Текст книги "The Watcher"

Автор книги: Jeanne Stein

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CHAPTER 41

MAX IS SITTING UP ON A COT, BACK AGAINST THE wall, legs straight out in front. He is neither bound nor gagged. He's wearing slacks and an open-neck white polo. He has socks on but no shoes. When the door opens, his head swivels toward the sound. He looks at me, at Martinez, but nothing registers on his face. His eyes are blank.

My skin turns cold at his complete lack of recognition. I approach the bed. Touch his forehead with the palm of my hand. His skin is clammy, sheeted with sweat, feverish. There is no reaction to my touch.

I round on Martinez. "What's wrong with him? What have you done?"

He shrugs. "I have only eased his pain."

"Pain?" I whirl back to Max, eyes searching his face, hands passing gently over his chest, his arms, down his legs. When I touch his right ankle, he groans and winces away. Carefully, I roll up his pant leg. The ankle is swollen and discolored and twisted to an unnatural angle.

"Martinez, you are making this so easy," I say under my breath.

He and the woman step into the room. "What did you say?" he says.

The woman pushes impatiently past him. "We are wasting time," she snaps. "I want to see her writhe in pain. I want to hear her screams. I want this man to bear witness." She pulls a syringe from her pocket. "Give him this. Now. It will bring him back."

Martinez takes the syringe from the woman, shoves me aside, and plunges the needle into Max's arm. Quicker than I would have thought possible, Max's eyes clear. In rapid succession, his expression flashes relief at seeing me, uncertainty at how I happened to be here, horror as memory floods back. Then the pain hits, and pain becomes the center of his reality. He groans and falls back against the wall.

A flash of something silver catches the corner of my eye. Pain, white-hot and searing, races up my arm. I turn in time to see the woman, face contorted with rage, slash at me a second time with a knife. I reach out a hand and stop hers in midair. Her look of astonishment would be amusing if I wasn't so angry. I back her up against Martinez. He, too, is stunned at my lightning-fast reaction.

I twist the woman's arm until she drops the knife. Then I keep twisting. "Who are you?" It comes out like a hiss.

She has recovered herself. She isn't cowed and she shows no reaction to the pain. She merely leans into me to relieve the pressure. Her expression is defiant. She leans in close to whisper, "Burke was right about you. You are vampire."

Her eyes glisten with eagerness and some of the same madness I saw reflected in Martinez. "What relationship do you have with the witch Burke? Are you one of her followers?"

She laughs. "No. I am not one of those children. And Burke is not a witch." She lifts her chin defiantly. "You cannot begin to imagine what she is."

"Then why don't you tell me." Impatience is bringing the animal in me to the surface. I feel the quickening of my blood, the lust to rip answers from this smug woman. I bring my face close to hers, let her read my eyes, see the fury building.

Martinez breaks the spell. He grabs the woman by the arm and yanks her back. "This is not what we brought her here for. Did you forget?"

For an instant, I think she is going to strike out at him. So intense is the hatred in her face, it makes me wonder what their relationship really is. Obviously, she is not the servant I first imagined.

I put as much scorn as I can into my words. "Who is this woman who looks at you with such contempt?"

Maybe not the most prudent thing to say. They both whirl toward me and the animosity directed toward each other is now aimed at me.

Max groans and the three of us turn to the cot. I take his hand. "Max."

He looks up at me, eyes clouded with pain. "How did you get here? Why did you come?"

I sit on the edge of the cot, easing myself down carefully to avoid his injured leg. "Foley brought me. I came for you."

"Foley?" The first spark of real life, anger flares in his eyes. "Where is he?"

I glance up at Martinez. "He took care of Foley. He's dead."

"Anna."

There is so much sorrow, recrimination and regret in the way Max says my name, I'm overwhelmed by it. Still, I put steel in my own voice when I say, "We'll be all right, Max. I promise."

Martinez laughs. "Yes, you'll be all right, Max." He turns away from us. "Marta, are you ready to end this?"

Marta. Somehow the name fits. Harsh, unmelodious. A name befitting the malevolent spirit that radiates from the woman.

She is watching me as if reading my thoughts. She nods. "Yes, mijo,I am ready."

She uses a Spanish term of endearment. Are she and Martinez related?

She pulls me from the cot. I let her. I'm ready to end this, too. My only concern is what will happen when Max sees what I become. For a fleeting moment, I wish they'd left him drugged and unresponsive.

But there is no turning back now.

CHAPTER 42

I'VE GIVEN NO THOUGHT TO HOW I'LL OVERCOME Martinez and the woman, Marta. I am vampire. I am stronger, faster and deadlier than any human. I stand quietly and wait, curious to see what they have planned.

