Blood Entwines (13 page)

Ben rotated in her direction, ‘Kara?'

She didn't like the way Conor was looking at her, his lips snarled into a half smile, his eyes glazed and wild-looking.

One of the other college kids scrambled on to the wall and yelled into the darkness, distracting everyone. ‘Woo hoo!'

‘Rory, what the hell?' Conor turned back to his friends, grabbing a bottle of vodka from the hood of the SUV.

‘What was all that about?' asked Kara, tugging at Ben's sleeve. He shook his head, uncommunicative.

Then, somewhere out of the gloomy darkness, Kara heard the pitiful cry of a frightened animal. It sounded like a cat. The group at the wall howled once more like a rabid pack of dogs into the darkness. They were hurling beer bottles into the scrub, trying to score an imaginary bull's eye on the terrified creature.

Kara turned and half stumbled towards the wall.

‘Kara!'

She ignored Ben, her eardrums ringing with the crash of glass against stone. With poorly concealed strength, she pushed her way into the middle of the group.

Conor turned, eyeing her suggestively. ‘What can I do for you, sweetheart?' His pupils were dilated and there was a sweaty, sticky smell coming from him, a smell that she faintly recognised.

He held a match in his hand, the flame flickering delicately, the almost empty bottle of vodka in the other hand. Someone had rolled a page from a newspaper, the end of which protruded from the neck of the bottle. If he set the match to the tip of the paper, the bottle became a ready-made Molotov cocktail.

‘What are you doing?' Kara voice shook.

‘What's it to you?' He grinned, his teeth yellow in the glow of the headlamp.

Without thinking, Kara lunged for the bottle. She grasped it round the neck and hurled it with all her might off the hillside. Then she pushed against Conor, sending him stumbling backwards. He dropped the lighter, the flame extinguishing as soon as it hit the ground. ‘What the hell?'

Kara knew all about the dangers of fire.

In two easy strides she had reached the wall, hopping lithely on to the stone capping.

Ben was calling her name, his voice carrying on the wind. She didn't wait around to find out what he wanted. She jumped off the wall, skidding down the hillside. It took a minute for her eyes to decipher the different obstacles, the dips and hollows of the landscape. She had decidedly better night vision since her accident.

‘Kara. What are you doing?' Ben called out to her. ‘It's pitch black – you're going to hurt yourself.'

Ignoring him, Kara slipped downhill, the force of gravity pulling her faster than was comfortable. She shifted her weight and squatted down, slowing her descent. The bush was only a few paces away, but the steepness made it precarious. She slid a few more feet forward and a roll of loose stones, grit and soil moved down before her.

Of all the stupid things . . . If her father was here now, he would go ballistic. This was really not a smart idea. Several bodiless faces peered over the edge behind her, looking down into the darkness.

The cat in the bushes was terrified, bawling with fright.

She reached into the brambles and tried to grip the animal. It was a kitten. It spat and hissed at her with as much fierceness as it could muster. The bush was thorny, several sharp barbs biting into the palm of her hand. Kara reached further, grasping the front paws of the kitten. She felt sharp teeth sink into the fleshy part of her thumb.

‘Ouch.' She scrambled down the embankment a bit further, to enable to her to get a better grip of the skittering animal. A mini avalanche of stones rolled away, disappearing into the blackness.

Gripping the kitten round its middle, trying to ignore the stab of pain in her hand, she pulled, extracting it from the brambles.

Picking herself up and rooting her feet securely into the soft soil, she reversed up the hillside, keeping her body bent low, doubled over her precious cargo, all too aware of the wind and its strength.

‘I'm fine,' she called over her shoulder. Only a small lie, she thought to herself, as she stumbled her way back up.

When she got near to the top, a strong hand reached over the wall and grasped her elbow, the other reaching round her back, hoisting her safely over the stacked stones.

