Consume

CHAPTER 13

I fell asleep, waking sometime around sunrise judging by the hint of light beyond the bunk bed's window, which was covered with pleated shades I didn't bother to pull up. My stomach was still cramping. Dad was right. I did need to eat or else risk feeling the bloodlust again.
So I forced myself to climb down the ladder, where I discovered Emily asleep on the futon couch. I noticed she'd opened the window by her bed. To help me ward off the bloodlust, or because she liked fresh air while she slept?
Her face and nose looked as puffy and red as mine felt, reminding me again of last night's horrors.
I shouldn't have let Tristan get to me last night. Yes, he shouldn't have yelled or said I was dumb. But he never talked to me like that, and he'd just lost his mother and killed his childhood friend who he believed had helped murder his mother. The least I could have done was accept Tristan's apology instead of letting his anger trigger my own so badly.
The next time we made a pit stop somewhere, I would go and talk to him.
I slipped out of the bedroom, easing the sliding door shut behind me. Mom was standing in the kitchen, her feet braced to compensate for the rocking of the trailer, while she washed dishes by hand in the sink.
"Hey, Mom," I said as I sighed, wrapping an arm around her waist and resting my chin on her shoulder. As always, the scent of her Wind Song perfume rose up to fill my nose. This time, though, I had to wrinkle my nose and fight a sneeze. Either Mom had poured the entire bottle over herself, or my sense of smell had gotten way stronger since the last time I'd seen her.
"Hey, sweetie." She tilted her head sideways to rest her cheek against the top of my head. "I'm glad to get to see you again, but this sure is a crappy way to have to do it."
"Yeah."
She hesitated then said, "I couldn't help but overhear some of what Tristan said to you in the bunk room. Did you two have a fight on top of everything else?"
I nodded. "He yelled at me and said I was dumb because I said he shouldn't have killed Dylan." My tongue stumbled over the word killed.
"Oh, my God. Not Jim Williams's kid? I thought they were friends."
"They used to be till..." Until Tristan and I had started dating. Guilt rose up to swamp me, making it hard to breathe. "Tristan thought Dylan killed his mom, so he threw him across the room. I think he broke his neck."
I couldn't talk about this anymore. I turned away, took two steps and sank down onto the edge of the U-shaped dinette bench, then propped my elbows on the table and my head in my hands.
I couldn't believe it had really happened. The whole thing seemed like a nightmare of a dream instead of something I'd really been a part of just a couple of days ago.
Could I have done something to stop Tristan? If I hadn't been in so much shock over his mother's death, if I had realized what Tristan might do...
I should have stepped in between them, or pushed Tristan away from Dylan before he ever grabbed him.
I should have done something. But instead I had stood there and watched as Tristan ended his ex-best friend's life.
Had I secretly wanted Dylan to pay for all those years of calling me names and picking on me at school?
Suddenly the trailer lurched forward a bit. I grabbed the edge of the table as the whole trailer rocked hard from side to side, then the vibration in the f loor faded away.
"Must be time for more gas," Mom said as she dried her hands on a towel that hung from the oven door's handle. "That truck is such a gas guzzler when it's hauling this big rig behind it. I'd better go give your dad his card back. He can use mine instead now."
"Uh, Mom, I'm sure he'll be more than happy to cover the gas for us." I knew from past discussions with him that Dad used his mind-reading abilities to help him make a fortune. I hadn't had to worry about money since moving in with him last year.
She threw me a dark scowl. "Don't think I don't know how he gets his money. I didn't like it back when we were together, and I don't like it now. And I am not having my truck filled with gas paid for by his illegal activities. I work hard the legal way and make enough to pay for my own gas, thank you very much."
I started to argue that Dad wasn't exactly a mobster or getting his money from killing people as a paid hit man. He just read a few key minds to pick up insider trading secrets, then played the stock market accordingly.
Then I remembered how upset I used to be about Dad's insider trading methods when I first found out about them. When had I gotten so used to the idea that it no longer bothered me?
It was just like Tristan and his need for revenge. It was a slippery slope. You started off not liking something, knowing it was wrong, but trying to either rationalize it or ignore it. And then the next thing you knew, you were almost ready to defend it to someone else, and maybe even do it yourself, in Tristan's case.
Mom stepped out of the trailer while I was still following that particularly twisty line of thought. I didn't realize she was gone until the trailer door banged shut.
I sighed and rubbed my pounding forehead. Tristan was probably still in the truck dealing with the blood memories from feeding last night. At least, I assumed he was the one who'd grabbed something from the fridge before leaving the trailer for the truck. I would have to wait awhile longer before speaking with him.
"Do not be ridiculous," Dad said outside the trailer, its thin metal walls doing little to muff le his voice. "I will of course cover all costs."
"Excuse me, but have you forgotten we're divorced?" Mom said. "I've paid for my own gas and snacks for years now."
"Joan, your pride is misplaced here. The Clann may be tracking your credit cards since I am sure they will assume you would want to come to your child's rescue."
"Oh, and yet they wouldn't be watching your cards?"
"Not these. They are under several aliases I keep for emergencies."
