Nightmare (3 page)

“You should wait here. She will be fine.” Peter sits down, which is a strange thing for him to do. when it comes to sitting or standing, he always chooses to stand.

I whirl around. “She's not going to be fine, Peter. She's going to die.”

“That is not your fault.”

“No, but
this
is!” I start pacing back and forth in the waiting room. The receptionist behind the sliding glass window watches me like I'm going to pull out a gun and threaten to shoot up the place. I wonder if the glass is bulletproof.

Peter's calm voice cuts through the noise in my head. “It is not. You must not blame yourself.”

“I shouldn't have told her.” Here come the tears. Peter stands and pulls me into his arms, my tears soaking into his shirt. I'm overwhelmed by his cool scent, which is like inhaling a Wintergreen Lifesaver. It cuts through the haze of self-loathing, but only for a second. Then I'm right back to hating and blaming myself. 

“Ava-Claire.” His voice makes me look up. He's doing that thing where he kind of pulls me in with his eyes. I remember that first time he did it. I let it happen again, giving myself up for just a second. In that time, I would have let him do anything. Drain me dry if he wanted to. I'm sure he does, but wouldn't. I think.

“You cannot blame yourself for something you had no control over. It will not help you, or your mother. You need to sit down and wait.” I'm working on it when my phone rings. Shit. It's Dad. He's yelling before I can even say hello.

“Where are you, where is your mother? I came home and you were both gone. What's happened?” His voice is frantic, bordering on absolute crazy. I wish he'd slow down so I can tell him.

“Mom just had a little episode. We're at the hospital.”

“Why didn't you call me?” He's getting hysterical. Any minute now his voice is going to go up several octaves.

“Because we just got here.” I'm trying to be calm. 

There's a lot of weird sounds in the background. I have no idea what he's doing. “You should have called me right when it happened. What's going on?” Crash. Bang. 

“I don't know. The nurse took her away.” Stupid nurse with her kitten scrubs. How could I entrust my mother to a nurse who wore kitten scrubs?

There's a slam on the other end, as if he'd punched something. “Well, go find her! I need to talk to whoever is in charge.”

“Why don't you just come over?” He growls in anger, but I hear the jingling of keys. Did my loan officer, white-bread father just growl?

“I'll be there in a few minutes. Don't let them do anything.” I want to tell him that I think they pretty much go by the rule
first do no harm
, but jokes probably wouldn't be taken very well in this situation.

He hangs up without further ado. I sit down, putting my head in my hands.

“My dad's on the way,” I say, even though Peter already knows this, having good enough hearing to have heard my dad yelling on the other line. People in California could probably still hear him. He sits next to me and rubs my back.

“That feels really nice.” Tingly nice. Sexy nice. I should not be thinking sexy thoughts when my mother is in the hospital. This cements the truth that I am a horrible human being.

“Good.”

“You should go.” He doesn't need to be here for this.

“I am fine. The only blood I desire is yours,” he says, as if reading my mind.

“Oh, right. Sorry, I'm a little freaked out.” His thumbs travel up and down my spine, weaving in and out of the nubs of my vertebrae. 

“It is fine.”

“Ava Sullivan?” A voice says, making my head snap toward her voice. It's the nurse again. Seriously, how is she old enough to wear those scrubs?

I stand. Peter keeps a hand on my back, as if trying to restrain me. “How is she?”

“She's fine. Dr. Young wants to do a few tests, but other than that you can take her home. Is there someone else here with you?” She glances at Peter and her eyes contract a little and she takes a tiny step back. Who's afraid of my big bad boyfriend? I also notice she doesn't give me any details. Because my tiny brain might not be able to handle them.

“My dad's coming.” She looks relieved that an actual adult will be on the way. She checks her ponytail to make sure it's in place. 

“Good. You'll need to go to the pharmacy to get a new prescription. That should help with the fainting episodes.” 

“Episodes?” She looks at me like I'm a moron. I thought nurses were supposed to be caring and warm and comforting. This girl, whose name is Amber, according to her lanyard, is none of those things.

“How long will it take your father to get here?” She looks around as if we're hiding him somewhere. 

