Blood Drive

Chapter Fifteen

The tension in the car is a potent combination of Trish's distress and confusion and my nearly uncontrollable rage. It makes for an uncomfortable, silent ride. I have more questions for Trish, but one look at her anxious, drawn face and I don't have the heart to ask them. So instead, I concentrate on the drive, and when we pull into Frey's condo, I stop just outside the gate and turn to face her.
"Are you all right with this?"
She looks at me and her eyes reflect a sorrow borne of betrayal. "I have to be," she says. "I can't stay at your place anymore. And Barbara trusted Mr. Frey. I guess I will, too."
Her hands are clasped around the bundle of clothes in her lap, pressed so tightly together, her knuckles are white. I touch them briefly with my fingertips. Her skin is nearly as cold as mine.
Frey answers when I punch his unit number on the keypad. When he hears my voice, the gate goes up immediately. He's waiting for us at the door.
It doesn't take more than an instant for him to pluck the story out of my head. His eyes reflect concern when he turns to Trish. He takes the clothes from her hands and says gently, "I'm sorry about Barbara. And I'm sorry for what you've been through."
She gasps, her expression turning from guarded wariness to virulent distrust. "How do you know - " Then her face crumbles. "Barbara. She did tell you, didn't she? Then you know it's all my fault. She's dead, and it's all my fault."
Trish's sobs wrack her body, and once unleashed, she's swept away by the sorrow. She buries her face in her hands and gives way to the anguish.
I don't know what to do. I touch her shoulder, but this time, she doesn't come into my arms. She pulls back and I let my hand drop. Frey and I know Barbara never got the chance to come to him. If she had, she'd be alive. But how to tell Trish that without explaining how Frey knows so much?
Frey's eyes shift from Trish to me. I'm sorry. I should have thought before I spoke. His eyes narrow. You want her to stay here.
Yes. You can protect her.
So can you.
He's read my intentions and his disapproval comes through. You are going after her mother.
Yes.
Do you really think that's wise?
Just as wise as entrusting Trish to you. I can trust her with you, can't I?
But before he can respond, Trish gulps in a shaky breath of air. She wipes at her face with her shirtsleeve. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that."
Frey's smile is gentle and reassuring. "Would you like to wash your face?"
She nods. "Yes, please."
Frey gestures with his right hand. "The bathroom is right down the hall. Do you want me to show you?"
She shakes her head. "No. I can find it." But before she does, she turns to me. "We'd better call Ryan. He'll be worried."
Ryan? Frey asks.
Curiously, he hadn't picked the entire story out of my head. Maybe he reads only what triggers the most violent emotional reactions.
Something to remember.
A friend of hers, I explain, digging my cell phone out of my purse. Out loud, I add, "Give Trish your telephone number here, so her friend will know she's safe."
Frey recites the number. Trish takes the phone and turns away from us, retreating to the privacy of the bathroom to make her call. In a second, we hear water running. Trish is taking no chance that we might overhear her conversation with Ryan.
Frey turns reproachful eyes on me. "You should report this to the police."
"Believe me, I will. But I have to have a little talk with Carolyn first. I need to know if Trish really is my brother's daughter."
"Because Trish mentioned a dad?"
I nod and gesture toward the bathroom. "Can she stay here? It won't be for long."
He nods. "Of course."
"Frey, keep her safe. I'm depending on you."
The corners of his mouth turn up in a small, tight smile. And if I don't, you'll make me sorry.
This time, I'm glad my intention rings through.
Trish is back then, handing me the cell phone. She's washed her face and tucked her hair behind her ears. "I'd like to take a shower, if it's all right," she says to Frey.
He nods, and she gathers up her small bundle of clothes.
I put an arm over her shoulders. "I have to go now. I'll be back in the morning. Mr. Frey has my telephone number." I glance up at him and he nods that he got it. I knew he would. I flash on her room, the paltry array of clothes assembled there and the care she took of them. "Anyway, I think we should go shopping. You can use a few things. Then you and I will go to lunch and maybe a movie. You've been cooped up for two days. It will do you good to get out."
The cloud descends. "Will it be safe?"
"Oh yeah," I assure her. "I promise it will be safe."
I wait until she heads back to the bathroom for her shower to take my leave. I feel Frey watching as I head for the door. His thoughts reach out to me. What do you plan to do?
I stop, hand on the door. I'm not sure yet.
Frey's expression is thoughtful. I don't need to tell you to be careful.
No. You don't.
But in the car, when I'm alone, the shaking starts. It's swift and relentless. The enormity of what I'm feeling about Trish and what has been done to her demands release.
Laying my head against the steering wheel, I let the tears come. I don't try to temper it or hold back. I don't try to reason or understand. I just let the sobs overtake me. Emotional eruptions this strong were a rare occurrence for me when I was human. Frankly, it catches me by surprise now. And it doesn't last long. When I can't cry anymore, I sit up. I'm glad I carry a box of tissues in the car to wipe up the tears and snot. I happen to like the sweater I'm wearing.
Then, the emotional storm spent, I lean back in the seat to contemplate my next move. It's been hours since I talked to my mother. It's past six o'clock, so I put in a call to her at home. Voice mail picks up. I hang up without leaving a message. I don't know what to say. Then it occurs to me that she may have left a message for me on my home phone. When I dial in, I find that she has. She and my father have gone to meet Carolyn for dinner. She tells me where, but I have no intention of joining them. I couldn't be in the same room with Carolyn and not betray my feelings. And it's not as if my parents are in any danger from her. She likes to bully children, after all. I'm sure Carolyn asked them out because she is trying to win their favor.
She doesn't realize how futile it is, of course. But she will soon. The next time we speak.
I decide to go home. A hot bath and a good night's rest are what I need. Vampires, like humans, have their emotional limits and I've reached mine.
I don't realize how weary I am until I trudge out of the elevator and get right up to my door before something stops me - light shining around the edges of the door. And I hear music.
I know I didn't leave a light or the radio on when I left this morning.
The exhaustion vanishes. I sling my purse across my chest bandoleer style and lean closer, listening for any other sounds from within. All I hear is the beating of my heart as it pumps adrenaline. I know if I use my key to unlock the door, I'll alert who ever is inside. I'd rather catch them by surprise than the other way around.
I gather strength and lunge at the door, hitting it hard. Wood splinters with a deafening crack and the doorknob knocks a chunk out of the plaster wall behind it.
I leap inside, a snarl escaping my lips.
And there, standing at the door to the bedroom, is... Max.
He blinks at me. He's got a drink in one hand and a towel in the other. He shakes his head as if to clear it and blinks again.
I blink too. He's naked. His skin glistens, and his hair is slicked back. He must have just stepped out of the shower.
We stare at each other for a minute, and then he smiles.
"Wow, Anna," he says. "That was quite an entrance."