Temptation (15 page)

His
hair
felt so heavy on his head.

He was breathing hard from the exertion of walking.

He had to get undressed, out of the heavy clothes that were weighing him down.

He had to get to bed, to sleep.

Had to sleep away this weariness.

Sleep away the aching of his throat.

But where was he?

Why was everything tilting and swaying?

Just tired. Just . . . so . . . tired.

Jessica, he thought, picturing her pale, dramatic face; picturing the flowing red hair, the burning eyes.

Jessica, why am I so tired?

What did we do, Jessica? What did we do?

He forced himself not to think about her. If he started to think about Jessica, he'd never get to sleep.

First, I have to get undressed, he decided, struggling to clear his mind.

The familiar furniture in his room was a blur of shadows.

A blur. A blur among blurs.

But suddenly, one of the blurs came into solid focus.

Matt blinked. Once. Twice.

Someone was sitting on his bed, sitting in the dark room, his back to Matt.

He blinked again, willing the image away. But it wouldn't leave.

It was really there.

Someone was on his bed.

Gripped with fear, Matt stared at the unmoving form.

Who was it?

Who was in his room at this hour?

How did he get in?

“Hey—” Matt uttered in a whisper. “Hey—”

Holding his breath, summoning his courage, struggling to clear his head, he reached out and tapped the person on the shoulder.

As Matt touched him, the dark figure slowly turned.

His face came into view.

And Matt began to scream.

Pressing both hands over his mouth to muffle his shrieks, Matt backed away from the bed.

He bumped into his dresser, sending a stab of pain down his back.

Ignoring it, he gaped in horror at the somber-faced figure, hunched on his bed, staring back at him across the room.

Slowly, gulping for air, Matt lowered his hands.

“Todd—” he cried, his voice escaping his throat in a hoarse whisper. “Todd—you're
dead
!”

The figure, hands resting on the knees of his black slacks, leaned forward slowly, and his face edged out of the shadows into the square of pale moonlight from the window.

“Todd—” Matt repeated, his back pressed hard against the dresser.

Todd's face appeared in the light, green and swollen. His eyes
were open but had sunk back in his head. Encircled by pus, the pupils were solid white.

A tear in the flesh of one cheek allowed the skin to sag like a pocket. When Todd finally opened his mouth to speak, his jaws grating as they opened like a squeaking, rusty door, Matt saw that several teeth were missing.

“Hi, Matt.”

The voice was like wind, a rush of air.

“No!” A wave of fear nearly brought Matt to his knees. He turned and gripped the dresser top to keep himself upright.

“No!”

“Yessssssss,” the creature on the bed hissed.

The curtains on the window appeared to billow up in response.

“Yessssss,” Todd repeated as if testing his own breathless voice. And again the curtains flapped in reply.

This isn't a dream, Matt realized, feeling the knob on the dresser drawer press into his back.

How many times had he dreamed about Todd since that terrible morning when he had discovered him bobbing in the water, cut and lifeless?

How many times had Todd returned to invade Matt's dreams?

But this was no dream.

Todd—dead Todd—sat on Matt's bed, his sunken egg-white eyes staring up at Matt, his sagging, ripped face testifying to his death.

“Todd—you're dead,” Matt repeated.

The thought formed a barrier to any other words. He couldn't get past it.

“You're dead.”

“I'm not dead at night,” Todd whispered, leaning closer to make himself heard.

The curtains blew out the window, as if being sucked out by some invisible force.

“I'm not dead at night,” Todd repeated breathlessly. “At night I'm caught between life and death.”

Todd's head angled to one side, dropping nearly to his shoulder, as if holding it up were a strain.

“No!” Matt cried, closing his eyes, unable to continue staring at this hideous, distorted form of his old friend.

When he opened his eyes, he gasped in horror.

Todd had risen up off the bed.

“No—please!” Matt cried, trying to back away, but he was trapped against the dresser.

Todd moved forward quickly, seeming to float across the room. He reached out and grabbed Matt by the shoulders.

