trailer as quickly as possible.

“Calla, you ask me that every day. I don’t know. He’s been gone longer than normal this time and I’m startin’ to wonder if he’s ever coming back.”

Tears streak my face as we turn down the lane to our trailer park. Brant maneuvers us around icy potholes as we race for the safety of shelter.

The snarling of the large black and brown dog straining against the rusty chain has me clinging to my brother. “Brant, he smells the meat. He’s gonna get me!”

He glares at the scary dog as we rush past it. He’s little too but always tries to protect me from bad things.

That huge dog’s angry barking never seems to stop ….

* * *

A blaring car horn outside on the street has me springing upright in an instant. My hand flies up to flatten against my sweat-soaked camisole.
Shit!
I suck in air and try to shut out the distant memory, knowing that no matter
what
lies ahead, I’ll never have to go back to that disaster.
Never.

A light knock on my bedroom door is followed up with, “Mornin’, sunshine, you alone in there?”

“Yeah, come in.” I glance down at my watch. Ten thirty. I never sleep this late.

“Thought you might have gotten some action last night. Your car was gone and all.”

“Verrrry funny, Kiana.” I sit all the way up and toss a teal colored pillow across the room at my gorgeous roommate. She’s African American with long, wavy hair that’s dark chestnut brown. The caramel streaks running through it perfectly match her unusual eyes. As a former high school track star, she’s toned and petite. Guys of all races drool over her looks, but she is always lighthearted and playful, never looking for anything serious. Like myself, she’s focused on entering med school this coming fall with the ultimate goal of becoming a physician.

“Mind if I bum a ride to my car? I’m parked down on Chalmers—most likely have thirty bucks in tickets on the heap by now.”

“Sure, but I have to be on time for my shift. We gotta leave in fifteen minutes, max. Hop up, sleeping beauty, saved you some hot water!”

“How kind of you. And no worries, we’ll make it in time.”

I grin at her as she heads out of my small bedroom. We’ve shared this second story apartment for two years now. The rent is reasonable, and with our exhausting class and work schedules, we appreciate what sliver of time we are able to share with each other. Kiana is the closest thing I have to a sister and she treats me like one as well. It seems like once a month we attend some large family gathering of hers. Thinking back, I’m glad we ended up sitting next to each other in that sophomore biology class. In less than two months we’ll both begin med school and I’ll have yet a bigger mountain of debt to stress about ….

I quickly gather my clothing—clean bra and panties, a pale blue fitted tee with the circular ‘Poco Loco’ sombrero emblem across the back, a pair of fitted shorts and tennis shoes—and head to the shower. As the water rushes over me from the ancient, rusted showerhead, I sigh in relief that I’ll have at least ten hours of constant distraction ahead at the restaurant to keep me from dwelling on thoughts of the breathtaking man named Severin.

I couldn’t stop recalling our encounter in the woods, when he had me completely trapped beneath his strong body. I bring my fingers up to my neck where he drank from me and feel the two tiny puncture wounds. Something tells me I’ll be touching them a lot today. At least my long hair will cover any evidence of what happened between us.