“A few minutes, depending on how many laws he breaks.” She doesn't smile. I really don't like this girl. An image bursts in my mind of me reaching out and snapping her neck. I take one step back and try to clear my head of it.

We sort of stare at each other for a little while, and then Dad bursts in and the adults take over. I'm shoved to the side and Dad bashes the nurse with questions. She's nicer to him, taking his arm and leading him into a corner so they can talk all serious and adult-like. It makes me want to roll my eyes, but I don't. Instead I look at Peter, who's staring straight ahead. 

I don't know what to do. Clearly, Dad has this in hand, but I don't want to go until I hear that Mom's okay. Dad and the nurse talk a little more, and then the door bangs open and there she is. I want to run to her and give her a hug, but Dad gets there first. The smell of his blood floats over to me, but for once, I can ignore it.

“I'm fine, Sam. Please don't hover. I just want to go home.” She puts one hand on each armrest of the chair and pushes herself up. Dad grabs onto her arms and she lets him. She can stand, and wants to do it on her own, but she'd rather let him feel like he's useful. Her eyes seek his, to reassure him that she's fine. Then she finds me, reaching out, struggling to find my hand. I give it to her, relieved that her grip is strong and warm.

“I'm fine. Stop worrying. You'll get wrinkles in that pretty forehead. Thank you, Peter.” She looks at him, and Dad finally notices Peter. Great, this is just the place I wanted to do this.

“Who is this?” Dad looks at each of us in turn, searching for answers. Mom speaks first.

“This is Ava's friend, Peter.” Such a benign word, friend. Sounds safe. 

Dad flounders for a second, taking Peter in. At least he's wearing shoes. Black sneakers he must have swiped from someone who rides a skateboard. I try to see what he would see, looking at Peter for the first time. Torn t-shirt, dirty jeans, messy hair in his eyes. I want to push it back so Dad can see those eyes I love so much, but I can't. Because Peter is my friend. Friends don't let friends touch each other's hair and gaze adoringly.

“Oh. It's, um, nice to meet you, Peter.” I feel like Peter and my father should shake hands, but they don't. Dad is still to focused on Mom. 

“It is nice to meet you, Mr. Sullivan. I was hoping it would be under different circumstances.” There should be slightly awkward and uncomfortable laughter, but there isn't. There's just silence so thick my mother is the only one who dares to wade through it.

“Peter had just stopped by when I felt a little faint. He carried me to the car and drove us here. He's quite the gentleman.” Since when did my mother become a Peter fan? Not that I'm complaining, but still. Less than an hour ago, she was scared to have him touch her and now she's singing his praises. Dad looks befuddled. This is too much for him to take in now, but in a few hours he's going to figure this out and then I'm in for it. 

Dad rubs Mom's back and speaks to her like she's mentally challenged. “I'll take you home in my car. Ava, can you drive your mother's car home?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, we'll see you there.” And off they go, Dad taking most of Mom's weight and hitting the handicap door button so it will open for her. I look around, thinking there should be paperwork or something, but no one stops us as we walk out.

Dad's already got Mom in the passenger seat, tenderly buckling her seatbelt. “I didn't want you to meet my dad like that, but I guess we don't have to hide anymore,” I say to Peter.

“He does not like me.” He says it like he's making an observation on the weather.

“What gave you that impression? My dad loves you.” I can't help the sarcasm. He's used to it, and I don't think I've ever me anyone who gets less offended than Peter. 

I'm good enough to drive, so I do, Peter sitting in the passenger side and holding my hand when I'm not shifting.

I have to turn on the radio, because I can't stand to hear my own thoughts. All they do is plague and taunt me. I scream at them, telling them to shut the hell up. Like all the other Things I'd dealt with, they just talk louder. Little bastards.

Katy Perry comes on and I sing along, not caring if I can't carry a tune. Peter just holds onto my hand and doesn't say anything and doesn't breathe. You'd think this would be disturbing, but it isn't. It's comforting.

Dad's car is in the driveway when I get home, even though he had to go to the pharmacy. I may have driven a little slower than normal. It's not that I didn't want to go home. I just don't want to face what's waiting for me. I have to deal with the guilt that I made my mother sick, and I'm going to get interrogated by Dad about Peter. Good times.

