Third Strike (7 page)

Joss shook his head. He wasn't the blind one here. “And you seem to think that the word
Slayer
and the word
murderer
are one in the same, and that's not true. I'm defending mankind with my actions. Things aren't always what they seem, Henry.”

There was a moment when neither spoke. But it wouldn't last. It couldn't last.

Henry made his way to the side door, and as he opened it he turned back to face his cousin. “That's exactly the point I've been trying to make about Vlad. Things aren't what they seem. When are you gonna realize that?”

As the screen door slapped closed behind Henry, Joss shouted, “When are
you
?”

As he stood there in the growing darkness, Joss realized two things. One, he was growing ever certain that he and his cousin would never again be as close as they once were. And two, if Henry was going to survive the next month in a town where vampires were roaming free, Joss was going to have to keep him close.

Oh yes, he thought as he moved toward his house and the smell of pepperoni pizza within. The Slayer Society was going to love this plan.

I
t was a noise that woke him that night, though in his half-conscious state, it was difficult for Joss to remember exactly what that noise had been. Curiosity, more than alarm, kept him wondering, kept him guessing, and finally, Joss opened his eyes. His bedroom was empty, as far as he could see in the darkness. No stray animals, no unexpected guests. Just him, his stuff, and the cool breeze blowing his curtains farther into the room.

He relaxed back into his mattress and had just sighed a sleepy, relieved sigh when he heard the noise again. It sounded like the creaking of floorboards. Joss tried to ignore it. Maybe it was just the house settling.

Then he heard it again.
Creeeeak . . .

Wide awake at the sound, Joss listened to his heart hammer in his ears. He was ashamed of himself instantly. What kind of Slayer hides under his covers at the first discovery of some unexplainable noise? It was ridiculous. Slowly, he pushed the sheet back from his legs and sat up on the edge of his bed, looking around.

Nothing. Just his room. Just his stuff. Just the breeze.

Feeling more than a little stupid, Joss cursed himself for being so needlessly on edge. He was just about to slip back under his covers when he heard it again.
Creeeeak . . .

Joss's heart immediately picked up its pace. It was coming from down the hall. More specifically than that, it sounded like it was coming from Henry's room.

With his stake gripped firmly in his hand, Joss opened his bedroom door and crept down the hall. As he pushed Henry's partially open door open even more, he thought about the night that he had lost Cecile. He remembered it like it was yesterday. He'd been awoken by a sound in the middle of the night. He'd crept down the hall to his baby sister's room, and when he peered inside her open door, he saw a vampire looming over her sleeping form.

Only she wasn't sleeping. Cecile was dead.

He pushed the door open and what he saw sent his heart into his throat. Someone was standing beside Henry's bed, looking down on him. At first, Joss couldn't focus on who or what it was that was standing there. He could only stare at his cousin and wait for any sign that Henry was still alive.

When Henry's chest rose in a deep breath, Joss sighed in relief. But there was still the other matter. An invader was standing in his home, just inches from his unguarded cousin. Joss readied his weapon and stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.

Only then did he recognize who was standing in the dark of Henry's room. Her blond, curly hair was unmistakable, and Joss knew that if she looked at him, it would be with black, tunnel eyes. He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming. It was Cecile. And he only ever saw Cecile in his dreams.

Recalling his former nightmares, Joss was hesitant to ask her what she was doing here. He didn't want an answer, didn't want to know. Because sooner or later, this dream Cecile would try to kill him, and Joss just couldn't bear it anymore. So instead he stood there in the darkness, watching the way the breeze brushed her hair back from her face. He wished that she'd look at him then, and when she did that he'd see her pretty blue eyes. But those were gone. Only filthy, black tunnels remained in their stead—he knew that much. Only this nightmarish version of Cecile remained, because his Cecile, his cherub of a sister, was gone. Forever gone. And it was all Joss's fault.

Refusing to speak, to engage her in any way, Joss just stood there silently and looked at her, waiting for something horrible to happen. But when she turned her head toward him, something was very different from his other nightmares about Cecile. Her fingers weren't filthy claws. Her hair wasn't half covering her face. And her eyes . . .

Even in the dark of night, he could see that they were blue.

She looked sad as she watched him, and Joss couldn't resist taking a step toward her. This nightmare was unlike any that had come before it. They had all felt incredibly real, but in this one, Cecile seemed different somehow. More present. Joss debated speaking to her, but what would he say?

Just as he'd decided to ask her what she was doing here, what she wanted from him, and if she could ever find it in her restless heart to forgive him for having failed to save her life, Cecile stepped closer to Henry's bed. Joss hesitated, fearful of what might happen. When nothing did, he parted his lips to speak. But it was Cecile who spoke, instead. In a hushed, child's whisper, she said, “This was my bed.”

