Rest In Peace (7 page)

“Would it be possible to see her?” someone was asking in a hushed voice, definitely male. A familiar voice, too, Lucy thought. One she'd heard before and not so long ago.

“Of course,” the nurse replied. “Principal Howser told me Lucy was scheduled to meet with you this afternoon.”

Lucy gave an inward groan.
Oh, great. Just what I need right now. A stupid grief counselor
.

“She's right in here,” the nurse directed.

“Thanks.”

Lucy thought about feigning sleep. But at the last instant her curiosity got the better of her, and she opened her eyes just as the curtain drew back. She caught a glimpse of tousled brown hair . . . black clothes . . . a priest's collar . . .

“Welcome back, Lucy,” Matt said. “It's so good to see you again.”

7

He'd been disappointed that she wanted to leave.

Deeply disappointed, but not at all surprised.

He had known he couldn't keep her there forever, that eventually she would wake within the shadows, that awareness would begin to rouse her senses once again.

She would realize then that things were not as they should be in her world.

And then she would find strength she never knew she had.

And she would flee from him.

Believing that she truly had escaped.

Now, every time he thought of it, the irony made him smile.

Her wild, desperate flight through the woods—and how he'd always been just one step ahead of her, one step behind her, so close that he could smell her wild, delicious fear and the blood throbbing madly through her veins.

The blood that was partly his own . . .

The blood he had given her from his own lips . . .

 

She'd been practically dead by the time he got her to the cave.

Cold and motionless, yet still beautiful. He had undressed her so carefully and tended her wounds. Licking her blood away . . . loving the taste of it.

At times she had moaned, moving instinctively beneath his mouth.

And he had stood there for hours in the dark, gazing down on her, his mind filled with an eternity of possibilities and desires.

Undiluted, his own blood would have killed her. So rich and pure and ageless, that the shock of it to her system would have been more than her mortality could bear.

So he had done the next best thing.

After all, he'd had no time for hunting—not for the prey he preferred and was accustomed to. So he had contented himself with smaller he could smell her wild, delicious fear and the blood throbbing madly through her veins.

The blood that was partly his own . . .

The blood he had given her from his own lips . . .

 

She'd been practically dead by the time he got her to the cave.

Cold and motionless, yet still beautiful.

He had undressed her so carefully and tended her wounds. Licking her blood away . . . loving the taste of it.

At times she had moaned, moving instinctively beneath his mouth.

And he had stood there for hours in the dark, gazing down on her, his mind filled with an eternity of possibilities and desires.

Undiluted, his own blood would have killed her. So rich and pure and ageless, that the shock of it to her system would have been more than her mortality could bear.

So he had done the next best thing.

After all, he'd had no time for hunting—not for the prey he preferred and was accustomed to. So he had contented himself with smaller

game instead—rabbits and squirrels and foxes—and after feeding on them, he had mixed their blood with his own and coaxed it between her pale, pale lips. And after a while, when her heart beat stronger, only then had he sunk his teeth into her flesh, forcing himself to hold back, injecting only warmth and bloody spittle straight into her artery. A place no one would think to look, and a place she would never suspect.

Not that it mattered anyway.

His mark would vanish within twenty-four hours, just as it had for hundreds of years.

Leaving his victim oblivious and unscathed.

So Lucy would not know, of course, that he had saved her life.

A life so sad and lonely, that it longed to be filled with his blood and his passion.

Yes, he had touched her.

Tasted her, but not
taken
her.

A noble—and most uncommon—sacrifice on his part.

A sacrifice that left him wanting her all the more . . .

 

He had seen The One who rescued her. game instead—rabbits and squirrels and foxes—and after feeding on them, he had mixed their blood with his own and coaxed it between her pale, pale lips. And after a while, when her heart beat stronger, only then had he sunk his teeth into her flesh, forcing himself to hold back, injecting only warmth and bloody spittle straight into her artery. A place no one would think to look, and a place she would never suspect. Not that it mattered anyway. His mark would vanish within twenty-four hours, just as it had for hundreds of years. Leaving his victim oblivious and unscathed. So Lucy would not know, of course, that he had saved her life. A life so sad and lonely, that it longed to be filled with his blood and his passion. Yes, he had touched her. Tasted her, but not
taken
her. A noble—and most uncommon—sacrifice on his part. A sacrifice that left him wanting her all the more . . . He had seen The One who rescued her.

He had stood by and watched as Lucy was lifted from the road and placed inside the car and driven far away.

And he could have resolved it then and there, but it was neither the time nor the place for confrontation.

Not the moment for settling old scores.

So he had merely suffered the anger building inside him, the hatred boiling in his veins—reminding himself it was inevitable, that he should have expected it to happen.

Truth be told, it might make the Game more interesting, this vying for Lucy's surrender.

A surrender that must be willing and complete. A surrender that must be gradual . . . so gradual that even Lucy herself would never see it coming. For hers was a soul to be nurtured. Hers was a soul to be understood. And right now, more than anything else, hers was a soul that yearned to be loved.
Loved
. . . A rare and somewhat disturbing challenge, but not altogether impossible. He had stood by and watched as Lucy was lifted from the road and placed inside the car and driven far away. And he could have resolved it then and there, but it was neither the time nor the place for confrontation. Not the moment for settling old scores. So he had merely suffered the anger building inside him, the hatred boiling in his veins—reminding himself it was inevitable, that he should have expected it to happen. Truth be told, it might make the Game more interesting, this vying for Lucy's surrender. A surrender that must be willing and complete.

