A Grave Hunger Page 12

  Something that distinguished vampire murders from the work of a serial killer was the choice in victims. Vampires rarely hunted down a particular type. For them, a meal was simply a meal. If you fell victim to one, it was usually because you were in the wrong place at the wrong time.

  As I stared up at the wall, I noticed the lack of pattern in these murders. Victims of both sexes appeared on the wall, with ages ranging from fifteen to fifty five. Victims of all races, social standings and religions appeared before me. This tallied up to be the work of a vampire. As did the cause of death in all murders - bodies drained of blood, no evidence left at any crime scene. Definitely the work of vampires.

  One thing kept bothering me: the sheer numbers of victims. The vampires must know that this would raise a red flag for hunters. God knows how many hunters were already on their way here to stop them. It didn't make sense. Was it new vampires causing this much devastation, not realising the danger they were in from hunters or maybe arrogantly not considering us a threat? My grey matter offered no response. My subconscious kicked in, begging me to scratch an itch just out of reach. What was I missing? Something didn't add up. The subliminal itch continued to pester. I let out a sharp sigh of frustration.

  I rubbed my temples with my fingers, willing my headache to stop. I suddenly felt exhausted. Today's events were catching up with me. Time to call it a night. Obviously trying to pry the missing link from my subconscious wasn't working, and if anything it felt even further from reach. Usually if I let the thought be, it would eventually make its way into my consciousness.

  Even though my motel was a short walk away, I had no energy to make the journey. I would just stay here tonight. I had planned on coming back again tomorrow anyway to finish my research and do some training since I had neglected it since Robert had died.

  I wearily made my way upstairs. I hesitated for a moment at the top, not able to make a decision about which room to sleep in. After a short pause, I made my way toward the room Finlay had stayed in as a boy, not feeling strong enough to stay in Robert's room.

  I pushed open the door and entered the room. Navy blue walls were covered in posters of scantily clad women; a typical teenagers room. I felt a pang in my chest as I thought about him. My eyes scanned the room. It was minimally furnished with a double bed, wardrobe and chest of drawers, with a CD rack full of a variety of different genres of music. Mounted on one wall was a full length mirror, and on the other a cork board full of photographs. My heart sank as I viewed them. My gaze darted to a photograph of a young Finlay wearing a baseball cap, holding a bat. Robert had his arm around him in a loving display. Other photos of Finlay and Robert were pinned to the board, showing Finlay of various ages. I wondered if I would see him again. Now that Robert was gone, was there anything to bring him back here? The thought brought a chill to my heart.

  CHAPTER 21

  My eyes flew open, heart racing. I sat, frozen, bewildered for a moment and not recognising where I was. As my sleepy haze lifted, my thoughts began to focus. I was still at Robert's. My heart drummed in my chest. Was it another nightmare that had snapped me from sleep? My brain offered no answer.

  Clunk!

  I froze, pulse galloping, the sound pounding in my ears. I strained, listening intently, unsure if the previous adrenaline rush had caused me to imagine the sound.

  Clunk!

  I hadn't imagined it then. It sounded like it was coming from downstairs. A fresh wave of adrenaline buzzed through my body. I blinked rapidly, desperately willing my eyes to adjust to my dark surroundings.

  Thud!

  I quietly reached under the bed and withdrew a dagger. Ever since my family had been killed, I had always kept a weapon in close proximity. Thankful for my paranoia, I slid silently from the bed, clutching the weapon tightly. I quietly padded to the door, praying that the old rusted hinges wouldn't creak when I opened it. I let out a silent sigh of relief when it swung open quietly. Looking out into the corridor, I searched for any signs of movement. There was nothing but darkness. I held my breath as I reached the stairs. Leaning back into the wall, I pushed my weight against the cool brick to avoid the creaky floorboards. Hearing only the pounding of my heart, I pushed onwards.

  Thump!

  I flinched, inhaling sharply. My instincts were on high alert. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I scanned the area, seeing nothing but shadows. A dim light flickered on from the kitchen, the thin beam shining through the crack under the closed door. My eyes darted to the small table beside the door. The green light on the phone flashed as though a beacon. I disregarded the thought. What would the police do if it was a vamp? I would deal with this myself. Reaching the closed door, I took a steadying breath. Reaching tentatively for the door handle, I pushed the door open. A shadowy figure stood hunched over, raking through the contents of the fridge. Acting on impulse, I pounced on the figure, knocking it to the floor. In one swift movement I had my dagger pushed under its neck.

  His face was gaunt, eyes shadowy. I sucked in a sharp breath, as recognition flashed in my brain.

  "Hey, Scotland. Good to see you haven't lost your touch." Finlay smiled but the gesture didn't reach his eyes.

  I didn't know what to say, how to proceed. It had been so long since I had seen him. My emotions flitted from feeling angry to feeling relief. They settled on relief. Throwing my dagger to the side, I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him tightly to me. He smelled of stale alcohol, sweat and cigarette smoke. He seemed unsure of how to react to my sudden display of affection, and he froze for a few moments before wrapping his arms around me.

