2 comments/ 7721 views/ 6 favorites Dawn Awakening By: msnomer68 The Native Dawn Series Book 3 Dawn Awakening Chapter 1 John Mark wandered through the woods, lost in a world all his own. The sun hung lazily on the horizon, settling into the western sky. There was no privacy in his head. He'd escaped into the dense summertime cover of trees in hope of a little alone time. No such luck there. All this drama first with Lucien and Alex and now between Janine and Patrick grated his nerves until he wanted to pluck his brain right out of his skull. Give it a good scrubbing to get rid of all the emo crap and stuff it back inside the old cranium. Who needed that shit? You either loved someone or you didn't. You either did something about it or you sucked it up like a man and jerked off in the shower all by your lonesome. Just you and a bar of Ivory soap. Yeah, he knew a thing or two about that too. Oh hell, who was he kidding? He loved someone, had been in love with someone, since grade school. And well, since grade school, he hadn't done a damned thing about it. Sure made for a lot of lonely showers and a whole hell of a lot of bars of Ivory soap. He hoped the fresh air would make him drowsy. But, it agitated him all the more. Usually, after a short walk he could cuddle against the rough bark of a tree trunk and be out cold. Not today. He checked his internal sensors. Nothing seemed to be out of kilter. All gauges were in the green. He wasn't hungry; he wasn't too cold or too hot. And damn if the porridge wasn't just right for this little bear. No. Go. However. Sleepy time wouldn't come. After a long night of patrolling and an even longer day of babysitting Janine. He should be good and tired, ready for some ZZZZs. Instead, he just felt... edgy. Like at any minute, the shit was going to hit the fan. Ok, so he was pouting. Disappointed about Robbie; she wasn't coming home this summer. She wanted to live in the big city. Cut the apron strings. Be her own woman. She had a job and an apartment lined up. This was supposed to be the summer. THE SUMMER. When she came home to help out in her family's ice cream parlor over the summer, like she did every summer. He was going to make his move. WAS. Until he found out she wasn't on board with his plan and wasn't coming home. Robbie had been his first and only love since the day he first set eyes on her. Red hair neatly divided into two pigtails, bony knees poking out from under the hem of a blue and yellow plaid dress, and those green eyes, as big as quarters, peeking out from behind her dad's hip in terror. That had been in Kindergarten. And from that first day, he was a goner. Robbie's lips were first and only lips he'd ever kissed. Too bad he was twelve when it happened. Years of unrequited admiration later, all on his part, in their senior year of high school, when her date for the prom got sick, he'd stepped up to the plate. For all his chivalry and efforts, all he'd gotten was a raging hard on and a chaste peck on the cheek. And when she drove off to college in that beat up hand-me-down Honda. He'd been there, all decked out in his grocery store stock boy uniform, to see her off. God, he was such a dork back then. Hell, he still was. Over the last four years, a thing or two had changed. Yeah... just a li'l thing or two was different about him. But, wasn't it the little things that kept life interesting? Good old John Mark, that was how she saw him. Her buddy. Her pal. Her one time best friend. The kid across the street she used to play with in grade school. That was who he was in her eyes. Not John Mark the stud. Not John Mark the 'OMG he's so gorgeous how come I never noticed him before now?'... John Mark. Nah, that wasn't him. He was John Mark. The neighbor kid, who hadn't been a neighbor nor a kid in the last four years. Like clockwork, he sent a card every year at Christmas, addressed generically to the Harris's. Sometimes, he called on her birthday, just for a quick 'hi, how are ya?', then hung up the phone before her voice mail or worse... she... picked up on the other end. Robbie would remember the short kid who picked on her in fourth grade and stole her lunch money. She'd remember her sadistic gym teacher and all the laps she'd been forced to run around the gym in ninth grade. She'd remember the wrinkly sweet face of the school librarian. She'd remember every pop quiz she'd taken in college. And she'd remember the guy who held the door for her at the mall one rainy afternoon. But, not him, he was invisible. And no wonder. He'd never done a thing to make himself stand out as anything to her other than Good old John Mark, Boy Blunder Extraordinaire, an all around, totally generic and non-descript, nice guy. He stomped on a stray twig, relishing the dry, brittle snap it made under the heel of his boot. As if the sound was some kind of an affirmation. Sometimes, life didn't seem fair. Hell, sometimes it wasn't. No doubt about that one. He was committed, at least. Sometimes though he had to wonder if he'd made the right choices was committed to the right things. Deep in his heart, he knew he had. No matter what they may cost him personally. His life was dedicated to serving others. But, that didn't mean, he couldn't want, couldn't hope for a little something for himself. Thinking about Robbie always made him weak in the knees and caused his heart to pound. He secretly thought maybe, somewhere during the course of their lives, they'd end up together. She'd finally unravel the mystery and get a clue. He wasn't so bad. For her, he was perfect. Hell, if a Kindergartener had figured it out at first sight. Maybe, there was hope for his little librarian after all. With a small bound, John Mark cleared the brook and landed with a graceful flex of his knees on the other side. Before he changed, he would have fallen flat on his ass, drenched. Now, it took no effort at all. He smiled smugly and moved through the woods. Instead of being stuck on a trail blazed by someone else. He blazed his own. This new life definitely had its perks. He paused knee deep in brush. His feet planted on a spot, perhaps, no one had ever walked on before. Or at least since the first settlers had come to this dull spot in the universe and loosely declared it habitable. Something had his senses on high alert. Something...something... wasn't right. No! Wrong...something was definitely wrong. The first wave of agony ripped through his chest like a wrecking ball right to the sternum. Dropping him to the ground. He kicked and struggled for breath as the impact of that two-ton wrecking ball tore through him. Grappling haphazardly at the thorny underbrush, as if the jab of thorns could hold him to this world. The physical world where things were real instead of the psychic world, where they were no less real, but where he was a bystander. He wailed in torture. Pain! So much pain his stomach lurched and heaved, wadded into knots. And then... there was darkness...calm... and after that... nothing. He lay in the tall spindly grasses panting, trying desperately to put the jacked up jigsaw puzzle in his mind together. He heard a deep, but gentle voice, as recognizable as his own dad's, echo in his mind. "John Mark," it whispered, "Take care of my baby girl." Scrambling to his feet he rushed blindly through the woods, headed in the direction of the highway. He knew he should slow down and be more cautious, gain control of his limbs. But, he couldn't. In that moment, he just needed to be there. Bind the promise whispered so urgently into his mind. Blindly, he stumbled onto the edge of the road, bolting down the loose gravel that made up the shoulder. John Mark skidded to a stop and battled to regain his breath out of habit, not necessity. The smell of gasoline, burned rubber, and death hung in a sickeningly sweet mixture in the air, contaminating the cool evening breeze. He masked his appearance, moving at a snail's pace to pretend to be other than what he was as he emerged from behind the wreckage of the semi trailer. He didn't have to get any closer to know who was involved. The breeze, which should have brought relief with its coolness, instead, brought the horror of their scent to his nose. Broken glass crunched under his boots. Blind to anything but the battered truck cab, intertwined with the grill of the semi, smashed to twisted bits of steel and chrome; the two vehicles fused into a barely recognizable twisted hunk of metal. He bulldozed through the debris, unable to stop himself. He gasped in denial. Seeing, but not believing, as if it were a dream and not real. NOT REAL. Couldn't be real. Couldn't be them. He wouldn't allow it. NOT THEM! He just talked to them the other day! They...they were supposed to meet up at the lodge later this week. This couldn't be happening. "NO!" his mouth formed the words, throat constricted so tightly the word could not break free. Chapter 2 Mack pushed at John Mark's chest. Shouting to get his attention over the shrill wail of sirens, whispers of onlookers, and chugging of idling engines. Cautioning him not to get any closer. Trying to stop the boy was like trying to stop the semi that had careened head on into the truck. "There isn't anything you could have done!" he raised his voice louder, decibels louder than his shout, into a scream. The heels of his standard issue cop shoes slid backwards in the loose gravel of the road's shoulder. Frustrated by his lack of ability to get through to the boy, he slammed his palms hard on John Mark's beefy, bodybuilder pecs and shouted, making sure his voice was loud enough to get through the shit storm going on in John Mark's mind. "They're dead! John Mark, are you hearing me? They're gone!" Sometimes, no matter how seasoned a person was. No matter how much shit they'd seen and no matter in what capacity they'd seen it. Nothing prepared a person for the inevitable. When whatever the shit was ended up on their doorstep. When it got up close and personal. The moment of epiphany when a person realized just how helpless they were and there wasn't anything to be done...that damned cosmic wheel of fate just kept on turning. John Mark was there. How many times had Mack seen the exact expression on John Mark's face on someone else's face? Seen that same blankness in their eyes when they realized that life had kicked them in the proverbial balls? John Mark did not need to see what happened next. He did not need to watch the medics rush in and pretend to save the lives that were already gone. They'd try. And they'd fail. It was what they did. And once in a while, they won. Not this time, though. This time it was game over. It was a damn shame, that for all their fancy equipment and all their skills, dead was still very fucking dead. And there wasn't shit all these monitors and an annual pancake breakfast at the firehouse were going to do about it. "Go home." The woman's tiny hand hung limply to the side. The demure wedding set on her ring finger shone dully in the fading daylight. The paramedics slid her free from the wreckage and lowered what was left of the mangled flesh into the black, plastic body bag, folding limb over limb and zipping it up tight. Snug as a bug in a rug. John Mark blinked as if he had just awakened and stared. Danielle. The last time he saw her..., he couldn't remember...couldn't remember the last thing she said to him or that he'd said to her. Suddenly, in the midst of all this blood and death, it seemed so important to remember. When at the time, whatever words they'd exchanged, seemed so mundane, almost commonplace. It had to be something important, something meaningful. If he'd known what was going to happen, he would have made damned sure he said something better than whatever shit had come out of his mouth. He would have hung on every word that passed from her lips. Because, looking back, they were important. They were her last. The man's shoulders slumped against the steering wheel in a position of defeat. A thick, wool blanket draped across his frame, the olive drab ends flapping like a flag in the breeze. "Both of them?" John Mark asked Mack, as if he didn't already know. Still, he needed to hear it from someone else's mouth. His voice cracked with emotion because, he already knew the answer. Robert was gone too. His body mangled beyond repair by the collision. His aorta ripped free from his heart from the impact. Aortic sheer or something like that, he thought it was called. Quick. Dead. Final. Light's out for good. A punch your time