Read Dead Night Online

Authors: Tim O'Rourke

Tags: #General Fiction

Dead Night (10 page)

BOOK: Dead Night
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“What’s that s’posed to mean?” she mumbled, placing the I.D. back into her pocket.

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter,” I said, realising that she didn’t know me. I shouldn’t say any more; Sophie – Caroline – had no idea that the world had been
pushed
. She had been born into a different world where we had never met – were we had never been lovers.

“Are you a cop?” she asked me, inching backwards towards the door.

“Not anymore,” I told her, and it felt weird inside to be standing so close to her again and having to pretend that we were strangers.

“What’s your name?” she asked me, as she reached the door to the living room.

“Potter,” I told her.

Then, before I’d had a chance to react, Sophie shot across the room and kicked me straight in the nuts.

“Jesus!” I groaned. “What was that for?”

“For breaking up me and Marty!” she shouted.

“Who the fuck is Marty?” I said, rubbing my bollocks.

“He was my boyfriend and we broke up because of those letters you sent me. He thought I was sleeping with you.”

“You
were
sleeping with me,” I tried to remind her.

“I don’t ever remember having sex with you!” she shouted.

“You really know how to boost a man’s ego,” I shot back.

She raised her hand as if to strike me again, and I snatched hold of her fist. “Once is enough, sweetheart.”

“I’m not your sweetheart!” she spat.

“You’re a creep.”

“I thought you said you didn’t remember me,” I said, staring at her.

Then, turning her back on me, she went into the living room. I followed her and watched as she picked up a holdall from the floor. She reached inside and pulled out a bunch of envelopes. Chucking them at me, she said, “These are the letters that you sent me.”

They scattered at my feet and I bent down and picked one up. The address on the front was unreadable, smudged beyond recognition, but her name was clear and I could see that it was my handwriting. I opened the letter and read the first few lines. Just reading them stirred the feelings that I’d once had for her within me. I remembered sitting alone in those cheap motel rooms as I had penned those letters to her.

“You wrote them, didn’t you?” she asked, her voice sounding calmer now.

“Yes,” I said, gathering up the letters and handing them back to her. With a certain amount of reluctance, she snatched them back and placed them into her bag.

“Why?” she asked. “You don’t even know me.”

Looking at her and not knowing where to start, or even if I should, I said, “I don’t know how to explain...”

“You didn’t have any difficulty in explaining how you felt for me in those letters,”

she said.

Sitting down in Kiera’s chair by the window, and with the flame from the Zippo lighter flickering in my hand, I said, “We did use to know each other once, but it was a long way away from here.”

“Where?” she snapped, placing her hands on her hips.

“I think it’s more of a case of
when
rather than
where
,” I said, looking at her, and to see her standing there made the feelings that I’d once had for her bubble up inside of me, and I hated myself for feeling like that.

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” she quizzed, taking a seat in the armchair opposite me.

“I’m not sure even if I know the answer to that,” I told her. “The world has been pushed.”

“Pushed, how?”

“It’s hard to explain,” I stared, “but I first met you a few years ago. You were studying music...”

“I’ve never studied music,” she corrected me. “I’m a pathologist. I studied medicine.”

“You didn’t have blonde hair, either,” I half-smiled at her. “It used to be dark brown.”

“I dyed it.”

“Oh,” I said. “It looks good.”

“Cut the bullshit,” she said. “Just start explaining to me why you sent those letters.”

Looking into her eyes, I could see the reflection from the flame dancing in them and I said, “Before the world got pushed, whether you believe me or not, you did use to study music. I met you at college. I wasn’t studying anything really – I was just having a good time. Then, I met you and all that changed.”

“How come?”

“I fell in love with you and you fell in love with me,” I told her. “But one night I scared you real bad and you told me to leave. So I did. But I couldn’t forget you. I loved you, Soph...Caroline. I wrote you those letters trying to explain...hoping that I could win you back.”

Staring at me, she said, “So what did you do that scared me so much?”