A surrender that must be gradual . . . so gradual that even Lucy herself would never see it coming.

For hers was a soul to be nurtured.

Hers was a soul to be understood.

And right now, more than anything else, hers was a soul that yearned to be loved.

Loved
. . .

A rare and somewhat disturbing challenge, but not altogether impossible.

He had managed it before in his lifetime, and he was
nothing
if not a Master at deception.

So he would give Lucy what she most wanted. And appear as the faces she would trust. And be exactly what she
needed
him to be.

He ached with anticipation.

And he remembered fondly all the countless hearts he'd ever stolen, knowing
hers
would be the most precious one of all.

But for now he'd let her keep it . . . At least for a while. He had managed it before in his lifetime, and he was
nothing
if not a Master at deception. So he would give Lucy what she most wanted. And appear as the faces she would trust. And be exactly what she
needed
him to be.
Soon, Lucy. Soon I'll be the only one who matters in your life.
He ached with anticipation. And he remembered fondly all the countless hearts he'd ever stolen, knowing
hers
would be the most precious one of all. But for now he'd let her keep it . . . At least for a while.

8

“Matt,” Lucy murmured. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just going to ask you the same thing.” The young priest eased down onto the side of her cot. “You didn't have to do this to get out of our counseling session, you know. You could've just asked.”

Lucy ignored the mild attempt at a joke. “I didn't know it was going to be you.”

“I've been here all week. A lot of kids have needed to talk, to work through their feelings. To just . . .”

His voiced trailed off. He leaned slightly forward, hands clasped between his knees.

“Lucy . . .”

“So am I supposed to call you Father Matthew today?” Lucy interrupted, needing to change the subject.

“Whatever you like. Whatever makes you feel comfortable.”

Comfortable?
She recalled the few brief encounters she'd had with Matt before her accident—when she'd escaped in terror from the confessional . . . when he'd found the necklace that was missing from Byron's pocket . . . and when he'd given out the information that had sent her and Byron on their wild-goose chase after Angela. He looked like a symbol of death sitting here, Lucy thought now—dressed in his official black, with his face so grave and composed. Just another reminder of doom and loss, and things that made no sense.

“So.” Matt's eyes locked gently with hers. “How are you? Really?”

As much as Lucy wanted to avoid this conversation, she couldn't look away. She noticed the pale streaks of sunlight through his hair . . . those long dark lashes . . . that boyishly handsome face . . . everything just as she remembered. Yet
something
in Matt had changed, she realized suddenly. Some secret inner sadness? Some profound hidden pain? Whatever it was, it had darkened the deep, deep blue of his eyes and tempered his smile.

For a moment it caught her off balance. As though in some strange way she should be comforting
him
. Then her defenses rallied once more.

“How am I
doing
?” she echoed mockingly. “I'm here. That's about it.”

“That's a beginning.”

In a gesture that seemed professionally instinctive, his hand covered her own. Yet as an unexpected warmth touched the cold places inside her, Lucy pulled free from him and quickly sat up.

“Is this where I get the lecture?” she challenged.

“And what lecture is that?”

“The one about Byron being in a better place, and how God had some very perfect reason for killing him? And how I should just accept it and go on with my life?”

“I don't know that lecture,” Matt replied seriously. “And I think the issue here is that
you
still have a life.”

“Right. Lucky me.”

“I'm glad you were the one with Byron at the end, Lucy. I'm glad you were the last beautiful thing he saw in this world, and maybe
that
was God's plan. Byron was a wonderful person.”

“How would you know?” Lucy couldn't keep the sarcasm from her tone. “You met him one time. You didn't know him.”

“You're right, I didn't know him personally. But I've heard what his classmates say about him; I know he had friends he wasn't even aware of. I know he was close to his family, looked out for his older sister, took care of his grandmother. I know he shouldn't have died so young.”

Lucy's eyes filled. She barely managed a nod.

“But there's something else I know.” Matt stared down at the floor, his voice low and calm. “I know that as hard as it is to lose people we care about, sometimes it's even worse being the ones left behind.”

Silence stretched between them. When Lucy finally spoke, her words were bitter.

“How about being the one everyone blames?”

“You know better than that.”

“If I hadn't come to Pine Ridge, none of this would have happened.”

“But
something
would've happened, Lucy. Things
always
happen. They would've just happened in different ways. That's called
life
.”

Lucy hesitated. Her voice came out a broken whisper. “But I keep thinking about his grandmother. Who's going to take care of Byron's grandmother?”

“She has a nurse who comes through the week. And Mrs. Dempsey, who cleans at the church, is staying nights with her temporarily. Just till other arrangements can be made.”

“What other arrangements?”

“Right now we're trying to find family members we can contact. Byron's sister—Katherine—moved away about a year ago, and no one seems to know where.”

Lucy felt her heart skip a beat. Without even realizing it, she clenched her right hand, as though she could squeeze away the tiny half-moon scar. “There
must
be other relatives.”

“Father Paul and I are working on it,” Matt replied, but Lucy could tell he was discouraged.

“And what if you can't find anyone else?”

“Then I don't think we'll have a choice. She'll have to be moved to some sort of long-term care.”

The ache in Lucy's heart grew worse. “Have you been to see her yet? Does she actually realize what's happened?”

She watched as Matt shifted positions. He leaned toward her slightly, his expression puzzled.