Dawn's Darkest Hour

Daniel stood in the doorway dumbfounded at his first glimpse of the outside world in weeks. Freedom lured him out of his prison cell to stand in the hallway. The highly polished wood floors were cold and hard against the soles of his feet. Danger crackled like static in the air. At first, he wavered, tempted to run back into the safety of the room that had housed him all these long, long days. His trembling fingers gripped the doorframe as he contemplated exactly what the unlocked door might mean. Were they letting him go? Was Yessette offering him his freedom as she'd offered him her body? Was this some sort of trap and his time up?

Polished wood grain gleamed in the dull sunlight streaming in through a large stained glass window at the end of the hall. Shades of purple, red, green, and hues of blue cast a series of shadowy shapes on the walls. A row of closed doors stood at attention, like tall sentinels on either side of the hallway. At the far end, a stairwell led up to another floor and at the opposite end of the hall a stairwell with a worn but ornately carved handrail led down. The smell of lemon wax lingered in the air. With one hesitant step, his feet landed on a thick, highly patterned runner that spanned the length of the floor.

His instincts clamored in his head to get out while he could. Fear kept his palm planted against the cool steel doorjamb of his room. Deep inside, someplace he hadn't known existed, his heart begged for Yessette. Yes, he could escape. Take her with him. She wasn't bad, just confused. They could make a get away together. Go to the woods. Live amongst his pack in safety. Was she behind one of these doors? Gingerly, he stretched his reach and jiggled the handle on the closed door closest to him. It was locked.

Get out! He had to leave while the opportunity presented itself. The house around

him was silent, almost like a tomb. He could come back for Yessette. Save her from Eric and Carter. Desperately, he tried the other doors. They were all locked and remained stubbornly closed. Daniel cursed under his breath. He had to go. But, he couldn't leave her. "Yessette!" he whispered frantically. His weight shifted from one side to the other, up or down. Down definitely had to lead to the way out. Up? He didn't know. Might lead to someplace worse than the room that had held him prisoner. His heart pounded wildly in his chest as he rallied up his addled brain to conjure up a plan. Scrambling for the far end of the hallway, his decision made. Down. He'd go down the stairs and see where it led.

The stairs complained noisily creaking against the invasion of his weight on their treads. The story below looked like something out of a creepy B movie. Antiques were scattered about the maze of rooms. Antique baubles rested on antique tables. Antique chairs from a bygone era lined the walls. Thick curtains were tightly drawn over wide windows to protect the aging relics from the sun. Daniel padded cautiously across the wooden floors and rugs, searching for Yessette and the way out. He found his way into the foyer and squinted against the sunlight streaming through heavy, contorted leaded glass panes. He was meters from freedom, fresh air, and sunshine. All the things his body and his wolf desperately craved.

Suspiciously, Daniel stepped into the foyer. He expected guards, alarm systems, laser beams primed to barbecue his flesh from his bones. The quiet, sleepy house disturbed him. He felt as if the house itself was daring him to reach for the door and make the final ploy for his freedom before it struck him down. Gingerly, he reached out, bracing himself for what might happen when his fingers turned the knob.

"You're not leaving are you?" An angelic voice made of pure spun sugar asked from behind him. He turned to see Yessette, hanging on the fringes of the foyer, well out of the rays of sunlight. Her hair hung loosely, curling into a mass of thick golden waves over her shoulders. She was dressed in a white silk gown, ornately decorated with lace and beadwork on the neckline and sleeves. Her eyes were blue like the ocean and so innocent. Her red lips pursed up in a little frown. She looked like an angel. The only thing missing were the wings. But, she could fly. She had already taken him to the highest heavens in her embrace. Her hand stretched out. The long, dainty fingers opened in an invitation. "Daniel? You won't leave me, will you?"

Daniel's eyes darted from the door to Yessette, back and forth. Freedom was just a few steps away. The paradise of Yessette's love was within his grasp. His body trembled with the effort of his decision. He didn't have to ask himself the question. Deep inside, he already knew the answer. His previous thoughts of convincing her to run away with him were just a handy delusion offered by his mind to distract him from the truth. She'd never leave.

"Daniel?"