Joss looked at the guest room bed. She was right. It was the same frame that she used to sleep on. It was, technically, Cecile's old bed. His parents had kept the frame, painted it, and created a guest room that almost never had guests.

Joss glanced at his sleeping cousin. A line of drool ran from Henry's mouth to the sheets. It reminded Joss of the line of blood that had run from Cecile's mouth to her sheets. The scenes were strangely similar.

“Go back to sleep, Jossie.”

Sleep? What on earth could she mean by that? Did she want him to sleep? Was that even possible to do within a dream? Or was she telling him to sleep more, to face her nightmarish images, to stop running from his rest so that he might escape her? He was about to ask what she meant, but the words were stolen from his throat when Cecile opened her mouth. Inside were two perfect, white fangs. Once again, his sister was a monster. Once again, she was a reminder of his absolute failure. She shouted, “Sleep! Now!”

Darkness overtook him, swirling in around him like liquid. He bolted up in bed, and as he brought his hand from underneath his pillow, he realized that he was gripping his stake so tightly that his hand ached. In his half-asleep state, he jumped from his bed, searching his room for any sign of the nightmare that was his younger sister. Of course there was nothing. Of course. Because it had all just been another bad dream. They would never stop. He would never be free of this guilt.

Joss turned to climb back into bed, back under the comfort of his covers, but stopped, frozen in place. His bedroom window, which he was certain had been open when he went to bed the first time, was now closed.

As Joss stood there, his fingers trembling, his heartbeat racing in fear and wonder, Sirus's words echoed through his memory.
“Trust your dreams.”

A
fter tossing and turning for much of the night—and trying to recall whether his window had actually been open when he went to bed or if he was simply misremembering—Joss finally crawled out of bed with the reluctance of someone who could have used another six or seven hours of sleep. He stretched his arms overhead, reveling in how great it made the muscles in his back feel, then scratched his head and yawned. There was no denying it. It was morning. Might as well face the inevitable.

He was incredibly surprised, given the time, that his dad hadn't yet screamed him out of bed, but at the same time, Joss was relieved. For once, he'd been allowed to sleep in. If only he'd actually been able to, y'know, sleep.

He grabbed some clean clothes and hurried through a shower. Today he was planning to visit the family home of the second person on his list. It was so strange to work on a case for the Slayer Society without the help of his fellow Slayers. And stranger still to be working on a case here at home. It almost felt like he wasn't acting as a Slayer at all. It felt as if the presence of Sirus had been no more real than the dream he'd had about Cecile. It felt as if his past, his memories were chasing him like shadows. Not at all like he was actively investigating the mysterious deaths of four people. Joss looked at his reflection and frowned. He needed to take his job more seriously. He needed to hunt down the killer or killers of these people and determine whether or not they're vampires. And he needed to do it before another name was added to the list.

As he brushed his teeth, he tilted his head at his reflection in contemplation. Sirus was a vampire. What if these murders were all Sirus's handiwork? It was possible, he thought as he spat in the sink and rinsed his toothbrush in the running water. Anything was possible.

So maybe Sirus was the killer. And maybe still, Joss would have to take his life at some point. Even though he desperately didn't want to—something he could never, ever admit to anyone.

According to the Slayer Society, it was his duty as a Slayer to kill all vampires—first and foremost those that have proven to be an immediate threat to humans. The simple truth was that Sirus was a vampire. Sirus was a threat to humans. No matter how else that Joss might feel about him. Therefore, it was Joss's job to kill Sirus. His duty. His mission in life. To not kill Sirus would be a huge insult to the Society and all that it stood for. The same way that it had been an insult to the Society for Vlad to be allowed to live. The fact that Vlad still lived troubled Joss.

So why was Joss even considering letting Sirus live?

He placed his palms on either side of the sink and let his head drop with a heavy sigh. He didn't know. He didn't know why he couldn't just do his job and move on to the next one. He didn't know why it meant so much to him to see Sirus's smile, or to know that he'd survived that explosion. He just knew that those things had mattered to him, and that the Society would frown on that.

As he raised his head, he didn't meet his reflection's eyes. He couldn't.

He tidied up the mess he'd made in the bathroom before heading downstairs to the kitchen, where his mother was sitting quietly. On the table in front of her were three bottles of medication. Beside that was her half-empty mug of black coffee. She was still wearing her robe, her hair—curly like Cecile's—still looking wild, as if she'd only gotten out of bed a few minutes before. Joss wondered if she was sleeping well at night, or if she was having nightmares, too. He wondered a lot of things about his mother, but was afraid to ask.