card and get the hell out of Dodge kind of death. Robert hadn't suffered. That Bastard, the Grim Reaper, had stolen the show and left the living with some lovely parting gifts. Mack draped an arm across John Mark's shoulders, guiding him away from the paramedics. Turning his back while the jaws of life worked Robert's empty shell free from the wreckage. John Mark didn't need the image of a body retrieval as his last memory of Robert. That kind of shit stuck. Haunted you in your dreams and crept up and bit you in the ass when you least expected it. Mack ought to know. He'd made a special guest appearance, just a cameo really, at too many such events to count. Each and every one of them recorded in gruesome detail in the gray matter between his ears for his viewing pleasure night after night. "I'm sorry." "Yeah, me too." John Mark rubbed the back of his neck with his hand and forced his eyes to focus on something besides looking over his shoulder. "Robbie? Have you told her yet?" She'd be alone when she got the call. She was alone in the world now. No, she wasn't alone. She had a whole family that she knew nothing about. She'd never be alone. Ever. "No, I'm going to wait until this is cleaned up and then give her a call." Mack replied, shaking his head as he shuffled the gravel with the toe of his boot. This was the part of his job he hated the most. He wished this were one call he didn't have to make. What could he say to that girl? What could he really say? "I'll help her as much as I can, Mack. You know that." John Mark stated. Behind him the ambulance doors slammed shut and tires ground against the surface of the road. No lights, no sirens, no need to rush. The yellow strobe lights on the wreckers flashed against the tops of the trees. John Mark would have left things just as they were. The vehicles twisted and broken in the middle of the highway as a memorial, the glass scattered like daisies over a grave. That wasn't how things worked. The crew labored to hook on to the wreckage, metal groaning against metal in such a low grinding sorrowful moan he almost lost it right then and there. Almost as if as long as he didn't see it, didn't hear it, the whole thing had never happened. It had. And judging by the way traffic was backed up on the road, all the way past the on ramp to the interstate. Life had to go on. Life waited on no one. Clapping John Mark briskly on the back, Mack replied, "I know you will." "I'd like to stay here for a while, Mack. I feel like I knew Robert and Danielle well enough to sing their death song." John Mark lowered his head, focusing on the scuffed toes of his boots. "They were my friends." Hands shoved deep into the front pockets of his jeans. He walked away from the wreck. Shoulders slumped and his head hung low. Tears sprung from the corners of his eyes. He lowered his lids against the sting, trapping the salinity behind his lashes. Chanting in a deep bass voice, he honored the memory of his fallen family. Answering Robert's last request in the words. He'd take care of Robbie until she and her family were reunited, and maybe after that even. Mack spoke into the microphone pinned to the collar of his shirt. Staties. Typical. They could come on down, grab a broom and a dustpan, and help out or they could shut the fuck up until he got it done. He barked a quick guess on how long the highway would be out of commission, a total fabrication, into the handset and clipped the damned thing to his utility belt. The last thing he needed was some smart ass fresh out of "Cop College" telling him how to do his job. The damned highway would be open when it got open. Some days he truly hated his job. Things were different now than they had been back in the day, a lifetime ago. Days like this were enough to make him count the years left till retirement. With a dismal shake of his head, he muttered, "Too many. Way too many." Chapter 3 Robbie surveyed her old dorm room, making sure she hadn't left any of her treasures behind. After four years of college, she thought there would be more. Who was she kidding? She had plenty to haul out of the room. Mostly books, textbooks, some of which she hadn't opened since her freshman year, if at all. Maybe, it was the future librarian in her. But, she couldn't bear the thought of parting with a single one of the heavy tomes of knowledge. Besides, her apartment was unfurnished, and so far, she had an air mattress and a lawn chair as her only furniture. Perhaps, she could stack the books and make an end table out of them until she got the real thing. It had taken every dime she had to pay the deposit and first month's rent. Furniture was way down on the list of priorities. Not nearly as important as having her own place and declaring, at long last, her independence. Robbie grabbed the last armload of clothes from her closet and wiggled into the throng of people. The hallways were teaming with activity, students moving out and others moving in. Parents and wide-eyed freshmen and cool, aloof grads, like her, crowded the halls. She smiled to herself as she picked her way through the masses. Her new life was just beginning. She was a little timid about leaving the dorms and striking out on her own. But, hey, it was all good. Right? She still couldn't believe that almost everything she owned fit inside her beat up Civic. Once she started to make some real money the car would be history. Ok, so a tad above minimum wage didn't exactly make her a Donald Trump type. But, she was on her way. And it so beat wasting another summer behind the counter of her mom and dad's ice cream shop for room and board and all the jimmies she could eat. Yeah, buying a new car was the first thing on her "to do" list when she finished grad school and got a real job. Sliding behind the wheel and adjusting her weight so the worn out spring in the middle of the seat didn't poke her in the butt, she wiped beads of sweat off her brow and onto her favorite pair of cut-off jean shorts. For May, it was unusually stuffy, humid with the promise of rain heavy in the damp air. Robbie looked through the cracked windshield spattered with bug guts. Spotting the dark clouds brewing in the western sky, frowning, she put the key in the ignition. She had plans to splurge on one last decent meal out at the pub on campus, before she settled down to a steady diet of Raman noodles, hot dogs, and bologna. But, those menacing clouds looming over downtown squashed those plans. For the moment, her main priority was to lug her stuff up the rickety stairs to her new apartment and get her car emptied out, while she still had the chance. When that storm hit. It was going to be a soaker. The Civic roared to life with a gasp and a shudder. The engine whined like it was bitching solely at her. Her dad was the master mechanic and that old engine had more duct tape holding it together than the local hardware store in her hometown had rolls to sell. She hoped her dad's patch jobs would hold out long enough for her to finish grad school. A new car or even a used clunker was not in her immediate future. And, as a grown woman out on her own, she was not, NOT, going to borrow one more cent off her parents for anything. Robbie entertained fantasies about the day she would eagerly plop the keys into the hand of a salesman and drive away in her brand spanking new SUV. No more little compact cars for her. No more prayers to the Automotive Goddess that the car would actually start when she cranked over the engine. She envisioned herself driving off the lot in luxury and comfort. To her, air conditioning and a heater that actually put out something other than cold air would be a luxury. Dawn Awakening Craning her neck to see over the mass of hangars lumped together over the passenger side and flooding the backseat, she slid the car into drive and pulled out of the parking space with one last glance up at the dorm that had been her home for the past four years. Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket before she could pull away from the first stop sign. Maybe, it was her dad checking up on her or her mom, calling to see if she needed anything. She did, but she wasn't going to tell her mom. Nope. She was an independent woman now and she'd figure it out as she went along. After wiggling her phone free from the front pocket of her jean shorts, she glanced at the number on the display. She didn't recognize it. Probably, someone dialed the wrong number. Being nervous as she was and eager to hear the voice of another human being, just to remind her she wasn't alone in the world, she answered anyway. "Hello?" "Roberta Danielle Harris?" The voice on the other end was gravely, deep, and thick with hesitation. Robbie confirmed with a certain measure of dread. When people used her full name it was never a good sign. The voice on the other end introduced itself as Mack Brown, the Moore County Sheriff, also not good, her heart began to pound in her chest. She listened to his monologue, spoken in that gravely voice as rough as sandpaper, went on, sympathetic and apologizing all over itself to inform her that her parents had been killed in a head on collision. Her fingers gripped the cell phone, pressing it to her ear hard enough to hurt. Her parents? Dead? The Sheriff, as well intentioned as he was, should check his facts more thoroughly before making calls like this. He had the wrong person. The wrong set of parents. There was a mix up. It couldn't be her mom and dad. He was wrong. This was a mistake. Yeah, that was it. Simple, easy enough to do, just an honest mistake. It couldn't be her mom and dad. Although, she felt bad for the kid whose parents were stretched out in the hospital morgue, she was glad they weren't hers. Her parents were working. They worked till well after ten during the busy season, peddling ice cream to the hungry masses. They were safe behind the counter, chit chatting it up with the locals. Earning their fortune, one sundae at a time. They weren't dead. They couldn't be gone. After hanging up with the sheriff, she dialed the shop and didn't get an answer. That didn't prove shit. They were too busy behind the counter to answer the phone. That was all. Her hands were trembling. Tears of hot grief streamed down her face and dripped off her chin. This was wrong. Mack was wrong. He just got confused. After all, people got things mixed up all of the time. Right? The couple, poor things, and she felt bad for them. She really did. That couple just looked like her parents. This was an innocent misunderstanding. Nothing more. Could happen to anybody. Hell, it had happened to her. She could have sworn she saw Justin Timberlake in line that day at Starbucks. She'd even been tempted to ask for an autograph. That was it, pure and simple, just a case of mistaken identity. Happened all the time. As a double check, she pushed speed dial and called home. No answer, no, of course not, her parents were at the shop. But, the sound of her mom's cheerful greeting on the answering machine was enough to send her into a fit of sobs. In a fit of frustration, Robbie threw the phone onto the dashboard. It skittered across the cracked vinyl and landed with a clatter in the console. Resting her head on the steering wheel, not giving a damn about traffic, she cried... hard. A shoulder shaking, gut wrenching bawl fest. Mack could be wrong. HE WAS WRONG. This couldn't be happening, not to her. Her parents weren't dead. She wasn't ready to lose them. They weren't supposed to die like that. They were supposed to die years from now, old and wrinkled, in their golden years. Not like this. Not this soon. Sobs wracked through her body, blurring her vision. A loud angry honk from the guy behind her got her head back in the game. Wiping away her tears with the back of her hand, she looked into the rearview mirror. The rusty pick up was flashing its lights off and on like Morse code. A thick, brawny arm waved impatiently, making rude gestures at her, from the driver's side window. Robbie resisted the urge to return the favor and make a few less than Miss Manners hand signals herself. She flipped on her turn signal and inched through the intersection. Her apartment was in the opposite direction, at the far side of campus, close to the edge of downtown. She wasn't going there though. She had to go home. Confirm that the couple in the morgue weren't her parents. Gunning the engine for all it was worth, she sped toward the interstate. Luckily there wasn't a lot of traffic on Sunday