Chapter Four
When I woke, there was nothing slow or peaceful about it. One minute I was completely out, the next I was on my feet and aware of everything around me. I was in an empty cage made of iron bars. The bars were securely planted into the concrete ceiling and floor of what seemed to be a basement. The cage looked completely inescapable—except for the door standing wide open. That seemed rather pointless. The cell was empty, except for my own frantic body. The room’s walls were bare, except for one door open to a set of steep stairs.
Though I spotted a short man with a shocking array of red hair sitting in a folding chair, reading a magazine, I didn't wait to exchange pleasantries. I bolted through the open door and out of the room. Two guards stood on the other side of the door. I heard them trying to pursue me, but I was too fast. Don't ask me how I suddenly became so athletic; maybe sheer terror had given me wings. Whatever the case may be, I bolted up the concrete stairs and found myself in a wide hallway without windows. I glanced one way, and then another. At one end, a narrow staircase headed upward. I charged up it, taking the steps three at a time. Though some might be able to do that with ease, at five foot four, I found it a little harder than impossible. Somehow I made it to the exterior door before the pursuing men had reached the hallway.
I slammed against the release bar and propelled myself into the sunny morning rays. At first, I was surprised to see the sun peeking over the buildings of downtown Olympia—it doesn't do that often here. The next second, I was screaming in pain and writhing on the sidewalk. I looked at my bare arms and legs. Red blisters were quickly forming on my flesh. It looked as though my skin was actually boiling. Before I could seek some sort of remedy, my two followers had arrived and stepped out into the sunlight. They did not begin to boil, but picked me up by the arms and legs and carried me back into the building.
The redhead waited at the bottom of the narrow stairs, well away from the swath of light that penetrated the deep bunker, with his magazine tucked under his arm. The burly men set me down in the hallway, while the redhead knelt beside me, staring at my damaged flesh. To my astonishment, the damaged skin was healing before my eyes. Within seconds, it was back to its normal Washington pastiness.
The redhead waved the other men away. They went back down the steps into the room with the cage. “My name is Josh,” said the remaining man.
“What's going on?” I demanded.
“I'm not going to hurt you.”
His statement didn't comfort me, so I didn't respond.
“I need you to listen very carefully—”
“What is going on?” I snapped, my ability to cope with weird stuff long gone. When he didn't answer me immediately, I rose to my feet and began to march down the hallway, away from the door leading into the sunlight. Josh rose with me, grabbing my arm before I could make it two steps.
“I will tell you, but you have to prepare yourself for something you might not believe. And you have to let me finish before you go running off.”
I nodded slowly, after which he released my arm.
“So… um… ” He stuttered, obviously trying to find the right words. “Well… you see… uh… look there's no easy way to say this… ”
I tried to imagine what he might be leading up to. Had I contracted some horrible disease that made me boil in the sun? That seemed a little far-fetched.
“You see… you’re a vampire now,” the red-head finished.
I don't know what response he expected, but evidently my loud and slightly hysterical laughter wasn't it.
“You're a funny, funny man!” I said, thumping him on his shoulder.
He stared at me, waiting for the laughter to die away. When I noticed his serious look, I stopped. Crap, this guy was for real.
Great! I’m in some sort of basement fortress with a lunatic. Or maybe a crazed fan.
“What happened when you went outside?” he asked.
I hesitated. “It was a fluke?” I hadn't meant to ask a question.
Josh gestured toward the door at the top of the steps. In an act of sheer defiance, I marched up the steps, pushed the door open, and immediately regretted it. The sun shone through the opening, searing my skin again. I jumped back, letting the weight of the door pull it shut. Like before, the damage on my arm healed in a matter of seconds.
The short man stood at the bottom of the steps, waiting patiently.
It couldn't be true. Vampires were fictitious creations of Hollywood and those who wanted to make money—I should know! I was one of those slimy bastards out to make a buck. Of course, my vampires didn't burn in the sun. Sure, I’d seen Brad Pitt in “Interview with a Vampire,” but it seemed too ridiculous for my books.
Evidently, I was wrong. Very wrong!
“What would happen if I stayed in the sun?” I asked.
“You would die, turn to ashes,” he said.
“For real?” There was no belief tinting my tone of voice, as I thought back to when Kristen Dunst turned into ash.
Josh nodded solemnly. The twinkle in his eye suggested he was struggling to keep a straight face. It was enough to send me into a tizzy.
