Chapter 6 - Flowers On My Grave

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Rain covered the beach, a liquid shroud at a mermaid's funeral. My bare feet sank into fallen leaves and muddy sand. Above me, the tortured sky was an angry purple-red, an open wound ravished by thunder and lightning. The mournful cry of distant gulls urged me on.

I bowed my head against the storm and moved toward the sea. A howling wind whipped my thin black dress. The ocean rushed to meet me, eager to possess my flesh, to carry me to the hidden places below and beyond. Icy water poured over my ankles, then up to my knees, pooling around my waist. I shivered, but didn't hesitate.

I was ready to die. On my terms, not the slow death the world wanted me to have: a life sentence spent growing old on worry and regret. As the water washed over me, I thought how good it would be to never feel this pain again.

I belonged to the deep now, slipping into dreamy night. Everything became peaceful, and I let the emptiness fill me until I was me no more. Unborn, unmade, I sank into a world of shifting shadows and hissing whispers.

One whisper rose above the rest. There is life beyond life, the Voice promised. “Death beyond death! Come with me, be with me. Dare to become that which you desire most . . .”

“Can you really grant my wish?” I asked.

Yes, but you must say it. Say the name, be the name!

 It was only one word, but the one that mattered most, the one that changed everything: “Vampire.”

No sooner had it left my lips than I knew I was changing. The whispers rose in an ancient chorus, a hundred thousand snakes slithering through me. Then it was done.

I woke, and at first, didn't know where I was. I couldn't move. Stale air filled my lungs. There was no ocean, no Voice to guide me. Only cruel blackness remained, closing in on all sides.

I was in a coffin.

I tore through the satin lining and punched the lid, fists pumping like some hellish machine. Hit. Hard. Don't Stop. The lid smashed wide enough to crawl through. Wet earth filled my mouth and nose. I clawed my way up, tunneling toward freedom. My hands broke through, pulling me from my grave into the winter night.

I was in a cemetery surrounded by towering evergreens. Snow fell, trying to bury me, but I could not feel the cold, only my hunger. I licked dry lips, probing my teeth and finding fangs. Sharp, long, and thirsty, they told me what I was.

Past the cemetery gates, Christmas lights blinked in the distance. That meant people wrapped in blankets all cozy and warm, waiting for me to open their throats.

To my left, footsteps crunched. I knew it was Faith bringing me flowers, but more than that, bringing her blood. It would flow into me, and my darkness would flow into her. She would hear the Voice and know we were sisters.

Only I was wrong.

It wasn't her, it was Scott Carmichael! He was gorgeous, a snow-swept vision in black leather and blue jeans, a burgundy scarf wrapped around his neck. He carried a bouquet of red roses.

I stepped from the shadows.

Scott's eyes widened in shock. “Cindy? You're alive? But I thought you—”

“Died?” I laughed softly. “Yes, but I came back.”

I took him in my arms, feeling his warmth, his energy. I was a vampire, and could make Scott love me. I could make everyone love me. “Don't be afraid,” I said. “I am yours, and you are mine. Forever.”

I brought my lips to his. Scott surrendered to the kiss. To me. The roses fell, landing next to my tombstone. They covered the day and year of my death, but not the month: December.

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© 2014 Jackson Dean Chase. All Rights Reserved.

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