One Kiss: An Apocalyptic Urban Fantasy (Transmissions from The International Council for the Exploration of the Universe., #1) (7 page)

I turned away from the candles and passed the bed, stopping in front of the door before sliding the deadbolt back and turning the knob. Stepping out into the hall I could see light in the kitchen. It was ambient spill from the streetlights outside. I padded forward, through the kitchen. The cabinets were white, flecked with grease near the stove. The sink was full of dishes and the counters littered with debris.

Emmanuel lay sleeping on the couch, his forearm across his eyes, blocking the light that came through the sheets. His face was turned toward the back of the couch, exposing his neck. I crouched down next to him, suddenly fascinated by the pulse I could see in his veins, just under the surface of his skin. I wanted to touch him, to lay my fingers there and feel his life pumping through him.

He woke with a start and I fell back onto my butt. "Darling?" he said, his brown eyes shadowed in the dark room. I scrambled back to my feet. "What is it?" he asked.

I didn't answer for a moment, feeling like I'd been caught watching him, which I had, but I'd come out here for a reason. "Did you—?" The sentence fell short, sounding too ridiculous in the moment before I let it out.

"What?" he said, sitting up, the blanket falling away from his bare chest. I turned away, unable to look at him. The brief glimpse of his sculpted body had sent electric currents of hunger through my gut and up my throat. "What are you talking about?" he asked. I glanced back at him furtively. He was rubbing at his head, making the curls bounce.

"That woman in the cemetery?"

"Darling, what are you talking about?" He looked up at me but in the darkness I couldn't read his expression. "Here," he pulled his feet up, making room for me on the couch. "Sit." I looked at the space he'd made me, his legs pulled up to his chest. Sitting down gingerly, I kept my feet on the floor, ready to run, I thought, not knowing why I'd need to. "What happened in the cemetery?" he asked.

"You took me there."

"It's not an unusual place to go when you're looking for help. As shown by by the number of question marks on that mausoleum."

"You don't know anything about it?"

I felt him squirm, the movement of his body coming through the cushion beneath me. "I thought that she might come to you."

"Who?"

"Suki."

"So you've seen her too?" I asked.

He nodded.

"What is she?" I asked, feeling hope rise up in my chest. If she wasn't a hallucination, then maybe I could find Megan. If he'd seen her too than I wasn't crazy. My heartbeat quickened at the thought.

He shrugged. "Suki is powerful and old."

"A witch?"

"Something like that, I guess."

"She told me Megan was dead but not gone," I said.

Emmanuel's body tensed. "She did?" he asked.

"What does that mean?"

"I'm not sure."

"Are you lying to me?"

"Never."

I looked up at him. His eyes were shining in the half light. I resisted the urge to climb on top of him. I swallowed; it sounded loud in the quite room. "I better get back to bed," I said, standing up.

"See you in the morning," he said.

I returned to his room, closing the door behind me, hearing the latch catch with a click. I pushed the deadbolt into place and rested my forehead against the door. I said a small prayer for these feelings to be gone tomorrow. For this all to be some green meanie's idea of a good time. I felt deep relief that Emmanuel had seen the woman in the cemetery too. I was so happy she wasn't a hallucination that it didn't occur to me to be afraid of Suki and the powers she so obviously possessed. Climbing back into the big bed, I rubbed my face against his pillow, breathing in the scent of him. And for a moment I felt his heartbeat again, pumping rhythmically through me, lulling me into a deep and restful sleep.

"
You must have begun to realize, then, that Emmanuel was different."

Darling shrugged. "Perhaps I am more human than I think. I didn't put the pieces together for some time."

"When did you figure it out?"

She smiled. "Don't you want to hear what happened next? Don't you want to hear the story in order?"

"Yes, I'm sorry."

<<<<>>>>

O
ver coffee the next morning Michael announced he was putting the whole thing behind him and concentrating on "the music". I'd pulled on my jeans but was still wearing Emmanuel's shirt. I didn't want to take it off; the soft cotton, the bigness of it, how it hid me underneath—Emmanuel's shirt made me feel safe. I nodded along with Michael. He agreed we must have been dosed with something. He turned his wrist a couple of times. "Doesn't hurt at all," he said.

