Halfway to the Grave Outtakes - The Original Chapter One, Page 2

  He howled so loud, it shook the windows. Then he reared back, trying to reach the weapon in his body. I held on, knowing if I let go, it would be all over. With a savageness I didn't know lay in me, I twisted the blade, wrenching it from side to side. Anthony backhanded me so hard, the window cracked when my head hit it. In the split second I let go, he grabbed for the knife.

  I kicked at him, my body braced against the door. Since both his hands were clawing at his back, Anthony's face was unprotected. My shoes landed with a solid thunk, snapping his head back. When his fist arced at me again, I threw myself forward, ducking to avoid his blow and groping for the knife.

  Fangs sank into my shoulder. I screamed as Anthony tried to chew his way up to my neck. His fists beat on my back until every one of my ribs felt broken. The pain was so great, I knew at any moment, I'd pass out and never wake up. But even if I was going to die, maybe, just maybe, I could take him with me.

  I focused all of my remaining effort on the dagger, missing it twice before finally grabbing it again. It was slick with blood, and I curled my fingers around the arms of the cross to anchor my grip. Then I scissoring it madly left and right, my vision blackening as Anthony continued to tear at my shoulder and crush me with his fists. With the last bit of strength in me, I gave the dagger one final slanted thrust.

  All at once, Anthony's mouth went slack, his arms dropped, and he fell onto me as if unconscious. Even through the haze of overwhelming pain, I smiled.

  My last thought before the darkness claimed me was, this one's for you, Mom.

  ***

  Feelings returned slowly to me. My back ached. Something heavy was on me. My leg was twisted. My shoulder hurt. I tasted blood in my mouth. I was still alive.

  That made me snap my eyes open. The first thing I saw was Anthony's face. It was grotesque. His mouth hung open, his tongue lolled out, and his features had somehow sunken and withered. He was on top of me, and I was contorted at an odd angle so that I was halfway under the glove box. The blood I'd tasted in my mouth was his, since it had run in a disgusting red trail from the hamburger of his back down to my face. I spat it out, terrified, because I'd clearly swallowed some of it.

  I pushed at Anthony's body, but couldn't get enough traction to get out from under him. Fumbling, I reached behind me and groped around for the door handle. Ah, there it was. One tug later and the door spilled open. I wiggled backward, twisting, until I got enough space between us to kick Anthony back and fall out of the car.

  From my vantage point in the dirt, the car looked like a pig slaughter. Blood was splattered on the windshield, dashboard, and seats. Add that to a ripped up man in the front, and there was no way I could drive this into town to get my truck. Somehow I didn't think the police would believe me if I told them the thing I'd killed in it was a vampire. But honestly, officer, he tried to suck my blood! No, better not try to go public with this. So, then. Unless I wanted to go to jail, I had to get rid of the car and the body. But how?

  I gave Anthony's corpse an assessing look. Could I burn him? It would be hard trying to torch him with just the cigarette lighter. To be honest, I was a little surprised that he hadn't spontaneously combusted. They always did in the movies. Maybe he wasn't really dead after all. The thought chilled me. All right, first things first. I needed to make sure the thing in the car really was a corpse before I worried about disposing of one.

  I got up, leaning cautiously over the open door. The dagger still stuck out of Anthony's back like some macabre trophy. With a grimace, I rolled him over so he was face up.

  My stomach gave a sickening lurch. Anthony looked even worse that he had before. His skin was like cracked leather, his lips were pulled away from his teeth, his hands claw-like, and his chest seemed to shrink within itself. If he wasn't dead, he was doing an Oscar-winning performance of it. Still, I wanted to be sure, so I looked around the backseat for another weapon. Some part of me was afraid if I removed the dagger, Anthony would leap up and attack me.

  The backseat was useless. There was nothing, not even a toothpick. The glove box was empty of everything but registration papers, which were not to Anthony Dansen, but to a Felicity Summers. I said a quick, silent prayer for Felicity, although I knew it was probably too late. Then as a last resort, I got out and opened the trunk.

  "Good God."

  I spoke aloud, shocked into doing so. The trunk looked like a Hannibal Lecter starter kit. There was an ax, oversized garbage bags, duct tape, a shovel, extra clothes, and baby wipes. Baby wipes? Mentally I shuddered at the thought of why they were there. As horrifying as the objects were in the trunk, they were tailor-made to suit my purposes. Already I was thinking like a murderer.

  Another tremor passed over me as I realized, belatedly, these things were here for me. It made my blood run cold to know these items would have been used in my body's disposal, if Anthony had had his way. A feeling of vengeful satisfaction coursed through me. Never again would anyone be bled and killed by this vampire. Now, to sure he was really, truly dead. After a moment of contemplation, I picked up the ax.

