Drop Dead Gorgeous (2 page)

CHAPTER THREE

Clara spent the day taking stock of her new house. It wasn’t huge – three bedrooms, but it was quite beautiful. Like many homes in Southern California, it was Spanish style and built in the 1920s. It had dark hardwood floors and a high exposed-beam barrel ceiling in the ample living room, arched doorways to the dining room and updated kitchen.

What should she do about Derek’s personal belongings? His clothes, for example? She opened a dresser drawer and looked at the neatly folded cotton boxers and white t-shirts. This felt like intruding; she closed the drawer.
Maybe another time. It’s too soon.

She cleaned out the refrigerator, tossing all the food that had gone bad in the months Derek had been gone.

The attorney had given her Derek’s gardener’s number, so she called him, explaining who she was. He’d been paid through the attorney since Derek’s death, but now she needed to get his address so she could send monthly checks. He agreed to come weekly like he always had, and he gave his condolences.
He probably wonders who I was to Derek. That makes two of us.

She thought of her last phone conversation with Derek.

“I would come over and keep you up all night, but I don’t want to be rude,” he said.

She’d been asleep when the phone rang.

“It’s bad enough that I woke you, but god I want to see you. Was it just yesterday that you left?”

“Yes.” She couldn’t seem to stop smiling. “Are you in L.A.?”

“Yeah, I just drove down. Do you have to work tomorrow? Of course you do.”

“Yes, I have to work.”

“I know, I know. I’ll go for a hike. Far away. It’ll keep me from coming into the agency and stalking you. Will you have dinner with me tomorrow night?”

“Yes.”

“I’m not being very cool, am I? I should probably wait to ask you out so you won’t think I’m a slobbering fool. But I don’t want to. Wait, I mean.”

“Do you want to come over? I’m not being very cool either.”

“Of course I do, but no, go back to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll go on a regular date and wear clothes and everything. I’ll hold your hand and pull your chair out and tell you I’m crazy about you.”

“You could tell me that now.”

“But then we won’t have anything to talk about tomorrow.”

“Okay. I should be home around six. Call me then, okay?”

“I will. Oh, and Clara?”

“Yes.”

“I am crazy about you.”

“Good night, Derek.”

She’d wanted to say she was crazy about him too, but thought she’d have all the time in the world to tell him and to show him. They had just begun what felt like something very important, maybe even permanent. It was alarming how quickly she’d fallen for him. She was definitely crazy about him, and she loved the idea of telling him that very soon.

The following night she was glad she hadn’t said it when she sat alone on her sofa, fuming because she’d been stood up. She left two messages – one asking sweetly where he was and one telling him not to bother calling. It was too late and she was too mad.

She went to bed thinking Derek Randall was a jerk and she cried into her pillow because she’d fallen so hard for him. She felt like a fool. How could she have been so wrong about this? It had all felt so right.

When Monica called her the next night to tell her he was missing, everything changed and the real nightmare began.

Clara found the cleaning supplies, and cleaned the kitchen and bathrooms of her new house. She called the utility companies and straightened out the bills, putting everything in her name. Staring at the bed, she realized the sheets hadn’t been changed since she’d spent the weekend sweating on them.

She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up a pillow, putting it to her face and inhaling. With her eyes closed, she could see him lying beneath her, first smiling and then creasing his brow.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he said.

She bent forward and kissed him as his hands kneaded her hips. She wanted to tell him she wasn’t like this. She had never jumped into bed with someone she’d just met. She wanted to say he was special, different, but she thought it would sound corny. She couldn’t find the right words and so just showed him how happy she was with her body and hoped he understood.

Now she was glad she’d misbehaved so badly that night and the next. It was the only time they’d had together. Had she waited, driven home and hoped he’d call, she never would have known how he felt holding her body to his, kissing her in the dark, sleeping beside her.

And now, she wondered how she’d ever be able to do any of those things with anyone else. She missed him so much, and yet he’d never really been hers. But, then, how could the will be explained? Why on earth had he changed it? That would have been the day he’d called and woke her and told her he was crazy about her.
Oh, and, by the way, I changed my will, leaving you my house. Free for dinner tomorrow?
It made no sense.

Before she had a chance to wallow further, she found her phone and called Monica, telling her the news about the house.

“Oh my god, Clara. That’s…great.”

“And weird. Believe me, I know it’s weird. Why would he have changed his will?”

“I don’t know. We’ll never know.”

“You’re right. I guess it doesn’t matter now.” 

“So, are you going to move up there?”