‘Are you out of your mind?' The words came out in one hot torrent. She remained silent, trying to look as contrite as possible. ‘You could have fallen and broken your neck.'

She held out the small kitten as a form of peace offering.

‘Sorry.' The animal meowed pitifully at Ben.

‘You are insane.' He pulled her across the parking lot, muttering to himself as he went.

Ben reversed the car expertly, skidding the tyres just once on the loose gravel. His jaw was locked tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel.

Kara didn't say anything, stroking the fur of the kitten, who sat curled in her lap.

She reminded herself that starting a fight would not be a good idea, but her emotions bubbled just below the surface. She bit the inside of her cheek.
Do not say a word
.

But her mind wouldn't stay quiet.

Who was Ben to issue orders? What right did he have to march her across the parking lot like she was an errant child?
He
should have stood up to Conor and his group of maniac friends. Kara closed her eyes. The story would be all over school tomorrow. Ashleigh would make sure of it.

She looked at her hands, covered in dirt. She thought of the sharp teeth and cat claws, wondering what kind of germs had taken residence in her body. She longed to wash in warm soapy water. There was a smear of blood down the front of her jeans. The cat's teeth had broken skin when it bit her hand and Kara had definitely scratched herself on the briars. She turned her palms over, examining them. She looked for cuts but couldn't see anything, only ingrained smudges of dirt. She frowned. She was sure she had cut herself.

She was a total mess. Her clothes were covered in muck and there was probably dirt on her face. She could feel particles of grit on her cheek, but was too stubborn to check the mirror. She stared out of the window as they drove back to town, the silence becoming more strained with each mile.

Kara remembered Rosemary and their last conversation. There was no inviting Ben in, nor parking in her driveway.

At the junction to her road she asked, ‘Can you stop here?'

What exactly was the protocol for saying goodnight after the date from hell? What was she to say? Should she shake his hand, give him a high five. Her heart raced. The kitten stirred in her lap and opened its eyes, regarding her accusingly with a green stare.

Ben turned the engine off and looked at her.

‘What?' she asked, squirming under his scrutiny.

‘You could have seriously hurt yourself earlier on, you know.' He was trying really hard to keep his voice light.

‘I was fine – it was no big deal.' She tried to convey nonchalance, but it wasn't working.

‘You shouldn't mess around with those guys. Conor is a total head case.'

‘He's your friend!'

‘He's more like an acquaintance.'

‘Well, it didn't look like it. You were hugging and chatting like best buddies.'

‘Ya, well, we're not!' Ben's voice raised to a dangerous octave.

‘I'm only calling it like I see it,' said Kara, unwilling to be chastised.

‘What did you see?' Ben swivelled in his seat, his gaze direct and unflinching.

‘Nothing. I didn't see . . . Ben, what is your problem? Those guys up there tonight were being juvenile delinquents. Setting fire to an animal is crazy. Why are you being such an ass?'

She unbuckled her seatbelt with minimum hassle and went to get out of the car.

‘No, Kara, wait, please.'

‘Forget it, Ben. I'm tired. Jumping off hillsides can do that to a girl. Goodnight.' Scooping up the sleepy kitten, she got out of the car. She didn't bother to turn to wave when she heard him pull away. What a disaster. She wanted to hurl something after the retreating taillights.

Kara stomped down the street, the events of the evening on replay in her mind. As her foot touched the grass at the front of her house, her head shot up; a movement in the shadows caught her attention. How could she be so stupid? A knot of apprehension twisted in her belly.

She'd totally forgotten about the weirdo. In the whirlwind of her fight with Ben, the reality of her own private stalker had magically disappeared. She cursed herself for being so stupid, for being out late and completely alone.

The kitten sneezed sleepily and shook itself.

‘Oh no, kitty, looks like we have a problem,' she whispered. She could see the shape of him, leaning against the next-door neighbour's garden wall. But he seemed different: there wasn't as much of him. Maybe it wasn't even him. She sniffed the air, but the wind was blowing in the opposite direction.