After heating up a Pop-Tart, and eating half of it, he took a seat across from her at the table. “Morning, Mom.”

She blinked before smiling at him, as if she had only just now become aware that her son had entered the room. “Oh, Joss. Good morning. Did you have breakfast yet?”

He glanced at his plate. “Yeah.”

It wasn't her fault that she was lost in her own world half the time. It was her depression. It was her medication. It was her sorrow. Joss didn't blame her for any of it.

Eyeing the prescription bottles, Joss took another bite of his Pop-Tart and said, “Do those things really make you feel better?”

At first, she didn't answer. Then, as if realizing that her son had been speaking to her and not his breakfast, she said, “Hmm? Oh, the pills? Sometimes, I think. Sometimes I wonder.”

Sometimes Joss wondered, too. He believed in the importance of medication and the treatment of depression, but it was difficult to see if all of these pills were good for his mom. “Hey, Mom. I know this sounds stupid. But I have to say it. Because I don't know if any of those doctors have told you or not.” He furrowed his brow, uncertain whether or not he was doing the right thing. Then he placed a hand on hers and squeezed. When she met his eyes, he said, “It's okay to feel sad. Sometimes I feel sad, too. Sometimes I feel so sad about . . . about what happened to Cecile . . . that I don't know if I can bear another day going by without her. But then I remember that the sadness can't last forever, and I can face another day. Maybe we have to experience sadness to truly appreciate the good stuff, y'know?”

He didn't want to see it, but halfway through his statement, his mom's eyes fogged over. He'd lost her again. To the pills. To the pain. To something that he couldn't even hope to control. He'd lost his mom, and it was almost worse than losing Cecile.

She blinked at him once again. “Do you want some breakfast?”

His heart felt heavy. As he stood to rinse his plate off in the sink, he said, “No, thanks.”

His mom went back to sipping her coffee. He wondered what it must be like inside the protective world that she'd built all around herself on the day that Cecile had died. He hoped it was a pleasant place, and that she could find some semblance of happiness and peace there. In the way that she couldn't out here in the real world.

Joss glanced longingly at the coffeemaker before speaking again. “Is Henry up yet?”

In that distracted, overly medicated way that she had of speaking, she said, “There was a notice on the door. It said there was a package at the post office. Before he left for work, your father asked Henry to pick it up.”

Joss nodded. He really wanted to start investigating the details of the next victim's death, but couldn't really do so without worrying that Henry was finding trouble somewhere. Largely, trouble with fangs. “Do you know when he'll be back?”

“Not for a while, I imagine.” She blinked, remembering. The fog lifted briefly from her eyes. “He called, just a minute ago. He met a girl, so they're grabbing breakfast together at that little café on the boardwalk.”

Joss shook his head. Henry had been in town for just a few days and he was already hooking up with some girl. Some things never changed. “What café?”

“Next to the comic book shop. You know the one. That nice man, Edgar Frog, owns it.”

Joss immediately rolled his eyes. Edgar Frog was a nut job who'd inherited the comic book shop from his parents. He claimed quite publicly that his brother had been taken by vampires and that he, in fact, was a vampire killer for hire. The guy was nuts and wouldn't know a real Slayer if one staked him through the chest.

After placing his plate in the sink, Joss refilled his mom's coffee mug and headed back upstairs. He had to trust that his cousin was remotely safe on the boardwalk, far away from the woods. And his dad was off at work, giving Joss a few hours of peace and quiet. So it was time to do a little research on the woman who'd died in a rather unusual manner. He headed upstairs to his bedroom, hit the power button on his laptop, and got to work.

After an hour of research, Joss had focused in on two important facts. One, the woman died at her house, which was located close to the very boardwalk that his cousin was currently hanging out at. And two, the woman had apparently died in a freak accident involving her falling on her gardening shears and almost beheading herself. Joss sat back after he'd read that last little tidbit over and over again. What person was stupid enough to believe that that woman's death could be anything other than the result of a vampire encounter? It seemed so obvious to Joss. But then, maybe that was just how Joss's brain was wired.

Of course, her husband may have killed her. Crazy people did crazy things. With gardening shears, apparently.

He powered down his laptop and closed it, debating whether he should investigate the crime scene first or check on Henry. With any luck, Henry was in good hands—cute, manicured hands—so he made a decision and grabbed his backpack, feeling better already at the heft of it on his shoulder. Inside was his Slayer kit, and everything that he needed to take down a vampire, in case he ran into one. All but his stake, which he wore in the leather holster on his hip, tucked secretly beneath the fabric of his shirt. He headed downstairs and outside, ready to check out the woman's house. Or more specifically, her garden, where she'd died.