“This,” I said, standing and taking off the scarecrow’s coat. I rolled back my shoulders and let my wings unfold. They beat up and down on either side of me. I locked my jaw as my fangs came through and splayed my fingers to release my claws. I looked at her and this time she didn’t look scared, just curious.

12

Sophie

 

To see him standing before me as I had seen him in my dreams –
nightmares
– made my flesh turn cold. Not out of fear, but in realisation that I must have known him before - how else had I dreamt about him? Why else would I have the feelings that I did for him? I felt as if I had once loved this man, but he had died many years ago and I had moved on with my life and fallen in love with another. But he had now returned. He hadn’t been dead at all but just lost, and all those feelings that I’d once had for him – which I believed were gone – now came rushing to the front. I felt overwhelmed, but I couldn’t show him that.

Although I had feelings of love for this man who stood before me, I didn’t know him. He was like a perfect stranger to me.

“So you’re no longer scared of me?” he asked, his black wings trailing behind him.

“Do I need to be scared of you?” I breathed, unable to take my eyes off him. I remembered the dream in which I had seen him standing in my bedroom as I screamed at him to get out.

He must have sensed something in the tone of my voice or in the way that I stared at him as he looked at me and said, “You do remember, don’t you?”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. I didn’t want to tell him I had dreamt of him. To admit to that would mean I would have to admit to the feelings that I had for him. I couldn’t do that. This wasn’t real, it wasn’t happening to me. I had only ever had one life, the one where I lived with my mum and dad, where I had trained in medicine, where I had fallen in and out of love with a sweet guy called Marty, who was now dead...

“You’re lying,” Potter said, as he came across the gloomy room towards me.

“I’m not,” I said, looking away. I couldn’t look into his eyes. “If what you say is true – that the world has somehow been
pushed
, how come I received your letters?”

“I don’t know the answer to that,” he said, stopping in front of my chair.

I could hear his breathing in the semi-darkness and the humming sound that his wings seemed to make as they beat gently together. I wasn’t scared of him, not like I had been in my dreams. I wanted to reach out and hold him, to be close to him, but I was scared that if I did, it would feel like I was holding a perfect stranger.

“You know what I say is true,” he said.

“No, I don’t,” I said back. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“And that’s why I came back to look for you,” he said. “I was hoping that you might have some answers.”

“I don’t have any,” I told him, and then added, “Where have you come back from?”

“The dead,” he said. “I was murdered – you weren’t the only woman who has ripped my heart out. I died and came back.” He looked at me. “Why don’t you look surprised by that?”

“Do you know someone by the name of Kiera Hudson?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Yes, why?” he asked curiously.

“Because she was murdered too,” I told him, my eyes fixed on his. “I was the pathologist carrying out the post-mortem on her, when she came back to life and went running into the night.”

“You mean that it was you who...”

“Yes,” I cut in. “Two others showed up and...”

“Isidor and Kayla,” Potter said.

“Who?”

“My friends,” he said. “We’ve all come back from the dead. But we didn’t come back to the world that we once knew. The one where me and you had once been lovers, where U2 was called U2 and London was called London.”

“What are you talking about?” I gasped, getting up from the chair and going to the window.

“This is not the world that I once knew,”

he insisted, following me to the window.

“So in this other world you talk about, creatures like you roamed around free did they?”

Then looking him up and down, I added, “What are you meant to be anyhow, some kinda vampire?”

“A Vampyrus, actually,” he said, sounding a little pissed off. “And besides, we didn’t just wander about – people would have stared, don’t you think?”

“They don’t stare at the wolves,” I told him matter-of-factly.

“Wolves?” he said, gripping my arm again.

“You’re hurting me,” I said, pulling free of him. “The Skin-walkers, they’re wolves that steal the skins of humans.” Then, looking him up and down again, I added, “Wait until they get a look at you.”

“We didn’t just stroll about. We lived in secret, unknown to the humans,” he hissed.

“That’s why you were so scared of me, when you saw me like this. In the world before it was
pushed
– creatures like me existed only in books and movies. No one must see me like this – not here.”