She thought for a moment and spoke softly into the empty night. ‘Don't you ever give it a rest?'

The words floated away on the wind, only to be answered by an equally soft response coming over a long distance through the dark.

‘No. Where's your boyfriend?'

Kara bristled at the word and continued towards her house.

‘None of your business.'

As she got closer to the front door, she glanced back at him and realised why he seemed different, slighter, as if he'd lost a load of weight. He wasn't wearing the disgusting knee-length duffel coat any more. Instead he was wearing a pair of jeans, a hoodie and some kind of short leather jacket and Dockers boots.

‘It's rude to stare, you know,' he said as he pushed himself away from the wall and stepped out from under the darkness of the trees. The moonlight and the streetlight mixed together to throw a pumpkin-orange glow across them both. She paused in her journey to the front door and stared.

His beard was gone and his hair had been cut short. The eyes were the same intense blue, but his whole face looked younger. Kara guessed that he was in his early twenties perhaps, though when you looked in his eyes you may have been forgiven for thinking him an octogenarian. She shivered in the dark.

He didn't smile; instead he looked at her from across the lawn, his face serious and unmoving. Every sinew in her body shouted danger. She took a step back from him, shivering at the coldness that emanated from him.

‘What did he do to you?'

The question seemed strange. She took another step back.

‘What do you mean?' She was frightened now.

‘I could feel your . . .' He took a step towards her, appraising her from beneath dark brows. He shook his head. ‘It doesn't matter. You still have something belonging to me.'

She glanced over her shoulder to judge the distance to her front door. She was seconds away but she wasn't sure how quickly he could move and if it would be open or if she'd be forced to search for her keys, fumbling in her bag, wasting time.

‘I'm not sure how to get it back.' He took another few steps towards her, stepping into the light of the porch. He reached his hand out towards her, and she felt a tug on the blood that flowed through her veins.

She stumbled towards the front door. ‘Get away from me.'

The kitten bristled its fur as it hissed in his direction, its green eyes large in its small face. It dug its claws into her flesh, cutting into her skin and she dropped it.

The man stepped towards her, still holding out his hand. Her eardrums were buzzing, her blood pumping through her veins, scorching a path of fire. She felt the dual pressure: ice-cold waves rippled from the man in front of her and a deep fiery response pulsed from her towards him.

He seemed to be fighting it too, his jaw clenched, the bulge of a vein at his temple visible. He was doing a much better job than she was at maintaining his cool.

Kara took another step towards the front door, but he was too close and too fast. He reached for her and gripped her hand in his, turning the palm upwards to expose the white of her wrist where the blue of her furiously pumping veins could be seen. She gasped at the coldness of his touch, trying to wrench her hand from his grip, but it was solid and vicelike.

She looked at his face and recoiled at the expression. His entire intention was focused on her hand, upturned in his. A small trickle of blood was evident from where the cat had cut her in its effort to be free from her grip.

He squeezed her hand and forced the small wound to open. Even in her dazed state she could feel the wince of pain shoot through her. His concentration was trained solely on the tiny patch of crimson.

Oh my God, he's going to try to drink my blood
, she thought. She whipped back her free hand as far as it would go and released it with all her strength, aiming for the side of the guy's head, his ear to be exact.

She heard a sickening click and felt the crunch as the flat of her hand made contact with him. His head whipped back and she could see the white of his eyes. With one quick lunge she pushed against him, sending him stumbling backwards.

She prayed for two things as she bolted towards the door, firstly that it wasn't locked and, secondly, that Rosemary had gone to bed.

Yanking the door handle, Kara barrelled inside, the tiny kitten darting in between her legs, almost tripping her up.

The palm of her right hand stung, but she ignored it, locking the door securely behind her. The frosted glass of the front door distorted her vision but there was no silhouette of movement on the lawn. He must have left, perhaps afraid that she would call the police.