Marta pulls another syringe from her pocket. She holds it up to the light and turns it this way and that, as if in a bizarre show of respect for the substance in her hand.

"This," she says, "is very special. It is my own invention. A drug that immobilizes muscle but enhances the senses. Pleasure. Pain. Exquisitely enhanced. Your body will not be able to respond, but you will feel every cut of the razor, be aware of the blood draining from your body, experience life slowly slipping away. And when you are dead, we will do the same to Max. But his suffering will be greater because he will have watched his beloved die in unspeakable agony and have been powerless to help."

Max stirs and tries to push himself off the cot. "You have me," he says. "Let Anna go. She had nothing to do with this."

Martinez shoves him back, places a hand on his broken ankle and leans into it.

Max groans, writhing with the pain, sweat beads on his face.

His agony unleashes the beast. Martinez is oblivious to the change. He is completely focused on the pain he sees in Max's face. He is drinking it in, smiling in satisfaction. He turns only at the sound, the howl that comes from an unknown place deep inside me. This much rage, this much pure hatred, is more than I can control. It overwhelms me, pushes the human Anna down into a place so deep, she's gone. Utterly.

I spring at Martinez before he has a chance to react. I throw him to the floor, clawing at his face, ripping at his neck with my teeth. Blood sprays from torn arteries, soaking us both. I hear Marta scream, but it's from far, far away. I feel a sharp prick. Marta is beside me. I swat her hand away, pull the syringe from my arm, lunge again at Martinez. I lock him against my body and use teeth and hands to tear at his flesh. I'm beyond wanting to drink. I want to rip his head off his body. My jaw locks on his neck. His mouth is open, his lips move, but if he's screaming, the sound is blocked by the roar of my own blood. It boils in my veins, colors the whole world crimson. It's all I feel, all I taste. Blood. Hot. Red.

His blood.

My blood.

Then.

Nothing.

CHAPTER 43

AT FIRST, I THINK I'M ASLEEP. A DEEP SLEEP. ONE from which I'm not ready to awaken.

But something is crawling into my consciousness, willing me, commanding me, to come back.

My senses respond slowly. Taste and smell are first. I'm assailed by the rich, metallic scent of fresh blood. I taste it, too, in the back of my throat.

I lick my lips.

I don't open my eyes. I'm not ready. I listen, though. It's quiet. Beyond quiet. No sound at all. No insect or animal noises. No human stirrings.

Deadly quiet.

I try to move. My body is heavy and unresponsive. I'm lying down. Whatever I'm lying on is rough textured and smells of—what? The outdoors. Slightly gamy. Like a camping blanket that's been stored unwashed in a musty attic.

How do I know that smell?

A memory flashes. My brother and I on a camping trip. Too many years ago to count. Another lifetime.

Where am I?

Open your eyes.

I think the command comes from inside my head. But I don't want to open my eyes. I'm not ready. I'm afraid.

What am I afraid of?

"Anna, open your eyes."

The voice makes me jump. I cringe away and raise my hand to cover my eyes.

Another's hand snatches it away.

"Open your eyes, vampire."

A female voice. Cold. Unsympathetic.

"Very well. This will bring you back."

A sharp prick. Pressure as a plunger is depressed. Something snakes into my bloodstream, trailing an icy finger. I feel it move, invade my system, awaken every nerve ending, reach into my brain and gnaw at me until I can't fight it anymore.

I'm yanked screaming back into consciousness.

CHAPTER 44

A WOMAN IS LOOKING DOWN AT ME. She's smiling.

She'd be pleasant looking if it weren't for the blood that mats her hair and streaks her face.

Blood? Whose blood?

Why can't I remember?

A memory cuts like a strobe light into my head. It pulses in black-and-white relief. A body. Ravaged. Torn. Blood everywhere.

Instinctively, I raise my hands. They are flaked with dried blood. My nails are embedded with tissue.

The groan starts deep in my gut and spews forth in a wail of despair.

What have I done?

Why can't I remember?

CHAPTER 45

WHEN I OPEN MY EYES AGAIN, I REMEMBER. Everything.

Marta is no longer standing over me.

I look around.

I'm in a room identical to Max's. I'm on a cot, lying on a torn, rough-textured blanket. A sheet has been thrown over me. I'm naked beneath it.

I don't know where I am in the house. I thought there were only two rooms on the landing. But I'm alone here. And there is no blood on the white tile walls, none on the cement floor. After what I did to Martinez, there would be blood.

Unless.

I pull myself into a sitting position, groaning with the effort. My limbs are in revolt.

ButI have to sit up to look around. There is a drain in the middle of the floor. And from it wafts the scent of pine and bleach. And underlying it all, blood.

