I drive to the station assaulted by violent images of William's novel. His written words whisper through the night, sticking to me like snow. I try to brush them off, but the mood of his blood-drenched dream clings to me. Maybe it's only hunger gnawing at me like an angry fox. Trying to shove it all out of my mind, I pull my Mini into the truck bay and park. I must forget his words. I must not think of him. I cannot see him again.
Jadallah scared him more than he admits.
I go to the truck and place my things in it: The Book of Imaginary Beings by Borges; my surgical kit; and a new UV blanket, although if I need it a second time I'll probably not live much longer, a Night Walker only has so much luck.
I begin checking out the truck, wiping everything down and making sure the narcotics are in order. Lucien always leaves the truck immaculate, but the routine comforts me. A shadow falls and Lucien appears at the back door in sleek jeans and a closefitting t-shirt accentuating his lithe, muscular frame. Most people resign themselves to my strangeness and eventually surrender the attempt at conversation, but Lucien has always gone along as if I am completely normal.
"I see you haven't erupted into flames," he says, looking at my arms for evidence of irritation. He has always believed my story of XP.
I glance at him from beneath my cap and push my safety glasses higher up my nose. "Yes. Thank you, Lucien, for coming to my rescue."
"Anytime." He slaps the side of the truck. "Gotta go. Got a hot date." I wait for him to spin off, but he doesn't move.
"Let me guess. An ER nurse captivated by your supreme heroics."
"No." He smiles. "She's not a nurse, but she is from anatomy class. A white girl. If you don't see me in the morning, it's 'cause I didn't make it past her dad and his shotgun."
I can't help but smile. "I hope you have a fine night."
He nods stiffly in the doorway, glued to the truck, gripping the handrail hard enough so the knuckles beneath his skin appear as pale knobs of bones. Usually he is smoothly confident, and I wonder who has him ruffled.
"Nervous?"
"Nah." He shrugs and looks away, then back again. He sighs. "She's so pretty, Anne. All golden like a princess. Long blonde hair down to her waist. I don't know what she wants with me."
"You're beautiful too, Lucien."
"She actually asked me out. What if she's trying to piss off her dad or something?"
"This is Asheville, one of the most liberal towns in the country."
"This is North Carolina and she's not from Asheville. She's a mountain girl. I just hope she's not havin' her little Christian rebellion before she marries a country boy with a gun safe bigger than my Fiat." He rubs his forehead.
"What are you really afraid of?"
"That I'm going to have a taste of her and want more." His voice is so soft only I could hear it. "But hey" —he throws up his hands dramatically— "what's the worst that can happen? Only heartbreak and death. What do I have to lose?"
"No one amongst us will escape that fate. Have courage, Lucien. You're one of the most special people I know. Intelligent, disciplined, compassionate. You are a prince. Any woman would be lucky to have you."
He looks suddenly guilty. "I told her I'm applying for med school. At first I said it to impress her, but then I thought, why the hell not? I'm getting my associate's in EMS. Why not go for a biology degree? And if I get the grades, I could apply for the MCAT." He gives me an uncertain look.
"That sounds like an excellent idea. You'd make a fine doctor."
"You think so?"
"Yes. In this day and age, anything is possible. We're only limited by the greatness or smallness of our dreams."
"No one in my family has even gone to college. They think I'm a rock star just for being an EMT."
"Then you will be the first, and you will pave the way for your descendants so they too may climb the ladder of success and serve humanity. Heartbreak and death will come to us all, Lucien. The best we can do is face it with courage so that those who follow can learn how to bear it."
He takes a deep breath and slowly lets it out. "Thanks, Anne. You don't say much, but when you do, it counts." He laughs. "I'll see you before sunrise. If I'm still alive."
***
Dana appears twenty minutes late for shift, throws her purse behind the driver's seat, and climbs in. "I know, I know. No lectures, please." Peering into the rearview mirror, she applies cherry red lip gloss. She looks pale with dark circles beneath her eyes. Jittery. Her hair is a tousled flaxen mess, whether from lovemaking or a restless sleep I can't tell. She attempts to smooth it back into a ponytail then pulls crumpled sheets of paper from her cargo pocket and thrusts them at me. "I've been working on my rewrite for Hardcastle all night. Mind looking it over?"
I smooth the paper against my thigh and read the title: "Dominance and Submission in Wuthering Heights." "Sounds interesting."
"Heathcliff's a total psychopath. He makes Christian Grey look like a pussy."
"Who's Christian Grey?"
She gazes at me in disbelief. "Fifty Shades of Grey?"
I stare blankly back.
"Unbelievable," she says in disgust, starting the truck and peeling out of the station. "I need coffee now or I'll never make it through this shift. And I don't want any of that cheap mass-produced crap. I want my beans handpicked by indigenous people high in the mountains and hand roasted under the sun."
"Where can you get that?"