“You should probably go, unless you want to get yelled at or shot by my dad.”

“Your father doesn't scare me. Nor do bullets.” A brief image of my dad standing on the porch with a shotgun flickers through my mind. It should be funnier than it is.

“I know, but my father scares me, and he's not in a good state. If you want, you can go fly for a while and I'll come upstairs. I might even be inclined to let you have a little taste.” I give him what I hope is a flirtatious smile. It doesn't feel right, so I drop it. I fail when it comes to sexy.

“I do not need it. But thank you for the offer. I will be waiting for you.” He vanishes and re-appears to open my door.

“Do you ever get bored?”

“Not when I am waiting for you.” For an angel vampire, he's awful sweet. I sigh and go to face my problems. Or at least some of them.

Chapter Three

Peter

I fly in loops around the house, waiting for her. I dip low, so I can hear their voices. It does not concern me that her father might not like me. It should matter because it is important to Ava, even if she would not admit it. I am not used to trying to get along with humans. To impress them. 

For now, I concentrate on trying to make Ava feel better. She has a human need to blame herself for things out of her control. Perhaps it is part of possessing a soul, something I don't have. I had not thought about it much since my second incarnation. Now I think of it all the time.

In most mythologies, a human is comprised of two things, a body and a soul. When the body dies, the soul remains. Something that can survive without a body that goes on to another place.

But I have a body that can exist forever. It has taken the place of my soul. So would it not be the other way around? One cannot have both an eternal body and an eternal soul. It would tip the balance too much, and the world is all about balance, belief in God or not. Out of seeming chaos, there are patterns, order. So it would stand to reason that I would be the opposite of a human. Eternal body, a soul that can die. I don't believe I deserve a soul.

I perch on the roof, leaving my wings out so the breeze streams through the feathers, making a sound only I can hear. Inside the house, Ava and her father try to keep their voices down. Afraid of disturbing her mother, who they believe is sleeping. Judging by her breathing and hear heart rate, she is not. 

I have a spur-of-the-moment impulse, and leap from the roof. I find my shirt and slide my wings out of sight before I put it on. There are two windows leading into Claire's bedroom. Softly, I tap on the window. She looks up, startled, squinting in the dark before flicking the light on. She sees me and swallows once. Her heart rate picks up.

I slide the window up a little so I can talk without her feeling threatened.

“Please, don't get up. I just wanted to speak with you.” I use the voice I'd once used to lure victims. Comforting and smooth.

“If you hurt me, I'll scream.” Her eyes flick to the door, calculating how fast it will take her husband to reach us, should something occur.

“I am not here to hurt you. I would never hurt someone Ava cares about.” She relaxes a bit, and raises one eyebrow, a feat I have yet to conquer. 

“You know I'm going to die anyway. You'd just be speeding up the inevitable.” She shares Ava's wry sense of humor.

“I know. I do not wish to hurt you. I wanted to speak about Ava, and I did not think she would like me doing so.” She sighs.

“Yes, I know.” She sits up, propping a pillow under her back.

I push the window open a few more inches. “May I come in?”

“I suppose.” I move as slowly as I can so as not to startle her.

“I don't remember the last time I had a boy sneaking in my window,” she says with a smile. The mood lifts a little. 

“It cannot have been that long ago.” She can't be much more than forty-three.

“Flattery will get you everywhere, young man.” She stops, realizing what she'd said. “I guess you aren't really a young man. I'm really not comfortable with that age difference. It's illegal in all 50 states and Puerto Rico, I believe.”

“There were no such laws when I was human.” Men married women young enough to be their granddaughters. Especially when there was money involved.

“That isn't helping your case.”

“I would like to talk to you about what happened tonight. Ava believes she caused your illness by telling you about our relationship.” I try taking a breath in. The air whistles in my lungs, but she can't hear it.

“I know.” She sighs again. “She's always been that way. Taking on more than she should. My strong girl. Seems like she's taken on a lot from you, as well.” She waves her hand to indicate my person.

“I would not have chosen it for her. It was out of necessity.” I need to make this clear to her. That it wasn't a choice either of us had taken lightly.