The sheet falls away, and I see that the room is not the only thing that has been cleaned. There is no blood on my body, on my hands. My nails have been scrubbed. The same slightly antiseptic smell of soap wafts up when I raise my hands to rub at my eyes. The wound on my arm from Marta's blade has a dressing covering it. I rip it off. There is only a flush of color where the knife penetrated my flesh.

Confusion clouds my thoughts.

If this is the same room, where is Max?

Max.

A tremor passes through me.

Where is he? What have they done to him? Why did I let this happen? I should have attacked Martinez the moment I saw him at the door. I should have had a plan. I let the fact that I am vampire lull me into thinking I could handle anything a human could throw at me. I was wrong. It may have cost Max his life.

I swing my legs over the side of the cot and push myself off. Marta has left me nothing to cover my nakedness. I tear the sheet into two pieces and knot the smaller portion around my body. It falls just to my knees allowing me the freedom to move without tripping over the ends.

I'll need to be able to move.

I start for the door. I expect I'll have to break it down, and I'm surprised when the knob turns in my hand. Cautiously, I let it swing open.

The corridor is dark and empty. And quiet. I pull the door shut behind me.

I cross to the other side and put an ear to that door to see if I detect any sound. There is none. Again, the knob turns in my hand and the door opens.

The cots are lined up as before. But the bodies of Martinez' family are gone. Three other bodies are laid out.

I tiptoe from one to the other.

Foley.

Martinez.

Max.

I touch Max's face, too full of anguish to do anything else. When my fingers brush his lips, I realize with a jolt that he is warm. I rub the tears out of my eyes to examine him more closely. His color is good, flushed even. I push my ears against his chest. There is a heartbeat. Slow. Regular. His chest rises and falls in measured, controlled breaths. He is asleep. Drugged again?

But alive.

It sparks my resolve.

I move to Martinez. There is no doubt that he is dead. His throat has been torn open. His head is cocked back at an unusual angle, shattered vertebrae visible through the wound. Delicate streamers of shredded skin are all that hold skull to shoulders. The connection is tenuous. I don't know how anyone managed to lift him onto this cot without the connection being severed. His skin is pale, his eyes closed, his mouth open in a silent scream.

I view him with detached coldness. I know it was I who inflicted the damage. But he was going to kill me. He was going to kill and torture Max. I used the weapons I had at my disposal. Teeth and my vampire nature. I feel no remorse.

My glance falls on Foley. Martinez killed him with a gun he had under his shirt. I slip a hand beneath Martinez' body. The gun is no longer there. I'm sure Maria thought to take it before leaving me alone to find the bodies.

Because I'm also sure this is part of her plan.

I need to be smart this time. Decide how to handle her when she comes back. I can't kill her outright. I'll need her to help me get Max out of here. To bring him around when we're in the chopper.

The chopper. A memory surfaces. Before we got out of the car in the desert, Foley threatened to drug me if I was uncooperative. Is the syringe still in his jacket?

A sound in the corridor distracts me. The door to the landing is opening. I'm at Foley's cot in two strides. I yank at his jacket, searching first one pocket, then the other. My fingers close around the leather case just as footsteps approach the door across the hall. I open the case, tuck the syringe into a fold of the sheet at my breasts, and slip the case back into Foley's pocket. I hear the click of tumblers falling, the quiet opening and closing of the door across the hall and know.

Marta is now right outside my door.

CHAPTER 46

I'M TREMBLING. WHETHER FROM STRESS AND FAtigue or the effects of whatever drug I've been given or from anticipation, I can't tell. I only know it takes conscious effort to keep my hands still. I finally press them against my sides.

Marta is cautious about opening the door.

She is a smart woman.

When the knob finally turns, I prepare to throw myself out of the way just in case she comes in blasting.

But she doesn't. Her hands are empty and hang at her sides. She has cleaned the blood off her body, too, and is dressed in a simple black skirt and white peasant blouse. Her hair is wet and hangs straight down her back. She is barefoot.

Her eyes glance behind me.

"You have seen that Max is alive."

I nod.

"It is my gift to you."

I narrow my eyes. "Gift?"

She nods, too. "I could have killed him. I could have killed you, too, while you slept. But I did not. It was a show of good faith."

She's not making any sense. I gesture toward Martinez. "I did that to your friend. Why would you want to show me good faith?"

She brushes past me and stands beside Martinez' cot. She places a hand gently on his shoulder. "As soon as I saw the two of you fighting, I knew how it would turn out. I tried to stop it. I plunged the needle into your arm, but the drug was no match for the strength of your rage. It took too long to work and when it finally did, it was too late for my son."