“No!” I shrieked, pushing past him and stomping back down the hallway. I didn't know where I was going, but I had to do something in protest. It couldn't be! I couldn't accept it.
With quick steps, Josh caught up and kept me from reaching the next doorway. It was a double door made of thick wood that looked like oak and it didn't match the undecorated interior of the concrete hall. On the other side of the hallway was another, wider staircase leading up to a set of metal doors.
“Listen!” He grabbed my arms to force me to stand still. “Can you hear the music playing in there?” he asked, nodding toward the wooden doors on our level.
I hesitated a moment, pretending to listen. The thing was I didn't have to try to hear the music. It came through loud enough. “Mozart?” I asked, not quite certain which classical composer it was.
“Chopin actually. And the T.V. up there?” He nodded toward the second floor.
I didn't hesitate this time. “I hear a basketball game and a talk show and, um, the news,” I added as more sounds came to my ears. How many TVs did they have up there?
He nodded again. “And conversations?”
There were many to choose from. I could hear two women discussing a man, who was evidently quite attractive. A man was commenting on his new car. I heard another man order a drink and the waiter respond. Other people were laughing and telling jokes. I heard one person talking about werewolves. I shuddered, the new skill thoroughly creeping me out.
“It can't be,” I whispered.
“It's true. Are you hungry?”
I stopped to assess how my body felt. Though there was an underlying craving for something I couldn't name, I felt fine. Well, more tired than fine. I belatedly remembered Isaac attacking me. My fingers reached up to my neck on their own accord. There wasn't a scratch, much less the gaping wound that should have been there. Had it all been a dream, or, rather, a horrible nightmare?
“Do you remember who attacked you?”
I felt my stomach twitch and my shoulders tense. Panic took its place in my gut; I remembered the incident all too clearly. “Isaac… Wilson,” I croaked, my throat going tight while my eyes burned, as though they had tears to shed.
“Isaac?” Josh asked as an emotion I couldn't translate flickering across his face. “C’mon, let's get you settled for the day.”
He draped his arm over my shoulder in a familiar manner and escorted me past the carved double doors. We passed a few other doors, spread far apart. At the end of the hallway lay another staircase leading into a lower level. The next long hall was lined with numerous doors. He opened the third one and escorted me in. I became thankful for my escort, as this place was a labyrinth of passages.
The room looked like a spacious studio apartment built for the upper class: expensive furnishings and decorations, even if the space
was built for only one person. I'd expected another sterile, concrete bunker. There was nothing sterile about this room. The walls were covered in cherry wood paneling, the real stuff, not the seventies’ knock-offs, and numerous framed movie posters. The left wall held signed Star Wars posters, noticeably omitting the prequels. Under the posters sat an expensive-looking, wood futon—oxymoron, I know—and two matching globe chairs, all with the subtle oddities of handcrafted furniture. The right wall contained a modern-looking queen bed that seemed almost out of place. Over the matching nightstands hung posters for Ben Hur and Casablanca. The far corner held a large bathroom with a thick curtain that could be drawn around it. Though the room didn't contain a kitchen, it did have a decent sized fridge tucked into the corner.
Josh motioned me toward the futon. It was one of those contraptions that could fold into nearly any shape. Before sitting, I rearranged my dress, hoping to look a little less bedraggled. I even tried to run my fingers through my matted hair. Josh took a seat at the other end of the futon, clearly trying to not make me uncomfortable.
“Is this for real?”
Josh nodded. “Now, what is your name?”
“Ashley Hawn,” I said.
“The author?” he asked.
I nodded.
Josh jumped up off the couch and dove across the room to a bookcase I hadn't noticed before. He grabbed two books and tossed them into my lap. I quickly recognized the cover art as my own. It was funny to find a fan in such a weird situation, but I couldn’t bring myself to laugh.
“They're funny,” he said with a snicker.
“They weren't written to be funny,” I said, my voice sounding dead even to my own ears. “Why would Isaac do this?”
“I don't know. I've never heard of Isaac ever turning someone.”
“You know him?” I yawned. Despite being unconscious all night, I still felt exhausted, as though it was late in the night rather than early morning.
He nodded. “There aren't that many of us scurrying around Olympia. Now this time of transition will be rough, and will probably take a while. Do you have anyone who might notice your absence? Family? Friends?”
“No family. Two friends who would notice. And I have a couple days off, too.”
“Will you call your friends and tell them you're sick or something? Something that will keep them from checking on you for the next week or so.”