The Vengeful Vampire (12 page)

Sebastian reached over and held her hand, grounding her. He opened his mouth to speak, and then paused. He’d always been careful not to get involved in human lives.

But he couldn’t stop himself, “What if I can make it look like this never happened?”

She stared up at him, eyes bloodshot, as if she barely dared to believe what he offered.

“You don’t have to involve the police,” he said. “I can get rid of the body.”

“I don’t want to go to jail, but I killed him. I should be punished for what I’ve done.”

“You’ve been punished enough. Would anyone miss him?” he asked. “Would anyone be asking after him?”

Serenity pushed herself to sitting and wiped her face.

“I don’t know. He doesn’t have any friends. He spends his life on that damn computer.” Guiltily, she corrected herself. “Spent his life.”

“So what if I can make it all go away?” he said. “Put your stuff back in the closet and pack his instead. I can make sure his credit cards are used in another state, a long way off. It will look like he left you.”

Her face glimmered with hope for the first time. “But how do you know how to do this stuff? What are you, mafia or something?”

“Let’s just say, I’ve had to make a lot of people disappear.”

As soon as Serenity drifted
into sleep
,
Sebastian turned his attention to the job at hand. He’d come to the house to say goodbye to Serenity, to tell her he needed to leave now that Madeline had found him again. The last thing he expected was to find a murder scene.

Back in the kitchen, Jackson’s face had taken on the strange waxy complexion of the dead, his eyes blank and staring. The blood surrounding him had begun to congeal, turning from bright red to a thick, black tar. From experience, Sebastian knew when he started to clean the blood would smear as red as before.

Sebastian held himself partly responsible for the man’s death. Though he felt no sorrow at the passing of someone who didn’t deserve to be alive, his distress stayed with Serenity. He never wanted her to be in this position and now, with a single act, she would be a different woman. He wished he’d stepped in sooner, had done
something to help her instead of lecturing the whole time. Who the hell did he think he was, trying to tell her how to live her life? He told her to leave her husband and when she tried, she’d been forced to kill him.

Guilt and torment radiated through him.

He had done this, he was responsible. He should have walked away when he was given the chance. His presence in her life would only bring Serenity pain and yet he’d pursued her.

Sebastian vowed to somehow make things right with her again. By removing every trace of Jackson’s murder from her home, she would be free of her violent spouse with no repercussions.

Then he, Sebastian, would walk away and let her get on with her life.

His heart dropped at the thought and he clenched his teeth in an effort to suppress the emotions roaring deep within him. He had to walk away. He owed her that much.

The sight of blood or death did not deter him. After so many years, death caused him none of the revulsion it did for humans. At least he needn’t worry about this one coming back; none of the normal protocol would have to be followed. Even so, he would dispose of this body and the chances of it ever being found were minute.

He would clean the blood up the old fashioned way—with a good bit of elbow grease. Of course, possessing the speed and strength of a hundred commercial cleaners and knowing all the tricks to remove blood stains helped. Anything proving difficult to clean would be disposed of.

The third and final piece of the puzzle would be making it look like Jackson had up and left. Sebastian knew of another like himself living in a small town in Utah. The vampire owed him a favor and, taking Jackson’s things with him, Sebastian would travel there once he had completed the cleanup. He would ask the other vampire to use Jackson’s credit cards around the area, making it appear as if Jackson had fled to this part of the country. Utah and the surrounding area was harsh and unforgiving country; part mountain, part desert. A place where someone could easily get lost and a body never be found.

Sebastian would then say goodbye to Serenity and condemn himself to living the rest of eternity in love and alone.

Chapter Ten

Serenity woke, slowly emerging from
a deep, dreamless sleep. Curled up on her side, her cheek pressed against the soft pillow. Though warm and comfortable, something pulled her from oblivion.

Daylight from the bedroom window glared in her face and she raised a hand to shield her eyes. Why hadn’t she closed the drapes last night?