I looked at him and he stared back at me.

Then as if reading my thoughts, he said, “Who have you told about Kiera Hudson?”

“Is she a Vampyrus like you then?”

thinking of what Marty had told me about her blood.

“Have you told anyone?” he barked, his eyes turning even darker, if that were possible.

“I gave Marty some of your friend’s blood to test,” I said sheepishly. “I also told him her name. But that doesn’t count, because Marty is...”

“Where is the blood now?” Potter snapped, gripping my arm again.

“A cop took it from me,” I started to explain.

“Cop!” Potter growled. “What cop?”

“The one I shot,” I said, trying to pull my arm free of his claws.

“You shot a cop?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “You really have been
pushed
.”

“He made me shoot him,” I told him, squirming free. “And he knew all about you.”

“What did he know?” Potter snapped at me.

“How should I know?” I said. “But I don’t think he liked you very much. He said you were a wise arse.”

“Did you tell him about Kiera?” he asked me, his voice sounding anxious.

“He wanted to know about the girl who had come back to life in the morgue, so I told him her name,” I said.

“You did what?”

“He made me!” I shouted at him, feeling pissed off that I was getting the blame for all of this. “He already knew about her and the blood – he just didn’t know her name that was all.”

“Who else have you told about Kiera?” he breathed, his fangs just inches from my face.

“Just Marty and the cop,” I said. “But Marty’s dead now...”

“Shhh!” he hissed, covering my mouth with one of his giant claws.

Then, from outside I could hear the sound of vehicles screeching to a halt outside. With his free hand, Potter opened the curtains just an inch and a spray of pulsating blue light lit up the room.

“Cops!” he groaned.

Pushing his hand away from my mouth, I peered through the gap in the curtains. “There is another thing I haven’t mentioned; most of the police force is currently searching for me.”

“I don’t think they’re after you,” Potter said, staring down at the mass of cops below and at an ancient old woman wearing a nightgown.

“Why would the police be after you?” I asked him.

Then, as if in answer to my question, I saw the little old lady point up at the window and shriek, “That’s the pervert I caught sniffing my knickers!”

“You did what?” I gasped, stepping away from him.

“I’m not a pervert!” Potter barked at me.

“Well there’s about five or six coppers down there who think you are,” I said.

“And they’re not going to catch me without a fight,” Potter growled, spreading his wings.

13

Potter

 

“Empty your bag!” I shouted over the thumping sound of the cops charging up the stairs towards the flat.

“Why?” Sophie – Caroline – said back.

“Just do it!” I snapped.

She pulled the letters, some clothing, and an iPod from her holdall. Holding out the rucksack towards her, I said, “Put the stuff in here.”

“Why?” she asked again.

“Because I need you to carry the rucksack. I can’t, remember?” I said, beating the wings that hung from my back.

“Oh, yeah,” she said, understanding the point that I was trying to make.

“Have you got any money?” I asked, as the cops started to pound on the door.

“Not much,” she said, stuffing the rucksack with her belongings and my scarecrow coat. “Why do we need money?”

“If we’re going on the run, we’ll need some,” I said, racing into the kitchen.

I knew that humans often hid cash at home, usually in a cookie jar or something similar.

When I’d been masquerading as a cop, I’d been to many burglaries where money had been stolen from such a place. I threw open Kiera’s kitchen cupboards, as one of the coppers started to order from outside that I open the door before they smashed it down. I pulled cups and plates from the cupboard and there, sitting at the back, was a small jar with “Cookies” written across the front. I ripped off the lid and tipped out the contents.

“Bingo!” I shouted, seeing a roll of notes spill onto the kitchen counter. I snatched them up, put them into my jeans pocket, and raced back into the living room.

Sophie threw the rucksack over her back and looking at me, she said “What now?”

“We fight,” I said, flashing my fangs and claws at her.

“But I thought you said no one should see you like this,” she reminded me.

“Don’t worry, they won’t be around long enough to tell anyone about me,” I said. “Now get behind me!”

BOOK: Dead Night
12.11Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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