evenings. Her vision was for shit through the blurriness of her tears, she merged onto the interstate. Pointing the car headed straight into the storm. When Robbie got home, she and her parents would have a good laugh about this. Maybe her mom would send coupons for free ice cream cones to the Sheriff's Department. Just to give old Mack a poke in the ribs. Yeah, Robbie would make sure Mack got the message loud and clear not to make this kind of mistake again. This wasn't the kind of thing that got a guy reelected at the end of his term. She sure as hell wasn't voting for him. Gripping the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white, Robbie mashed down on the accelerator. With not much to do for the next two hours or so but watch the wipers beat at the rain, her mind had plenty of time to play hell with her. And it did. She pushed the image of her parent's dead and mangled bodies out of her head and focused on counting the mile markers instead. Her heart practically stopped when she saw a car pulled over to the side of the interstate, hazard lights flashing. Her mind zoned out on her and she was certain, in a panic, that there'd been an accident. Not so, only an unfortunate guy with the dumb luck to get a flat in the middle of a rainstorm, nothing to worry about. She had to stop this line of thinking immediately. Otherwise, she'd be a basket case by the time she got home. The mile markers ticked away, slowly chewing up the distance between her and home. Everything was fine. Dandy even. Her parents didn't always answer the phone. Nothing to get concerned about there. She'd go to the hospital, not that she relished the thought of looking at the bodies. But, she'd be more than happy to confirm that the dead were not her parents. Yeah, she'd clear this whole unfortunate mess up when she pulled into town. Give her mom and dad hell for not answering the phone. Give Mack hell for making such a terrible mistake. And hug them all, her parents for breathing, and Mack too, just because he was wrong. Everything was fine. Ignoring the sinking feeling in her gut, she held onto that thought. The hugs, the hope, that everything was fine. Her parents were alive and well. And this was nothing more than a horrific nightmare. Tomorrow morning she'd wake up in her bed at home. Have breakfast with the 'rents, and drive back to the city. Unpack her car, set up her apartment just the way she planned. And start the rest of her life. But, one thing was for certain. She'd never take her parents for granted ever again. Chapter 4 The drive home seemed to take an eternity; Robbie drove well over the speed limit. As fast as she dared in the rain with the condition her tires were in. But, the miles slowly ticked by. Painstakingly slow. Her mind took her to that dark place of doubt. What if Mack wasn't wrong? What would she do then? How would she go on without her parents? Without...anybody? She was an only child, the daughter of two other only children. There were no cousins, aunts or uncles, and both sets of grandparents were long gone. There had always been just the three of them, her parents and her. What was she going to do without them? Never in her life had she felt so isolated. How did it happen? Her dad was always such a careful driver. Mack was brief on the details. Saving them, like the prize at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box, for when she arrived at the hospital to do the gruesome task. Apparently, the semi driver had fallen asleep behind the wheel. Actually, that was more than enough info for her to fill in the blanks of what happened next. More tears threatened to break loose as she imagined the look of horror on her parent's faces seconds before the impact. The moment they realized they were going to die was forever burned into her psyche. Hands trembling, she wiped at her wet cheeks and concentrated on the interstate stretched out ahead of her. The marker indicating that she had entered Moore County whizzed past the passenger side window. Teeth grated in sheer dread, jaw clamped tight, set firm, she flipped on the turn signal and eased off the gas at the start of the off ramp. Thunder raged around her and lightening lit up the black sky. A deluge of rain broke loose forcing her to creep down the off ramp. The wipers clacked in protest, barely keeping pace with the downpour. Rolling to a stop, she shivered, not thinking of it till now. She would have to drive down that same stretch of highway, right past the accident scene. Holding the steering wheel in a death grip. She promised herself before making the turn that she wouldn't look. She wouldn't slow down. Just haul ass to town and get to the bottom of this. She would not stop. Rubberneck. Look for the telltale skid marks on the pavement, the left behind shards of broken glass, twisted bits of metal thrown from the wreckage, or bits of shorn plastic. Gathering a fragile hold on her composure, pressing down on the gas, she made the turn onto the highway. Robbie couldn't help it. Call it morbid curiosity or a desperate grim need for confirmation. She slowed the car to a crawl. The highway was deserted. Barren except for a couple of brave stragglers determined to drive through the storm. Barely able to see the black skid marks on the roadway through the deluge of fat raindrops and jagged bursts of lightening, she pulled to the side of the road and put on her flashers. A minute, she just needed a minute to stop. Look. Get her shit together before she went on. Cold rain soaked her clothes as she climbed out of the car. Sticking her t-shirt and shorts to her shivering body like a second skin. Nausea rolled through her guts and her knees shook. Crouched on the shoulder of the road, she ran her fingertips over the scattered shards of glass and bits of debris. A candy bar wrapper floated aimlessly in a puddle left behind by the deep imprint of a wide tire track in the mud. The wrapper was from one of her dad's favorite treats. If she ever wanted to know where he'd been, all she'd ever had to do was follow the trail of empty wrappers he left behind like breadcrumbs. An empty paper cup skittered in the wind. Battered to and fro, rolling and bumping along the tall grass at the side of the shoulder. The imprint of lipstick along the rim, she'd recognize that shade of pink anywhere. Her mom never varied from the color. So much like her smile, it was always the same. This is where the accident happened. The county had done its best to erase the scene. But, she saw it everywhere. Robbie scrambled after that paper cup, chasing after it as if it was the most important thing in the world. Bending, and scrabbling through the mud, her fingers locked around the candy bar wrapper, clutching it in her trembling fist. Overwhelmed by her grief, she sank into the wet grass and let the storm, the cold rain, and the darkness soak her through to the bone. Clutching that stupid paper cup with the pink lipstick imprint on the rim and that damned tattered candy bar wrapper in her fist, like the winning lottery ticket, Robbie pushed up from the rain-slicked grass and hobbled to the car. Her grief as heavy as a ton of bricks on her shoulders, she slid into drive. Not bothering with the seat belt, pulling off the shoulder and back onto the road she drive into town. Numb, not from the cold, but from the emptiness inside of her, she putted past the ice cream shop. Its cheerful neon signs flashed like beacons in the darkness. But, she saw no comfort in their familiar light. The town was buttoned up tight for the night. Dark storefronts with their shades pulled down over plate glass windows, stretched down both sides of the main drag through town. Robbie didn't bother going by the house first. What was the point? There wasn't anybody there waiting for her. On autopilot, she made a left turn off Main and drove through the sleepy neighborhoods to the hospital. Robbie pulled into the hospital lot and parked in the first empty space she saw. Not hard to do, considering the lot was practically deserted except for a few cars. Not even considering the rain, still a steady drenching downpour, she dragged herself into the emergency room as she had been instructed to do. She didn't care that she was drenched from head to toe. Standing at the reception desk waiting, the rainwater dripped off the soaked hem of her shorts, pooling at her feet onto the white tile floor. She recognized Mack immediately. The man never changed. He was an older, in his early sixties, with a graying mustache, and eyes, dulled from the burden of seeing too much. Gently patting her shoulder with that massive, gnarled paw of a hand, he softly offered condolences. Robbie's knees wobbled unsteadily, threatening to give way as she mumbled a few intelligible words that seemed to satisfy Mack and the staff as appropriate enough. Following him and the emergency room doctor through sterile, white, absolutely non-descript corridors to the morgue, she shivered underneath the stiff, coarse, antiseptic smelling, hospital blanket a nurse had sympathetically wrapped around her shoulders. Robbie stared at her disheveled pale reflection in the shimmering chrome surfaces of the morgue. She could hardly recognize the shocked face that stared back at her wide-eyed and pale, pasty as the white blanket around her shoulders. Dutifully, mumbling in a dull monotone, robotic voice, she recited her parent's full names for the record. Bile rose up in her throat as she followed Mack and a doctor through the door of the morgue. Her trembling fingers clutched the paper cup and the candy bar wrapper as if they were the only reminder that this was real. This was happening, not to anybody else, but to her. The ER doctor, also the coroner, did the honors, unzipping first one bag and then the other. Keeping the whole thing very discreet, he only revealed what was necessary to make a positive ID. Robbie had expected to see gore and looks of horror splayed across gray skin and bluish lips. Instead, her parents looked so peaceful as if her parents were merely sleeping. . The emergency room doctor clinically and coldly explained the hard truth to her. That both her parents had died on the scene. And, that despite every attempt of emergency responders, nothing could have been done to save them. Mechanically, oddly detached and devoid of tears, Robbie nodded and said nothing more than what the doctor/coroner expected her to say. Mentally exhausted, unable to fully comprehend the doctor's well-rehearsed speech, she signed the papers and took the manila envelope with her parent's personal effects from Mack's hand. Uncomfortably, the doctor offered his last sympathies and scurried out of the room. The nurse quickly followed suit with an apologetic nod of her head, leaving her with Mack to tie up any loose ends. Did she have any family to call? Was there anything he could do? Did she need a ride home? No, no, and no. The only thing she needed, would ever need, was the only thing nobody could do for her. Bring her parents back. Make this nightmare go away. Manila envelope tucked under her arm. Keys banging around in her pocket, Robbie left the morgue with Mack on her heels. She unwrapped the blanket from around her shoulders and handed it to him, to give him something to do besides hover over her. He meant well. But, she was in no mood for it. Finally, he got the hint and took the wet blanket over to the nurse watching her from behind the counter. On her way out, she dropped the paper cup with its familiar lipstick stain and the tattered remains of the candy bar wrapper into the black, cylindrical trash receptacle, stamped with a friendly reminder to recycle in white letters on the side. Chapter 5 Robbie stood on the front porch, fumbling with her keys. Her fingers hadn't stopped trembling yet. Finally, she managed to get the correct key into the lock and let herself in. She grew up in this house; she was familiar with every line, every stick of furniture, everything, even down to the last creak in the old wood floors. But, the quiet and the emptiness, was completely unfamiliar. Exhausted and frozen to the bone in a way that no amount of heat would thaw, she tore open the manila envelope and spilled the contents onto the coffee table. She could still smell the scent of her parents lingering the room. Her mom's familiar perfume, sweet and floral with just a hint of vanilla, surrounded her like a warm blanket. And her dad, his smell, of spices and the soft, pungent tinge of sweat, enveloped