“I can’t. What would I do for a living? I mean, don’t get me wrong. It’s beautiful here and I’d love to live in Santa Barbara – who wouldn’t? But it’s just not possible.”

“Well, wait a minute. Are you sure?”

“I’m a runway agent. There’s not much modeling work in Santa Barbara, especially runway. The few show clients they have use mostly L.A. models. I booked the shows myself. Trust me, they don’t need a runway booker here.”

“Well, what about managing models? I mean, I was half kidding about that, but not really. You could theoretically live there and do that from home, couldn’t you?”

“You’re assuming I could find some models who just happen to need my services. Only I don’t know of any, do you?”

“Well, no.”

“I’ll have to do something soon, or sell this house. I don’t want to do that but short of posting Derek’s underwear on ebay to raise some cash, I don’t know what else to do.”

“Hey, at least you’re working on some ideas.”

After the call, Clara found a can of soup to heat up for dinner. Then she took a long hot bath and put on a pair of Derek’s running shorts and a t-shirt. It made her feel closer to him, if that were even possible here in his house surrounded by his things.

She made sure the house was locked up before turning out the lights and climbing into Derek’s bed.
I guess it’s my bed now.
Hugging a pillow to her, she tried to fall asleep, but her mind was racing and she couldn’t slow it down.

After what seemed like hours, but according to the clock, had actually only been thirty-eight minutes, she gave up.

She picked her purse up and went out to the car.
What was I thinking? I can’t sleep here. Derek’s everywhere here
.

The tedium of the drive back to L.A. drained her, and she looked forward to getting home. Yes, her apartment would most likely smell like Jeffrey, but at least she was used to sleeping in it. Derek’s house had felt overwhelming – at least his bed had. She’d need more time to get used to it.

Once she was home, she unlocked the door and she set her purse on the table by the sofa.
Home sweet home.
Close enough, anyway
. She was relieved the apartment smelled like Derek again, and she wondered if it was because of her clothes – Derek’s clothes that she’d put on after her bath.

She didn’t bother turning on the light. She could see well enough by the streetlight filtered through the curtains. Exhausted from her emotional day, she went straight into her bedroom to go to bed.

As she entered the room, she saw him. She stopped dead in her tracks and stood staring at the tall dark figure standing by the bed. She blinked her eyes, knowing it was impossible that Derek was in her room, and yet there he was. Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking him.

“Derek.” She heard her voice, knowing she was speaking to a figment of her imagination. She wondered if she might be losing her mind. That is, until he spoke back.

“Those are my clothes.”

And then the world went black.

CHAPTER FOUR

Derek made a terrible vampire. Madeline said he was just young and would get the hang of it, but he wasn’t so sure.

The other men in the nest seemed so natural with it, maybe because they’d done it for so much longer. They roamed the night, hunted humans. Derek knew some of the victims had been killed because he’d heard plans for corpse disposal discussed among the brothers. Fortunately, no one had asked for his assistance in those tasks. Derek definitely felt the desire to drink blood, but he was appalled at the killing. Some of the others seemed to have little connection to humans – no empathy.

Derek still missed Clara. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. He knew he should stay away, and yet here he was, in her apartment.

It was late and she wasn’t home. He was furious, thinking she was with a man, and then pissed even further, knowing there was nothing he could do about that. Logically, he knew she should move on and find someone else, but emotionally, he was angry and hurt. She was still his in his heart – his unbeating heart. He silently cursed Madeline like he’d done every night since she’d killed him and given him his new existence.

He hadn’t expected Clara to come home so late and was even more startled to see her wearing his clothes. He’d made the mistake of speaking to her and she fainted. After picking her up – and she seemed much lighter to him now that he was dead, he laid her on the bed and looked down at her for a moment. He could see perfectly well in spite of very little light, and god, she looked so beautiful. He realized her shorts and t-shirt meant she hadn’t been on a date as he’d feared, and a visceral possessiveness mingled with his relief. He brushed her hair from her face and then couldn’t resist and lay down with her, holding her to him.

She was so warm and smelled so delicious. His fangs extended and ached in response to her nearness. He wanted to bite her, to taste her, to fuck her, but he also loved her and wanted to cry into her neck and tell her he was sorry. He was sorry he left her and broke her heart. They were just getting started and had so much to look forward to, and now he was something for her to fear in the dark – something so horrible she’d fainted at the sight of him.