"Malaprop's. They have a ginger mocha latte I've been lusting for all day. I am fucking beat. When I wasn't at clinicals, I was racking my brain, trying to think of a new spin to put on my Lit paper. I just don't know what to say. I don't care about those people. Give me a vampire hunter with tits and a bow and lots of hot lovers. That's what I want to read, not books about controlling abusive men and the poor delicate women who love them. I want to be in control, goddamnit." She nervously runs her hand through her hair, sweeping escaped strands off her forehead. "Do you have any chocolate?"
I arch an eyebrow.
"Oh, I forgot, you don't eat after sundown. Part of your strict vegan diet, no doubt." She sighs. "God, I could go for a steak right now. I'm starving."
She's not the only one.
The ambulance curves through frayed shadows, down empty, brooding streets. The town hunches frigid and bare, waiting for snow to fall like a whip. Green lushness has fled, revealing naked limbs and dirty yards. Winter strips secrets away, revealing cracked foundations and crunched dreams. Iron-grey earth juts out from train tracks, reminding me of Northern England. Where is everyone?
Dana drifts through downtown, gnawing at her soft lip. I smell blood and briefly imagine running my tongue along the tender inside of her mouth. She parks down the street from Malaprop's and gets out. I stay, but roll down the window for the cold, fresh air. I'm not going in there again. In 24 hours, I've drawn entirely too much attention to myself. Time to go silent and still until I leave.
The moon is waxing, yet even the redbrick and Art Deco buildings look dim tonight. Faded. I worry about Lucien. This does not seem like a propitious night for love.
"Anne."
William Hardcastle appears at my window with Woody tucked under an arm. The professor's hair is windblown, trailing over an eye, and his breath mists frosty clouds in the cold. He hands me a steaming cup of hot chocolate.
"I thought you might be in need of some fortification. It's absolutely freezing out here."
Reluctantly, I take it. "Thank you," I whisper. I am famished. It may give me a little sustenance. I sip, enjoying the scent of chocolate and the heat of it on my tongue. Woody is staring at me, wrapped snuggly in his parka, and I can't resist reaching out a gloved hand and giving his head a little stroke before withdrawing into aloof silence. I am determined to harden my heart against Professor Hardcastle. I have allowed him too near, but I will recover from the lapse.
Tonight, however, he appears shy. Embarrassed. I suspect he's terrified that I disliked his novel. I understand his fear perfectly. It's the vulnerability that comes from exposing your inner self, demons and scars, so thoroughly to another human being.
"Enjoy your evening," he says in a cold, clipped tone. "May it be quiet and safe." Turning, he vanishes into the bookstore before I can even speak.
"Let him go," I whisper, eyes closed. Let him go. I will deliver the manuscript tomorrow evening on my night off. I've written detailed notes to give him. I'll place it in his mailbox. He can wait one night. No one reads as fast as me anyway.
The thought of his anguished uncertainty breaks my heart.
I pull off my cap and smooth back my hair. Snow begins to fall, delicate as lace and when I step out of the truck it lands against my skin like soft, icy kisses. Inside the store, I find William in the back by the classics. Woody sits propped against a bookcase. My glasses are wet from snow and I remove them to wipe them dry.
William looks up, surprised to see me, and a delicious warmth travels over his cheeks and down his throat. I swallow. If I don't feed tonight, tomorrow I must hunt.
"Anne," he says then stares blankly at the book in his hands. "You mustn't say anything. Really, it isn't necessary. I should never have burdened you with such a weight. It was an impulse I failed to check. Normally, I'm not a spontaneous man." He's staring at the book, turning it over in hands: Paradise Lost.
"William, it was extraordinary."
He looks up.
"Powerful. Beautiful. It's brutal but tender too."
His voice comes out a hoarse whisper. "You read it?"
I gaze at him, amazed. He's brilliant. He captured it: the horror and love of war, the ineffable quality I could never express in my paintings. "It's a masterpiece," I say, shaking my head in astonishment. He must know before I leave that his work is important. "For your first work of literature to be so powerful . . . It seems you and Emily Brontë have more in common than I would have imagined."
"Literature?" he asks, looking about ten years old.
"Yes," I smile. "It is most definitely literature."
Suddenly he's kissing me, drawing me into his arms. The little boy is gone and the man is here. Heat wrenches me, piercing me like a bolt of lightning, burning through my belly into my heart. An electrocution. I wait for him to recoil from my coolness, but he leans into me, pressing me against the stack with an arm behind me, steadying. Even beneath his thick coat I feel the hardness of his body, the energy of it, and I'm helplessly melting. All my strength vanishes. He could do anything to me and I wouldn't stop him.
I'm dizzy. Falling. I'm falling into a dark place, all hunger and need and want. I want more of his warmth, his hardness, his pulsing beating heart.
"Anne!" Dana says, regarding us from the aisle. "We have a call."
Her voice snaps me back to myself and I am slipping out of his arms. He catches me by the hand, reluctant to let me go. When I look up at him, his eyes go wide and he releases me, taking a step back. He is looking into my eyes, looking into me, and confusion washes over his face.
My glasses. I remember my glasses. In a flash, I put them on, but it's too late. He's seen me.