"I don't feel hung over," I said. And it was true. That humming was still there, if not as strong; definitely it had begun to wear off. Yet I couldn't help but watch Michael's lips while he talked, and I caught him staring at my ponytail more than once, his eyes hooded and pupils dilated.

Emmanuel offered me a ride home and I accepted. He drove a pickup truck with rust along its fenders and a rattle to its ride. My bike was bungee-corded into the back. When we got to my place Emmanuel carried it up the stairs for me. I thanked him and told him he could go but he insisted on driving me to the hospital. I let him wait in my living room with a cold glass of water.

When I closed myself in my room I locked the door, sliding the small deadbolt into place. But then I slid it back, deciding that I could trust Emmanuel. Something in my gut told me I could. My fingers lingered on the bolt for a moment before I turned away.

I showered and put on sweatpants and one of my own T-shirts. When I came out Emmanuel stood. "Here," I said, holding out his T-shirt. "Thanks for letting me borrow it."

"Of course," he said, taking the soft cotton shirt from me. We didn't touch in the transaction.

We drove in silence across town to the hospital. I knew the route so well that I could have walked it in my sleep. Emmanuel stopped in front of the main entrance and put the old truck into park. "I'll meet you up there," he said.

"That's crazy," I said. "I'll be fine."

"I don't think they like people to leave alone after this kind of thing."

"I don't suffer from a lot of the side effects."

He looked over at me and bit down on his lip, his eyes boring into mine. Then he broke away; turning forward, he nodded. "Sure," he said. "I'll see you at band practice tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I said, my lips dry, throat aching.

I opened the door, and he turned and grabbed my hand. That buffer of electricity was there but felt more like pins and needles than a live wire. I wondered how long it would take for the drugs to totally leave my system. It occurred to me I should tell Dr. Tor about it. "Darling," Emmanuel said.

"Yeah?"

"Call me if you need anything."

"Okay," I said, pulling away from him. The door creaked when I slammed it shut. As I went around in the revolving door, Emmanuel's eyes found mine for just a moment before I entered the hospital lobby.

****

D
r. Issa Tor and a representative from "Be the Difference" waited for me in an office. They stood up when I came in and smiled at me like I was some kind of hero. "Thank you so much for doing this again," Dr. Tor said.

The representative, a man in his early fifties with gray hair, a friendly smile, and the pallor of a person who spent too much time under florescent lights, held his hand out to me. "I'm Jimmy Gandolf," he said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you."

I reached out to shake his hand but there was a snap of static electricity and we both pulled back. And then we laughed. "Sorry about that," I said, looking down at my hand. It looked fine. Normal. Pulsing? I breathed in, smelling the current in the air. Issa looked at me, his thick expressive brows bunched together. Jimmy Gandolf shook his head. "Sorry about that," he said.

I smiled. "No problem, I mean, I'm sorry. I, um..." I looked at the small conference table and the chairs around it. Paperwork on the table, several pens.

"Please," Issa said, picking up on my eye movements. "Let's sit."

"Yes, thank you," I said, taking the closest chair.

There were no windows in the room. Blond wood cabinets were labeled with things like tongue depressors, needles and gloves. There was a biohazard sticker on the trash can in the corner. The air was stale, smelling of carpet cleaner and French fries. I could picture staff stealing away in here for lunch. It was quiet.

We sat down, me on one side, them on the other. Jimmy was about to start explaining the paperwork to me. He'd taken a big breath and made his face serious, confident, grave almost. I held out my hand. "Before we get into all that," I said. "There is something I need to tell you. I don't know if it affects the procedure today but I was drugged last night."

"What do you mean?" Dr. Tor asked, his face going a little bit pale.

"I was at the parade where the attack happened."

Both men sat back from the table, as though my words had pushed them into their chairs. I smiled and blushed, feeling awkward all of a sudden. As if being there, witnessing that horrible thing, left a stain on me. My face burned hotter when I thought about after the parade. The way I'd attacked Michael. The way I'd felt Emmanuel's heart beating... mesmerizing.

"Can you excuse us for a moment?" Issa asked, turning to Jimmy.