her, like a last embrace. If she didn't know differently, it would seem just like any other time she'd come home to visit. As if at any minute her parents would burst through the front door so eager to see her and welcome her home. In fact, from time to time, she'd glance over at the door, expecting to see them. Only, they weren't coming home tonight, or ever again. Robbie opened the cracked black leather of her father's wallet and brought it to her nose, smelling the bitter scent of the leather and the acrid smell of the few dollar bills jammed inside. Flipping through the random scraps of paper he thought were important, she skimmed over them. She took out his driver's license and held it in her palm, closing her fingers around it and carefully, slipped it back into place with a sort of reverence the BMV would have been proud of. Her body wracked with sobs as she stared down at the tattered snapshot she worked free from her dad's wallet. Robbie stared down at the picture of her mom and dad, standing proudly in front of the shop on opening day. They looked so young, so hopeful, so certain of the future they planned. She was in the picture also. Just a little girl, sandwiched between them, with curly spikes of unruly crimson hair sticking out all over the place, holding a red balloon in her tiny fist, smiling up at the camera. It seemed so long ago. Robbie shook the envelope, carefully placing the matching set of gold bands on the table side by side. Lining them up neatly. The chain of her mother's necklace delicately dropped over her index finger as she played with the heart-shaped, turquoise and white gold pendant. Struggling with the clasp, she slid the chain around her neck and dropped the pendant to the hollow of her throat. Her mother's worn Coach bag, resurrected from a church rummage sale, rested between her feet. Robbie gently pushed it under the couch with the toe of her shoe. Not ready to start the excursion into its secrets. So much of what a woman was resided in her purse. Robbie didn't want to face whatever might be in the handbag waiting on her, what secrets her mom possessed and had never shared. Robbie wrapped her frozen body up in a knitted throw and listened to the rhythm of the rain pelting in a steady patter on the windows. She gave into her sorrow and let it envelop her mind, allowing the deluge of tears to flow freely down her cheeks. Exhausted and emotionally battered past the point where anything made much sense, she fell into a restless sleep. Her eyes slid shut with the hope that when she opened them, this night would have been nothing more than a dream, she'd wake up in the morning, open her eyes, and everything would be normal again. Dawn Awakening ********* Lucien gave John Mark his space. Time to grieve and sort through Robert and Danielle's deaths. He kept the brothers off John Mark's back, knowing how close to the edge John Mark was. Silently, he crept through the darkness and the pouring rain to exactly where he knew his brother would be. And there he was, as expected. Huddled in the shadowy corner, out of sight from passersby, hidden in the meager shelter of the eaves outside Robbie's windowsill, keeping watch. John Mark heard Lucien slip up beside him. The fucker did stealth like a stampede of elephants in an A-bomb factory. At least the boss had given him a bit of space instead of ordering him to count the toilet paper rolls in the latrine or some other dumb shit. Annoyed as hell by Lucien's presence, he gripped his fingers into tight fists. "Don't even think about it," he warned under his breath. Lucien wasn't about to send him trotting off on some stupid assed assignment. Not with Robbie alone and huddled in the dark. She needed him. This was the only place he intended on going. No matter what Lucien ordered him to do, he wasn't moving. He was so over being Lucien's errand boy. Someone else could do it for a change. There were plenty of other brothers to pick on. It didn't always have to be him. Lucien held up his hands in a gesture of "no worries" and balanced on the rain-slicked peek of the front porch roof. All of the brothers were upset over Robert and Danielle's deaths. And they were all handling it in their own way. But, none of them took it as personally as John Mark did. He hadn't come here to send John Mark out on assignment. Having been "dead", Lucien knew the kind of aftermath death left in its wake. The places loss sent a person's head. He'd only come out to check up on him. John Mark stared at the figure clad in black leather and narrowed his eyes in unspoken protest. "I made a promise." Robert's dying wish had been for him to take care of Robbie. And he intended on doing it. He'd quit the brotherhood. Go out on his own before he let her down. If he'd been there on time, he might have been able to do something. He could have...saved Robert and Danielle, if he'd gotten there sooner. Lucien dropped his hands and stood in the rain, pelting down on his scalp till his hair was plastered like a helmet to his head. "I know." Lucien knew all about promises and what they meant. The importance of John Mark giving his word wasn't lost on him. He'd made his share of vows in the past. And there wasn't anything he wouldn't have done to uphold them to the very letter. He also knew a thing or two about the heavy price promises cost. What they took out of your soul to uphold them. Glancing over his shoulder at John Mark, he leapt down from the roof and melted into the darkness. ********* Kiros was devastated by his sister's report. Kore had been emotional. Even shed a tear or two as she told him the horrifying news. Unexpected, especially from her. As far as he knew, his sister had no heart to speak of. He made his way to the morgue silently as a whisper. Modern hospitals were a bit of a mystery to him. A place so filled with death and misery. There had always been the dead and the soon to be dead. It was just a matter of time before death came to every person. Seemed like an awful place to be in your last days. A person should die surrounded by those who loved him. Not in this sterile environment, cared for by nameless, faceless strangers. He had to see it for himself. Look upon the body of his far removed great, great, great, so many greats grandson. The end product of a unholy union between a whore and a version of himself that had, so long ago, been human. Easily he found the place where they kept the dead. All he had to do was follow its stench and there he was. Carefully, he unzipped the bag that held his grandson's remains and looked down on the pale, lifeless features. A wave of sadness he hadn't expected to feel claimed him and he wiped away a tear from his cold cheek. His grandson didn't know it. But, Kiros could see the resemblance clear as day. He could see himself on his grandson's face, in the sculpted jaw and angular nose, and in the hair color, faded with time, but still so crimson red. The girl, his great-granddaughter had been here. He could smell her sweet scent intermingled with the stench of death. Kiros could go to her tonight. Indoctrinate her into his eternal family. Death would never come for her. Decay would never mar her beauty. She would never age. She'd be his companion. Wander throughout the mysteries of time at his side. Replace his sister who, for all her beauty, had grown ugly as a crone. He could wait a little longer. If the passing of the centuries had taught him nothing else, it was the virtue of patience. As one final gift to his grandson, he'd let the girl bury her dead. See them to their rest. Let her have a final moment to mourn, before he showed her the splendor of the world and ushered her into the endless journey she was about to embark upon. She would see him as benevolent and kind, and she would love him for it, for all time. Chapter 6 John Mark hesitated, his hand balled up into a fist ready to knock on the front door. He inhaled deeply, trapping Robbie's familiar scent in his nostrils. Raising his pulse a few beats. Shaking off his feelings, he concentrated on hers. Alone, she felt utterly abandoned and alone. He could smell the acrid tinge of sorrow intermingled in her scent. He wished there was more that he could do for her. How badly he wanted to erase those negative emotions from her mind. Lift her burden. With time, she would feel better. Settle into a routine and find her place in the world. And he'd be there for her, as he always was, every step of the way. Balancing a coke and the paper bag in his other hand, he inched open the screen door and knocked. An incessant pounding awakened Robbie. She knew it would be a just a matter of time before the well- meaning townspeople began to stop by. Wearily, she glanced at the mantle clock and focused to see the time. Noon? She hadn't expected the entourage of blue haired old ladies quite so soon. But, then again, this was a small town. And her parents were well known. The gossip clutch probably convened at seven and began baking those god-awful condolence casseroles nobody actually ate by seven-fifteen. Robbie groaned and pulled the coverlet over her head. Rolling over on the couch, she face planted into the scratchy fabric of the cushy backrest and tried to go back to sleep. Maybe, if she ignored them, they would give up and go away. Leave their casseroles at the door, and her alone. No such luck in that department. The knocking continued, louder and, more insistent and obnoxious than before. Cursing under her breath, she flung off the covers and stomped to the door, flinging it open wide. Struggling to hide her annoyance behind a smile. It wasn't their fault. As god fearing, law abiding citizens of the town they probably thought it was their civic duty to bombard her with tuna noodle surprise and potato chip casseroles. If they really liked her parents, she might score a shepherd's pie or two. Luckily, the casseroles usually came in disposable tins so she could dump them straight into the trash. She was not eating condolence food. Like she needed a reminder, served up with clumps of cheddar cheese and gummy noodles, to drive home the point that her parents were dead. She blinked in surprise to see, not a group of blue haired old hens, but... John Mark? A new and improved John Mark that she barely recognized. The changes suited him. He was a grown man now, much taller, probably thirty pounds heavier, none of it fat and every inch of it muscle. Broad, well-developed shoulders stretched a black t-shirt to its capacity. Sleek, long, black hair, gathered casually and tied back in a loose ponytail at the nape of his neck. His bronzed skin smooth and clear, free of the acne that had haunted him throughout his teen years. He smiled down at her. Perfectly straight white teeth gleamed from behind full broad lips. Her sorrow forgotten for the moment, she leaned against the edge of the front door and couldn't help but smile back at him. "Hey." Of course, he'd still be living here. Some people never tried to escape the trap of small town life. It was just...where they belonged. His lack of a life plan didn't matter to her. As long as he was happy, that was the important thing. She was, well she was damned glad to see him. Stepping back from the door to let him in, Robbie gave a fleeting thought to her appearance. She was still in the same shorts and t-shirt she'd worn last night. They were stiff and stained with muck from along the side of the road. Her hair, coarse and frizzy from the rainwater, had dried, matted into a mass of kinked tangles and unruly curls. No doubt she had dark circles under her eyes and puffy blotches on her face from spending half the night crying. None of that mattered. In front of John Mark, even though she hadn't seen him in years, she could be herself. They were buddies, pals, and there was no pressure. Not from him. "Hi. I thought you might be hungry." John Mark waggled the bag inches from Robbie's twitching nose. She looked like she'd been run over by a Mack truck. No, scratch that analogy. So not appropriate, this line of thinking, given what happened. She looked like...well she'd just suffered a tragedy and was doing her best to deal with it. Besides, she could answer the door in a gunnysack and she'd be no less beautiful to him. Robbie inhaled deeply, enticed by the scent of fries and cheeseburgers. If there were an eighth wonder of the world, Happy's would be it. People would drive for hours to her little hometown just to get a whiff of the Happy Burger Supreme. And here