Sin Eater (6 page)

He hated that he was crying in front of this guy, but the images kept replaying over and over. It was a videotape on a loop in front of him.

“Just imagine how troubling those times were for
her
,” the bastard kept talking. “They’d all been so glad to see the Allies coming. Her town had been pillaged by the Germans, how could you Canadians be worse than the Germans? Well, the Germans did what you did to her as well. But they left her
alive
after. And they gave her that baby as well, surely you remember the child? Crying, bundled up in a drawer at the foot of her bed? The unwanted child she was selling herself just to feed?”

The tears were fast and hot down his cheeks. He felt sick, and his stomach was slowing turning over. He hadn’t thought about this in years …

“But you
were
drunk. So maybe this one’s questionable.”

“Who are - ”

“I told you not to worry about that. Where you’re headed, I’ll be the furthest thing from your mind.”

Rather than getting upset, that just pissed him off more. “I’m a good man. I had a family and I fought for this country - ”

“Yes, you did.  You’re very decent and brave. So explain to me this: when you had sex with your wife, why would you always think of this woman?”

He wanted to jump out of the bed and pound this fucker into the ground. The guy sensed it, and had the gall to chuckle. “I am immortal, sir. You could not harm me with your fists in the prime of your life any
more than you could do harm to the Hoover Dam with brass knuckles.” The he gazed, off, thoughtful. “Where was she? Was this in Holland?”

“Fuck you.”

“I thought so. So, you were drunk and troubled, having just witnessed great tragedy. Understandable. But … what about this one?”

The image flicked by quickly, this time a dark-haired woman, up against a wall. His forearm was across her throat, and she was hitting at him, but she was too intoxicated to properly defend herself. She was a whore, in London, where he’d been billeted. This was before the first woman he saw. This was before D-Day. Oh shit ... he’d blocked this one out completely.

“You weren’t even drunk. But she refused you service because you didn’t have enough cash, remember it now, old man?”

Douglas was seething now, his teeth gritted with air sucking through them.

“That’s it,” the man was encouraging with a smart-ass smile. “I can see it. The anger. It’s right there. In three years you killed five women, Douglas. You would have killed more if there’d been women in the service. Deployment takes you away from all that hatred, doesn’t it? You didn’t want to kill Germans as much as you wanted to kill these women. I couldn’t see this potential before. Thought I maybe had the wrong room.”

“Our Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy name …”

“It’s pointless. I am here to interrupt the forgiveness you’re seeking.”

“ … Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in Heaven.”

The stranger sighed, shaking his head and rubbing his temples.

“… Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us …” he blinked back more tears. “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.”

“Almost done?”

“… and lead us not
into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever. Amen.”

“Amen. Lovely. Now just … be still.”

Douglas didn’t want to do anything this asshole asked him. But he found himself obeying anyway, even closing his eyes and doing his damnedest to calm down.

The women’s faces all flew by, he remembered the smells around him, the feeling of their life choking away between his hands, the sensations overlapping from each individ
ual woman, his body pounding into them, the pace getting more frantic as they died, even though he’d not been able to release into them. Then … peace.

Nothing. The memories were gone. It was like … like they were the work of someone else. The calm flowed over him like a warm bath, and he sighed, turning his head to the stranger. He had no illusions that this man was an angel, or that he’d saved him from eternal damnation. This man … he had to be evil.

The stranger stood, straightened his jacket, and nodded. But as he got to the door, Douglas coughed to clear his throat. The visitor turned back to him.

“Stay away from her,” Douglas warned, unable to focus his eyes.

“I beg pardon?”

“Iola. Stay the hell away from her. She’s good. She’s pure. And you … you are not.”

“No shit,” the stranger replied, then walked out the door as the monitors and alarms started beeping.

Iola was leaving Missus Dean’s room as hospital staff was racing down the hall. She watched them with dread, and sure enough, they all headed for Mister Horn’s room.

She winced and then stopped, staying out of the way in the hall opposite his door. There was a glass window behind her that faced out on to a courtyard, and the sun was shining in brightly. She stood not enjoying it, but staring into the room as nurses pulled his hospital gown down, put his bed flat, and yelled odd words at each other.

A doctor ran down the hall next, and the nurse started up the crash cart as he was entering, throwing m
ore numbers and instructions into the mix of chaos.

All Iola could see was Douglas Horn’s face, looking towards her. He had tears on his cheeks, and his eyes were brimming with regret. When he saw her he offered a small, apologetic smile. Then they jolted him with high wattage electricity, and his body jerked. But he kept his eyes on her face, his expression serene.

Iola covered her mouth, choking on a cry. But she stayed, keeping her eyes on his. It seemed important that he not feel alone as he died, but she couldn’t say why. The doctor went from defibrillator to chest compressions to clock-watching to announcing the time of death. She only looked away when she knew he wasn’t seeing her anymore.

