The Darkest Dream (The Darkest Trilogy) (12 page)

I nodded again, awareness setting in.
 
“Would you like to make a list of the things you need?”
 
I realized, without being a mind reader, that he was subtly asking not only my tastes, but also my sizes.
 
I quickly scribbled the information down on a pad of half-used motel paper and tore the sheet off to hand to him.
 

“You won’t be long?”
 
I asked.
 
He shook his head.

“Less than an hour.
 
Please don’t worry, Lucinda.
 
You’re safe here, for now.
 
There’s no chance of them being able to track you yet.
 
Just stay put.
 
I’d hate to come back and find that I’ve spent all this time informing you about vampires, only to find you’ve been killed by one of your own kind instead.”
 
He meant for it to be a joke, as the outskirts of Glover
were
on the dangerous side, and so I smiled.
 

“Well, that would be just my luck,
”
 
I
added, and his smile was a sad one.
 
I wanted to feel his arms around me—just briefly, out of fear that he would never return and I would never again have the chance.
 
But I restrained myself, telling myself to stop being silly.
 
“Go on,
”
 
I
urged.
 
“I’ll be fine here.”

As soon as the door closed behind him, I was suddenly struck by how silent the room was.
 
I busied myself for the first several minutes with drinking several glasses of water, pondering over all of the information I’d just received.
 
I wondered for what seemed like the millionth time why none of this bothered me.
 

Why was I not afraid?
 
Why
was I
not surprised?
 

I thought once more of Darren’s eyes, just moments ago, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something.
 

An image from ten years ago danced into my mind—not just the blood and the dank alley…but something else.
 
There was something there—something I was overlooking.
 

I drudged up as much detail about that night as I could—but I’d worked so hard to forget about it, I was afraid it was gone forever.
 
It had been a difficult time in my life, being so young, and suddenly so alone.
 
My mother had been such a life-force—it had been difficult for my dad and
I
to carry on without her.
 

The Masons had stepped in then, taking care not only of me, but my dad as well.
 
Images of Ellie bringing over meals—of
Phe
holding my hand every day—of Ryan and my dad coming back after a long day of golf, both looking relaxed and calm—even of
Brayden
,
Phe’s
older brother, threatening someone for having picked on me—danced through my mind and a heady wave of grief washed over me.
 

Longing to distract myself, I picked up the remote and turned on the TV, idly flipping through the channels.
 
A rerun of a hospital drama was the first thing I saw and I quickly flipped the channel, memories of monitors and tubes flashing across my mind.
 
The pain from that loss had just been starting to fade—and now this.
 

I wondered how much a person could take before it all became too much.
 

My dad’s death had been expected, though his illness had come up suddenly.
 
I remembered his last days, the hours in the hospital—and I shuddered, knowing I needed to push them away.
 

After finding nothing worthwhile of distracting me on the limited cable, I rose to my feet and began walking around the room.
 
There was only one bed, and I wondered briefly if Darren even needed sleep.
 
I recalled the bed at his apartment and realized it may have been used only for leisure.
 
I added this question to the list of stupid questions I wanted to ask, mentally chiding myself.
 

He
was the one who was going to be entirely too irritated with
me
by the time all of this was over with.

My thoughts turned briefly in that direction, wondering what would happen once all of this was done—if we even survived.
 

Would he disappear, never to be seen again?
 
I recalled his words, remembering the certainty with which he had asserted that we wouldn’t be friends.
 
He didn’t even want me to remember him.
 

I rolled my eyes at the thought.
 
How could I forget?
 
All of this was going to stay with me the rest of my life—especially if it was only a few short days longer.
 
Because the more I thought about it, the less likely it seemed I would escape this with my life intact.
 
I knew how Darren felt about the topic—but I also knew that something about all of this seemed…it seemed
right
.
 

I had always felt like a bit of an outsider—for as long as I could remember.
 
Phe
once told me it was because of what I’d seen, when I was younger.
 
But I remembered the feeling even before that.
 
Something that told me I was different from the rest of the kids.
 
I’d never felt as if I belonged anywhere…until now.
 

Sighing, I crossed the room and glanced out the window.
 
He would be returning soon, if things had gone according to plan.
 
I tried not to look forward to it too much, and when I found that I was, I told myself it was only because I was ready for a change of clothes and a few minutes to brush my teeth and hair.
 
Some of the color had returned to my face today—I was no longer deathly pale, but still, I felt I needed all the help I could get.
 

Especially if I had any hopes of winning Darren over…

I was startled by the thought and quickly brushed it off, telling myself that I would never have a chance.
 
Darren had made perfectly clear his feelings on the topic.

Something on the TV caught my attention and I turned slowly to face it.
 
As familiar images flashed across the screen, my legs involuntarily lowered me to the bed.
 
But as my attention held steady, my legs began to quiver and I slipped to the floor, staring painfully ahead of me.

Displayed on the screen in front of me was the diner.
 
It was footage from the night previous, of Ryan and Ellie standing inside the diner.
 