it was delivered to her door. She paused and wondered if it would be considered too rude if she just snatched the grease saturated bag away his hand and slammed the door in his face. Yeah, probably. Besides, enjoying a meal with an old friend would be the easiest part of the day. There were arrangements...things that she didn't want to deal with. But, had no choice to do that needed to be done. Unable to resist the yellow, happy face on the side of the bag, smiling sappily at her, she let John Mark in. She wanted to be alone, wallow in her misery and pull the blankets over her head. Let somebody else handle the mess while she took the luxury of wrapping her head around her parent's death. That wasn't going to happen. There wasn't anybody else to do it. Whether she liked it or not, life had to keep on moving forward. After they settled in at the kitchen table, John Mark divvied out the bag's contents, motioning for Robbie to eat. Intuitively waiting for her to start the conversation, he pushed a fry through a moat of catsup. He didn't press her. They'd talk about whatever she wanted to talk about. When she was ready. Until then, he'd pretend to eat. "Wow," Robbie said. "It really has been a long time since I've seen you. You look fantastic." She nibbled on the edge of the grease-laden bun and moaned in delight at the flavor combination. The flash of red that splayed across his cheeks was a welcome diversion to the grim details hovering at the edge of her thoughts. She and John Mark had always been pals, growing up together and going to the same schools. They had been fast and furious playmates until their teen years. Then hormones took over and he developed the world's worst crush on her. He was the first boy she had ever kissed, at the tender age of twelve. He was her date to the senior prom. He was a constant companion. Someone she could count on. Unfortunately, for all his interest in her, she'd never shared the intent. He was her friend. At one time, her best friend. With all her high school friends scattered to the winds in different directions, her college friends headed to different places in their lives, he was probably her only friend. There were lines you just didn't cross. Ever. Friendship was one of them. Being with John Mark in her mom's kitchen with him took her back to happier times. The memories a welcome reprieve from the sorrow so deeply embedded in her heart. Sunlight streamed through the red and white checked gingham curtains, flooding the space with warmth and cheerfulness that she just couldn't feel. All she could do was focus on her mom's absence. The eat in kitchen had always been one of her mom's favorite rooms of the house. But, now even with John Mark's enormous bulk of muscle filling up the chair beside her, it felt so damned empty. "Yeah, I finally got out of puberty hell," he said awkwardly. Rubbing the back of his neck, he shoved the rest of his fries and the uneaten burger toward her. There was nothing worse than pretending to be something you weren't. Just like Robbie was play- acting, dancing around the topic of her parent's death with the skill of a prima ballerina. She was hurting. He was pretending to be human, squinting against the painful bite of the sunlight streaming through the kitchen windows. Pushing fries through catsup. Sucking up pop, that he couldn't drink, through a straw and swallowing nothing. Tearing off bits of the hamburger he couldn't eat. Dodging the big issue of his altered state, because she didn't know. And right now was not the time to tell her. Robbie appreciated that John Mark had avoided any mention of her parents or the upcoming funeral. Just thinking about it brought a well of tears to her eyes and a crushing emptiness to her chest. She wasn't ready to talk about anything yet. The rest of their conversation was spent catching up, exchanging stories of her life away at college and his experiences around town. With the meal being complete and being pleasantly full, she stifled a yawn. Funny, she hadn't been the least bit hungry till he showed up and put the food in front of her face. Then, she'd gobbled up every bite, even his leftovers. "Hey look," John Mark said, rising from the table. "I better let you get some rest while you can." Awkwardly, he rubbed the back of his neck and shuffled his feet. He wasn't sure how to bridge the subject. "You know, if you need anything, just ask." Robbie thought about her car full to the brim with clothing and the few personal trinkets she owned. She really didn't want to mess with retrieving them right now. But considering her closet was bare except for a few odds and ends she'd left behind. She had no choice. She glanced down at her keys, cringing at having to ask for a favor. He was just being polite in offering. Smiling, John Mark took the hint. "I got this." He snatched her keys and went to the car, grabbing armloads of clothes and boxes out of the passenger side and back seat. The trunk was full of books. Even with his vampire strength, he was worn out by the time he lugged them up the stairs to her room. How many books did one person need? Hadn't she ever heard of an e-reader? Of course not, she was his little librarian. Instead of hanging out with real people, having an actual life, she hung out with Chaucer and the Bronte sisters. Robbie welcomed the favor and that she didn't have to sacrifice her pride by asking him aloud. He made short work of unpacking the car and lugging its contents up to her room. It was a truly nice gesture on his part, and very appreciated. Just having her things in the house, especially her beloved books, made her feel the slightest bit normal again. When John Mark was finished, he stood in front of Robbie. Annnndddd wasn't this uncomfortable. He dropped her keys on the kitchen table unsure of how to proceed. Robbie needed this. He needed this in the worst way imaginable. It was such an innocent thing, if not for the underlying motive behind it. An excuse to touch her, hold her. His arms gently encircled her shoulders and pulled her close, gently squeezing her in a hug. "Don't be a stranger," he said, gently kissing the top of her head so lightly she didn't even notice it. Robbie couldn't help herself. She melted against John Mark's chest, soaking up every bit of strength and warmth he offered in the shelter of his arms around her body. Somehow, just being held in the warmth of an embrace, the gentleness of human contact, made her feel better. Oh sure, there were other feelings swarming beneath the surface. But, she quickly squashed them like a bug. This was her friend. John Mark. And thinking about him in any other way besides a friend was wrong. "I won't." Robbie clung to the back of his t-shirt, clutching the hem tightly in her fists as if she were afraid to let him go. God, he didn't ever want her to. Ever. He rested his cheek against the softness of her hair and folded her up as tightly as he could into his arms, crushing their bodies together. Even though she didn't shed them, containing them behind closed eyes, he could smell the saltiness of her tears in the air. Gently, he stroked her hair, cooing softly under his breath to calm her. Rocking her in his arms, he let her hold on to him, bury her face in his chest and just breathe for as long as she needed to. Embarrassed by how long she'd stayed locked in John Mark's arms. By how desperately she'd needed the hug, Robbie broke free. She could still feel the softness of his cotton t-shirt against her cheek. Smell the sharp, clean scent of his skin: woodsy like pine and spicy like cloves, in her nostrils. She walked him to the door and rested her head on the jamb. He took her fingers, dwarfed by his big hand, and gave them a gentle squeeze as he left. Safely behind the closed door, Robbie sank to her knees on the floor, resting her back against the wooden door. Curled up into a ball, her chin resting on her folded knees and her arms wrapped protectively over her face, she sobbed until there was nothing left in her but emptiness. Just her, alone, in this empty house, with an empty heart filled with so many memories, tugging at her, threatening to pull her under. Chapter 7 The ceremonial fire burned brightly into the night sky. The Great Father led his Sons in the familiar tongue of chants as old as time. The group was assembled high up on the bluffs on a wide expanse of flat earth. A holy place of life and of death, where the dead were sent on their journeys on pyres and the Sons, of pain and blood, were born. The spirit of their goddess, Kokumthena, the Grandmother, was strong on this flat plane of earth. Her voice whispered amongst the tall summer grass and in winter shouted in a gale off the sheer surfaces of the bluffs, was a cold puff of breath on the frost, and a triumphant song of new life in the spring. And it was here, with the moon fat and high on the velvet night, that Robert and Danielle were celebrated, in both their lives and in their deaths. John Mark's voice cried out the loudest, honoring the memory of Robbie's parents in a deep, melodic tenor. When the chanting ceased the brothers, both human and vampire, joined hands, dancing wildly around the orange glow of the fire. Their footsteps and the wild gyrations of their bodies, their voices sang as one, telling the story of the lodge and his people. Celebrating life and death in a harmonious union of body and song. Sometimes, words alone aren't enough to tell a story. This was one of those times. John Mark would miss verbally sparring with Robert, especially about Robbie. It was laughable really, the way the Old Man's neck would redden and his jaw would tick whenever John Mark hinted at any interest in Robbie beyond friendship. Sometimes, mainly to goad the Old Man and just because he wanted him to know that yeah, he was interested in her way beyond the bounds of old childhood chums, he mentioned her on purpose. Dawn Awakening All he had to do to get the Old Man fired up was mention that picture of Robbie and he naked in the tub. Too bad, they'd been three at the time it was taken. The snapshot was one of those special ones that doting mothers took because they thought it was cute and then pulled out years later to embarrass the hell out of you. Not so cute. He already missed Danielle so bad it hurt. Her subtle ways, her shy smile, and the way she'd size him up when she thought he wasn't looking. When so many saw him as less than what he was. To them, he was just plain old John Mark. She looked beyond it all to the man he would someday turn out to be. For her, because of the pride he saw in her eyes, he'd always done his damnedest, would always do everything he could, to believe, and to be the man she thought he could be. After the dancing, the moon shone brightly above the assembly and the great hunt began. John Mark raced through the dark. His footfalls sure and precise, stalked the prey. Cries from the others pierced the silence as prey fell at the hands of his brothers. He had taken care to find his catch, wanting it to be his own personal memorial to the couple as close, maybe closer to him than his own mom and dad. Crouched on all fours, he waited until the timing was perfect. The buck was splendid, a powerful animal, proud and dignified, his footfalls sure on the loamy floor of the forest. Releasing his coiled muscles, John Mark pounced. Digging his fingers in deep his teeth finding purchase, bringing the kill down in one swift move. The kill drained, its life force flowed through John Mark's body, renewing every cell of his being. Filled with emotions of loss and hope for the future, he offered prayers of thanksgiving to the spirits of the hunt and to the animal for giving him its life. His thoughts drifted to Robbie again. He hoped that if he ever had to reveal his true nature that she would care for him enough to accept their differences. Love her parents enough to understand why they'd kept their secret from her. In time, maybe, find her place in his world and embrace it. The group assembled in a loose semi circle around the dying remnants of the bonfire. Excitement from the thrill of the hunt crackled in the air around them. The Great Father motioned for John Mark to approach. In his hand he held the headband and feather assembly of their fallen brother. The speckled hawk feather floated on the night breeze. Sweat stained leather, braided around shiny bits of bead and rock, drooped limply over his fingers. In his long life, the Great Father had seen enough of life and