Daniel's hand fell to his side. He squeezed his eyes shut against the golden rays shining through the glass, shunning their light and shivering in their heat. With great effort, he turned his back on the light and stepped into the dark. His fingers found hers and laced around them, grasping on to them tightly. His lips formed the words as his lungs found the breath to push them from his throat. No sentence had ever condemned a man more thoroughly than the one that hovered on the end of his tongue. "No Yessette, I'll never leave you."

Chapter 108

Amy leaned heavily on Rod. Dutifully, the mortician guided them into a small room. Uttering hollow words meant to comfort and console, he discreetly glided out of the room in that way that only morticians can. Her knees wobbled as she stared down at her little girl. Rachael looked so peaceful. Her cheeks dusted with a delicate rosy blush. Every strand of her blonde hair had been carefully arranged to cascade around her narrow shoulders. In death, she was even more beautiful than she'd been in life. Trembling, Amy reached out to her daughter with her fingertips, as if she could touch her and gently shake her awake.

Rod caught Amy's fingertips in his palm before they could brush against Rachael's death stilled cheeks. Amy was heavy in his arms. The weariness he'd carried around for days settled in as he precariously balanced their combined weight on the soles of his feet. Rachael lay absolutely motionless upon her bed of pink satin. Rod couldn't stare down at her for another second. He knew it was a visual trick, a deceit of his eyes that her chest rose and fell with breaths that she no longer needed. Tears boiled behind his closed lids. He stood like a statue, grasping his wife's trembling body, while his world crumbled into pieces around him.

Amy fumbled with words that she couldn't find the voice to say. Words were not enough to patch the void left by Rachael's death. She forced her eyes to focus on her daughter, to memorize every detail of her little girl's face. At this point, nothing was too insignificant, in these fleeting final moments to commit to memory. This was the last time she'd see her little girl again.

She wanted to throw her body over the casket and forbid the mortician to take Rachael away from her. She wanted to cry till she could drown in an ocean of her own tears. Her motherhood had been ripped away from her and left a deep chasm of nothing in its place. Rod's hands gently squeezed her shoulders. She didn't want to acknowledge his pain, his loss. She wanted to revel in her own bitter agony until it consumed what was left of her. He needed so much from her. He was giving so much of himself to her. But, she felt so empty. She had nothing to give him in return. "Amy, we have to go."

Rod glared over his shoulder at the mortician. A slim fellow in a gray pinstriped suit with a bad comb over stood in the back of the room like a vulture eagerly waiting to claim its prey. The man discreetly cleared his throat and glanced down at his watch. Their time was up. Death had a schedule to keep and the show must go on. Gently, Rod pulled Amy from the casket and guided her to the sleek, black limo idling outside. He did what was required of a man, stoically and dutifully. Later, much later, when it was safe, he'd let the dam that he'd constructed around his pain burst free.

Nora listened to the vice principal prattle on and on. She'd heard every word he'd said, but couldn't remember a damned thing. The teachers gathered on the north side of the gym for what could only be referred to as a pep talk about today's events. Custodians blustered about in a flurry of activity around them, setting up chairs, testing the audio equipment, finishing the last of the preparations for the grim event that would begin in less than an hour. Already, the stench of mountains of brilliantly colored chrysanthemums hung heavily in the air and the first horde of onlookers shuffled to their seats.

Nora settled onto a hard, tooth chatteringly cold folding chair reserved for faculty. She crumpled the program with her fingers, rolling it and unrolling it over and over. Students mulled about and gathered in clusters on the bleachers. Some of the city's biggest and brightest had turned out for the event. The mayor, flanked by two heavily armed police officers, stood to the left of the podium, reviewing note cards for her speech. Cardinal Rollins chatted with the Superintendent of Schools on the makeshift stage. Nora raised an eyebrow in curiosity as members of the city council and county seat filed in and took their places. Death, it seemed, was a very fashionable event, especially in an election year.

Nora felt eyes probing the back of her skull. Casually, she turned in her chair to look over her shoulder. Even if David were here, she wouldn't see him. Nobody would see him, if he didn't want them to. How easily, he could fade into just another face in the rapidly growing crowd lining the bleachers. Quickly, she turned around and stared forward. Her eyes locked on the stage. Right on cue, the choir began to sing and people stood as Rachael's parents were helped onto the stage.