"Martinez was your son?"

Tears slide down her cheeks. "I tried to make him drink. I took your arm where I had cut it and pressed it against his lips. If he had only swallowed. Just one drop. He would be as you are."

I'm staring at her now in disbelief. "You tried to make him drink my blood? You tried to make him a vampire?"

She turns slowly. "I tried to save him. It's what any mother would have done. Your attack was too savage. He died in my arms. Now I exact the penalty for his death. For his murder. And you will pay it because I hold the life of one you love in my hands."

When she faces me, she has something in her hand. Another syringe. She holds it in front of me. "This is not like the others. This is poison. If I inject Max with this, he will die screaming."

She backs toward Max's cot. "You move quickly. I have seen it. But not, I think, quickly enough to prevent me from injecting Max. It takes only a tiny amount, a pinprick of the needle, and Max will die."

I take a step toward her. "Is this the gift you spoke of? You saved Max and me so that you could kill him while I watch?"

She smiles and lowers the syringe so that it rests on Max's chest. "Oh no. The gift is your lives. You and Max will be allowed to live. You will be flown to safety and I pledge no harm will befall you. What happened here will be forgotten."

"And what do you get in exchange for this generosity?" The smile this time is humorless and touches only the corners of her mouth.

"Immortality," she says. "You will make me vampire."

CHAPTER 47

MY LIPS PULL BACK TO BARE MY TEETH. I POINT to her son. "You saw me do that. And you want to be like me?"

She blows out a disdainful breath. "Like you? Never. You are undisciplined and willful. A spoiled child. I would use the power wisely."

I look around. "How? To take over where your son left off? Is that your plan? Become the czarina of the drug world? Don't you know your empire is in ashes? Max saw to that."

She glances at Max, her fingers tighten on the syringe. In that moment, I know that she has no intention of letting Max go.

I don't wait for her to draw another breath. I lunge, hitting her body away from the cot and slamming her into the wall. The attack catches her off guard and the syringe falls from her hand and skitters under Max's cot.

With an oath, she scrambles to her feet. She pulls a knife out of a pocket in her skirt. She doesn't threaten me with it, though, but holds it to her own wrist.

"You will do as I ask," she growls. "Or you and Max will die here. Without me, the others downstairs will kill you on sight. And even if you make it past them, the pilot has his orders. He is watching the house. If you approach without me, he will take off and leave you here. You have seen how well hidden we are."

She presses the blade against her skin. "There is no telephone. No radio with which you can contact the outside world. This house will become your mausoleum. In a few weeks, the jungle will reclaim it's own. Your bodies—our bodies—will never be found. It will be as if we never existed."

She speaks in a slow, measured cadence. Her eyes bore into mine. She does not fear what she describes. She is accepting of whatever fate befalls her. Her grip on the knife tightens and before I can stop her, she draws it across her wrist.

Blood spurts and begins to drip in a steady stream onto the floor.

She watches it with a detached frown. "Can you resist?" she asks, holding the arm toward me. "Blood. I offer it to you in exchange for eternal life. I want you to take me. For him."

Her eyes shift to her son. I wonder why she didn't take my blood while I was out. Does she think the vampire has to be conscious, has to will the change?

It hardly matters now. While her attention is on her son, I make my move. I dive for her, hitting her low, trying my best to ignore the call of her blood, its texture and smell. I fight the animal inside and refuse to let it surface. I need to keep my wits about me.

"You are a crazy bitch," I scream, hooking an arm around her waist and dragging her to the floor.

She fights me, pushing the arm at my face. It takes me a moment to realize she's manipulating the knife in her other hand, trying to distract me with bloodlust while she positions herself to plunge the knife into my arm. She is still intent on mingling our blood. I refused to do it her way, now she will try another.

I jump away from her before she can cut me. She is snarling like an enraged beast, howling with frustration and anger. She moves toward me, swinging the knife in front of her in wide arcs, hoping to get close enough to slash my skin.

I don't let her. The human Anna is still in control despite the siren call of blood. I avoid the point of the knife and step inside, grabbing at her uninjured wrist and forcing it back. I swing her around and pin her against the wall.

Her will is strong. She doesn't drop the knife. She fights until she's broken free and whirls again to face me. This time, she grasps the knife as if to throw it.

"This is getting old, Marta," I snap. I reach into the folds of the sheet and withdraw the syringe. "Go ahead, throw the damned thing. You'll miss and I'll stick you with this."

Tears of rage stain her cheeks. She pulls back her arm and flings the knife in my direction. I sidestep it easily and before the clatter of the knife hitting the floor dies away, I've plunged Foley's needle into her arm.