death to know how the balance teetered on a razor's edge. He would die...someday. Whether at the hands of an enemy or in old age, death would find him and demand it's due. The living had the task of moving forward, to keep on living no matter how hard it got. Not always an easy thing to do. Neither side lost and neither side won. Each prized claimed at a cost. For the dead, it was leaving loved ones behind. And for the living it was being left behind. These ceremonies were hard on the brothers. The mortal ones died so soon compared to them. So quickly in the blink of an eye, their lives were over. The gift was every mortal member's due. But, few chose it. The gift was not without risk. For reasons nobody knew, sometimes, it gave life and sometimes, it killed. Not even his brother, Kokumthena's prophet, could speculate as to why, only that it was what it was. Every mortal decided their own path and Robert and Danielle had chosen theirs. They chose for their daughter's sake to live as mortals and refuse the gift. Perhaps, it was guilt on the brothers' part that they would go on, be forced to live on, and on, and on. When Robert and Danielle passed too quickly from this world to the next. For the Great Father, this was not his first funeral pyre. Nor would it be the last. That was the way of life and its eventual end, death. For everyone, brothers included, death would come. But, for all his two hundred and some odd years on this planet, saying the last, the final goodbye, never got any easier. With a nod from his brother, the Prophet, the Great Father somberly stretched out his hand, clutching the weathered headband in his fingers. Honor and duty required one of the brothers to step up and protect the legacy left behind. Honor the blood of the fallen. The duty of protecting the family left in the brother's tender care. "Do you uphold the honor of our fallen brothers? Will you act as protector to his remaining family?" John Mark dropped to his knees, bowing his head low and replied earnestly with deepest sincerity, vowing the promise he knew someday he would make. "I will honor the blood. I will guard each life as if it were my own. I do this willingly and with bravery worthy of the Sons." Would he die for Robbie? Would he give his life for her? Yes, he would. John Mark's heart pounded at the Great Father's approving nod. The Great Father's fingers worked the leather over his head. The band was heavier than he expected. Or maybe, it wasn't the band that was heavy, but the weight of the vow he'd taken. For the rest of his days, Robbie, Robert and Danielle's only living relative, would be his to protect. Robert, Danielle, and he had never discussed the BIG "what if". John Mark didn't know if they hadn't had that conversation because Robert and Danielle didn't expect to die so suddenly or if, when the time came, they could count on him without having to talk over a thing. Robert's last thought echoed in his mind. He would take care of Robbie. Even if he didn't already love her, even if he had never met her and they were strangers, he would have protected her anyway, to honor Robert's last request. Robert, for all the pain he had to have been in, all the suffering he endured in those last few seconds of his life, he'd hung on long enough to ask. Even if Robbie never reciprocated his feelings and didn't love him back, his love was bigger than that, deeper than that. Like the ashes of the bonfire scattered to the winds to fall to the ground in some remote place: rivers that flowed into the ocean, mountains covered with snow, plowed under into the earth: that was how far, how endless, and how big his love was. The word "no" never entered his mind. Robert asked. And he'd answered the only way he could have, with a resolute "yes". He owed Robert and Danielle so much of what he was. Growing up, his parents fought, a lot. Spent more time arguing than they did raising their kid. There was never enough money for the family. Never enough time for them to get around to parenting him the way they should have. His parents worked, ate, slept, and repeated the cycle day after day until finally he grew up right under their noses. They'd missed everything. Little league games. School plays. Parent-teacher conferences. All the important stuff to him wasn't important enough for them to show up for. His parents had always been the empty seats in the middle of the auditorium, the blank space on the bleachers. Robert and Danielle had always been there, cheering him on, applauding him no matter how badly he performed. Danielle picked him up from school the day he came down with chicken pox in third grade and fed him gallons of chicken noodle soup. Robert had been the one to teach him to swing a bat for the first time. If not for them, he wouldn't know a thing about what "normal" really was. And, he wouldn't be who he was today. A Son. A Warrior. A man. John Mark loved his parents. Always had. It was just that he had wanted things from them that they couldn't give. Love. Time. Affection. They did the basics. Kept him clothed, fed, housed. And they loved him as best as they could. But, for a little boy who felt so alone in the world, it wasn't enough. Robert and Danielle, luckily, had been there to fill in all the blanks. He loved them for it. He loved them for...them. And he mourned them every bit as deeply as Robbie did. Robert, who knew him better than his own father, had given him a reason to hold his head up. Given him a purpose beyond sucking it up and living simply because he was supposed to go on living. He'd trusted him in those final moments with the one thing he valued above all else in the world. Robbie. The voices of the brothers whispered in unison. "So it shall be." His oath was sealed. His duty defined. He was a protector of the bloodline, a guardian of flesh and bone, warrior of sword and fang, sworn to honor and protect for as long as he lived. John Mark blinked away the stinging bite of tears and wood smoke, rising to his feet. Ready to live, ready to die, all for the vow, and all for his love of a girl named Robbie. Chapter 8 In the wee hours of the morning, the ceremony ended. John Mark wandered throughout the streets of the town deep in thought, rolling the beads of the headband through his fingers. He fought against the waves of melancholy that buffeted the edges of his mind. Robert and Danielle were gone. This headband and the ceremony made it real. Final. Mourning the dead was not the practice of The Sons. They honored their dead and told stories of their dead. But, they didn't curl up in a ball of depression, like he wanted to do, over the dead. They held their heads up and kept right on going. Death was supposed to be a celebration of life. Too bad, he wasn't in a party kind of mood. These dark thoughts wouldn't get him anywhere anytime soon. Like quicksand, they'd suck him under, if he let them. Robbie didn't have a shoulder left for him to cry on. He had to be strong for her. Be her shoulder to cry on. He had his mental connection to the brothers to keep him company. Damned if they weren't monitoring his mental frequency pretty regularly these days. They were giving him space, which was a good thing. But, all that poking around in his head, like the whole lot of them thought they thought they were freaking Sigmund Freud or something, was really getting on his nerves. When he started dreaming of phalluses or lusting after his mother, he'd be sure to let them know. Focusing on his new duty, he wound his way through town to Robbie's neighborhood. The windows of the house were dark, reminding him of closed eyelids. Through the front door, John Mark listened intently to Robbie's rhythmic breathing. He sifted on the edge of her consciousness, doing a little head shrinkage himself. Although she was sleeping soundly, her mind was a tangled snare of worries and troubled dreams. Silently, he slipped in through the front door. Palming the key, he felt just a little guilty that he hadn't turned the set over to her earlier that night. But, he was on a mission to keep her safe. The last thing he needed was Mack breathing down his neck over a little late night B&E. He could confess later. For now, the key would stay with him. Robbie's arm was hanging off the couch and her neck was cocked at a horribly uncomfortable angle. A throw lay in a crumpled heap on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. For all her restless dreams, she slept like a rock oblivious that she had company. John Mark bent low whispering softly as he carefully slid an arm around her shoulders and another under her knees, scooping her up. She stirred for a moment and then nestled her head in the crook of his neck, snug as a bug in a rug in his arms. Afraid that the trip up the stairs might jar Robbie awake, he opted for her parent's bedroom adjacent to the living room. He eased her down slowly onto the bed and pulled up the blanket, neatly folded in Danielle's painstaking way across the foot, up around her shoulders. "Don't go," Robbie moaned. Dreaming, she frowned and tossed restlessly on the bed. "Don't go yet." John Mark stood absolutely still under the cover of the dark, scarcely breathing as Robbie stirred on the verge of waking. Finally, she settled and fell back into a restless sleep. Gently, he gathered up the blankets she'd thrown off of her shoulders in her thrashing and tucked them tightly under her chin. He crouched by the head of the bed and ran his fingertips across her cheek, easing away her frown with gentle strokes. "I'm not going anywhere." He promised. And he meant it. Every last word. The hardwood floor was a bitch on his knees. For hours, he'd watched Robbie sleep. Her face was a storm of emotions. Sometimes calm and placid as a clear blue sky and other times, pinched and strained, like a thunderhead brewing on the horizon. He stayed by her side, whispering, gently stroking the frowns away, reapplying the blankets when she'd toss them to the side, watching over her till dawn lightened the eastern sky and first light shone through the lacy sheers of the bedroom window. He couldn't stay any longer without risking Robbie waking up to find him crouched at her bedside. John Mark wasn't sure he could explain his presence without sounding thoroughly creepy. Gee Robbie, I was just watching you sleep. Gee, Robbie, I was just protecting you from the bad guys that you don't even know exist. Gee, Robbie, I'm helplessly in love with you, but I have a fully and utterly legitimate reason to be ogling you in your sleep. NOT. Fully aware of her habit of waking with the first beam of sunlight through the curtains, he slipped out. Never far away, just in case she needed him. Robbie woke in a panic. Apparently, on top of all the other stress in her life, she had something new to worry about. Sleep walking. She would have to deal with that issue later. Right now, she had to get her butt in gear if she was going keep her appointment at Reyburn's Funeral Home to go over arrangements. Even over the phone the mortician gave her the creeps. He spoke in a soft, unhurried, and totally commercial, sympathetic manner that made her want to shout into the mouthpiece in fury. The way he'd said "arrangements" in that hushed, absolutely politically correct manner of his, had her stomach in knots. They weren't talking "arrangements". They were talking about her parent's funeral. This wasn't some goddamned party they were planning. There wasn't going to be colorful streamers and a clown handing out balloons. There was no blonde stripper popping out of a cake. There was no happy surprise waiting at the end of this. This was a funeral. A fucking funeral. Nervously, she bit her lip, hands trembling as she twisted the wayward strands of her unruly hair into a clip at the base of her scalp. She smoothed down the sensible skirt her mother insisted be always at the ready, just because one never knew when there'd be a funeral or something that required such a reasonable outfit. Adjusting the functional white blouse on her shoulders, toying at the pearl buttons and picking at imaginary stray pieces of lint, she stalled for time. Sliding her stocking feet into the utilitarian black pumps, also bought at her mother's insistence, she rolled her eyes. Sick of grief and fed up with sadness, she resorted to sarcasm. She guessed the joke was on her mom. For all her planning and motherly prodding, Robbie didn't think her mom intended the "at the ready" funeral attire to be worn for this particular