Haunted

CHAPTER 28

REALIZATION AND REASON RETURN WITH A JOLT.

The human Anna comes back in an eye blink, horror at what vampire—at what I have done.

Shit. I sit back on my haunches, wiping blood from my face with the sleeve of the pristine white shirt Maria gave me.

Pristine no more.

What do I do now?

A sound, a small, mewling whimper makes me jerk around.

The girl, the one attacked who became attacker, sits beside the bodies of the slain girls, crying softly.

Surprise that she’s still here, that she didn’t run away in horror when she saw me feed, that she’s not screaming, shakes me.

She looks up when she feels my eyes on her. Her expression doesn’t change. There’s no fear, no tensing of her body in preparation for fight or flight. There’s only resignation in her gaze. As if surrounded by so much death, she accepts that hers is inevitable.

After all that’s been done to her, does she welcome it?

I don’t know what to do. I rack my brain for some phrase to offer comfort, to offer assurance that I mean her no harm.

“No te hará daño. Soy amigo. ¿Habla Inglés?”

Even as I say the words, I mean no harm, I wonder how she can believe it after what she saw me do.

But she only shrugs and replies, “Sí.”

Relief washes over me. At least we have a chance to communicate.

She wipes at her eyes with the corner of the blanket she’s pulled back around her trembling body. But she says nothing. She’s waiting for me.

I place a hand on the center of my chest. “My name is Anna. What’s yours?”

She squares her shoulders, sits up straighter. “Adelita.”

Still no emotion. She doesn’t seem to care what I am or what I did. She asks no questions.

Better not to push. She is calm. I will be, too.

“That’s a beautiful name. You are very brave, Adelita. Now we need to move this truck off the road and hide it until we can decide what to do. I have some friends not far from here who will help us. You are barefoot. Do you think you could walk if I gave you my shoes?”

She shakes her head. “I will take his,” she says, pointing to the man, spitting the words as if having to mention him raises bile in her throat.

I am sitting closest to him so I reach over and untie the shoelaces on what looks like a brand-new pair of Nikes. Thankfully, they are clean inside. I hold them out to Adelita. “He has surprisingly small feet for a pig,” I say.

She understands and a slight smile touches the corners of her mouth. She holds up a thumb and forefinger and squeezes them close. “He was small in many respects,” she says.

She slips the shoes on her feet and laces them. She has delicate features, brown eyes and hair. The small smile she showed me before is gone, her lips pinched tight. But it gave me a hint of the pretty girl she must have been.

I wish I had clothes to offer her but I didn’t exactly pack for this trip. I motion to the open door and climb out. She follows, trying to manage the blanket. It’s too coarse too wrap like a sarong.

“Maybe I can fix it a little,” I offer, holding out a hand.

I think she may object, but surprisingly, she simply hands the blanket to me and stands naked and still.

Maybe she’s been through so much, she can’t imagine things could possibly get worse.

Her frail body is mottled with bruises.

I think I guessed right.

I fold the blanket in two and rip a hole in the middle with my teeth. When I hand it back, she slips it over her head, and it falls around her like a poncho, the ends reaching almost to the ground. There is a roll of twine and some duct tape lying in a heap by the door. I measure out a length of twine and snap it off. She winds it around her waist, tucking the sides of the blanket close so her body is covered.

She nods her thanks.

And waits for me to take the lead once more.

We walk to the front of the truck and I peek inside. The keys are in the ignition. “Get in. We’ll move the truck so it can’t be seen if someone comes by.”

She crosses to the passenger side and slips in. The windows have been rolled up and the cab smells of sour breath and sweat-stained clothes, nauseating reminders of the dead man in back.

For the first time, the young girl, the raped and beaten little girl, cannot control the responses of her horrified mind and body. She flings open the door, leans out and retches.

I don’t move. Don’t offer a comforting hand. Don’t utter false comforting words.

Nothing I say or do could make things better. She’s been through hell. Maybe her body’s way of coping is to purge. Vomit out some of the misery and despair and make room for something better. Maybe with the emptiness can come a little hope.

Maybe.

But for now, I leave her alone. After a moment, she stops. Her breathing becomes more regular. She remains leaning out of the truck.

I look around the cab. There’s not much here—a pack of cigarettes and some matches, a half-empty bottle of water, a rag stuffed behind the seats. The rag is dirty and reeks of oil and gasoline, but it’s all we have. At least it doesn’t carry the scent of the dead man. I hand it to her along with the water bottle. Adelita takes them, rinses her mouth with water and spits, wipes her mouth and nose, and releases a deep breath.

“Gracias,” she says, straightening in the seat, slamming the car door closed. She drops the rag to the floor and turns a tear-streaked face to mine. “We can go now.”