A Grave Hunger (13 page)

CHAPTER 22

The two days since Finlay's visit had been spent nose deep in newspapers and police reports. I was tracking possible vampire attacks throughout the country, looking for any patterns or other escalations like had been seen in Ithaca. I found none. I had thrown myself into my work to keep myself distracted. It didn't work. I couldn't stop myself from replaying Finlay's visit or wondering if there was anything that I could have said to have made him stay. Where was he? Would I see him again? I threw down the pile of newspapers in frustration, rose from my chair and started to pace the room.

Focus!
I scolded. Worrying about Finlay wouldn't bring him back. May as well put all that energy into something worthwhile, like trying to decipher the riddle of what the hell was going on with these bloody vampires. The subliminal itch in my brain was back, lying just beyond my reach. A thought I couldn't quite remember, couldn’t grasp. The more I tried to reach it, the further it slipped from my grasp.

I needed advice. I picked up my phone and scrolled through my call list, hovering over Finlay's number for a moment. I shook my head, letting out a weary sigh. He wouldn't answer even if I did call. I scrolled on until I reached Ryan's number. I punched the call button and listened as it clicked onto voice mail. Ditto for Luke's number. Looked like I would have to sort this out for myself.

I jumped at the sound of the doorbell as it startled me. Probably someone selling something. I slowly made my way to the door and peeked through the peep-hole.

"Oh..." I gasped.

I reached down, my fingers fumbling as I unlocked the door and pulled it open. Eyes locking with that of the visitor in front of me, and I stood speechless.

"I take it that you are surprised to see me then?" Finlay asked.

"You could say that," I replied, my voice calm, disguising the emotion that surged through my body.

The emerald eyes bored into mine, shining with an unrecognisable emotion.

"Can I come in?" He seemed unsure, feet shuffling nervously on the wooden porch.

I wordlessly replied by pulling the door open wider and stepping back, giving him space to enter. I followed him into the living room and sat beside him on the couch. We sat quietly for a moment, neither of us knowing what to say. He looked better than the last time I had seen him. Now he was dressed in a smart, crisp, white shirt, his hair freshly washed and styled. As much as I was delighted that he was back, part of me still stung from his rejection from the last time I saw him.

"How long you back for this time?" my voice was calm, disguising the turmoil I felt as I awaited his response.

A smile played at his lips, seeing through my camouflage. I flushed in response.

"I'm not sure yet." He refused to meet my eyes. "Looks like you have been busy," he said, changing the subject. He rose from his seat and stood in front of the time line on the wall.

"Yeah, have you been keeping track of this?" I asked, walking over to stand beside him.

"This can't be right. All these murders are in Ithaca?" He asked, astounded. He leaned closer and scanned the information, moving his way along the wall, reading each profile.

"All in Ithaca, all in a three week period." I gave him a moment for the news to sink in before continuing. "You ever seen anything like this before?"

A frown crossed his face and a worried look tightened his features. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

"This doesn't make sense. Why..." He let the unfinished question hang in the air.

He ran a hand through his hair. He was worried.

"Have you spoken to Ryan and Luke about this?"

"I tried to phone them this morning, but I couldn't get through. I've been looking for possible places that the vamps could be hiding out. Was thinking about checking a few of them..."

I stopped mid-sentence, the expression on Finlay's face stunning me into silence. He glared at me, eyes seething, veins bulging out of his neck in prominent ridges.

"Don't be fucking stupid. We have no idea what's going on yet and you want to go in half cocked? This is so fucking like  of you. Diving in without thinking things through. You trying to get yourself killed?" He thundered, spitting out the words through clenched teeth.

I stared at him, stunned as he seethed silently, fists convulsing with rage. He had never spoken to me like that before. I subconsciously flinched away from his hostility. I jumped as he slammed his fist into the wall, the impact sending papers fluttering to the floor. "And I can't believe you're even thinking about hunting. Jesus, Robert's body is barely cold and you are willing to throw yourself to the wolves."

With that, he stalked out of the room. I stood frozen to the spot, staring blankly after him. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the tears that burned behind my lids. As the shock faded, it was replaced by a simmering anger.

"Nice to have you back, Finlay!" I shouted after him sarcastically.

*****

Over the following days, I saw less and less of Finlay. He didn't want to talk, he didn't want to hunt and he certainly didn't want to show any emotion over Robert's death. What he did want to do was to drink himself into oblivion and be left alone. I tried to be there for him, but he wouldn't let me in. I was worried about him. He was like a different person. The jovial, laid back Finlay was gone, to be replaced with a withdrawn, moody one. It was becoming a regular occurrence to find him passed out on the floor of his motel room after having drunk too much. Well, enough was enough. It was intervention time.

I hadn't seen Finlay all day. He wasn't in his motel room but going by his recent behaviour I had a fair idea where I could find him.

I descended the drab narrow staircase, kicking cigarette butts from under my feet as I went. Pushing open the door, I couldn't help thinking that The Cellar Bar could be the most depressing place on Earth. Four middle aged men sat propped up at the bar, heads drooping forward, staring solemnly into their drinks. God, this placed needed brightening up. A fresh coat of bright paint and a good clean would sort this place out. Then again, the patrons that frequented this place probably wanted a place which echoed their mood. I knew Finlay wanted that, a place he could wallow quietly in self-pity. I noticed him sitting in a booth in the far end of the room, a half empty bottle of whiskey in one hand. He looked up wearily as I sat down.