funeral. Taking a deep, shaky, breath, she gathered her keys and headed out the door. Robbie was thankful for her mother's sense of planning for all those little "you just never know" moments in life. Mr. Reyburn had been happy to report that the funeral had been pre-arranged. All she had to do was sit back and let him take care of business. Fine by her, one less thing to deal with. Mr. Reyburn with his watery smile and weak, papery, dry, squeamish handshake that totally grossed her out to the point of puking all over his polished wingtips, could have at it. But still, with nothing to do but...wait...she felt so lost and alone. As if the sunlight, shining gleefully down on her shoulders, weighed a million pounds and squished the life right out of her. And each footstep to her car sank down into wet concrete, grounding her and holding her firmly in place. "A little fish in a big pond," Robbie whispered to herself. And she felt like she was drowning, gasping with her thin fish lips, flapping her gills, struggling for breath in that little, bitty pond. Robbie climbed the porch steps, trying to find some comfort in the midday warmth. Identify one cheerful thing about the day. At least the sun was shining. Who cared? It was a beautiful day. So what? The birds were singing and children were playing. WHO GAVE A DAMN? Her life sucked right now. And that was the end of any "Miss Merry Sunshine" self-talk she might have managed to come up with. Robbie changed out of her "funeral" clothes and into a pair of old cutoffs and tee shirt she found in her dresser upstairs. Glass of iced tea in hand, scowling at the world as it passed her by, she sat on the stoop. Watching the occasional car meander through neighborhood with casual disinterest. Woe to the salesman who dared to come up her front walk today. She was itching, simply itching for an outlet for all this pent up rage at the unfairness of her life. She'd shove whatever they were peddling straight up their ass and do it with a smile. Robbie was pulled out of her revere by the masculine sound of a throat clearing and a massive shadow hovering over her. Looking up, way the hell up, she saw John Mark looming over her. "Hi," she croaked out, stuffing all that rage back down her throat till she choked on it and trying, for the sake of civility, to sound cheerful. "Hey there," John Mark answered back. He returned her half-hearted, forced smile with a genuine one, inviting himself to sit beside her on the stoop. Gently, he nudged her shoulder with his shoulder, leaning his weight lightly into her. "What are ya' doing?" He stifled a snicker at her eye roll to his question. Robbie so obviously did not want company. Although, she needed it, she didn't want it. Too bad. Her mind was a pressure cooker of agitation and anger and the steam valve was stuck on closed. She was gonna blow. Better she take it out on him than some unwitting, well-meaning, casserole bearing member of the local Ladies Auxiliary. Robbie wasn't really in the mood for company. At all. "Nothing much," she answered curtly, intending for him to take the hint and make like a tree and leave. John Mark was not dense as most of the town believed. Surely, he got it. Concentrating on her toenails, just in case he didn't get the hint. She wiggled them, watching the pink polish gleam in the afternoon sun. He sat there, leaning against her as if she were an old fence post on the back forty. She would not be mean to John Mark. SHE WOULD NOT BE MEAN TO HIM. Over and over she repeated the mantra. Clamping her lips shut against the words bubbling in her throat. John Mark was her friend. Her only friend and he wasn't bearing a casserole or condolences, he wasn't peddling glass cleaner, carpet shampoos, Kirby sweepers, or Girl Scout cookies. He just showed up... because he was her friend. He did not deserve her wrath. Before he could ask, she blurted out, "Funeral is the day after tomorrow." "Oh," John Mark replied, tensing a little. After a brief silence, as if here were trying to think of something to say, he took a breath. He had shit to say really. Nothing he could say would sound right. The girl was grieving. He was grieving. And he would not, WOULD NOT, cry on her shoulder. He would cry with her. Hold her while she cried. But, her shoulders for his personal use for crying were off limits. He forced back his own sadness and put on that dopey, cheerful, innocuously cute face she was used to seeing him wearing. "I was on my way down to The One Shot to play some pool and grab a drink. You wanna come?" Robbie shrugged indifferently. She'd never been to the One Shot. Before the age of twenty-one, if someone would have asked her if she wanted to go to the One Shot, she would have been all over it. At twenty-two and well, well over the mystery of dark, smoke filled bars and pickup joints, she had no interest. "Nah." If she went, she'd probably drink herself silly. Do and say things she meant, but shouldn't do or say. Alone was better. Nobody got hurt that way. And she didn't end up in an orange designer suit in the luxurious accommodations of one of Mack's drunk tanks to sober up. Wasn't like she had anyone to bail her out anyway. Dawn Awakening John Mark stood, frowning over Robbie. Extending his hand, he wiggled his fingers. "Gimme your cell phone." Obediently, almost robot like, she fished her phone out of her shorts pocket and slapped it into his palm. With lightening fast fingers, he pressed a series of buttons. "Here," he said, handing snapping the pink case closed and handing back to her. "I programmed my number in, just in case you change your mind or want to chat or something. You know, I'm always here for you." Robbie nodded and shoved the phone into her pocket. Yeah, she did know that. John Mark was there for her. He had to be missing her parents every bit as much as she did. Hell, they'd practically, unofficially adopted him as a son. Too bad, her thoughts toward him didn't always run so brotherly. They ran... hell, she couldn't even think about it right now. He was hurting. Hiding it behind that goofy smile of his, that as much as his appearance had changed, always stayed the same. He was being brave for her. She should do the same for him. Maybe, when all this was over, they'd talk about it. Talk about mom and dad, laugh and remember, and cry a lot too. "Thanks." Shyly he shrugged and gave her another smile. "You sure you don't want to go mingle with the natives?" "Have fun," Robbie said, waving him off. She watched him awkwardly shuffle down the sidewalk. Almost as if he were as unaccustomed to his much bigger body as she was seeing him in it. His hands were shoved deep into his jeans pocket. Casting her one last smile over his shoulder as he walked away and disappeared around the corner. Automatically, she regretted not sucking it up and going with him. At least he was trying to deal. She sat here like a lump on the stoop, dark and foreboding as a storm cloud. Unfit to be around humanity at large. He was just trying to be nice. Lend her a hand to get through this. But, she just didn't have a social bone in her body, not right now anyway. Stretching, Robbie stood and made her way into the house. Once inside, she pulled the blinds tightly and locked the door, sitting in the dark to give the appearance that she wasn't home. Just in case someone else decided to stop by. She couldn't handle anyone right now. She admired John Mark's strength. His ability to just go through the motions till life made sense again. Yeah, maybe that made her weak that she couldn't be more like him. Smile when she wanted to cry. Laugh instead of scream. But, she just couldn't do it. She'd never been a very good liar and she couldn't pretend that things were okay when they weren't. The house was too quiet, the silence too dense, almost deafening. Everything reminded her of her mom and dad, the smell, the sounds, the general aura they left behind, everything reminded her of them. Pacing the room, Robbie flipped on the TV. And promptly turned it off when Wheel of Fortune flickered onto the screen. Her dad's favorite show. No, she couldn't do it. John Mark could be strong. He could knock himself out with all that strength. She just didn't have it in her. Sinking down onto the couch, she rocked back and forth. Fisting her hair in her hands and cried. Cursed everything she'd ever believed in. And said every word she'd held back all day. Exhausted and drained, Robbie slumped back onto the cushions, clutching the pillow her dad lounged on and the throw her mom used to pull over her shoulders on cold nights, and she cried till there were no tears left. Till there was nothing left but the emptiness her parents left behind. Chapter 9 The kitchen was filled with the heavenly aroma of simmering chicken and chocolate cake, fresh from the oven, cooling on a rack for one of Alex's mother's famous layer cakes. Her mom only pulled out the recipe for special occasions: birthdays, anniversaries, bake sales, and of course, funerals. Unable to resist temptation, guiltily, Alex ran her index finger along the rim of the bowl containing a heap of dark fudge icing and quickly jammed it into her mouth for a taste before her mom ventured in from her trip to the mailbox. "Ahh," she moaned in delight as the sweetness of the icing coated the tip of her tongue. Nothing conveyed condolences like a seven layer torte cake with fudge icing. The funeral for the Harris' was scheduled for tomorrow. Of course, along with the rest of the townspeople, the Grays, decked out in their finest, would be there for one last goodbye. That was the way things went in small burgs. One thing you could count on. You might not see someone for a year or two, unless your paths crossed. But, when you died, everybody showed up to your funeral. Alex guessed people figured they'd better show up, in this shallow of a gene pool, the odds were pretty good that you were related to the departed, at least on some level. Married life had been good to Alex. She lived at the lodge with Lucien and the rest of the Brothers. He'd built them a little love nest on a distant corner of the property as far from the main building as he could get and still manage to be in charge of the whole operation. Alex was busy with her scrolls, cataloging and translating the precious artifacts for hours on end, never lost with the fascination of just holding something that fragile and ancient in her fingers. And her nights...well and her days too...were filled with a healthy dose of lust and lots and lots of love. It was hard for her to imagine life without Lucien. Although, she'd lived through twelve long years of being alone, it was hard to fathom a single day without him. He'd promised her on their wedding day, or mating ceremony, as the Sons called it, that he'd find a way to make her happy, make this work, and so far, he had. Luckily, when the nights got too long or the days too lonely, when he was gone out on patrols in search of the rogues who had reaped so much havoc in their lives, she had her parents and naturally, her best friend, Janine, and her precious scrolls to keep her occupied till he came home and she was in his arms, again. Alex couldn't imagine life without her parents. If one day, they were suddenly gone, ripped out of her life, the way that poor girl's parents had been. She didn't want to think about it. And so, she poured a mug of hot coffee and busied herself with thoughts of happier things. Primarily, what she planned to do to Lucien when he came home tonight. From the guest bedroom down the hall, Alex heard Janine stir to life. The groan of the bedsprings as she got out of bed and the heaviness of her sleepy sighs. Janine was a lost soul these days. So out of her element stuck out here in the country, where life moved at such a slow pace and there wasn't much to do to occupy her time. She hung around, living out of her suitcases in the guest bedroom, trapped in relationship hell, waiting for Patrick to commit or cut her loose. Janine had promised Patrick she'd try. And she was. With the patience of a saint and the steely will of the determined, she hung on with both hands. As lost as Janine was, Patrick was even more so, trapped by guilt he shouldn't feel, terrified of the one thing that could set him free, Janine's love. She didn't discuss much about her relationship with Patrick. Odd, considering how open she usually was. Generally speaking, Janine never held anything back. But, these days, she was closed lipped about anything