A soft meow from behind made her turn round. Sitting patiently on the carpet, gazing up at her, was the kitten.

The sound of the television floated through from the sitting room. Rosemary was still up. There were too many things to deal with, between the furry visitor, the crazed stalker and the stinging cut on her hand. She looked down at her palm. It had stopped bleeding. In fact, it didn't look as if the skin had even broken. There was just a line of pink, the memory of a cut. Strange.

Distracted by the need to wash her hands, to change her clothes, to take a long hot shower and process the events of the evening, she moved automatically towards the sound of the television.

What should she say?

Hi, Rosemary. I have super-sonic hearing, Iron-man strength and a crazed stalker who thinks I've stolen from him.

Ugh.

As she entered the sitting room, Rosemary muted the television.

‘Hi,' Kara said.

‘You're early . . .' Her voice died away as she stared at Kara. ‘What happened?'

‘Ya, sorry . . .' began Kara, thinking that she'd better be nice to avoid any further confrontation.

A loud meow came from the hallway; both of them looked to the door in time to see a furry head peek out from behind it. Tentatively the kitten moved from the hall into the sitting room, taking in its surroundings with quiet caution. It sniffed the carpet before moving on to sniff the leg of the chair.

Without looking up from the small ball of fur, Rosemary demanded, ‘What. Is. That?'

‘A cat. Obviously.' Kara couldn't control the sarcasm. She clamped her hand over her mouth, realising that she didn't want a lecture from Rosemary right now.

‘Sorry,' she mumbled, looking as apologetic as possible. ‘I found it under some bushes,' she continued. ‘It was lost and I couldn't leave it behind. I crawled in to save it.' Kara gestured at her muddy jeans. ‘I think it's hungry.'

The kitten was playing with Rosemary's shoelaces and just at that very moment sat on its hind legs and looked at them both.

‘Can we . . .' Kara began.

‘No!' retorted Rosemary fiercely. ‘It can stay tonight as it's too late to try to find its owner, but tomorrow we find a new home for it.' The resolute tone of her voice convinced Kara that there was no budging her on this issue, well, not until tomorrow perhaps.

‘OK.'

Rosemary got up and headed for the kitchen. ‘I'll see if I can find something for it to eat.'

Kara picked the cat up and headed for the stairs. In her room she plopped down on her bed, depositing the kitten on the duvet beside her. It curled up and promptly fell asleep.

Her room was a mess; she really should tidy. Absently, she moved around, picking up items, trying not to think of what had happened outside her front door. Every time she touched on an avenue of enquiry her brain would panic and turn her attention to something else, the collection of dirty clothes, for one.

She should call the police. But what to say? Her story had to seem plausible for them to do anything for her. She wondered how much she should tell Rosemary, if anything at all.

Kara heard Rosemary zipping her jacket, the soft tinkle of her keys jangling against one another. ‘Going to get some cat food. Back in a minute.'

Kara moved quickly to her door and was about to shout something down the stairs when she heard the click of the front lock and footsteps down the path to the car. Kara crossed quickly to her window and looked down to the drive. Rosemary was getting safely into her car and buckling herself in. Nobody had accosted her and no harm had been done. Kara sighed with relief.

She began to absently straighten up various items in her room, the stack of books by her bedside, the few trinkets and bits and pieces on her dressing table, the collection of photos on her shelf.

The cat opened its eyes and hissed at her. The hair on the back of its neck bristled. Kara stopped mid-task and looked at it. What had got into the animal? It had been asleep two minutes ago. It jumped from the bed and dived under the wardrobe.

A soft sound in the hallway alerted her that she wasn't alone.

He was upstairs.

She moved quietly towards the half-open door. She could smell him in the hallway, a mix of soap with a hint of sweat, just feet away from her bedroom.

She pushed open the door with the toe of her boot. He was there, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, approximately five paces from her. His features were illuminated by the dull light of the landing. She'd never seen him in the light before. He normally kept to the shadows or to the darkness of the night.