  "Good to see you too, Scotland." His voice sounded gritty and hoarse.

  I clambered off him and got to my feet, reaching out a hand to help him up. Taking my hand, he pulled himself to his feet. I clicked on the kitchen light and saw him properly for the first time.

  "You look awful, Finlay." He had lost weight, and his jacket hung loosely around his shoulders, giving him a haggard and gaunt appearance.

  "Thanks. You always know how to make a guy feel good about himself." Another weak smile.

  "It's been a while." I tried to sound nonchalant and failed.

  "Yeah." He looked down at the floor, refusing to make eye contact. Changing the subject, he continued. "I figured you would be here when I didn't find you at the motel."

  He turned from me and busied himself by rummaging through the open fridge. He appeared a few seconds later holding two bottles of beer. He held one up as an offering. I nodded, taking a bottle from him and sitting at the dining room table. Finlay followed suit. Twisting off the lid, he took a long gulp.

  "So where have you been for the last two weeks?" I worked to keep my voice level, disguising the emotion erupting inside me.

  "Nowhere in particular. I just needed to be alone." He shuffled nervously.

  I nodded, not trusting my voice to keep steady.

  "How are you?" He mumbled. He stared at me, his vivid green eyes piercing into me. I had to look away.

  "I've been better, you?" The awkwardness between us was intense.

  He didn't answer. He stared at the table, tracing the lines of the wood with his finger.

  "You missed the funeral," I said.

  He cleared his throat and dragged his eyes to meet mine.

  "I couldn't... Robert," he replied incoherently. His voice was a strangled whisper.

  A cascade of emotions burst through the barricades that he had been trying so hard to control. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his breaths came in broken gasps. I reached over and took his hand. His heavily fortified barricades disintegrated. His nostrils flared , trying desperately to force down the emotions bubbling to the surface. Eventually the tears came in silent drops.

  Rising from my seat, I went to him pull him close. Seeing him break down caused a bubble of heat to form in my chest. Joining him in his grief, tears broke, dampening my cheeks and dripping onto my top. He eventually pulled away from me, hands sending angry swipes to his
cheeks. He cleared his throat.

  "Sorry, that shouldn't have happened. I'm such a big girl." His face flushed and a weak smile touched his lips.

  "You need to let it out, Finlay. Keeping it bottled inside isn't good for you."

  "Not really my style, Scotland." As he reached for his beer, his hand trembled slightly.

  "You could let me help you. We could help each other."

  His haunted eyes pierced into mine with a look so intense it sent a lump to my throat.

  "Sorry I took off and left you to deal with the funeral. That was pretty selfish of me," he whispered.

  I couldn't answer. The lump was growing bigger. I smiled mutely. His hand ruffled his bedraggled hair.

  "Are you going to take off again?" I asked intently.

  He looked at me sadly. "I'm not so good to be around just now. I really wish I could be here for you...I know you are hurting too."

  "You're leaving again." It was a statement, not a question. The realisation was like a knife to my heart.

  "I can't stay, Scotland. I'd just drag you down with me. I just wanted to check that you were ok."

  "I'm pretty far from being ok. Please, Finlay," I begged. "Stay."

  A heart wrenching look crossed his face. "I'm sorry, I can't." With that he rose and walked to the door. He hesitated before opening it and turned toward me. I rushed to him, and he pulled me close, wrapping his arms tightly around me and kissed me on the forehead.

  "Take care of yourself, Scotland." He detached himself from my clinging arms. Then he was gone.

  I felt abandoned and the rejection clawed its way into my heart. I sunk to my knees and let the depression take me.

  CHAPTER 22

  The two days since Finlay's visit had been spent nose deep in newspapers and police reports. I was tracking possible vampire attacks throughout the country, looking for any patterns or other escalations like had been seen in Ithaca. I found none. I had thrown myself into my work to keep myself distracted. It didn't work. I couldn't stop myself from replaying Finlay's visit or wondering if there was anything that I could have said to have made him stay. Where was he? Would I see him again? I threw down the pile of newspapers in frustration, rose from my chair and started to pace the room.

  Focus! I scolded. Worrying about Finlay wouldn't bring him back. May as well put all that energy into something worthwhile, like trying to decipher the riddle of what the hell was going on with these bloody vampires. The subliminal itch in my brain was back, lying just beyond my reach. A thought I couldn't quite remember, couldn’t grasp. The more I tried to reach it, the further it slipped from my grasp.

  I needed advice. I picked up my phone and scrolled through my call list, hovering over Finlay's number for a moment. I shook my head, letting out a weary sigh. He wouldn't answer even if I did call. I scrolled on until I reached Ryan's number. I punched the call button and listened as it clicked onto voice mail. Ditto for Luke's number. Looked like I would have to sort this out for myself.

  I jumped at the sound of the doorbell as it startled me. Probably someone selling something. I slowly made my way to the door and peeked through the peep-hole.