She started to pull herself up to sitting and glanced over at Jackson’s side to check he was still asleep. The horror of last night fell upon her.

Serenity clamped a hand to her mouth, a thin keening sound forcing its way between her lips. Nausea washed over her and she leaned over the side of the bed to heave up a small amount of bile, before dry retching until her ribs hurt.

Her hands trembled as she wiped her mouth. She wanted the memory to be a lie, tried to convince herself the whole thing had been nothing more than a nightmare. Perhaps Jackson went out early or hadn’t come home last night. The lie failed and the truth danced before her eyes in all its multicolored horror.

She had killed her husband; murdered Jackson.

Serenity hid her face in her hands.

“Oh no, please no, no, no,” she said over and over again, shaking her head from side to side. It wasn’t true, couldn’t be true. She whimpered into her hands, taking each breath in hitching, panicky sobs.

This was all too big, too much to take. How could she live, knowing everyday what she’d done, what she’d become.

Serenity struggled to catch her breath. Panic overwhelmed her and she clutched at her chest, tore at her throat.

She didn’t know what to do or think. Serenity wanted to hurt herself, punish herself for her actions. She was worse than Jackson had ever been; an evil, horrible, terrible person. Her hands repulsed her. She wanted to scrape off her skin, cut off her fingers so she would never have to look at the things that held the knife. Physical pain would be better than the gut wrenching anguish clutching at her soul.

Serenity stood in the middle of the room, turned her face to the ceiling and screamed. She shrieked until she thought her lungs would burst and the cries would ring in her ears for hours to come. The noise blocked out everything she felt, everything she had done.

Her throat cracked and the pause provided the break she needed for the tears to spill.

Throwing herself face down on the bed, she gulped great, shuddering sobs, tears pouring down her face. She cried until her chest hurt and her throat burned. Her nose and sinuses were blocked, her ears muffled. Serenity wept for what she’d done, for the death of her husband, for the death of the person she’d thought she was. She cried out of fear for herself and what she had become.

You only did to him what he would eventually have done to you.

The truth, but it didn’t make her feel any better.

He’ll never hit you again. Never make you feel small and worthless. Your life is your own again.

Serenity shied away from the spark of hope burgeoning through the terror and anguish. She didn’t deserve to feel anything other than the pain she was in right now and she pushed away the positive thought. Now wasn’t the time to try justifying what she’d done; nothing made murder right.

She couldn’t mourn Jackson, however. Murdering him went beyond wrong, but she wasn’t upset over her husband’s death, just the way it had happened. How was she supposed to miss the person who’d made her life hell for the past ten years?

Serenity hated the potential for violence inside of her; she didn’t recognize herself anymore and the knowledge scared her.

Would she go to prison? Even the risk of incarceration was better than spending the rest of her life under the same roof as
him
. Perhaps, in hindsight, she should have murdered Jackson a long time ago. He never would have let her go. Whatever happened, however carefully she planned, Jackson would always have been one step ahead of her. Even if she’d gotten away from him, Serenity would have looked over her shoulder for the rest of her life, seeing his face in every man she met, wondering when he would eventually catch up with her.

At least now, even with the possibility of prison, she was free.

Guilt swept over her in a sickening rush. How could she think like that? As if she was pleased with herself for killing him.

No, she hated her hand in Jackson’s murder, but she was pleased about his death.

Serenity sniffed and wiped her face, puffy from crying. She rolled back onto her side, tucking her knees up to her stomach. Emotional exhaustion clouded her head, weighing down her limbs. Her hand strayed to Jackson’s side of the bed. She snatched it back and shuddered. Would she ever be able to sleep there again without thinking of what she’d done? Would she be able to go a single minute of a single day without thinking about last night?

Suddenly, she remembered Sebastian and sat up.

He’d been here last night!

She found her hand clamped against her mouth again. Flashbacks of memory came back to her: blood, anger, death. It was like she’d spent the previous night hideously drunk and pieces were flooding to her in flashes.

