Hollowed (Half Light) Page 3

  I want to prove Oliver wrong.

  But I can't bring myself to go across that bridge, not yet. The sun has been down for nearly an hour. What bit of light I get from street-lamps and passing cars makes my eyes burn and my head throb. Still haven't eaten. I've almost given up on the idea that I ever will again.

  If I thought being outside is bad, being in the bar is a hundred times worse. The swirling mixture of alcohol, food and sweat crashes into me, a wall of dizzying stench. It's never been like this before. Smothering, claustrophobic. I brace myself against the counter, trying to regain my bearings.

  "Briar?"

  Forcing my eyes open, I see one of my coworkers, Tina, with a pitcher of beer a few feet away. She looks worried. And something else—something uncertain.

  "What are you doing here? The cops were..." She trails off and averts her eyes to behind the bar. I follow her gaze. Paul is watching us. I don't know whether to be relieved or scared out of my mind. I should have thought this through. Anxiety and anger are written all over Paul's face as he approaches, and my heart drops into my stomach.

  "I report you and Sherry missing, and you walk in here like you're ready for a shift? What the hell happened?"

  I can't look at him without wanting to tell him the truth. Sherry's not missing, she's dead. It's my fault. We should've left when he did that night. Gotten a ride home.

  "I don't know," I mumble, wishing we could retreat to the back office. Somewhere quiet. This headache is turning into a full-blown migraine. "We were walking home. It was dark, someone attacked us and she..."

  "Is missing while you're still here. You sure don't look like you were attacked." Paul grabs my arm. His fingers dig in deep, but it doesn't hurt. He's pissed. No—he's scared. Paul cares about me as a friend, but Sherry is his baby sister, and he'd do anything for her. Now she's missing and I'm completely unscathed? Yeah, no wonder he's freaking out.

  He leans in close, voice low so as not to attract attention. "What happened to my sister?"

  I force my eyes to meet his. There's nothing I can say.

  Slowly, Paul's expression shifts. The anger melts away. Fear remains, but it's not fear over the possible loss of his sister. He sees something in my eyes that he doesn't like. He releases my arm and shrinks back, runs a hand over his face and turns away.

  "Go home."

  I open my mouth, reaching for words, helpless. "Paul..."

  "Get out of here, Briar." Harsher this time, but he still won't look at me.

  All my coworkers are staring. Tina is still standing there, pitcher in hand, eyes darting frantically between me and Paul. The guys behind the bar have stopped mixing drinks. A few customers are watching, too, wondering what's going on.

  They think I had something to do with Sherry's disappearance. I'm not a victim. I'm the suspect.

  So many eyes on me, consuming me. Stripping me down and twisting me inside out. I can't breathe and the room whirls around me in a cascade of accusing faces and smells. The only thing I can do is escape back outside, knowing I won't see any of them again. I won't come back here. I can't. Maybe Oliver was right about that, too. About having to leave and start over.

  I linger on the sidewalk, waiting for the shakiness in my legs to pass. Wanting someone here to tell me it'll be all right. That Sherry's death isn't my fault. It makes me think of Noah, the one person who took my side in everything. There's nothing I want more than to see his face. Hear his voice. Ask him what I should do.

  And when I turn, my wish is granted. There he is, rounding the corner of the street, making his way toward the bar. Toward me. Bundled up in the same black jacket and scarf I've stolen from him time and again. Hair mussed, shoulders hunched.

  Noah sees me and there's a moment—the moment where his mouth curves into a perfect smile—where I have a concise and clear thought for the first time in days: Everything will be okay now.

  Do I laugh at the relief bubbling in my chest, or do I throw myself at him, sobbing?

  And just like that, the moment is over. As Noah's steps slow, I see the transformation in his face. The darkening of his eyes, the fading smile. Shock. Confusion. Horror. Noah stares at me like I'm a creature unknown to him. Like he doesn't understand what he's looking at.

  'No one will look at you the same,' Oliver had said.

  Noah steps back, away from me. Farther and farther out of my reach.