He knew when she woke he should try his magic on her. Madeline and the others in his nest could look into the eyes of humans and control their minds. They’d taught him to do it as well. He’d only tried it once on a person, but he’d used the same newly-discovered mental muscles to work the lock on Clara’s door and had gotten quite good at it for that purpose.

It was just another part of what he’d become that he didn’t really understand. His body was different now. Aside from the obvious need to drink blood, he had greater physical strength in addition to the seemingly psychic powers. They all had the power to focus their energy to move things, change things – even people’s thoughts and memories. He hated the thought of changing anything about Clara, but he also knew he had no choice.

Clara stirred and he pulled back and looked at her, waiting for her to open her eyes. He knew she’d be frightened and he’d need to use the magic right away. But when her eyes opened and found his, he felt a surge of joy and waited a beat to relish the feeling. There was no fear in her eyes. He held her gaze, grateful for a good moment after so much pain and loneliness since his death.

She touched his face, and he came closer. Her eyes glistened with the beginnings of tears.

“I’m dreaming,” she whispered into his mouth.

He could no longer resist her and covered her mouth with his, kissing her deeply. She moaned and pulled him closer, wrapping her legs around him. He couldn’t get enough of her. His hands were grabbing; his body pressed into her. He sucked on her warm, sweet tongue until a fang pierced it and he tasted her blood.

That’s the moment he lost control. His mouth left hers and he bit into her neck. As the blood spilled from the wound, he came hard, grunting like an animal. He was vaguely aware of her sharp yelp of pain and surprise, but he kept sucking and grinding into her.

Her hands were no longer holding him, but pushing him away and she cried out, “Derek, stop!”

But he couldn’t stop. It felt too good. He groaned in response.

She stopped pushing and her body began to relax. Then she began sobbing and pleading.

“Please, stop. You’re hurting me.”

I’m hurting her. I’m hurting Clara
. He stopped sucking and licked the wound gently, mumbling, “I’m sorry,” as he licked her over and over. His instincts told him to bite again and keep sucking, but he loved her and hated that he’d hurt her. He held her face in his hands and said, “I’m so sorry,” as he searched her eyes for forgiveness.
I hate what I am. Now look what I’ve done.

He pushed her away and stood from the bed, not trusting himself to not hurt her again. He saw the two puncture wounds on her neck, the red blood still calling him, and he turned and ran from the room, through her living room, and out the door.

Once outside, he kept running, but remembered to slow down so he wouldn’t draw attention to himself. He could run faster than humans now and he knew it looked odd.

He didn’t stop until he came to the nest. Madeline owned all eight houses on a dead end street in the West Adams district of L.A. He’d never even heard of the area when he was alive and lived in Beverly Hills. This was a part of L.A. he would have only seen on the news in his previous life. He’d known L.A. had neighborhoods like this, but they might as well have been on another planet.

Now he knew West Adams well, having walked it almost every night since he’d started to roam.  Nearly all the homes were very old and very big, many dating back before the turn of the century. It had once clearly been inhabited by the wealthy, but now housed an eclectic mix of more have-nots than haves after the exodus of the original owners. Once-elegant mansions, huge Victorian and craftsman homes now sat in various states of decay. Occasionally Derek would happen on one restored to its original beauty and he’d stop and admire it, but it was almost always surrounded by houses enclosed with rusted chain link fences and weedy yards, with cracked facades missing shutters or supporting bowed rooflines.

Two major freeways cut through the historic neighborhood, lowering property values even further, and the busy commercial streets had an assortment of seedy businesses in beautiful old buildings and tacky new ones. Crime was high, gangs and prostitution blatantly visible.

Many humans would feel unsafe here, but they had no idea just how dangerous it was with Madeline and her collection of men roaming the streets at night.

Derek cut through a dark and deserted park and found his way to the home he occupied with two other vampires. The eight houses in his nest were perfectly lined up, huge “four and a door” traditional clapboard houses painted inconspicuous dark colors with plain white trim or white with black trim. Several back yards were concealed with high redwood privacy fencing. The homes looked enough alike to be by the same builder, but not interesting enough to draw attention to them. Their condition was average, the yards marginally neglected to match the neighborhood.

The streetlight was on, but the houses were dark, being light-tight, of course. White curtains hung in the windows between the glass panes and wood panels that boarded the windows from the inside. The sound of the Santa Monica Freeway never ceased, as it abutted the end of the street.

When Derek came to his front door, he focused his mind on the lock until he heard it click and then he opened the door and stepped inside.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he could feel both of the brothers he lived with were home. He followed the scent of the ever-present fire in the fireplace into the living room and found Terence sitting in an overstuffed chair reading in light too dim for a human.