It didn't take him long to reach the dead woman's house, and when he got there, it seemed to be the opposite of gloom, the antithesis of what someone might think of when they thought about a murder scene. The house itself was painted a pretty shade of yellow, with bright white trim. Lush gardens surrounded it, encased by a white picket fence. A quaint cobblestone walkway led from the gate at the sidewalk up to the front door, where large hanging ferns lined the large porch. The home was a place of happiness—that much was obvious. So he wondered if new owners had taken over, or if the woman's husband, who'd been mentioned in the articles that Joss had read, was still living here.

He thought it might be better if her husband had no idea why Joss was there. Pushing the gate open, Joss crept through and moved to the window closest to the walkway. He thought if he could get a peek at whether or not anyone was home, it might be easier to really search the garden, to determine if there were any other remaining details that would solidify his vampire theory. To his relief, when he looked through the window, he saw no one. Then Joss turned around to find a very large, very angry-looking man wearing bib overalls and staring at him as if he were a criminal. In a way, Joss supposed, he was. He was technically trespassing, after all.

The man grunted. “Who are you? What do you want? What are you doing out here?”

Joss immediately plastered a pleasant, apologetic smile on his face. “I'm so sorry. My name's Harry. Harry Bossmire. I'm in the horticulture club at my school, and as I was walking by, I noticed your lovely garden. I rang the bell, but I guess you didn't hear it. I was hoping to talk to whoever planted all of this.”

Joss was surprised by how easily the lie had formed in his mind and exited his mouth. Now his only hope was that the man had bought it. That would be the true test.

By the look on the man's face, Joss was willing to bet that he didn't believe a word of what Joss was saying. There was no telling how this conversation would go, but at the moment, Joss was just hoping to leave with his head still attached.

After a long silence, during which the man eyed Joss suspiciously, he grunted again. “That would be my wife. She passed on about a week ago, though. Sorry I can't help you.”

Joss shook his head, frowning. On one hand, he was relieved the guy had bought his story. On the other, he felt bad for him. He hated to lie, but his sympathy, at least, was real. “Oh, I'm so sorry. If I had had any idea, I wouldn't have brought it up.”

“That's okay, boy. How were you to know?” He shrugged, and when he did, his eyes glistened. This man wasn't a psycho. This man was in mourning. “Tilly loved her flowers. She spent hours out here every day, pruning, watering, making everything just so.”

It was clear by the look in his eye that he'd loved that aspect of his wife's personality. She sounded like she was nurturing and caring. And he looked like he missed her more than anybody could ever possibly understand.

“It was an accident, what happened to Tilly. I found her over there by the side of the house, lying sprawled out by the creeping ivy. I wanted to bury her by the violets near the back door, but there are laws, y'know.” He nodded to himself, his face drawn and sad. Joss was certain that he'd never seen anyone look so alone before. “Anyway, I just water 'em now. Don't know really much about gardening. Sorry I can't help you.”

Before Joss could say anything more, the man moved up the steps to the porch and opened his door, ready to disappear into his house. He probably wasn't used to sharing his grief with the world, and Joss had forced his way in and made him do it. Joss felt terrible. He called after the man, “That's okay. I'm sorry about your wife.”

“Feel free to pick some flowers for your club. Tilly would have liked that.” The man waved and went inside. As Joss made his way back out the gate, he felt like a real tool. There had to have been a better, gentler way of handling that kind of situation. He just wasn't certain what that was.

He turned his head back to the house and glimpsed the ivy, where Tilly's husband had found her body. Briefly, he wondered whether or not her body had been drained of blood, and if such a thing might be noted under her cause of death by the coroner. Again, that word—messy—filled his head. If a vampire had killed Tilly, it wasn't an experienced one. It was one acting out of desperation, out of intense hunger.

He thought about Tilly, and about her husband, all the way to the café.

As he passed by Frog Brothers Comic Book Shop, Joss glanced inside. He could see Edgar in there, touting some dramatic tale of creatures with fangs to several tourists. Joss just rolled his eyes and kept walking. Amateurs.

The small café next door seemed to be bustling with activity, and Joss wondered if Henry would even still be inside or if he'd taken too long talking to Tilly's husband. But as he stepped inside, he immediately spied Henry sitting in a booth at the far end of the café. Sitting across from him was a very pretty girl, her hair dyed in a rainbow of bright, unnatural colors. She was dressed in combat boots, fishnet tights, black shorts, and a T-shirt. And as Joss approached, he felt every single one of the alarm bells in his brain go off simultaneously.