Sympathy clutched at Nora's heart as she watched Rachael's father, stoic in the face of such a difficult time shake the mayor's hand. Rachel's mother looked crumpled and defeated as the mayor retracted her hand and offered it to the mourning woman. The couple presented a united front, trying their best to be brave, as the round of handshakes and undoubtedly words of condolences were exchanged.

The crowd remained standing as the color guard presented the flags and placed them into their holders. For grieving teenagers, they held their own, doing their duty as they stood at attention. Pallbearers, volunteers from the student council, the biggest and bulkiest of their members, carried Rachael's casket and positioned it on a long, satin draped stand. Nora's world swooned as she looked over the shoulders in front of her at the white box, gleaming beautifully in the gym's overhead lights. A creepy little guy, who could only be the mortician, opened the top portion of the casket's lid and gave Rachael a quick, almost imperceptible adjustment before he melted silently into the crowd.

Nora squeezed her eyes closed as the Mayor stepped forward to welcome everyone and begin the proceedings. Silently, she wished David were here beside her. His silent presence would calm the storm beginning to brew in her mind. She needed to know now more than ever, that he had nothing to do with Rachael's death. Desperately, she clutched at the straws of belief in his innocence. But, the images of his vampire self, covered in fresh blood, flashed behind the darkness of her closed eyes.

From his vantage point, David could see everything. Perched high above the crowds, he stared down at the open casket. Grief pounded at him like a pair of highly trained fists. Heat from all the bodies crammed into too small of a place wafted up the bleachers and ceiling rafters to wash over him in nauseating wave after nauseating wave. Rachael looked so tiny encased in her bed of pink and white. Sprays of tiny tea roses draped over the casket in a waterfall of blossoms. Death, something so ugly, the way she'd had her life snatched away from her so brutally, looked so peaceful and beautiful. For a moment, David longed to join Rachael in her rest.

His eyes fixed on Nora's wavering shoulders. He picked her out easily from the crowd clumped miserably together on the gym's floor. She wore a simple forest green skirt and matching blouse of the palest cream silk. Her fingers nervously toyed with the program on her lap. Lines of strain circled her taught mouth. He'd seen those lips curled up in a seductive smile. To see them drawn so tightly into a deep frown made his heart ache at the pain he'd caused her.

David wasn't here to pay his last respects to Rachael. He'd do that later, in private. He was here, perched in the rafters like one of Poe's ravens, on business. Vampires rarely mourned their victims or paid them much heed once the body had been disposed of. But, crowds and the possibility of an easy meal might be enough to draw one of his kind out of hiding. He was here to see to it that nobody died today.

Chapter 109

Rod never wavered. Amy owed him no small measure of thanks. If not for him, pulling her to stand, guiding her down the stairs to take her place at the foot of Rachael's casket. If not for him intercepting the words meant to comfort and console, shaking hand after hand, in her place, she would not have made it through the fiasco that was her daughter's funeral. After the crowd had filtered out to their cars. Rod guided her, one last time, to their little girl's side. She was numb, the pain too much to bear. Her eyes flitted over Rachael's face and then turned away. "I'm ready," she croaked out on a whisper.

Rod silently nodded and gripped his arm tighter around Amy's waist. With an angry glare, he stopped a reporter determined at snapping the money shot in his tracks. No more pictures. No more handshakes. No more whispered thank yous at people's condolences. His posture was rigid and stiff as he guided Amy toward the limo. On the inside he steamed. His temper was close to boiling over. Behind them, the undertaker closed the casket, shutting his daughter away from the world's view, forever.

Nora couldn't take another second. She'd bypassed the line for one last look at Rachael's death and searched out a place that had always seemed so normal to her. Her sanctuary. Her classroom. The room was stuffy from being closed tightly. The lingering scent of chalk dust and musty books hovered in the air as she leaned on one of the desks for a brief respite while she got her collective shit together. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Robert hadn't expected such a crowd at the high school as the one he'd encountered. Given what he'd gone through to park. Getting in was a cinch. Everyone was in the gym attending a memorial service for a fellow student. He'd forgotten. He wasn't the only one suffering. He clenched his gloved hands tightly together. The last thing he wanted to inadvertently see was what the newspapers and TV had called a grizzly murder first hand. Maybe it was his civic duty to help catch a killer. But, he couldn't do it. He didn't want to know. Didn't want to see how she'd died.