  Oliver was right. I'm different, I'm changing, and everyone around me can sense it. Even Noah. Especially Noah.

  I say his name once, begging. Pleading. But he's already gone.

  06. Sunday – 11:42pm

  I remember Noah leaving and chasing after him in hopes of trying to explain. I remember crouching at the corner of the street while my vision blurred and the nausea overwhelmed me again. But I really don't remember the walk home.

  Shouldn't I be getting better instead of sicker?

  The worst hits that night. It wakes me out of a dead sleep like a bad dream. I'm shaking too bad to get up. The pain is unbearable, tiny shards of glass coursing through my veins. Tearing holes in my lungs until I can't breathe. Can't think.

  Every nerve, every tissue, every cell. Twisting in agony. This is what it feels like to fall to pieces. Being disassembled. Hollowed out.

  I'm dying, is all I can think. Over and over. This is how it will end.

  But there's no doubt in my mind now what Oliver said is true.

  I am changing.

  07. Monday – 6:04pm

  I chase Noah in my dreams but I never catch him. He's always a step ahead, just out of reach. Even though I know this isn't real, I can't help myself. There he is, standing on the street, and all I want is to grab him and hold onto him for as long as I can.

  Though if I'm dreaming, I guess that means I'm not dead.

  At some point—how long has it been?—I kicked all my blankets to the floor and the sheets stick to every bit of my exposed skin. Gross. As I'm peeling them off the backs of my thighs, I realize what woke me up: knocking.

  Someone is pounding on the front door. If it were Cole or Oliver, they would've let themselves in despite the locks. For a brief second, my heart leaps into my throat. What if it's Noah? Realizing he over-reacted, wanting to see me?

  I vault out of bed and bound through the apartment. Halfway through the living room and another knock later, I pause. It's not him. Not sure how I know this, but I do. The same way I felt everyone's fear and discomfort in the bar, I feel this like a tangible emotion in the air I can reach out and touch. And if it isn't Noah, Oliver or Cole...it has to be the police.

  "Ms. Greyson?" someone calls out. Unfamiliar. Has to be a cop. Who else would it be? The voice lowers until I can barely make it out. "Told you, she's not here. Let's just get the key from the front office and open the place up."

  Uh oh.

  Walking to the front office takes less than two minutes. Which means I have very little time to grab what I can and get the hell out.

  I shove whatever clothes I have scattered near my closet into a backpack. Hairbrush, because it's next to my busted cell phone on the dresser. My laptop. A handful of photos from a dresser drawer. The bag is so full I can hardly zip it shut.

  A peek out the front door shows one of the cops still hanging around, so I slip out the back, hop the patio fence, and hit the ground running while silently praying one of the officers will take my cat and bring him home. They won't see me, especially in the dimly lit parking lots. Slipping out the front of the complex is cake but I don't stop running until I'm two blocks away and heading for the light rail station.

  I was never on track in high school. Hell, I couldn't even finish the mile in gym. So it dawns on me that all this running should have me choking for breath. It doesn't. In fact, every movement is easy and fluid. Effortless. Like I could run forever.

  The light rail tram is packed, leaving nowhere to sit. I linger near the exit so I can be the first one off. No one looks at me. In fact, there's at least a foot of space ar
ound me in any direction. I'm not sure anyone even realizes they're shying away. Instinct tells them to keep their distance. A few stops later, I slip off the tram and into the crisp night air. Even the people on the sidewalk step around me.

  I've always been the sort of person easy to shove around in a crowd. I've been swept away at concerts. Gotten shoved to the back of the line at more than one movie theater. Now the waters might as well be parting when I walk down the street.

  It would be kind of cool if it weren't a constant reminder that something is different about me.

  My big sister, Ruby, once told me, "If you don't know where to go, let your legs move on their own. Your subconscious will know where you need to be." While that advice never saved me from getting miserably lost in grocery stores or Disneyland, it helps me now. My body is on autopilot, and it's that way that I end up at a hotel only a few hours before dawn. Good thing, too; I don't want to burst into flames or whatever when the sun comes up. Oh My God I'm On Fire would not be a good look for me.