Ellie looked down at the floor—and I imagined
Phe’s
blood, thick and red—before she began sobbing.
 
Her husband’s arms wrapped tightly around her wounded frame, holding her while she thrashed and sobbed.
 
I felt my lungs empty themselves in an effort to stall the pain.

“There have been no leads in the Glover murders of a young waitress and cook at a local diner, but police are confident in their investigation.”
 
The screen flashed to a previously recorded clip of Ryan.
 
Brayden
stood in the background, his fair-brown hair reminding me very much of Phoebe.
 
When I heard Ryan’s voice, I suddenly felt my heart break.
 

“If anyone has any information—
any
information—on the whereabouts of Lucinda Malone, or about the—
”
 
His
voice cracked.
 
“About the events that took place here last night…please, contact the police.
 
We have already lost our daughter.
 
We can’t bear anything more.”
 

And I felt the tears falling now, felt the sobs beginning to wrack through my body.
 
It was so easy to push the pain aside when I was busy thinking about something—anything—else.
 
But it was undeniable now.
 

Never before had I seen them look so
broken
—

It was too much.
 
Too much to take.

I was hardly even aware of the door opening until he was standing in front of me, the contents he’d been holding dropped to the floor.
 
And suddenly I was wrapped tightly in his arms.
 

He held me while I sobbed.
 
He held me through my fit of rage, during which I blamed both he and myself, pounding my fists against his cold chest.
 

And he held me while I struggled to breathe—exhausted from the force of my mourning.
 

The entire time, he did nothing but whisper calming words in my ear, running his hand through my hair, using the other to rub my back.
 
And I clung to Darren as if my life depended on it—because in that moment of pure vulnerability, I was afraid it actually might.
 
Something shifted that night between the two of us, something neither could quite pinpoint.

I drifted into sleep feeling safe and warm, even in the arms of a dangerous and cold man.
 

When I woke, I was immediately aware of the firm chest upon which my head rested.
 
I breathed in deeply, taking in his scent.
 
It was very masculine, with traces of cologne and that ever-present touch of rain—that smell that filled the air just before the clouds opened up.

Everything about him was so vaguely familiar.
 
It felt as if I’d known him for much longer than the brief few days I’d spent with him.
 
It felt…

It felt like he understood me in a way nobody yet had been able to—not even
Phe
.
 
As if he understood that there was a part of me that connected to this world of darkness on a level not even
I
was aware of.
 

I told myself that it made sense to feel that way.
 
That he’d opened my eyes to all of this, and he was obviously what linked me to it.
 

But I thought again of the look in his eyes…and I wondered once more if there was something he wasn’t telling me.
 
Something that would explain
why
I’d always felt different.
 

Or why I felt as if I belonged here.
 

Because as much as I wanted to believe that I felt the way I did because of my feelings for Darren—I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the other way around.
 
I was drawn to Darren in a way I couldn’t control or explain, and that frightened me.

The feeling of his eyes staring down at me stirred something within
myself
and I looked up, catching his gaze.
 
I realized how unexpectedly close we were, which instantly reminded me of how much he disapproved of our closeness.
 
“I’m sorry—
”
 
I
apologized, pulling away from him.

But I was startled to feel his arms snaking around me, pulling me closer to him as he stopped me.

“No,
”
 
he
protested softly, holding me in my previous position.
 
I stared up at him, not understanding.
 
“Just stay.”
 

He didn’t have to ask me twice.
 
I laid my head back down onto his chest, my palm flat against the fabric of his t-shirt.
 
I closed my eyes, enjoying the way his hand tangled itself in my hair.
 

I realized then that this was the first time I’d ever done this.
 
The first time I’d ever
laid
with a boy, enjoying a moment of quiet intimacy—and it was so easy, I thought.
 
I was so comfortable here, resting in his arms.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt warmth.”
 
He spoke after several minutes had passed by and my eyes fluttered open, saddened by the longing in his tone.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to sleep so easily.”
 
I wanted to attribute it to my being exhausted by the events of the last few days, but I knew myself.
 
In times of extreme duress, it became much harder for me to sleep—the last several months were a prime example of that.
 
“So has that been you, then?”

“Making you sleep?”
 
I nodded.
 
“Perhaps, on occasion.”
 
I nodded again, though I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d put up any resistance whatsoever—if, somehow, my subconscious knew what was happening wasn’t natural.
 
“It’s much easier when the victim is exhausted.”
 

I bristled slightly at the word
victim
.

I wasn’t anybody’s victim.

“That was a bad choice of word.”
 
His hand smoothed my hair for a moment and I silently accepted his apology.
 
“What happened, Lucinda?”
 

“I…I saw the news.”
 
My voice was very quiet when I finally replied.
 
I hesitated, waiting for the tears to well up, for the pain to rip through my chest.
 
But nothing came.
 

“She was murdered.”
 

It was difficult to admit aloud.
 
That
word
just seemed so…final.
 
I knew she was gone—I knew that she was dead.
 
But the fact that she’d been murdered…and for what?