The halls should have been teeming with happy, chattering students, rushing to and from classes. Instead, they were empty and devoid of life. Robert shuffled along the corridors, looking for something. Most of the classroom doors were closed. The glass windows in their wooden frames were dark. One hung open, a stray glow of light reflected off the hallway's industrial tile's surface. He hazarded a closer inspection and peeked inside to see a woman, probably a teacher, propped against a desk with her eyes tightly squeezed shut. "Excuse me. I was wondering if you could help me?"

Nora's eyes snapped open at the invasion. So much for deep, relaxing breathing. Startled out of her wits, she gasped and clutched her chest. Her heels scraped against the waxed floor as she scrambled to stand upright. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," he said.

Nora blinked at the man. There was something familiar about him. Maybe it was the way he smiled, as if he were in control of the whole world and there was nothing to worry about. His hair was a light, sandy brown, unruly and tangled despite his attempts to tame it. She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak. Obviously an onlooker had gotten lost on his way to the gym. "The gym...,"

"I'm not looking for the gym. I'm...," his eyes followed the woman's stare where they rested on his gloved hands. She probably thought he was a psycho on the verge of slitting her throat. Self-consciously, he shoved his hands in his pockets. Definitely not helping the psycho assumption much though. Embarrassed, he pulled them free and extended his right hand to her. "I'm Cole Zimmerman's father. I was wondering if you could show me to his locker."

Nora's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Cole's father?" She'd met the reluctant parent a couple of years ago and this tall, well muscled, man was not the squat, stodgy, balding, disinterested man she remembered. Not unless he'd grown six inches, gotten plastic surgery, and lost about seventy pounds. The man shot her another award winning smile that reminded her so much of the ones Cole used to shoot in her direction during class.

"His real dad. My name is Robert Black. Cole's step-dad adopted him when he was a little boy," Robert went on to explain.

Nora blinked in disbelief. The man's story felt honest enough. After years of dealing with students and delinquent homework, hearing every excuse in the book, she could usually tell when she was being lied to. "Cole Black?"

Robert chuckled and held up his hands, "Not my idea. Jess always had a strange sense of humor about those things." He glimpsed over his shoulder and leaned in closer to the teacher. "I wanted to name him Jim."

"Oh." Nora rested her butt on the desk and studied the man. Cole certainly looked enough like him to be his son. He stared at her expectantly. "I'm Ms. Temple. I'm one of Cole's teachers. Or at least, I was. Is he...ok?"

Robert's shoulders drooped. "Honestly, I think he's in a lot of danger. The police have squat. Not surprising really. Cole is over eighteen. As far as they're concerned, he's an adult and without any hint of fowl play, he's just another missing person. But, to me, he's still a kid and my son." Robert snapped off his gloves and buried them in his pocket. "Which one of these desks was his?" He walked down the narrow aisle, brushing his bare fingertips along the backs of the chairs. Sneaking peeks, mere glimpses of the lives of the students who occupied the seats.

"Cole always sat in the back. Third one from your left, why?" Hesitantly, she followed behind Robert. Careful to keep a safe get away distance between them.

Robert paused at a desk. His hand hovered over the smooth wood surface. "Ms. Temple."

"Nora."

"Nora, have you ever heard of psychometery?" He didn't bother to elaborate. If she was going to use that cell phone clutched in her fist to call 911, he didn't have much time before the police came to haul him off. He planted his palm on the desk's cool top and waited for the images to come. They flew from the desk, through his flesh, straight up into his mind, flapping and fluttering wildly like a flock of spooked birds. Retching, he crawled to the trashcan and lost what little remained of his fast food supper from last night. What he'd seen would give him nightmares for the rest of his life. His son was in more danger than he could have ever imagined.

Nora stared down at the man heaving his guts into her trashcan, utterly dumbfounded. Finally, when he stopped gagging and was able to breathe without turning a gruesome shade of purple. Pale wasn't much of an improvement, but at least he had his wits about himself again. She took a poker off the chalk rail and used it to push a box of Kleenexes toward him. "I know what psychometery is."