Out of the Shadows (3 page)

He growled, “Just do your job. I’ll contact you later.”

As he strode away, Heaven straightened again. She swore at herself for showing any kind of weakness to him. He would use her fear against her in the future. For tonight, at least, she was finished. She turned and started walking down the street to the nearest bus stop, more than ready to fall into her bed at home. But one question lingered in her mind, ensuring she would be back like she’d promised.

If Terrence hadn’t hired the guy tailing Lori, who had?

Chapter 2

In Sight, Unseen

Lori would have closed her eyes if she could. The events cascading before her vision seemed too surreal, too horrific for her to comprehend.

Hard to believe this had actually happened.

But unlike the images from her memory, which had replayed so many times they had begun to take on the faded and crackling characteristics of a classic movie, this recollection was in glaring color. And it featured Lori front and center. Instead of residing in her own skin, she was forced to look on from a distance, like her soul and body had divorced each other.

She saw herself, the Lori of two weeks past, as she stumbled from the dimly-lit interior of a warehouse. Her face a queer shade of gray no amount of makeup could feign, her lips stark white as she pressed them together to keep from throwing up. Her black hair tangled loose around her head and her somber clothes caked with dust down the front. And Terrence gripping her arm, the severe lines of his face contorted with menace, blood dribbling from his mouth and over his chin to stain the collar of his shirt.

Then Lori’s form pushed away from him.

If she’d had lips in this farce, she could have mouthed along with every sentence. She’d tormented herself with the scene for so long, she’d memorized each word.

“Stay away from me, you monster.”

And then Terrence, after wiping his bloody chin on his sleeve, “I’m sorry if I scared you, Lori my love, but he would have killed you.”

“I’m not your anything!”

The dream-Lori was shuffling away now, getting ready to run. Lori pleaded she would.
Go! Run home. Call the police. Just do something, anything else
. But wishing wouldn’t change the past. Terrence reached out and dream-Lori followed the mandates of the past to the letter. The stake in her boot slipped free and tunneled into Terrence’s chest.

His already pallid complexion grew waxen. His bright blue eyes gaped in disbelief. He collapsed, first to his knees, then to the ground.

Instead of the panic which had gripped her at the time, forcing her hands to yank the silver stake out and use Terrence’s phone to call 9-1-1, Lori felt remorse. Sorrow. The dream-Lori scampered away, but the scene didn’t change. Lori didn’t want it to. She stared, almost as disbelieving as Terrence.

Why?

But she knew why. Terrence had bugged her for months, scared her with his intimacy. After suffering horrors at the hand of her former mentor, she’d wanted peace. She’d hoped everything would go back to normal. Well, she’d gotten her wish…for no Terrence, at least.

He lay on the ground, his skin almost luminescent from the light of the moon. A smear of blood still marred his chin. His eyes were unfocused, unseeing.

Then he blinked. His chest heaved as he gulped for breath. His fingers rose to his chest, meeting unbroken skin, and he rose. Then, after another breath, he turned his head to meet her stare.

Lori convulsed in bed. No! It hadn’t happened that way. He hadn’t come back to life.
Then why did he look as though he saw me watching?

It’s just a dream
.

Her lungs burned as she guzzled for air. Her hair clung to her temples and the back of her neck, slick with sweat. Clammy moisture molded her pajamas to her skin as she thrashed.

Pounding sounded at her door. Not the one to the hall, but the door connecting to the shared bathroom on the left. After a second, someone wrenched it open.

“Lori. Lori, are you all right? You were screaming.”

Through her panting, Lori forced herself to stare at the slim, blond girl who shared her adjoining bathroom. “Nightmare,” she said through gritted teeth.

Keri narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure it was only a nightmare?”

Stiffness overcame Lori’s limbs. Her tongue, too. She felt exposed, lying in bed without the armor of her clothes or makeup to make her intimidating. Even if she knew Keri wished her no harm, the recent past mirrored the horrors she long-ago faced at the hands of her classmates. She should never have divulged her secret to Keri, not even out of desperation. Lori didn’t want to be ostracized.

Clearing her throat, she glanced away. “Just a nightmare.” It couldn’t be a vision. After all, Terrence was firmly dead. Nothing could bring him back to life.

She answered Keri’s comforting murmur with a quiet wish to be alone. Although hesitant, the blonde left. Lori pulled her knees to her chest.

“What have I done with my life?”

Memories of the past few months hemmed her in, stifling her. Fear of discovery, fear of prosecution held her immobile. She struggled to draw air into lungs that seemed reluctant to cooperate with her. As the room began to spin, she knew she had to get some fresh air. Every recollection was tainted with thoughts of Terrence.

Why did she have to realize she loved him only after he was dead?

Shaking the thought away, she lunged for her dresser and threw on the first clothes at her fingertips. Black jeans, a form-fitting shirt. Her fingers trembled as she tried to draw on her netted gloves. Finally abandoning the task, she shoved her feet into her heavy heeled boots.

Makeup. Armor. But with her shaking hands, she would only smear it. Plus, Keri could walk in. Lori would rather dive back into her nightmare than face the leggy blonde. Swiping her bus pass and a few bills off the top of her dresser, she stumbled out the door. At the last minute, she circled back for her coat.

It was early. Too early. The sun hadn’t even gone down yet. Where could she go at this time of day? Slowly placing one foot in front of the other, Lori tried to appear composed. Controlled. And not at all vulnerable. Her fellow students at the university passed without giving her a second glance.