He eyed her suspiciously. She placed her healing hand behind her back, afraid of what he might do. Kara could feel the coldness prickle against her skin and the blood on her insides beginning to bubble.
Concentrate.
She had to compartmentalise these feelings, this press of ice and fire. She needed all her wits about her to deal with the danger. Inhaling, she forced her mind to block out the pain, put it with the rest of the things she couldn't bear thinking about.

‘You nearly took my head off,' he said, trying hard to control his temper.

Kara took a step back, afraid. ‘Ya. Well. You deserved it.' She plucked up the courage to continue, forcing confidence into her voice. ‘Now, if you don't get out of my house, I'm going to call the police. Rosemary will be home any second.'

She wished she'd phoned the police the minute she'd come in the door. Cursing her own indecisiveness, she had no choice but to see this through. She shifted her weight, spreading her feet a little, ready to fight him off if she had to.

‘Give me your hand,' he instructed, stepping across the hallway towards the threshold of her bedroom.

She scoffed at him: ‘No.'

He held out his hand towards her. ‘Give me your hand.'

The authority in his voice was undeniable. She didn't like it.

‘Absolutely no way! I'm not giving you my hand so you can stab me or cut it off or whatever it is you're planning on doing.' She moved back a step.

The ferocity of her words seemed to stall him for a moment. He paused, reaching into the pocket of his jeans. He took out a short red penknife and flicked the blade.

Kara eyed him silently, assessing her best means of escape and what to do if he advanced any further.

He held out his hand and gestured towards her. ‘I keep telling you; you have something that belongs to me.'

His voice held a slight challenge, as if goading her. Kara wondered, if she scrambled to the window, could she get it open and crawl through before he made it across the room. She didn't think so.

‘And I keep telling you that I don't know what you're talking about. I don't have anything of yours.'

He raised the penknife and moved into her bedroom. He pointed the shiny tip of the blade towards her. She swallowed nervously.

‘Well, it seems that neither of us had any say in the transaction.'

He flexed his outstretched hand and raised the blade to it. Baring his teeth he cut the palm, on the fleshy bit, just blow the joint of his thumb. Kara winced at the sight of the knife going into his flesh.

This guy was completely mad.

‘Stop it.' The words escaped before she could help herself. She looked away from the cut as steady drops of blood seeped from the wound, gathering on his upturned palm. He held his hand out for a minute and examined the beads of blood. Kara couldn't take her eyes off him or the knife.

The cold waves emanating from him were getting stronger; her heartbeat was shaky. He turned his hand over, clenching it into a fist so the blood oozed from between his fingers. She could smell the iron-rich scent and waited for it to spill from his wound on to the carpet. He squeezed for a moment and opened his hand.

The room shrank around them. Kara's breathing wheezed in and out. She had never had a fear of blood before, but the sight and smell of his made her gasp for breath. Her body seemed to respond with the pressure of heat through her veins. Her traitorous blood wanted to escape her body completely and spill out on to the floor. She looked at the palm of his hand. The cut should have been noticeable and bleeding yet all that remained in his palm was a small droplet of blood.

Kara, despite herself, took a step towards him, fascinated and confused by what had just happened. There was no stain on the carpet, no pool of blood, no medical attention necessary.

He looked at her over his outstretched hand. ‘Do you want me to cut deeper?'

His voice was husky, obviously the cut had hurt.

Kara shook her head. ‘No. Please.'

With a flick of his knife he cut deeper. Kara gasped. This time the cut was at least an inch long and bleeding profusely. She thought she was going to be sick. His breathing was heavy and Kara knew he was in pain. He squeezed his hand into a fist again and a flow of blood dripped down to form a mucus string. It seemed almost solid as it slid like a long web from the palm of his hand. It began to stretch towards the floor, gravity pulling it down. Rationally, it should have dripped into a puddle on the carpet, sending a stain spreading outwards. Kara watched in awe as the string of viscous blood dangled from his palm and, like elastic, sprang back up.