His grip was hard as bone.

The blank white eyes, so deep in their red, pus-filled sockets, stared into Matt's eyes as if accusing him.

“Todd—no!”

But Todd's grip tightened.

An odor of decay filled Matt's nostrils.

He tried to hold his breath, but his chest was heaving.

The foul odor encircled him, closed in on him, until he uttered a strangled cry. He almost suffocated under the power of the fetid smell.

Still Todd gripped his shoulders, his white eyes staring blindly into Matt's, hovering over Matt, floating above him in the dark room, imprisoning Matt, cornering him, paralyzing him with the odor of decay, the smell of death.

“Todd—what are you doing?” Matt managed to cry out in a terrified voice he didn't recognize. “What are you doing?”

“I—I came to warn you,” Todd whispered, the words escaping hesitantly in small bursts of foul breath.

“Huh?”

Matt closed his eyes, tried to keep down the waves of nausea.

Todd loosened his grip but didn't back away.

“I came to warn you,” he repeated, tilting his head till it rested on his shoulder. Matt opened his eyes to see a foot-long tear in the flesh of Todd's neck.

“Vampires,” Todd whispered.

“Yes,” Matt agreed, nodding solemnly. Everything was spinning, spinning so fast. He had to close his eyes again.

If only he could escape from the smell, so putrid, so sour, so sickening, so suffocating.

“They're vampires, Matt,” Todd warned, reaching out to Matt as he floated backward.

“I know,” Matt whispered, his eyes closed. “I know, Todd.”

“Lisssssssssten,” Todd hissed, suddenly sounding far away. “Lissssssten, Matt. I came to warn you. They're vampires.”

“I know, Todd. I
know
!” Matt cried with a loud sob. His eyes were shut tight. He tried not to inhale. The smell was so powerful, so disgusting.

“I know, Todd,” he repeated weakly. “But I'm so tired.”

Silence.

Matt kept his eyes shut.

“I'm so tired, Todd. Really. I'm just so—tired.”

Silence.

“I'm sorry, Todd. I'm really sorry. But I'm very, very tired now. I'm just . . . too . . . tired.”

•   •   •   •   •

Matt swam slowly to consciousness and, one eye open, peered at the window. A wash of gray morning light filled the room.

He groaned and tried to open his other eye, then gave up and closed them both.

He didn't remember falling asleep. He didn't remember sleeping.

He only remembered the dream.

Am I ever going to stop dreaming about Todd? he wondered, yawning, stretching his legs over the bedcovers.

“Hey—”

He pulled himself up and, squinting, looked down.

He was still dressed. Still wearing the denim cutoffs and blue long-sleeved polo shirt he had worn with Jessica.

“Ohh,” he groaned, seeing that his sneakers, caked with wet sand, were still on his feet.

The bedspread was streaked with sand. He must have just fallen onto his bed, unconscious.

Reaching for his alarm clock, he knocked his Walkman onto the floor. It hit with a loud
clunk
and bounced. It was only seven-fifteen. Still early.

What was that smell in his nostrils?

That sour smell?

It was in his throat too. It seemed to be on his skin.

Had he thrown up without realizing it?

Still squinting and struggling to wake up, Matt pulled himself to his feet and looked about unsteadily.

Bits of the dream flashed into his mind.

It had been a terrifying dream. So real.

So real the foul aroma had stayed with him.

He stumbled to the mirror over the dresser and grabbed the dresser top for support.

Even though he had slept for hours, he didn't feel at all rested or refreshed.

In fact, he had never felt this tired in all his life.

Must be sick, he thought the foul odor clinging to his nostrils.

He bumped the Kleenex box onto the floor.

Not bothering to pick it up, he peered into the mirror.

And saw the dark pinprick bruises on his throat.

And knew it wasn't a dream.

“Todd was here,” he said aloud, his voice hoarse and sleep clogged.

“Todd came back to warn me.”

He leaned forward, pressing himself against the wooden dresser to get a better look.