  I fish out the note from Cole. Ninth floor, room two-oh-six. No idea what I'll say, and I'm dreading having to admit they were right, but I can't deny it. Just as I never had a doubt before that I was human, I don't doubt what I am now. But I do doubt my ability to keep myself alive and out of trouble without their help.

  Meal-time? So not looking forward to that.

  There's a clerk at the desk, but I ignore him and his uncomfortable stare—yeah, I know I look like shit, buddy—and take the elevator up. My hair's a wreck and I'm in dire need of a shower.

  I knock on the door to room two-oh-six. Wait a moment. Knock again, louder. A sleepy-eyed Cole answers, hair mussed, shirtless. Funny, aren't vampires supposed to be creatures of the night?

  "Ms Greyson, what a pleasant surprise."

  I grin despite myself. "Housekeeping. Also, Ms Greyson? Really? Please don't."

  Cole quirks a smile and steps aside to let me in.

  His room is almost the size of my apartment. The television mounted on the wall is on, volume low. A barely touched meal sits on a rolling cart a few feet inside the door. Why would a vampire order food? It reminds me how ravenous I am.

  Cole must catch me staring at it as I pass because he says, "Human food doesn't sustain us, but we can eat it."

  "Oh." I slip further into the room, noting the faint smell of flowers. The patterns on the wall and blankets are generic floral hotel-fashion, but it's a nicer room than I've ever been in. "Where's Oliver?"

  "Out." Cole gestures for me to have a seat. I sink into a stuffed chair at a table near the balcony doors, watching the silent and graceful way he moves across the room. He sits across from me, hands folded neatly on the table. "How are you feeling?"

  I thought about that the entire trip here but, "I don't know."

  "Tired. Hungry. Confused. At a loss?"

  Understatement. "About sums it up, yeah."

  "That's normal." He smiles softly. "We can take care of the hunger. The rest of it...it fades with time."

  I nod slowly and stare out the window. Cole is silent, waiting patiently while I process my thoughts into something coherent that can be translated into words. I suck at that whole brain-to-mouth transition even on a good day.

  "I don't know where to go," I finally say, cursing the way my voice wavers. "Can't go home. No job. Even my boyfriend...he took one look at me and ran." And that was while I'd been sick. Am I fully changed? Would it be even worse now? "What am I supposed to do?" Elbows on the table, I press my face into my hands, rubbing at my eyes. I'm torn between wanting to cry and wanting to throw something. Breaking a couple plates sounds awesome. Shoving everything to the recesses of my mind only works for so long before I want to explode.

  Cole touches my arm until I look at him. "I can't promise it will get better overnight." He squeezes once, briefly, and draws away. "But give it some time. Adjust, adapt, learn more about what you are. A whole new world has been opened to you, and it might be one you enjoy."

  "Yeah. Having everyone treat me like a leper is great. Like I wasn't alienated from humanity enough as it was."

  Cole chuckles. "Your presence, your...aura, if you will. It's what triggers the instincts of others and makes them afraid, but I assure you, it can be harnessed and controlled so you can blend in."

  The possibility leaves me light-headed with hope. If I could learn to control it, could I find Noah again? Show him there's nothing to be afraid of? "Am I going to live forever?"

  "Unless something kills you, yes."

  "Something like what?"

  "Decapitation kills most anything, last I heard." He smiles sweetly. "Massive damage to the brain or heart can put us out of commission. We can starve, but it takes a while."

  "How old are you?" I want a feel for just how long ‘forever' really is. A hundred years? A thousand? Growing old has always terrified me, but I'm not sure that immortality isn't terrifying, either.

  Cole lowers his lashes. "Old enough," he says. "I couldn't give you an exact number. Oliver is younger; I met him in the nineteen-forties and he was a little older than you at the time."

  Wow. Oliver looks like any guy that could have walked into my high school. I try to imagine fifty years down the road and not looking a day over eighteen. Some women would kill to be me.

  "What about...you know...eating?" Just the thought of it leaves a bad taste in my mouth and makes me a little dizzy. "Because I can't kill people."