Silence as Mom absorbed that news. She sighed. "Why am I not surprised?"
A half minute later she came stomping back inside. "Unbelievable. Your father refuses to let me pay for anything!" She threw her hands up then looked around as if she didn't know what to do with herself.
"I'm sure he's just trying to play it safe."
"He could have at least asked me if I minded, instead of telling me this is how it's going to be. He treats me like an incompetent child."
Oh, boy. I cleared my throat. "Well, he is a vamp, and he's kind of used to making a decision and then following through on it. I'm not sure he's used to having to deal with a team other than the council."
Mom rolled her eyes and propped her hands on her hips. "Yeah, right. He can be diplomatic with his precious vamp council, but not with his wife?"
"Ex," I muttered, wondering how to get out of this conversation.
Her eyes f lashed at me then narrowed. "Whatever. The point is, he obviously doesn't have the same respect for me because I'm just a measly human."
Okay, time to make a run for it. Nothing I said was going to help her cool off any quicker.
I stood up. "You know, I think I'm going to go walk around a little bit. Need anything from the gas station?"
Mom shook her head and returned to the sink, the dish in her hand banging against the sides of the metal sink with a swishy bong sound that vibrated right down into my teeth.
I tried not to run for the door. But once safely outside with the trailer door shut, I couldn't stop a sigh of relief.
Good grief. Now I knew where I got my temper.
"Hey," Tristan murmured, surprising me.
I spun to face him. "Oh! Hi. Um, I thought..." I waved a hand at the truck. "You know, that you'd still be out for the count from the blood memories."
He leaned against the side of the truck, his green eyes watching my every move. "I was for a few hours. But I didn't feed much. Wasn't hungry for some reason." One side of his mouth tightened in the semblance of a half smile. "So I thought I'd come man the gas pump while your dad checks the oil and tires."
I cleared my throat. "Listen, about last night. I'm sorry I got so mad."
He nodded, still watching me.
Okay, this was awkward. There was too much distance between us, both literally and figuratively.
I walked closer to him, stopping a couple of feet away to sit on the top of a cement cylinder in the island meant to keep vehicles from hitting the gas pumps. "Everybody says stuff they don't mean when they're upset. I know you didn't mean what you said last night."
"Which part?"
"The part where you said I was dumb."
"No, I didn't mean that."
I nodded. Then I frowned. "Wait. So you did mean it when you said you plan to kill Mr. Williams?"
Too late, I remembered to look around us. Thankfully we didn't have an audience.
Not that Tristan seemed to care. He shrugged. "Yeah, that part I meant."
Oh, great. I'd hoped he'd had time to cool off and come to his senses. "Tristan, you can't go after him."
His eyebrows shot up as if to say oh, yeah?
"How is getting revenge going to make anything better?"
"It'll sure make me feel better."
I shook my head. "But it won't bring your mom back any more than Emily's killing Gowin brought your dad back."
"I don't care. He has to pay for what he did."
I stared up at Tristan, and it was like looking at a stranger. Gone was the boy with the soft smile and even softer green eyes I'd first fallen in love with. He'd been replaced by someone so filled with hatred and anger that he couldn't even think straight, or see what killing yet another person might do to him.
I fought to find the right words to explain. "I know you're angry right now and that makes it hard to think clearly. But if you could find a way to push it aside, you'd see that wanting to kill Mr. Williams is only going to hurt you in the end. It's like that hunter in Arkansas. Remember how that felt so right at the moment, too? But if you'd killed him, how would you feel right now? And what about killing Dylan? Don't try to tell me there isn't a part of you deep down inside that's wrecked over his death."
Tristan stopped breathing, the muscles in his jaw forming knots along his jawline.
"Wanting revenge is a slippery slope." At his raised eyebrows, I tried to explain better. "You know, you take one wrong step that leads to another and then another, until suddenly you find yourself in a really dark place and you can't even figure out how you got there."
He stared at me. "So you're saying if I kill Mr. Williams, I'm going to turn into a serial killer?"
I rolled my eyes. "No, I mean...it's like a disease. Wanting to get revenge will eat away at your insides and take over your whole life if you let it. Look at how many hours you've already wasted obsessing over ways to kill Mr. Williams."
"You call it obsessing, I call it planning ahead."
"Does it really make you happy to spend all that time plotting ways to torture and kill him?"
"Yeah, it really does."
"Liar."
"What do you know about wanting revenge anyway?"
I stepped up to him. "You think I've never had a reason to want revenge? After dealing with Dylan and the Brat Twins calling me names in school for years? Should I have killed them for that? Or how about when your dad had Nanna kidnapped and tortured for information she didn't even have until she died? Should I have killed your father for that?"
Heat f lared out of him. "Your grandma's abduction and death were a misunderstanding and an accident and you know it."
"Sure. And your mother's death could have been every bit as much an accident, too, for all we know."