Tiny, round pinpricks. The color of red plums.

A tiny bruise.

Where Jessica had drunk.

Jessica.

She was a vampire.

Todd had come to warn him about Jessica.

She had given him the same kind of throat wound as—April had.

Staring into the mirror, Matt knew he had been right. Gabri was a vampire too.

Todd had come to warn him.

He raised two fingers to his throat and gently, reluctantly touched the bruise.

Touching the spot gave him a chill of pleasure.

Those kisses. Those lips. So wet against his throat, so warm.

He pressed the spot lightly and received another chill.

It wasn't a dream. Todd was here.

And
now
what can I do? What
should
I do?

He realized his legs were trembling. He felt so weak, so completely exhausted.

Dizzily, he made his way back to the bed. He sat down heavily and tried to pull off his sneakers.

But the effort was too much for him.

I've got to do something—got to warn April.

Sighing, he toppled onto his back, his arms dropping weakly over the sides of the bed.

“Got to warn April,” he whispered, struggling to open his eyes. “Got to save us . . . ”

Then he was asleep again. Not a normal sleep, but a deep unconsciousness. A dreamless darkness.

He was awakened some time later by hands shaking him roughly.

“Todd?” he cried, sitting up straight. “Todd? You're back?”

“Huh? Todd?” Matt muttered, struggling to consciousness. He felt as if he were at the bottom of the ocean, trying to push himself up, up through the heavy swirl of waves.

It wasn't Todd shaking him. It was his dad.

“Hey—wake up! Lazy bum!” Mr. Daniels called with mock anger.

“Huh? What time is it?” Matt stared into the bright, golden sunshine flooding into the room through the open curtains.

“We let you sleep till ten,” his father said, pointing to the bed-table clock. “But we all have to go. Come on. Get dressed. You can eat breakfast on the way to the pier.”

“Whoa.” Matt tentatively placed his feet on the floor. “Am I forgetting something here?” He squinted at his father, still unable to open both eyes at the same time.

“We're going deep-sea fishing, remember? On Dr. Miller's boat?” Mr. Daniels gave Matt's shoulder a playful shove. “Hurry it up, you bum.” He started toward the door.

“I can't,” Matt called to him, sinking back onto his pillow.

His father turned at the doorway, a concerned expression on his handsome face. “What's wrong? You sick?”

“Yes,” Matt answered quickly. “No. I mean, I don't know.”

“What's your problem, Matt?” Mr. Daniels took two steps back into the room, pulling down one sleeve of his white V-necked sweater.

“I'm just so tired, Dad,” Matt said, not lifting his head from the pillow. “Maybe I
am
coming down with something.”

“You look really pale,” his dad said, squinting at him. “Maybe you
need
a day out on a boat in the sun.”

“I'm—too tired,” Matt told him. “I think I'll just stay home and try to get over this.”

Mr. Daniels glanced at the clock. “Well, okay,” he said hesitantly. “Your mom and I are really late. Sure you'll be okay?”

Matt nodded yes. “Tell the Millers I'm sorry.”

His father turned and started to leave. He stopped again at the doorway and sniffed the air. “What's that odd smell?” he asked, making a face.

It's just my dead friend, Matt thought darkly. Just my dead friend come back to warn me that I've been going out with a vampire. Nothing to worry about, Dad.

“I don't know. It's coming from outside, I think,” Matt said, yawning.

Still sniffing, Mr. Daniels gave a quick, regretful wave and disappeared out the door. A few minutes later Matt heard the back door slam. Then he heard the car start up and pull away.

Alone in the house, he forced himself up.

The terror of the night before swept over him, and he knew he'd vomit. Choking it back, he staggered to the bathroom and leaned over the bowl.

He had dry heaves until his stomach ached. His head spinning, beads of cold perspiration covering his pale forehead, Matt sat on the cool tile floor and waited to feel better.

After a minute or so his stomach seemed to unknot and the bathroom walls stopped whirring about.

No time to lose, he told himself.

I've got to warn April. I've got to.