  "You don't have to." He taps a finger on the table thoughtfully. "Unlike the stories you might have read, we don't have some animalistic, uncontrollable urge to drink the blood of anything we come across. It's food to us, nothing more. So long as you don't go days on end without eating, you'll be fine."

  "So...theoretically, I could drink it out of a bottle and it would be okay?"

  "Of course." Cole sweeps to his feet and relocates to a mini-fridge near the bar. From inside, he pulls out an IV bag of blood and holds it up for me to see. My stomach twists. He continues, "Granted, it tastes better from a warm, living creature than from a bag."

  "Sort of like the difference between pizza fresh out of the oven and something that's been sitting in the fridge for three days?"

  Cole blinks. "I suppose so, yes."

  Super. See? I'm catching on. "Does it have to be human blood?"

  "You can feed from animals. It's an acquired taste, though."

  "Veggie burger versus real beef?"

  He laughs. "Your analogies are charming. Also, the chance of the animal surviving is slim; usually the stress alone is enough to send them into cardiac arrest."

  Ugh. "That's out. I could traumatize a person easier than I could kill an animal. Anything else I should know?"

  Cole turns away. I can't see what he's doing, but I can smell the blood when he rips open the bag. I'm prepared for some kind of overwhelming surge of hunger, but it doesn't come. Instead I get the light-headed sensation I've always gotten when I go too long without eating. A moment later, Cole places a cup in front of me.

  Cold blood. Oh, yum.

  Even with my body aching for something to eat, I still can't fathom drinking it. Like a starving kid at dinner. Hungry, yeah, but still don't want to touch those peas. The difference between that and this? The peas I could mix in with my mashed potatoes and choke them down. I don't think blood mixed with a soda will do much for the taste.

  "It's not as bad as you're thinking it will be," Cole says.

  Whether it is or not, there isn't much of a choice. It takes me a few minutes of working up to it, but I lift the cup to my mouth, feeling the thick, chilled liquid against my lips and force down a drink before I can gag.

  Then another. And another.

  Until I'm gulping it like my life depends on it. It feels disgusting going down, but it leaves my insides pleasantly warm and almost tingly. When the cup is empty I'm not anywhere near full, but the sharp edge of my hunger has been blunted. I lick my lips, wiping at my mouth self-consciously. "Not bad."
r />   Cole places the empty blood bag into a paper one and tucks it into a dresser drawer. Not leaving it behind where housekeeping might find it, I guess. Smart.

  He continues, "If you will be staying with us, I'll see about getting you a room first thing in the morning."

  My hand flits to my pocket. "A room, uh, I don't..."

  He holds up a hand. "Don't concern yourself with the cost."

  I nod once, silent, sinking down in my seat. Maybe I should insist on sleeping on the floor or something, rather than put him out of the cost of an additional room, but I'm still not keen on the idea of letting my guard completely down.

  "A cell phone, as well," Cole says thoughtfully, taking a seat again.

  "I have a phone, but the screen is broken..."

  "Probably for the best. At this point, I feel it is imperative you discard your current phone in favor of something new." He props his elbows on the table, fingers steepled together. "Were you to make or receive any calls, law enforcement would be capable of tracking your approximate whereabouts."

  I hadn't thought about that, but I know from numerous crime documentaries that he's probably right. But get rid of it? No. All my numbers are on that phone. Maybe I can't access them with the screen broken, but it ought to be on the SIM card.

  Before I can ask him if there's anything else I need to worry about, the door beeps and swings open.

  Oliver's presence washes over me and makes my skin prickle. Heavier than Cole's. Colder. Not a threat to me, no, but if I were a human and felt this way, I'd probably cross the street to avoid him.

  Cole doesn't seem bothered in the least. He smiles. "I'm afraid I don't have any more to give you, but Oliver can take you out later. I imagine you're still hungry."

  Oliver shoves his hands into his pockets, studying me with a lopsided I told you so smile and a smug glint in his gold eyes. He never once doubted I'd come crawling to their doorstep, did he? Going out with him is so not my idea of a good time.