I leaned against the side of the truck, all the will to fight draining out of me. "My point is that I've been wronged and dealt with loss, too. But I'm not letting it eat me up inside anymore because I can't afford to. Every time I let the anger take over, I'm not myself anymore. I lose control, and I prove they're right and I'm nothing more than a monster. And then they win. I don't want to live like that. So I chose to let it go a long time ago, to not let them have that power over me. Just because I'm a vampire doesn't mean I have to act like a monster. That's my choice, not theirs."
His eyes narrowed. "But that's what we really are, Savannah. Like it or not, we're supposed to be killers."
"You know perfectly well that we don't have to kill anyone to survive anymore. Nothing makes any of us monsters except the decisions we make and the actions we take."
Tristan's eyes blazed at me as he leaned forward and hissed, "He helped kill my mother. You think I'm supposed to just let that go?"
"I know, it hurts. But Nanna and your mom and dad, they're all gone, and nothing you or I or anyone else can do can bring them back. And I know for a fact that they wouldn't want us to destroy ourselves to try to avenge their deaths." I took a deep breath, pushing the ever-present anger back down inside. "I've been to the other side, Tristan. I've talked with Nanna. We're not supposed to waste our lives seeking justice. We're supposed to move on and let them go."
He shook his head. "I can't do that."
I looked deep into his eyes as my own burned and threatened to tear up again. I'd waited five long months for the Tristan I'd grown up with and loved to come back to me. And now I was losing him all over again. "Then they've already won."
"Jim Williams has to die, Savannah. There's no gray area here."
His jaw was set, his eyes and mouth hard. Even his feet were spread wide as if ready to take any physical blow. He was the perfect definition of the term mulish. There was nothing I could say to change his mind.
Still, I had to try one last time. "He's the Clann leader now. That means he'll have hundreds of descendants, not to mention the Keepers, protecting and helping him. If you try to go after him, he'll use that army to kill you. Is it worth that much to you? Are you willing to die to get your revenge?"
Tristan barked out a humorless laugh. "Thanks for the vote of confidence. But you're forgetting one thing. I'm their worst nightmare, remember? There's nothing they can do to stop me from getting to him."
It was like talking to an arrogant brick wall.
"How are we doing?" Dad asked as he returned from the gas station with a bright yellow plastic bottle of oil in his hand.
At first I thought he was asking about Tristan's and my relationship, and I nearly answered, Lousy. But then I realized he was talking about the truck's fuel tank.
"Nearly there," Tristan said. "This thing takes forever to f ill up."
Dad nodded. "Yes, it does. I am going to add a bit more oil to the engine. Would you mind cleaning the windshield for us?"
"Sure." Tristan turned toward the island, reaching for a black squeegee sticking out of a matching colored plastic tub that hung from one of the awning's support poles.
"Hey, Dad?" I called out.
He stuck his head out from beneath the truck's open hood, black eyebrows raised in question.
"Mind if I go for a short walk over there?" I jerked my chin in the general direction behind me. I didn't even know what was off to the side of the station. All I knew was that I needed to get away for a few minutes, sort through my thoughts without anyone around me, and get some fresh air that didn't smell like gas fumes, human food or my mother's perfume.
He nodded, adding, "Do not go too far," then disappeared beneath the truck hood again.
I stuffed my hands in my jacket pockets as I walked off to the right of the station, unsure where I was going, desperate to shake the tightness that was now setting up camp in my chest.
The gas station was at the base of a tall hill covered in drought-yellowed weeds with a wooden fence line running along its ridge. Without really making a clear decision to, I headed up that hillside toward the fence through the weird predawn light.
Once at the fence, I stopped, gripped the weathered wood and looked down. On this side, the hill ran down about a hundred yards toward a tiny valley nestled between two more steep hillsides. On instinct, I climbed over the fence and walked down the slope toward that valley, welcoming the way the hillside's decline forced my thigh muscles to work to control my descent.
In the valley itself, I stood and looked around. How could wave after wave of weeds look so pretty and golden?
I dug the toe of my sneaker into the dirt, watching a tiny cloud of dust rise up as the fingers of my right hand played with the earbuds in my pocket. Finally I gave in to temptation, stuck them in my ears and turned on my MP3 player, ignoring its now red battery icon.
But even the music couldn't turn off the questions tormenting my mind.
How could I make Tristan see that his need to go after Mr. Williams was dangerous? That he was risking everything for his need for revenge?
The song changed from a fast one to a slow duet by Rihanna and Mikky Ekko. The pulsing piano notes coaxed me to close my eyes. I was pretty sure it was supposed to be a love song, but it had always hit me as more of a breakup song. Part of me yearned to dance to it, but I didn't.
Other than on that Paris stage with the vampire dance troupe, I couldn't remember the last time I'd danced. I'd been too busy, too focused on Tristan...saving him from death, saving him and every human around him from his vampire instincts, trying so hard to show him that just because we were vampires didn't mean we had to be monsters. I'd tried to show him a better way, a way to save the goodness inside us so our need for blood didn't erase who we were.
Now it all seemed like wasted effort, because he was determined to risk his life yet again for revenge.
How did you save someone who didn't want to be saved?
Should you even try?
Or was I being selfish, holding on to something that wasn't meant to be, to someone who I seemed to need far more than he needed me?