The trickle of blood curled back on itself and into his hand. He held it out to her. She took another reluctant step towards him, peering at his outstretched palm. The fresh blood was retreating into the wound, every single last drop. Then the skin seemed to wrap in upon itself, the layers of epidermis folding together and knitting back to normal as if nothing had happened.

‘How did you . . . ?' The sentence trailed off.

He held out his hand towards her, demanding, ‘Give me your hand.'

She shook her head weakly, unsure of what she'd just witnessed.

‘Give me your hand.' His voice was more gentle, but just as insistent.

Shakily she held out her hand towards his. For the first time, he looked directly at her, the blue of his eyes seeming to pierce her with their steady gaze.

‘Don't look,' he commanded.

She closed her eyes as he raised the cold tip of the knife and prodded the place where the cat had scratched her earlier. Kara winced.

‘Don't pull away or you'll hurt yourself even more,' he advised.

He nicked the skin where it had knitted together and Kara yelped, pulling back her hand. ‘Ouch.'

He raised his eyes to heaven and muttered, ‘Such a baby.'

Scowling at him she looked at the re-opened cut on her hand. It was small and neat, but he'd made it slightly bigger than before. A bubble of blood was forming over the cut. It slid to the centre of her upturned hand. She looked at it and marvelled at the rich colour.

‘Show me.'

She'd forgotten he was there for a minute. Self-conscious now, she closed her hand, balling it into a fist as he had done, to protect her life force.

‘Show me,' he repeated.

Kara opened her hand and held it up. He grasped it and turned it upside down. He put his palm below hers and shook her hand till several drops of her blood landed on his palm. The heat was almost unbearable, like holding her palm over the steam of a boiling kettle.
Concentrate, fold it away with the rest of the things you don't want to think about.
She took a deep breath. She wondered if her closeness was affecting him in any way? He gave no sign except she could see a sheen of sweat across the bridge of his nose.

She looked down at his hand, at their blood. The droplets were separating.

With a will of its own, half the blood moved towards the almost closed cut on his hand and disappeared into it while several drops lay discarded on his palm. He wiped the remainder of the blood on his jeans, smearing a rusty brown stain across the denim. Kara held up her own hand and moved away from him. The pressure she felt inside her lessened, the heat lowered.

What just happened
?

He took a step towards her and the heat began to increase. Particles of her blood began to beat against the walls of her veins and against her body in an attempt to get out of her and into him. He was attempting to suck her dry and he didn't even have to touch her.

‘Get away from me,' she hissed. She backed away, finding the solid plaster of the wall all too quickly. If only the room had been ten times bigger. Although it still wouldn't have been enough distance between them.

He eyed her resolutely.

‘I told you that you had something of mine.' He smiled unconvincingly at her, taking another step into her room. ‘And I want it back.'

She didn't understand. Did he want to kill her? Or just terrify her? Or was he playing some sick game? She looked at him in silence, unsure if she could trust her own voice.

All the while her heart beat in her chest and her blood remained constricted within her. Half her blood was pulsating for release, so it could go back to her stalker. The other half . . . Could you live with only half your blood? The question dominated her thoughts as she gaped at the man standing in her room.

‘When they brought me to the hospital, they thought I was in a coma,' he began, eyeing her from the opposite side of the room. His hands hung limply by his sides.

‘I just wanted to sleep, to be left alone, but they found me and took me where they thought I would get help.'

As if forgetting she was there, he spoke quietly to himself, bunching his hands into fists. ‘I never understand why they don't just leave me alone.'

This was the longest she'd heard him speak since their first meeting, but she wished he'd shut up. She didn't want to hear whatever whacked-up story he was going to tell her; she didn't want to know. She just wanted him to leave so that her heart could beat normally, so her body didn't feel as if it was going to explode.