  "Oh..." I gasped.

  I reached down, my fingers fumbling as I unlocked the door and pulled it open. Eyes locking with that of the visitor in front of me, and I stood speechless.

  "I take it that you are surprised to see me then?" Finlay asked.

  "You could say that," I replied, my voice calm, disguising the emotion that surged through my body.

  The emerald eyes bored into mine, shining with an unrecognisable emotion.

  "Can I come in?" He seemed unsure, feet shuffling nervously on the wooden porch.

  I wordlessly replied by pulling the door open wider and stepping back, giving him space to enter. I followed him into the living room and sat beside him on the couch. We sat quietly for a moment, neither of us knowing what to say. He looked better than the last time I had seen him. Now he was dressed in a smart, crisp, white shirt, his hair freshly washed and styled. As much as I was delighted that he was back, part of me still stung from his rejection from the last time I saw him.

  "How long you back for this time?" my voice was calm, disguising the turmoil I felt as I awaited his response.

  A smile played at his lips, seeing through my camouflage. I flushed in response.

  "I'm not sure yet." He refused to meet my eyes. "Looks like you have been busy," he said, changing the subject. He rose from his seat and stood in front of the time line on the wall.

  "Yeah, have you been keeping track of this?" I asked, walking over to stand beside him.

  "This can't be right. All these murders are in Ithaca?" He asked, astounded. He leaned closer and scanned the information, moving his way along the wall, reading each profile.

  "All in Ithaca, all in a three week period." I gave him a moment for the news to sink in before continuing. "You ever seen anything like this before?"

  A frown crossed his face and a worried look tightened his features. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

  "This doesn't make sense. Why..." He let the unfinished question hang in the air.

  He ran a hand through his hair. He was worried.

  "Have you spoken to Ryan and Luke about this?"

  "I tried to phone them this morning, but I couldn't get through. I've been looking for possible places that the vamps could be hiding out. Was thinking about checking a few of them..."

  I stopped mid-sentence, the expression on Finlay's face stunning me into silence. He glared at me, eyes seething, veins bulging out of his neck in prominent ridges.

  "Don't be fucking stupid. We have no idea what's going on yet and you want to go in half cocked? This is so fucking like of you. Diving in without thinking things through. You trying to get yourself killed?" He thundered, spitting out the words through clenched teeth.

  I stared at him, stunned as he seethed silently, fists convulsing with rage. He had never spoken to me like that before. I subconsciously flinched away from his hostility. I jumped as he slammed his fist into the wall, the impact sending papers fluttering to the floor. "And I can't believe you're even thinking about hunting. Jesus, Robert's body is barely cold and you are willing to throw yourself to the wolves."

  With that, he stalked out of the room. I stood frozen to the spot, staring blankly after him. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears that burned behind my lids. As the shock faded, it was replaced by a simmering anger.

  "Nice to have you back, Finlay!" I shouted after him sarcastically.

  *****

  Over the following days, I saw less and less of Finlay. He didn't want to talk, he didn't want to hunt and he certainly didn't want to show any emotion over Robert's death. What he did want to do was to drink himself into oblivion and be left alone. I tried to be there for him, but he wouldn't let me in. I was worried about him. He was like a different person. The jovial, laid back Finlay was gone, to be replaced with a withdrawn, moody one. It was becoming a regular occurrence to find him passed out on the floor of his motel room after having drunk too much. Well, enough was enough. It was intervention time.

  I hadn't seen Finlay all day. He wasn't in his motel room but going by his recent behaviour I had a fair idea where I could find him.

  I descended the drab narrow staircase, kicking cigarette butts from under my feet as I went. Pushing open the door, I couldn't help thinking that The Cellar Bar could be the most depressing place on Earth. Four middle aged men sat propped up at the bar, heads drooping forward, staring solemnly into their drinks. God, this placed needed brightening up. A fresh coat of bright paint and a good clean would sort this place out. Then again, the patrons that frequented this place probably wanted a place which echoed their mood. I knew Finlay wanted that, a place he could wallow quietly in self-pity. I noticed him sitting in a booth in the far end of the room, a half empty bottle of whiskey in one hand. He looked up wearily as I sat down.

  "Drink, Scotland?" He greeted
me, offering me the bottle.

  "You do realise that it is," I paused to look at my watch, "One o'clock in the afternoon?"

  "It's gotta be five o'clock somewhere."

  "Finlay," my tone was disapproving.

  "Don't start. I can't handle another lecture." He cut me off, sighing dramatically.

  I mirrored his sigh. "Will you let me help you, Finlay? I know what you are going through. I miss him too, but ..."

  He cut me off. "How do you know what I'm going through?" His voice was thick with insinuation. "You knew Robert for ... what? Two years. I've known him my whole life. God, he was more of a father to me than my own father was. So don't sit there judging me when you don't have a clue what I'm going through."

  He stood, pulled out some bills from his wallet and angrily threw them on the table before stalking out of the bar.