Growing Wildflowers | WLW

Poppy

Her body jolts as I drive my teeth into her neck. Blood coats the inside of my mouth but it's wrong. Something is wrong with it.

This is stupid.

So. Fucking. Stupid.

I'm draining her in the open, only the cover of the dumpster to keep wandering eyes from landing on us. A single headline about this will put everyone in danger. Gunner, Bri, John, and every other blood sucker I've never met.

Will the government take action, or will the elders be able to convince everyone they're losing their minds before the vampire hunt starts? Even if this doesn't start a frenzy amongst the humans, the hunters will know. They'll be filled with a new desire to kill every last one of us. Understandably, so.

Her blood is tainted with drugs or alcohol, but it doesn't matter. I drain every drop from her still-warm body and lean back against the brick wall, sucking in long breaths until my heart slows to a steady rate.

"Fuck, dude." My voice is somewhere between a whisper and a cry as I push my palm into my forehead. I already fucked up. It's been less than twenty-four hours and I already ruined everything.

Laughter comes from the end of the alleyway, and I jump to my feet. Maybe I can fix this. No... I can't but maybe I can buy myself some time before they launch an investigation into her death. I pull the body to her feet, drape her arm around my shoulders, and start toward the empty end of the alley.

Twelve, eleven, ten, nine more steps until we're in the clear, then I can bury her in the forest and cover my tracks. I'm only three steps from the sunlit opening when a man stumbles around the corner and crashes into us.

I stumble back, try to block his view of the corpse but he grabs both of us by the shoulders. I want to snap at him, tell him to get his hands off me but instead, I hold my breath and try to drown out the sound of his pulse in my ears.

"Sorry there, kid." His expression falls. "Whoa. Is she okay?"

I turn sideways to slide by him. "Just really drunk." I duck into the open and continue through the parking lot but no matter how fast I go, people are staring. I can feel their eyes on my back; hear their pulses and whispers.

"Who was that?" one guy asks and another clears his throat.

"She's a local."

I turn down the road, act like I'm headed toward the motel until the footsteps of the bystanders start to retreat. I don't risk looking back, but when I'm almost sure they're gone, I make a sharp right, cut across the two-lane highway, and jog into the forest with the corpse still hanging on my shoulder.

The sun is sinking low behind the trees; covering the ground with an orange-red sunset, by the time I find a clearing between two trees that feels right for a body. I can't get the man's voice out of my head.

Who was that?

I move to my knees and unzip the purse that was slung over her shoulder, pull her wallet out, and stare at the State ID.

Crystal Scott

My chest clenches and if I wasn't on a time crunch, I'd lean against the tree trunk and cry until the guilt doesn't feel so heavy. Instead, I dig through her purse, trying to find something that will give me a glimpse of who she is.

Was.

Who she was before I murdered her.

Her bag is full of stacks of cash that I fold and shove in my pocket, glad I'll never have to admit this to anyone. It's one thing to drain someone, another to rob them too, but it's getting late, and I haven't killed Jamie yet so I'll need somewhere to stay for the night. I dig some more and find a flip phone next to an iPhone. A burner phone. She was a drug dealer? I flip the phone open and read through some conversations with her clients and throw the phone back in her purse. No. She was a sex worker.

I can't waste any more time. I don't want to risk a jogger or hiker stumbling upon me and my dead body, so I find the flattest rock I can and start digging. Despite my efforts, my mind won't stay quiet and as I glance at the body... Crystal one last time, I admit to myself I'm glad it was her. I'm glad I convinced myself to run at the last minute. I'm glad I didn't murder Jamie on that beach. I might be able to cover this up. The police don't care as much when a sex worker goes missing. I've seen it in dozens of true crime documentaries. Cases that should have been solved decades ago except the police never took it seriously because the victim's line of work. It used to make me so angry, and now it's going to be the reason I can get away with murder in the city. But if I'd killed Jamie in front of everyone on the beach, I'd be screwed. All of vampire kind would be screwed. It would be less than ten minutes before one of the other college kids posted a video of me draining her, and the entire world would know about blood suckers.

I swallow the lump in my throat, swipe at the tears trailing down my cheeks, turning them into a streak of mud. The guilt sinks in as Crystal's phone chimes in her bag. It could be her family, maybe her kid asking when she'll be home for dinner, but I don't let myself check. No one warned me. No one told me that having this kind of power would hurt so badly.

It takes longer than I expect to finish the grave. The sun is rising again by the time the body is submerged but I dig in my pocket for a handful of wildflower seeds anyway and sprinkle them over the grave. I start toward the highway, exhausted and ready to go home when my phone rings. The sound is violent against the quiet morning stillness in the trees.

I press the phone to my ear without checking who's calling. "What's up?"

"How's it going?" It's John.

I swallow hard, hoping he won't be able to hear the lie in my tone. "Everything's fine. I'll be home soon."

It's silent until John sighs. "Kiddo, you can be honest with me."

"It's fine, John." I slide over a fallen tree. "I promise. Everything will be fine." As an afterthought, I add, "Can I get a room at the local motel? I could use some sleep."

"Use the emergency card." I can feel him opening his mouth to ask more questions, but he closes it again. "Does the girl know? Does she know what we are?"

I stop at the edge of the highway and wait for a Subaru to speed by before I start crossing. "I didn't get that far." I rub the back of my head. "Things got kind of... Sticky and she's pretty closed off. I need more time."

Another sigh. "What do you mean, sticky?"

"I took care of it."

It's silent while he decides if he's going to push for more information or not. "Try to keep it quick, Gwen." And then, with more sympathy, "I'll feel a lot better when you're back home with us."

"Me too." I never thought I'd admit it but it's true. I'm safer with them. I'm a better person when John is calling the shots for me. He keeps our environment safe, makes sure we don't kill more than necessary.

John says his goodbyes and tells me to be careful for the eight-hundredth time before he hangs up.

I'm standing outside the motel lobby by the time the line goes dead, and I use the cash from Crystal's bag to get a room under a fake name for the rest of the week. I go straight to the bathroom and climb in the shower, trying to wash the guilt from my body, but it's my mind that needs a good scrub.

I'm back in the same dirty clothes, sitting on the ground to keep the dirt from spreading from my jeans to the mattress, when there's a knock on the door. My eyes lock on the peephole but I don't move from the ground.

I can't keep my head from racing to the worst—what if it's the cops? No, it can't be. They wouldn't be investigating a missing person's case this soon... Would they? Maybe someone called about a suspicious-looking woman carrying an unconscious woman from the alley. My mind flashes back to the guy who bumped into us in the alley. He seemed too drunk to care but maybe I misread him. Maybe he called the cops after all. I'm frozen with fear, staring at the door, telling myself if I ignore it, they'll leave. Instead of the silence I crave, another quick knock rattles the door.