At some point her back slid down the glass and she was crouching against the wall, one arm wrapped around her knees, the other still covering her mouth so no one would notice how loudly she was sobbing.

The doctor came to the door, looking weary and messy, his hair standing upright from shoving his hands through it. She’d watched him trying to save Mister Horn, she knew it bothered him to see someone die even though he was old, sick and a miserable bastard by all accounts. He was about to head down the hall one way when he saw her, and she was embarrassed to be noticed right then and there, but she was also very upset. She wiped away her tears angrily as he started to walk over to her.
Oh God, don’t stop and talk to me right now. I’m a mess.

To her complete surprise he leaned against the window then sunk down to the ground next to her, bending his legs at the knees.

Crap
, she thought.
He’s young. And cute. Dammit to hell.

“Did you … did you know Doug?”

Iola shrugged. “I visited a few times. Over the past five or so months. His family doesn’t come here very often.”

The doctor nodded, which she only caught in her periphery. She’d stopped crying out of politeness, but she still couldn’t look at him.

“He was pretty tough. I’m surprised he lasted this long with his lungs the way they were. It was just a matter of time.” Iola nodded, sniffling. He made it worse by taking a plastic-wrapped package of tissue of his pocket. “Here,” he offered, holding it to her.

She took the package, stole a tissue, then handed it back. “Thanks.” She wiped at her eyes, then did her best to blow her nose in a dainty way.

“I’m sorry, and I swear this isn’t a line, but … do I know you?”

She frowned, then
had
to look at him. “No, no … I don’t think so.”

She certainly hadn’t met him before. She’d remember meeting a cutie-pie doctor with the biggest brown eyes she’d ever seen. And freckles. And curly dark brown hair. And a set of lines on the side of his mouth that told her he smiled big, and often. Yeah, she’d remember him.

Well look who just lost her lesbian tendencies. Then she chastised herself. She was in a hospital and had just seen someone
die
in front of her. How about a little perspective?

He held out his hand. “Veneratio Aubericus.”

Iola must have balked as she took his hand, which made him smile as though he’s heard all the jokes before. “Yeah, I know. My parents were Latin freaks. They had their name legally changed from Awbrey to Aubericus when they got married. And as for my first name … well, people just call me Vinnie to make it easier.”

Iola smiled then. “Iola Day.”

He blinked, then cracked a huge smile. “You are, aren’t you?”

“Sorry?”

“I mean, we listen to you in the doctor’s lounge when we work nights. I … I mean,” he actually blushed right to the roots of his hair, “
we
love your show.”

Now it was her turn to get a little red in the face.

“The nurses say you sometimes come by to visit patients that are lonely. But I haven’t seen you before.” He paused, and she stole a glance over at him. He caught her eye, and she just smiled innocently. “You have probably one of the prettiest names I’ve ever heard. Is that a real name or an on-air name?”

“It’s my real name,” she admitted. “My parents wanted my name to be musical. It’s Welsh,
I’m assuming. I never looked into it. But my grandparents moved to Canada from Wales after the war. Our last name is from that region, too. I think it was used to identify dairy farmers or something.” Miss Chatty all of a sudden.

“Day? Yep, that’s where it came from. And your first name means
Valued by the Lord.
”

“How … what?” Now her mouth fell open as she frowned at him.

He laughed then, showing white teeth and dimples. “Sorry, languages and names are just kind of a … hobby for me. Probably because of the insane handle my parents bestowed on me.”

“Doctor Aubericus?”

They both looked up at the nurse standing in front of them.

“Yes?”

“The body is ready to take to the morgue. You’ll need to sign the death certificate.”

His face fell again, and he stood up as though he’d been doing something inappropriate. “Of course, I’m on my way.”

Iola stood too, and Vinnie held out his hand to help her. “I have to go,” he said to her, now ignoring the nurse. “But … would you like to … I don’t know. Grab dinner sometime or … just have coffee?”

“Ummm …” she was uncomfortable again, but not because she didn’t like this guy. She wasn’t sure what was making her that way. But damn her if he wasn’t incredibly adorable. “Sure,” she said before she had concretely made up her mind.

“Great. I’m off shift tomorrow night … can I take you to Ricardo’s for supper?”

“Sure.” She was repeating herself too much. How about something different? “That sounds great.”

“What’s your phone number?”

She rattled off the seven digits without hesitation, and he just stared at her while she did it. When she asked if he was going to write it down he just smiled sheepishly.

“Sorry, I have an overactive memory.” Then he repeated the numbers back to her, and she nodded, almost laughing.

“That is quite a skill.”

“That’s another reason I like languages. They’re a challenge for me. But … I’ll make a reservation, give you a call, and pick you up around … seven?”

“Perfect,” she nearly gushed. Then he smiled, nodded farewell and continued down the hall. Just in time to snap her back to reality and bring her guilt to the forefront, the stretcher rolled by with Mister Horn’s body on it, covered with a sheet, following Doctor
Aubericus.