Sebastian! How did I forget about Sebastian?

What he’d seen hadn’t horrified him. The sight of blood hadn’t fazed him. If she remembered rightly, he offered to help, but why? Why didn’t he call the cops? The minute he walked in on her with the knife in her hand, he should have picked up the phone. Instead, he offered to help.

Once more, guilt flooded her, but this time for a different reason. Serenity hadn’t intended to involve Sebastian. She would gladly give herself up to the police and confess if it meant he’d never be implicated.

Now, thanks to her, he was an accessory to murder.

There’s still time,
she told herself,
I can still go to the police.

When—if—Sebastian came back, she’d make him tell her exactly what he’d done with the body. Then she’d tell the police she covered up her crime alone. As far as the police were concerned, Sebastian didn’t even exist.

So where was he now? She didn’t think he’d slept in the bed with her, but she couldn’t remember him leaving.

Serenity chewed at her lip. She needed to go downstairs, into the kitchen, face what she had done. The thought made her feel sick and lightheaded all over again. She wasn’t sure if she could handle seeing the place where the murder happened. What if Sebastian hadn’t done as he said and left instead? What if she went downstairs and Jackson was still lying on the linoleum, covered in blood?

A sharp sob broke the silence and she pressed her hands over her face.
Oh, God, how am I supposed to do this?

In that moment, she would gladly have Jackson alive again if it meant she didn’t have to walk down the stairs.

Her clothes from the previous night were nowhere to be seen. She picked her robe off the back of her occasional chair and, before pulling the garment on, she glanced down at herself.

Not a drop of blood marred her skin. All at once, she remembered the hot water and Sebastian holding her in the shower. She recalled the security of his arms protecting her from the horror of what had happened. He held her against his chest, his own clothes soaking as she clung to his neck, her face buried against his throat. She yearned for him then, desperately wanting his presence with every fiber of her soul.

Where was he?

Serenity’s legs trembled beneath her as she made her way to the bathroom. She expected to find her bloodied clothes on the floor, blood smeared across the sink and bath, but the bathroom was spotless.

A flicker of hope ran through her. Had she dreamed the whole thing? Maybe she’d gone crazy and none of this happened?

Was being insane better than the truth?

Like an old woman, she left the bathroom and went into the hallway, clutching frailly to the banister of the stairs. Her legs wobbled and her head swam. A couple of times she had to stop and compose herself. Silent tears ran down her cheeks.

She made it to the bottom, taking choking little gasps of breath before continuing.

Using the wall for balance, she stumbled along the hallway. Her heart pounded so hard she thought it might explode from her chest or burst blood vessels in her ears.

In her mind, she saw Jackson lying on the kitchen floor, one arm bent at an awkward angle behind his head, blood smeared glasses hanging off his face. She saw the blood, thick as oil, covering their old fashioned green linoleum. The vision had been burned into her brain and she would see her dead husband’s face every time she closed her eyes.

She didn’t want to do this, but she had to.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, she forced herself to walk into the kitchen.

It was empty.

In disbelief and amazement, she walked in, her bare feet treading on the floor that, only a few hours ago, had been saturated with her husband’s blood. Like the bathroom, the place was spotless. It looked as though nothing had happened.

Suddenly panicked she had imagined it all, she raced back up into the bedroom and slammed open the closet door. Desperately, she threw out shoes and bags, searching for the bag she had packed for herself.

The back pack was missing.

Empty out your bag,
Sebastian told her.
Pack some of his things. I can make it look like he’s left you.

Still in a panic, mind blurred, she yanked open Jackson’s drawers, one after the other, flinging out shirts, pants and underwear. Some of the items were gone; not much but enough to notice.

Clothes littered every surface but Serenity wasn’t finished yet. She opened the bedside drawer where Jackson kept his passport and discovered the document was missing. She went into the bathroom and saw what she hadn’t before; empty spaces on the shelf where his toothbrush and shaving kit normally stood.