When Darkness Falls(62)

“Not last I’d heard.”

Devon wanted to shake Lydia, but he didn’t trust himself. The memory of the night she’d changed him both repulsed and compelled him. Lydia was not the person he’d known. Somewhere along the line her reckless approach to people and life had evolved from a defense mechanism against hurt and loss into a way of life that endangered others. Or perhaps when she’d been changed, that had been the result.

“I love Haley,” he said. “I loved life with her. But even before that, even before, I might have been unhappy, but I never would have wanted to be like this. Feeding off other people, living off them. Killing them.”

“You won’t have to. I’ll kill. I’ll feed you. I’ll keep you satisfied. Like I did after I changed you. And again in Chicago.”

Lydia stepped closer, close enough that he could feel her breath against his neck. He backed away, feet on the edge of the curb.

“No.”

“Think of your alternatives. Do you want to keep killing people? Kill your precious Haley? You need me. You don’t have any choice.”

“I can kill myself.”

Devon expected it to shock Lydia. It had shocked him. He had not thought it, not in those words, before, but since he’d recognized what he’d done to the woman and the man in the alley, the idea had been there. If that was the only way to live, better not to.

“You can’t,” Lydia said.

“Can’t?”

Trying to increase the distance between him and Lydia, Devon backed into a parked panel van. His chest felt tight, and his heart hit an extra beat, the precursor of one of his attacks, though it was night. In what was almost a reflex, he pressed his fingers to his wrist, and then let go. He wasn’t having a heart attack.

“I tried.” Lydia smiled, not her usual seductive smile, but a sad half-smile that made him think she did understand his feelings. “In the beginning, I tried. It’s impossible. Think about it. Slit your wrists, and the cuts will heal faster than the blood drains out. If you hold the cut open until you pass out, you’ll heal while you’re unconscious. Hang yourself—you’ll hang there alive. You don’t need air anymore. You’re breathing out of habit, breathing to taste and smell the air. You can’t starve yourself. Eventually your innate drive will make you hunt and kill. You could jump in front of a train, but your body would heal once the impact was over and you’d have gone though every moment of that pain for nothing. And don’t worry, garlic won’t kill you. Neither will a crucifix or a stake through the heart. Or holy water, as your lady love found out.”

“There must be something.”

“Sure. Can you chop off your own head? Didn’t think so.”

Devon looked at the sky, dark with no stars visible because the city’s ambient light blocked them. “The sun.”

Lydia shook her head.

“Too painful. Remember how you felt, those few moments you were out and had what you thought were panic attacks? How long could you stand that? And the pain gets worse. Like you’re being ripped apart molecule by molecule. I don’t know how long it would take, but I couldn’t wait long enough. You’ll get out of the sun, I promise you.”

“I could do it.”

“Try, if you want to. But it won’t work, and you’ll come back to me.”

The last time Devon had been in the sun, he’d scrambled out in a few seconds, not only because of the fear it would kill him, but to end the pain. He imagined extending those seconds to minutes.

“So you’re here to stay?” Lydia said. “In L.A.?”

“No.”

Haley.

Devon felt sure Haley could help him, if he could convince her the moment with Lydia meant nothing. He needed to see Haley. She was right, he had to find a good doctor, because this was insane. Lydia was insane. But before anything else, before they booked a flight or talked, he would take Haley in his arms.

“You’ve tasted her blood, haven’t you?” Lydia said.

“No.”

“You lied to me, Devon. You’re going after her. You were looking for her tonight. That’s why you came here.”

“And why did you?”

“I came for you.”

The words of a Springsteen song, one of many he’d learned when he started playing guitar at age thirteen, ran through Devon’s mind. Words from another world, another time.

Devon looked at Lydia, her red lips, the way her dress clung to her body, her muscled legs. She seemed so intense, so flesh and blood real, in front of the gray stone church, so much the girl and then the woman he’d known for so long, and yet she’d killed a man in front of him. Would have killed Haley tonight if he hadn’t stopped her.

“I’m not like you,” he said.

“Tell it to someone else, Devon. Better yet, keep believing it, but believe this, too, I’ll find her first. Because there’s no way I’m letting her have you, in any way at all.”

“Stay away from her.”

“You better hope you get there first. Although for Haley’s sake, it’d be better if I did. I’m going to kill her. You’re going to turn her into an inhuman monster.”

“I thought you said superhuman.”

“She’ll hate you for it. Like you hate me.”