Gandolf was surprised. He gripped the arms of his chair and his neck snapped to look at Issa like a lizard, fast and focused. They stared at each other for a moment. Tension built in the air until I felt a little like I was suffocating. I wondered why they would make a room like this with no windows. Wasn't that illegal?

Gandolf pushed his chair back; it scraped on the linoleum floor. He cleared his throat before nodding at me, then left the room. There was silence for a few moments after the door clicked shut. I like that sound, of well-oiled metal jolting into place.

Issa spread his fingers on the table and smiled at me. "So you were at the parade?"

"Yes, and I was drinking and I think someone put something in my beer." I said it with my shoulders back, like I wasn't ashamed.

Issa nodded. "What was your experience?" he asked.

"The..." I paused for a moment, my mouth hanging open, unsure how to describe the feelings that had ridden me. That I could still feel traveling through my veins. "I guess you would call them physical hallucinations."

"In what way?"

I stared at the table, focusing on the grain of the fake wood. "Like..." I wet my lips, feeling that emptiness, the need to be filled. "I could feel things." I glanced up at the doctor. He was staring at me, his eyes narrowed, head nodding slightly, as if he was agreeing with me. "I could feel my friend's heartbeat. And..." I didn't want to tell him about Michael, it wasn't really any of his business.

Issa leaned forward and smiled at me. I kept my eyes off his. "Darling, I'm your doctor. You can tell me anything."

I picked up the glass of water and took a quick sip. "I kissed someone—without realizing I was doing it," I answered honestly. I looked up at him, he didn't seem surprised. "I had to be pulled off him."

Issa nodded. "We can continue with the operation," he said.

"Don't you want to test me or something?"

He shook his head. "That's unnecessary. I'll invite Jimmy back in." He stood and we continued. Everything was the same as the other two times I'd donated. We signed paperwork. The operation was explained to me. Needles in my hips, extraction of bone marrow, etc. I wouldn't be awake for any of it. 100, 99, 98, 97, and I was gone.

****

I
came out of the darkness slowly, like I was deep in a crevice in the earth but could see a slit of light above me. Floating up toward it, I felt a sense of peace. I blinked at the bright light and saw a figure standing over me. My mouth felt dry and I swallowed, though it seemed more difficult than it needed to be. I blinked again and the face above me came into focus and then blurred.

But the hair, the red golden hair was so familiar. "Megan?" I said, straining to open my eyes. When I did there was nothing but fluorescent tubes of light above me. Struggling with a woozy head and weak arms I pushed myself into a sitting position. I was in a long hallway, my gurney pushed off to the side. A doctor and nurse I didn't recognize walked by, their heads down, conferring with each other.

I looked down the hall and thought I saw her hair, its effervescent red bouncing through a door at the end of the hall. "Megan," I tried to yell but only a croak came out. Pulling the thin blankets off me, I swung my legs to the side of the gurney and lowered my feet to the floor. It was laminated, and cold against my bare toes. "Megan," I said again, using the gurney to push myself into a standing position.

"Darling, you shouldn't be up," I heard behind me but I stepped toward the door. My legs were soft and unsure; I stumbled a step forward and clutched onto the gurney to keep from falling. A hand touched my shoulder and I wheeled around, flailing out at the person trying to stop me. It was Dr. Tor. He took a step back to avoid my attempted blow. His hands up, he said, "Darling, you need to lie back down."

My vision darkened at the edges, keeping the doctor at the center of a pinpoint. I turned again toward the door I'd seen Megan go through and stepped toward it, determination strong in my gut. I felt a tug on my arm and looked down to see the needle in my IV straining to break loose. I ripped it out, a small spurt of blood followed.

"Darling." It was the doctor again; he was in front of me. "You need to lie down." I tried to push past him but ended up just kind of falling onto him. He held me up, his arms around my waist; I could feel his fingers on my naked back.

"No," I said. It came out hoarse and low, barely a protest. But I pushed back at him.

"Darling, please," he said, his voice close to me, his breath touching my cheek.

I wrenched free, falling backwards, landing on my hip. The cold floor felt almost like it was wet against my bare skin. Suddenly a nurse was by my side. "Darling, what are you doing?" she asked, crouching next to me.