  Two hours later, I was finished. Sweat stuck to me, and I felt like if I showered a thousand times, I would still never be clean. But it was done. Anthony's head was buried about a quarter mile into the woods. His body was hidden half a mile away in the opposite direction. If that didn't ensure he stayed dead, I was all out of ideas. After debating with myself about what to do with the car, I settled on cleaning it as best as I could with the baby wipes. Then I opened all the windows and pushed it down to the edge of the lake. With luck it would sink to the bottom and never be found. As though I were dreaming, I watched the car founder in the water for a few moments before it disappeared. Then I looked down at myself.

  My jeans and tee shirt were ruined. I stripped to don the extra clothes my would-be murderer had provided – and then stopped short, gaping at my shoulder.

  There was no wound. Sure, it was still red from blood, mine and the vampire's, but where there should have been messy punctures from Anthony's teeth, there was nothing but smooth skin. Seized with memory, I gripped my ribs. They should have hurt. In fact, I shouldn't have been able to do any of the things I'd done in the past few hours, what with the beating Anthony had given me. But I felt...fine.

  Panic surged in me. How did I heal that fast? Sure, I healed faster than anyone else when I scraped my knees or got a cut, but nothing like this had happened before. Oh no. What if...?

  In desperation, I pressed my fingers to my throat. Relief coursed through me when I felt my pulse's strong, steady beat. Then I held my breath for as long as possible before gasping and gulping in air. Okay, I still needed to breathe and my heart was still working, so no, I hadn't turned into a vampire.

  My head spun with possibilities. Could his bite have affected me this much? What about his blood? How much of it had I swallowed when it dripped into my mouth?

  It was all too disturbing to contemplate. Later, I would think about it. Right now, I had a murder to cover up. I pulled on the spare shirt. It was too long, but style was the least of my concerns. Next came the pants, which I rolled at the legs and the waistband. My bloody, ruined clothes I stuffed into one of the garbage bags. When I was further away, I'd bury them, but not too close to the body – either piece of it. With the last of the baby wipes, I scrubbed the blood from my hands, face and shoulders. No wonder Anthony had the wipes, they really did the trick. At last, I stuck the crucifix in my pants. There. I'd done the best cover-up and body disposal I could. Hopefully, no one would ever find the remains of the vampire or the car. It was time to leave. I had a very long walk ahead of me.

  ***

  When I finally pulled into the driveway of my house, streaks of sunlight crept over the horizon. It had taken me over two hours to find my way back to the club, then another hour and a half to drive home. Never in my memory did I feel so exhausted. The sound of the truck must have woken my family, because one by one, they came out of the house. My grandparents were in
their nightclothes, but my mother wore the same dress she'd had on yesterday. Obviously she'd never been to bed. The look of relief on her face when she saw me turned immediately to anger, and she was at the truck window before I even had time to open to door.

  "Where have you been? Do you have any idea what time it is? I've been worried sick! So have your grandparents. They called the police! What...?"

  She stopped when she caught sight of my strange clothes as I got out of the car and stumbled toward the house. Her speechlessness lasted only a moment, however.

  "Whose clothes are those, Catherine? Answer me!"

  I opened my mouth to explain when my grandfather walked up and grabbed me by the shoulders, shaking me hard.

  "You think you can run all over, doing God knows what? You will not bring more shame to me! It's been hard enough after what your mother's done. I won't stand by and let you be the same, you–"

  He cut off his tirade when I grasped his hands and pulled them off me. For a few silent moments, we glared at each other, me with angry weariness, and he with shock at the strength in my grip. Then I turned my back on him and went to my mother, reaching in my pants. I'd kept one souvenir, just for her.

  "Hold out your hand." My voice was harsh, but my eyes weren't.

  She stared at me before stretching out her hand. Into it, I placed a small, hard object.

  "This is where I was and what I was doing. I'm strong enough, and I know what it takes, so it's what I'll be doing from now on, I promise you."

  She stared at the single curved fang in her hand for a long moment, tears overflowing her eyes. Then she reached out and touched my cheek with more tenderness than she'd ever shown me. Finally, she wrapped me in her arms.

  Tears came to my eyes as well, because at last, I knew I'd made her proud of me.

  My grandfather stomped over. "What in the Sam Hell is going on? Justina, I'm not finished with that girl yet."

  "Oh yes you are."

  My mother's tone was so vehement, my grandfather gazed at her as if she'd grown a second head. She patted my shoulders before speaking again.

  "Leave her alone, she was doing a good thing. I am her mother, I am responsible for her, and I say it's okay."

  With her arm still around me, my mother led me into the house. My grandparents gaped after us, but didn't move to stop us. My mother had never spoken up to them before or overruled their wishes, so they were even more shocked than I was. I knew I'd always remember her standing up for me, but I didn't have the energy to dwell on that. As soon as I got to my room, I fell on the bed and passed out.

  Later that night, I got up and ate dinner as though nothing happened, and my grandparents never mentioned it again.