She pulled her collar closer around her neck to fend off the November nip in the air. Aimlessly walking, she crossed to the family-owned cafe close to the campus. After the waitress placed her order of coffee and a sandwich in front of her, Lori stared woodenly at the offering. Shadows of her dream still lingered. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, like she was being watched. Like Terrence was watching her.

Ridiculous. Even if he’d turned into the undead creature he pretended to be, he didn’t go out in daylight. Fortunately, the sun still shone.

Unfortunately, the coming of winter soon caused the light to wane. Lori forced herself to take a bite of her sandwich. It tasted like charcoal, though the bread wasn’t burnt. A sip of her coffee soothed her stomach somewhat, enough that she could take another bite. After a minute, she left her uneaten food on the table, paid for the meal, and left.

The city darkened in an instant, as though clouds crossed the sun. The darkness deepened into night as she walked. Briskly. Without the light of the sun, the cold penetrated her. Eventually, she gave in and boarded a bus.

The coming of night led her to Underground, her favorite gothic club. At this time of night, she was greeted by eerie silence instead of roaring music. But the doors were open.

As she trudged past, she gave a cursory glance to the interior. Somehow, it felt so large without the usual crush of patrons. Gaping, like it would swallow her whole. She put such fancies from her mind, turned her face away from the sole other early-bird patron, and claimed her spot at the bar.

Scissors, the shaggy-haired bartender, parted her lips in surprise upon seeing Lori. The tips of her fake fangs flashed before the bartender pursed her lips. “Lori, what are you doing here so early?”

Lori croaked, “Scotch.”

Without the other patrons, this place reminded her of Terrence. This was where he had first pressed his unwanted advances against her.
Unwanted
, she repeated inwardly. She didn’t need him. But the thought didn’t blot the flush of remorse gripping her. If Terrence had only taken her not-so-subtle hinting that night and left her alone, he would still be alive.

Scissors’s weary voice pierced Lori’s melancholy. “Shot or glass?”

“Shot,” Lori said.

At the same time, the bartender mumbled, “Like I had to ask.”

Lori ignored the sarcastic quip. Within moments, a shot glass full of amber liquid sat before her. She reached for it, but her hand fell to the polished counter. Last time she’d indulged this desire for oblivion, she’d woken up in Terrence’s bed. Naked.

“Maybe some coffee instead?”

Lori gave a vicious shake of her head. Coffee would wake her up. She wanted to sleep, free of nightmares. But she didn’t touch the alcohol.

Scissors’s cooing voice wafted around her. “Do you want to talk about it? I haven’t seen Terrence–”

“Don’t.” God, were those tears in her eyes? Lori kicked back the shot, hoping to save herself from embarrassment. Warmth spread down her esophagus to her stomach. But it was fleeting. Setting the glass down on the counter, she whispered, “Scotch.”

With reluctance painted on her face, Scissors refilled the glass. The faux-vampire caught Lori’s hand. “It’ll be okay.”

Not for Terrence.

Lori didn’t answer. After a moment, Scissors backed away to continue preparing the club for business. Lori stared into her shot glass. The first shot was only a memory. Should she continue drinking? But who would bring her home this time if she did?

“Well, well. If it isn’t Lori Glory. You didn’t burst into flames, coming out this early?”

That voice. Underground was the last place Lori had expected to meet this particular snotty brat. She glanced up, over the counter, at the blond-haired prep.

But Heaven Jessup had performed a magic act over her appearance. Her golden hair still maintained its radiance, but her blue eyes were heavily ringed with eyeliner. Lipstick darkened her mouth. And even Heaven’s porcelain skin couldn’t have achieved that level of paleness without cosmetic help.

Instead of responding to the girl’s quip, Lori made one of her own. “Are you even old enough to drink alcohol?”

Heaven shrugged. “I have an ID saying I am and a certificate licensing me to serve others. So what’ll it be, Lori Glory?”

Scotch. But she had some already. However much her body called for her to drain the shot, she held off. If she got plastered, would Heaven draw a mustache on her face? Unfortunately, she wouldn’t put it past the petty kid.

Lifting her gaze, she snarled, “Solitude.”

With a shrug and an infuriating smile, Heaven sauntered away.

Lori returned her attention to the beckoning shot glass.

* * * *

Hours later, familiar club music assaulted her ears, coupled with the crowd’s babble. Her shot stood untouched in front of her.

A news broadcast crossed the muted television screen above. Lori’s black fake nails dug into her palm as she read the closed captions.

Two weeks after the mysterious emergency call, the warehouse victims have been identified as Gregory Smith and Edward Rosland. While the gun contained Rosland’s fingerprints, authorities have ruled out a murder-suicide due to the disturbing bite marks on his neck. The elusive killer still haunts the night, though no other connecting murders have yet been found.

Lori struggled to draw breath. Two victims. There should have been a third, out front. Terrence. What had happened to his body?

Her fingers closed around the shot glass. She didn’t want to think about it. Steeling herself, she lifted the liquid to her mouth.

A man’s voice interrupted her. “Excuse me, are you Lori?”

Slowly, she set down the shot before turning around. Dark hair, dark eyes, and a hooked nose. She didn’t recognize the stranger. From his casual jeans, t-shirt and leather jacket, he was clearly out of his element. Why would he search her out? How would he have trailed her to Underground?