Page 49 of Obsessed in Blood
She gave me a critical eye then glanced around, grabbing me by the hand. “Hurry. Keep your head down, and tighten your robe.” She pulled me up the stairs, and we moved quickly to the end of the hall. She punched numbers and the door opened just before she shoved me through.
“Take a seat at the kitchen table.” She walked to a cupboard and grabbed two glasses.
I took the towel off my head and laid it over a chair, tossing the robe over it.
Brigette took a step back, looked me up and down, then laughed. “No wonder you wore a robe. That’s just hideous.”
I grimaced, not sure what to say since I’d picked the outfit for a specific reason.
“Don’t tell me. Millie dressed you again. That woman has the worst taste.”
“Yeah. I’m not great at fashion, but I think I could have done better.”
“God, I hope so.” She pulled a bottle of vodka out of the freezer and set it down with the glasses. “I’ll give you five minutes, and then you have to sneak out the back. Some of the humans snitch on the others, hoping for more privileged status.”
“Sounds cozy.”
Brigette laughed and poured the vodka, sliding one over to me. “That’s the only downside to the island—constantly watching your back. So, I’ll give you one piece of advice: do what Lorenzo says exactly the way he wants it and when he wants it. You’ll survive long enough for him to get bored and find a new piece to share his bed, then he puts you out to pasture and things get easier.” She took a long swallow and waved her glass around the expensively furnished apartment that was almost as large as the condo Devon bought for Ginger and me. “You live in luxury with less stringent rules. At some point, Lorenzo will ask if you want to stay and serve a minor role or get your freedom back, assuming you’re still human. He mesmerizes you, gives you a bit of his blood, then tucks you into a nice condo someplace close. When you wake, you have no idea who he is, but you have enough of an implanted story to blend back into society. No fuss, no muss.”
A chill went through me. Was this how other Houses did it? I’d never asked Devon about his blood donors.
“I’m guessing you decided to stay.”
“I know this world and understand my role in it. I’m allowed to leave the island when I want, go where I want, and it’s all paid for. As long as I continue to follow his rules and his requests, I’m well-pampered. But not everyone is cut out for this, so I’d think long and hard about where you want to end up when Lorenzo tires of you. Never kid yourself. We’re possessions—nothing more.”
I finished my vodka and leaned in, turning the glass in circles while deciding how to approach the change in topic. There wasn’t an easy segue. “Do you remember showing me that building where a guard stands post?”
She refilled the glasses, her mood shifting with the topic. “That’s not a place you want to go.”
“Who’s in there?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure there are many that do.” She gripped the glass, her eyes unfocused. “I remember walking by there one day, not really thinking where I was going. I thought I heard screaming, but only in my head.” She downed the glass and wiped her mouth. “I never go there anymore.” Her eyes searched mine. “I only took you there to scare you, and I’m sorry I did.”
I felt time slipping by and finished the second vodka, wiping my lips as she did before standing. “I’m sorry to put you in jeopardy by stopping by.” I slipped on the robe and wrapped my hair in the towel. “No one will see me leave.”
When I got to the door, I turned. “Take care of yourself, Brigette.”
I shut the door with her still sitting at the table, staring into her empty glass.
Her words bothered me as I worked my way down the hall to the outer door that led to the dumpster in the back of the building. I worried I’d spent too much time with her and lost my single opportunity. No one was in sight. I took a moment to close my eyes and pray to whatever gods might be listening that I wasn’t too late.
The rumbling of a motorized vehicle broke the silence. It was close. I lifted the dumpster lid and looked inside. It was three-quarters full. I used the robe and towel to prop the lid open while I scrambled over the edge and slithered inside. God, the smell was atrocious and there was nothing stable to stand on—just squishy stuff. I pulled the robe and towel in with me, sorry I couldn’t wear it, but if anyone checked the dumpsters, because Lorenzo could be just that paranoid, the white fabric might give someone enough reason to check further. I pushed them under the garbage at the far end of the dumpster while I pulled the floral jacket over my head, covering my face, then pulled the trash over me as the gate to the trash bin was opened.
I heard banging and then came the jostling of the container. The day before, I’d had an opportunity to see a metal laundry bin being pulled by a small four-wheel vehicle down one of the side paths. What I didn’t know was what happened at the dock. Were the containers loaded onto the boat or were they dumped into a larger container already onboard? I’d considered hiding in the laundry bin, but that seemed too risky.
Trash was another thing. It was more likely the trash would be emptied into a larger container, and if that was the case, I’d have to tuck myself into a ball and hope no one saw me tumble out. If luck was truly on my side, they simply exchanged a full container with an empty one, and I’d have to worry about getting out on the other side. But at least I’d be off the island.
The container moved several feet then stopped. It was overly warm, and the smell made my stomach lurch. I swallowed. The last thing I needed was to add fresh vomit to the mix. It already stunk like it.
The container began to move again, picking up speed. One more step achieved. I lifted my head, trying to find fresh air that might leak through the gap between the lid and bin. It would only be a few minutes to the dock, but before I could plan for what might happen once we reached it, a blinding headache hit me.
I coveredmy ears as words repeated over and over, “Don’t leave me here. Don’t leave me. I won’t survive much longer. Please. Don’t leave me.”
The voice was male and filled with such deep anguish that my heart clenched, and tears pricked at my eyes. The words filled my head then ended with a pitiful wailing.
“Who are you?” It was all I could think to say. “I don’t know who you are.”
“I’m like you. I’ve touched your mind before.” Whoever it was sounded sane. Was it another dreamwalker?