Iola jumped when she realized the nurse was still there. It was a nurse she’d seen a few times, and she’d always been nice to her. Now she was looking Iola up and down with disdain. Like something that stunk, stuck to the bottom of her shoe.

Well, that’s uncalled for
, Iola thought.
I’ve always been nice to
her
.

Then the nurse caught her looking and shook her head, all smiles again. “Sorry, Iola. I know he liked you. You were probably the only person in the world he liked, but … well, I’m sorry.”

When she realized they were discussing Mr. Horn, Iola smiled her appreciation. “Thanks, Irene. I know he made you guys crazy but … I don’t know why he liked me. He thought I looked like his wife, sort of.”

Irene looked thoughtful. “Yeah, I can see it, especially their wedding picture in there. I think you guys sort of smile the same.”

Iola didn’t wonder if the nurse’s change in attitude towards her was genuine or not, but she didn’t dwell on it, either. All the weirdness and sadness of her day had taken her to a most unusual place, somewhere she hadn’t been in a long time. She … had a
date?

The Sin Eater stayed around the corner of the nurse’s station as Iola walked past to the bank of elevators, and she got in one without seeing him. Her expression was hard to read. She was clearly still upset, but she looked moments away from smiling. She must have been excited.

Iola … Iola …
of course he knew the name. It was an old name and he had spent many years in the United Kingdom throughout the ages.
Valued by the Lord,
in Welsh.

How … appropriate.

He had closed his eyes while she wept openly in the hallway. He could almost taste her sorrow … like lemongrass. It was pungent. She was hurting his chest, he felt like crying with her, and yet still, he read nothing from her mind.

Then he’d listened in when the human man was talking to her.
Veneratio
. What a fucking hero. The name meant
honour
for Christ’s sake. Of course she would catch the eye of an adult Boy Scout.

At least the human wasn’t emitting cloves or nutmeg or a bakery load of spices.
Just … the scent of a meadow, which was almost as bad. He was completely smitten in a real, authentic and chaste way. Hell, he was almost as pure a soul as she was. Maybe he could get into
Vinnie’s
mind and make the guy shit his scrubs in front of her.

The Sin Eater had a strong desire to punch something, and it was an emotion he’d never felt before. He had the need to grab Iola, make love to her, somehow show she was taken. Not available. He wanted her for his own. It was … irrational and yet so powerful he actually saw red for a moment.

Jealousy. That had to be it.
He’d never been jealous of anyone before … what the hell was happening to him? If he didn’t know any better he’d swear he was turning into a goddamn human. To prove to himself he wasn’t, he locked onto the mental signatures of the nurse at the station next to him. She was flipping through a folder, head down while she stood at the high desk.

He reached in
to her brain, finding the necessary triggers, making her orgasm while she stood there. No arousal, just …
bam
.

She twitched, her cheeks flushed and she gave a little squeak, then covered her mouth. She appeared horrified with herself, and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. There was only him, and while she stared to see if he had any inkling what had just
happened, he nodded his head and walked past to the elevators.

“Bless you,” he said as though she had sneezed.

Charles stared down at his clothes, wondering where the hell the blood had come from. He’d been clean when he went to bed, and now … God, this wasn’t his blood. Where did it come from?

He rolled off the sofa he slept on, struggling to his feet. The sun was at a low angle coming through his window, so it was late afternoon. He’d slept all day … but when had he gone to bed? He couldn’t remember.

He shuffled in
to his tiny, filthy bathroom, and pulled the shower curtain back. Before he could turn the taps on, he shrieked like a woman and backed up against the far wall, hitting his elbow on the open door.

A body was lying in the shower, slumped up against the inside corners, her blonde hair matted with dried blood. Her short skirt was pushed up so he could see her one butt cheek, and her shirt was ripped down the front. He could see bite marks on her shoulder, her arm, her breast …

Fuck. He’d done this to her. He had to look away.

He saw his own face crumple in the mirror over the sink. Why couldn’t
he remember this? How did he even get her here? Where’d he find her?

He took his panic out in
to the living/kitchen/bedroom, pacing around the few items of furniture he had. Shit, oh shit. He was in so much trouble. And that’s when he noticed the huge pool of blood on the floor.

Relax.

He stopped, hands still shaking, but closing his eyes to concentrate on that voice that could always chill him right out.

Remember? You needed her, I let you have her.

He closed his eyes and jammed his thumbs into the inside corners, pushing until it hurt. It took attention away from the throbbing at his temples.

No, no ... he couldn’t have done that. Who was she? He didn’t even know her.

Just some woman. She was coming out of a bar, remember? She had a broken heel on her shoe, and she bent over to take them both off so she could walk better. You wanted her immediately.

He hadn’t wanted her dead, surely?

You tried to kiss her. She shrunk away. She was scared of you.

Well that wouldn’t be weird. Women never liked him.