having to do with Patrick. Alex assumed Janine was sorting things out in her head. Weighing her options and carefully planning her next move. Waiting for Patrick to finally come around. And eventually, at least Alex hoped, for both his and Janine's sakes, he would. Janine shoved her feet into her favorite purple fuzzy slippers and shook off the wave of fatigue that settled over her shoulders like a shawl. These late night hours were killing her. None of the Grays were late sleepers and usually before nine in the morning the house was bustling with activity. At least, the coffee was on. Shuffling into the kitchen for a mug of Old Joe to drive the blurriness out of her brain, she wasn't surprised to see Alex sitting at the table talking in a hushed voice to her mom. The countertop was littered with measuring cups and baking paraphernalia, most of which she vaguely remembered from Home Economics class. Pushing a canister of flour to the side, she poured a mug of coffee and plopped into a chair. Everyone in the house knew better than to greet her before she'd had a few sips and was a bit more awake. She hated the phrase "good morning" and the most she could do was grunt in reply. It didn't take Leigh or Alexander, her overly generous hosts, too long to figure that out. Alex was her best friend and she already knew. She felt like such a mooch, living with Alex's parents and paying nothing for her keep. Despite her impressive and very professional resume, which obviously any potential employers in this backwoods town failed to be adequately impressed by, she had yet to find a job. Her savings account was empty. Her designer checkbook was a wasteland that had not seen a deposit in weeks. Janine did what she could to help out: washed dishes when Leigh would allow it, groomed Jack, the old bay stallion, when he allowed it. And made an attempt at helping out Alexander. That hadn't worked out so well. One try at mowing the grass and Alexander, on a string of curses, vowing to shoot her in the ass with rock salt if she dared to come near the barn again, banned her from the riding lawn mower. How was she supposed to know that patch of weeds out back was a garden? Yeah, her life was one big party these days. And Patrick sure as hell wasn't helping matters much. She supposed he was doing his best. They went out on dates. They held hands, went on long walks, and talked till their jaws were stiff. There were plenty of sweet kisses, delicate pecks on the lips filled with promises of better things to come. Whenever things got too hot and heavy, when those innocent kisses would deepen into heavy panting and roaming hands, he'd put on the brakes and go all " I'm a big, scary vampire" on her. Ok, so he could kill her. He could accidentally hurt her if things got out of hand. If he lost control and let himself go with it, she could die. He'd practically shove her away and go off on a tirade of how she didn't understand. How she couldn't possibly comprehend what he was capable of. Blah. Blah. Blah. Yeah, ok, it was bad for him. She got it. But, it was bad for her too. To want him as badly as she did only to be taunted by his kiss, to want to hold him with such a fierceness she trembled at the thought and only be offered his hand or a brief hug instead. To be taken to the place where she didn't care what happened next, if she could only feel his bare skin against hers, his breath hot on her cheeks, and his mouth on all the places she so longed to have it, only to be pushed away like an old pair of sweat socks when things got too hot for him to handle. Janine did her fair share of taunting and teasing too. Wearing clothing that showed her best assets. Applying her makeup the way he liked it, light and soft with just a hint of color. Making sure not a strand of her hair was out of place so that he could muss it up with his hands. Pretending his kisses and light touches were enough, when they only served as a point of frustration for her. And then, there was the subject of blood. His necessary evil, the thing that kept him alive, the only thing she was certain of that gave her any sway of power over him. Patrick was exclusive on that point. He drank only from her. And she was happy to do the deed. He was wrong when he compartmentalized his need for blood into nothing more than an act of sheer necessity. It was a hell of a lot more intimate than that. More intimate than sex could ever be. The morning after, you could shove your partner out the door with a quick pat on the head and a promise to call. One you never intended to keep. Not so, not with blood. She was in Patrick, an elemental part of him. Infused into every cell of his being. And, he might resent that there'd be no quick get away when they were done and he'd taken his fill. She was with him, so much a part of him, every second of every day. Patrick wasn't one to want to need anyone for anything. On this issue, he had no choice. Her blood fed him, fueled him, and kept him sane. He needed her as much as he loathed admitting it. Finally, Janine's caffeine fueled brain caught up with the rest of the world. Alex's mom gently iced and stacked the layers of the cake one on top of the other. Her brow creased in concentration as she worked. A bit of chocolate icing dangled in a glob from the wisp of blonde hair that had worked its way free from the tight bun at the back of her scalp. Alex sat across the table from her, eying her from over the edge of her mug with curiosity. Probably wondering exactly where her BFF's mind was this morning. There was quiet talk amongst mother and daughter about a funeral tomorrow. Terrible thing really, an accident had killed this poor girl's parents and left her all alone in the world. Janine didn't know the girl or her parents. She couldn't even remember the girl's name. But, it was still awful. That explained the plethora of ingredients scattered across the counter. Funeral food. Not that any amount of carbs, decadent chocolate, or savory casseroles would make anything better. Around here, it was just the way things were done. Bombard the mourning with food. She finished the remainder of her coffee with a gulp and put her empty mug in the sink. All of a sudden, her problems with Patrick and her current state of unemployment didn't seem so bad after all. Chapter 10 The next day passed quickly, blessedly quiet and free from interruptions. Robbie was left alone to prepare herself for today. She wound her hair up tightly into a twist, absently pinning it in place. It was a good thing her fingers knew what to do without her having to think much about it. She got dressed in robot like motions, wearing the same dress she had worn to graduation. The last time she saw her parents alive. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the buttons, pulling them through the buttonholes and smoothing down the ivory colored eyelet skirt with her palm. She was going to loose it before she even got to Reyburn's. Maybe that was better, to do her crying alone where nobody could see her. Then at the funeral, she could put on her brave face and just get through the day, till she got home, and fell apart all over again. Robbie stood, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The sundress looked unnaturally cheerful against the grim expression on her face. Her mother's pendant stood out in stark relief against the pale ivory of the dress and her even paler skin. She grabbed her purse, stuffed with Kleenex, and prayed the waterproof mascara on her lashes lived up to its reputation. The funeral home opened its doors at nine-thirty for family only. Robbie would be there alone for the first half hour till the funeral started promptly at ten. Thirty minutes for just her and her parents, thirty minutes to herself to mourn, to say goodbye, and to grieve not only her loss. But, the part of herself that had died with them. It wasn't much time. The rest of her life wouldn't be enough time. Sparing one final glance at the clock, she gathered up her keys and tugged on her skirt. As they said in Hollywood, the show must go on. "You look nice," John Mark said, rising from his seat on the front stoop as he gave Robbie the once over. Staying away yesterday had been one of the hardest things he had ever done. Listening to her cry with the knowledge that there was nothing he could do to comfort her, even harder. Irritated by the tightness of the tie around his neck, he tugged at the knot Patrick had tied like a hangman's noose with deft fingers, to loosen it. The monkey suit was a miserable thing he'd ever worn. The wool sport jacket had him cooking in the summer sun like a Thanksgiving Day turkey in a roaster oven. And the pants, itchy and hot as a sauna, chafed. The shiny leather shoes pinched his toes and squeaked when he walked. He should have known better than to let Janine pick out his clothes. Armani, whoever in the hell he was, had to be in league with the Devil to come up with this get up. At least, his preoccupation with his uncomfortable suit kept his mind off of what could only be one of the worst days of his life. "What are you doing here?" Robbie asked in surprise at seeing John Mark on her stoop. Of course, he'd be at the funeral. When Mr. Reyburn asked about pallbearers, he was the first person who came to mind. She just hadn't expected him to be waiting for her here. "Giving you a ride," John Mark replied. Robbie shouldn't have to go through this alone. She was doing a good job of keeping it together. Her lips forced into a thin, tight smile that came nowhere close to reaching her eyes. He could almost taste her sorrow on the air. Although, she did her best to hide it, her fingers trembled around the knot of keys in her fist. She looked so lost and so alone, like an abandoned puppy someone had dumped off along the side of the road. And, wouldn't you know, he kind of felt the same way. On this day, it wasn't about the funeral or just getting through it. It was about the two of them, holding one another up and grasping for reasons to keep on moving forward when they'd lost the two people in the world that meant the most to them. Robbie smiled at John Mark. This time the smile wasn't forced and practiced, but genuine. He looked as uncomfortable being all dressed up as she was. Where he got the bucks to pay for an Armani suit, she'd never guess. But even with him tugging at the tie as if it were a torture device, he pulled off the look nicely. "I was planning to drive myself." "Consider that plan nixed." John Mark took the keys out of her hand and dropped them into this pocket. Gently, he took Robbie's arm. Mindful of the way she tottered on the heels of her sandals beside him, and guided her to a highly waxed and polished sedan. "I've got friends in high places," he explained the car's extravagance away lightly, opening the passenger door for her. Sighing a sigh of surrender, curiosity in her eyes overridden by the dread of what came next, she climbed in and buckled her seatbelt. Once they arrived at Reyburn's, John Mark took Robbie lightly by the arm and guided her into the viewing room. Rows of empty chairs placed in an orderly fashion lined each side of an aisle, down which they walked. Soft music played through the overhead speakers. The dim lights and pastel draperies, and the little touches of home scattered about, old snapshots and photo albums, mementos, like her mom's bridal bouquet and her dad's old ball cap, did nothing, absolutely nothing to soften the blow. Robbie stopped mid stride, dragging her heels against the firmness of John Mark's hand at the small of her back, gently pushing her forward. "John Mark, I can't... I can't do this." Tears rolled down her cheeks and her whole body trembled with the force of her sobs. Her hands and feet tingled numbly. And she struggled to take in breaths against the imaginary band constricting her throat. Her knees weakened and wobbled beneath her weight. And her feet refused to move those last few steps to the twin oak coffins and the bodies of her parents as cold and dead as the grave inside. The nauseating sweet smell of chrysanthemums assaulted her nose. Their stench, one she always associated with death, caused her stomach to churn and bile to rise in her throat. John Mark half carried her to a chair and parked her on its hard seat. He crouched in front of her, gently cupping her face in his large hands, whispering words of reassurance meant to calm her as she sobbed. Her fat, wet, tears soaked his fingers and dripped off her chin.