Terence was older, but Derek didn’t know how old exactly. He looked to be in his early twenties – his age when he was killed. With thick sandy brown hair and green eyes, he was very handsome. They were all handsome.

Raymond stood at his easel in the corner, painting. He was perfectly built, tall and black with once-brown eyes that were now slightly lighter and golden, and that enabled him to paint without the benefit of sunlight.

“Oh good, you’ve fed,” Terence said as Derek sat on the sofa.

“Yeah, I fed.”

“I was beginning to worry about you. Not that we mind providing your meals. You’re a slow starter. I’d already found my own blood after the first week or so.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m slow. So Madeline keeps telling me.”

“Did you kill her? Were you careful? I assume it was a woman.”

Derek knew it was evident he’d come in his pants like a teenager. He felt embarrassed, and rested his hand on his lap.

“I didn’t kill her,” he said.

“You know, if you do, just tell us and we’ll help you take care of it. You’re not alone.”

“Okay, but I didn’t kill her.”

“Will she remember? You took care of everything?”

“Of course.”
Fuck. I took care of nothing. I ran like a scared rabbit. Like a shitty vampire.

Terence went back to his book. Derek looked over at Raymond, who gave him a nod.

After climbing the stairs, Derek showered and changed clothes. Then he lay across his bed, thinking of Clara.

He knew he’d fucked up. He never should have gone to her place. Why couldn’t he stay away from her? And now she’d seen him and he’d bitten her. Like a fucking animal. He’d hurt her and now he was disgusted with himself. What a completely worthless vampire he made. And he didn’t even change her memory. God, what must she be thinking?

He realized it was cruel to leave her the way he had. She could possibly think she was losing her mind. Would she tell anyone? He knew he had to go back and take her memory. He got up and went back downstairs.

He crossed behind the houses and waited in the park, closing his eyes and feeling for his brothers, and especially for Madeline. She’d followed him a few times when he’d gone out before, probably just making sure he didn’t do anything stupid – like go visit an old girlfriend. But tonight he felt her still back at the nest, so he continued his walk back to West Hollywood—back to the world he’d inhabited as a human.

As he headed west and north, the neighborhoods improved. At this late hour, all the trendy clubs and restaurants he passed in Hollywood and West Hollywood were closed, empty reminders of a life he used to love.

He crossed Santa Monica Boulevard, wanting to avoid encounters with any humans including the male prostitutes still on the street, some in drag. He stayed on the residential streets the rest of the way to Laurel Avenue where Clara lived. Like all of West Hollywood, her block was packed with apartment and condo buildings, the streets filled with parked cars – not an empty space in sight.

He climbed the front steps to her building – a fairly typical two-story 50s modern – into the center courtyard filled with well-tended lush plants and small trees that thrived in the shade.

Clara had one of the front ground-floor apartments. When he came to her door, he quietly unlocked it and slipped inside. Her lights were out, and he could smell her in her bed.

She was fast asleep, lying on her side, still wearing his t-shirt, with the covers pulled up to her shoulders. He climbed onto the bed and lay down behind her on top of the quilt. He could smell the blood on the pillow beneath her neck, but her hair hid his view of her wounds.

Her breathing was steady and strong and he inhaled to catch her scent better. His fangs extended, but he was determined to stay in control this time. He knew he should wake her and look into her eyes to erase her memory, but he wanted to steal a moment with her while she slept. He reached his arm around her and pressed her back into him, relishing the feel of her warmth and soft curves against his cold, hard body. Her hand covered his and pressed it into her breast. He held perfectly still, not wanting to wake her. He didn’t want this moment to end.

She continued to sleep soundly, so he relaxed and simply held her and listened to her breathing and her heart beating.
I do love her. I could have had a life with her. Goddamn Madeline.

After a while, his fangs retracted and he felt the beginnings of the pull of dawn. He carefully extracted his hand and climbed off the bed. He knew he should wake her to alter her memory, but he just didn’t want to disturb her.
I’ll come back tomorrow and take care of it.

Would she tell anyone about him before he could return? And what if she did? No one would believe her.

He walked around the bed and knelt before her, kissing her forehead and saying a silent goodnight. She didn’t stir.

Walking back to the nest, he wished he could spend every night holding Clara and once again, cursed Madeline for stealing his life. He finally felt the desire to kill – a desire that he knew should be instinctual for him. Only, his desire was to kill his maker, which, of course, was impossible.