"Drink, Scotland?" He greeted me, offering me the bottle.

"You do realise that it is," I paused to look at my watch, "One o'clock in the afternoon?"

"It's gotta be five o'clock somewhere."

"Finlay," my tone was disapproving.

"Don't start. I can't handle another lecture." He cut me off, sighing dramatically.

I mirrored his sigh. "Will you let me help you, Finlay? I know what you are going through. I miss him too, but ..."

He cut me off. "How do you know what I'm going through?" His voice was thick with insinuation. "You knew Robert for ... what? Two years. I've known him my whole life. God, he was more of a father to me than my own father was. So don't sit there judging me when you don't have a clue what I'm going through."

He stood, pulled out some bills from his wallet and angrily threw them on the table before stalking out of the bar.

I ground my teeth together, trying to control the rage sweeping through my body. How dare he insinuate that I wasn't hurting, too. I loved Robert like a father, too. I was done trying to help that arsehole. He wasn't worth it. I was sick and tired of getting my head bitten off every time I tried to talk to him. Well, I was done trying to help him. Screw him.

I leaned over and put my head in my hands, closed my eyes and tried to push all thoughts of Finlay from my mind.             

CHAPTER 23

I woke with a start, a scream resonating from my lips. My body was slick with sweat, my heart pounding furiously in my ears. I lay gasping for breath, furiously trying to push the nightmare from my mind, but failing miserably. It was the same nightmare that had jerked me screaming from my sleep every night since Robert had died. The details of the dream never changed. Every aspect was always the same. Robert's words from the dream echoed round my brain.

"You're too late!"

I knew what my subconscious was trying to tell me. It wasn't rocket science. I had failed Robert, let him down. I couldn't save him when he needed me the most. After everything he had done for me since my family died, he couldn't rely on me the one time he needed me. Silent tears streamed down my face, dampening my pillow. A knock at the door pulled me from my misery. The sky outside my window was still black, not yet sunrise. What time was it? My hand fumbled for the alarm on my bedside table, I pressed the button and four digits illuminated the room in a neon green display. 3:14. Dragging myself from my bed, I stumbled over to the door and checked the peep hole. Finlay.

"Hey," I greeted unenthusiastically.

"Hey," he replied stepping inside and dropping himself down into a chair beside my bed. I slumped down on the bed facing him.

I shivered against the chilly early morning air. I grabbed a jumper and pulled it over my vest top.

"No pink bunny PJs tonight, Scotland?" he asked, looking at my skimpy top and short combo.

"In the wash," I answered curtly. I was still pissed from his outburst earlier.

"You ok? I heard you screaming again. Another nightmare?"

Damn these paper thin walls. "Yeah, another nightmare."

"You've been crying." He reached over and brushed his fingers over my cheeks, brushing off some lingering tears.

"And you've been drinking again. You smell like a brewery," I countered. After all of Finlay's mood swings over the last few days, it was now my turn to throw a tantrum.

"No need to get testy. I just wanted to make sure you were ok."

"I'm pretty far from ok, Finlay. And I have to say that you're not making life any easier on me," I ranted.

"Sorry I've been snapping at you recently. I shouldn't be taking out what I'm going through on you."

"So, I'm seeing Dr. Jekyll this morning am I? Can't wait for Mr. Hyde to rear his ugly head again."

He sighed, pulled out a bottle of whiskey from his jacket pocket and took a swig. He waved the bottle at me as a peace offering. He shrugged as I declined his offer.

"You want to talk about the nightmare?" he asked.

"Not really, do you want to talk?"

A snort of derision was his reply.

"We have such a healthy relationship," I joked, lightening the mood.

"Talking is overrated. I say we just drink through it," he responded. He picked up the bottle and took another gulp.

I frowned. "I'm worried about you, Finlay. Your drinking is getting out of control."

"And I'm worried about you," he countered.

"Finlay, drinking isn't ..."

He cut me off. "Just leave it, will you? You're not my fucking wife. Christ."

"And there is Mr. Hyde!" I retorted sarcastically.

I threw back the covers and climbed under them, turning my back on him. The silence of the room was broken by a loud sigh. I expected him to storm out and slam the door behind him. That seemed to be his MO these days, but he surprised me. I heard a quiet thump and turned to see him undressing, throwing a jumper onto the ground alongside his jacket.

"What are you doing?" I asked exasperated.

"I'm staying over."

"Are you now?"

"I know I've been a dick recently. I haven't been here for you when you needed me, so this is me being here for you." He continued to strip down until he was in his boxer shorts. He must have seen the unimpressed look on my face because he added, "Relax. Nothing's going to happen. Just sleep, I promise."

"Damn right. I don't have sex with arseholes."

"Oh, low blow... now scoot."

I shuffled to the other side of the bed, letting Finlay climb in beside me. He snuggled up behind me, threw his arm around me and pulled me closer into him.

"Night, Scotland."

"Night," I replied, closing my eyes. I instantly fell into an exhausted sleep, all anger toward Finlay quickly forgotten.