The Waking Moon

Chapter Sixteen

I must’ve lost consciousness again, because the next thing I knew I was being shaken violently, with angry voices barking above me. “Get her up!”

“You get her up, douchebag!”

“Pendejo!”

“Come on, you little princess. Get your ass up. She’s waiting!”

In the dim light I could make out a round, flushed face with a shaved head hovering over me, and two figures standing behind him. A part of me registered that he was the guy who’d attacked me, but I was too out of it to care. I didn’t know if it was day or night, or how long I’d been there. All I knew was that I wanted to sleep. My head lolled around on my neck as they pulled me to my feet. I tried to stand, but my legs went soggy and I collapsed again. The bickering voices sounded as if they were far away.

“Why’d you have to tap her out, man?”

“Hey, screw you, Diego. While you guys were out trolling, I was stuck in that boring-ass house waiting for this chick. And you should’ve seen what she did to my head!”

This was followed by titters of laughter.

“Come on, guys! Just pick her up and let’s go! Juliana’s waiting!”

I squinted out at the silhouettes assembled around me, struggling to focus on their faces. A muscular arm held me up by the waist, as I was dragged out of the room. I tried to keep up, but my body was too weak, and my feet dragged uselessly along the ground.

Two large figures walked quickly ahead while the bald-headed guy pulled me along like a rag doll. I turned to look at him, noting blearily that his head was whole again. The cobwebs began to clear, and I tried to take in my surroundings, desperate for some kind of clue as to where I was. We moved down a wide, dimly lit hallway lined with covered windows. The long, luxurious curtains looked custom made. The hardwood floor was a mosaic of inlaid designs. The series of standing lamps had beautiful leaded crystal shades. It reminded me of a modern day palace.

At the end of the hall, the two figures stopped outside a closed door, and I could finally make them out. One had shaggy blond hair and acne scars. The other had dark skin and short, dark hair. His face was handsome but fierce. They couldn’t have been more than 18 years old. Both looked nervous. The dark-haired guy ran a hand through his hair, as if he were on a doorstep waiting for his dream date to answer. At last, the blond guy stepped up and knocked.

“Juliana?” he called.

A female voice answered, “Who?”

The blond guy cleared his throat. “It’s Evan,” he said. “With the girl.”

“What girl?”

“Jack’s girl.”

There was a pause. Then the door opened and a gorgeous young woman looked out. She was tall, with long dark hair that fell over her shoulders in loose waves. Her skin was pale and smooth, and she had one of those perfect little moles above her lip. She wore a white dress that was cut low in front and hugged her full hips. She was only 23 or 24, but she had an air of confidence that any mature woman would’ve envied. She stared at me through heavy, black lashes, eying me up and down. Then she burst out laughing.

“This?”

She pushed open the door and stood to one side, waving her hand at a couch across the room. It was a spacious, airy bedroom decorated in earth tones, with a high ceiling and a plush white carpet. There was a huge bed made up in fine linens and a gold duvet. A flat screen TV blathered away from the wall across from the bed.

The curtains were open, and the gossamer sheers glowed with cheerful sunlight. I took note—it’s daytime. But then I realized that the glass had been blackened out. It was simulated sunshine, an illusion created from a series of bright lights stacked in rows on top of each other. What are these people, I wondered. Vampires?

“Am I missing something?” she asked the dark-skinned guy, who I noticed didn’t look so fierce anymore. He could’ve been any high school kid trying to impress the girl he likes. With a shrug he screwed up his eyes in a way that said, “What is that idiot Jack thinking?”

The bald guy dropped me on a plush sofa and stepped aside so the woman could see me better. She crossed the room slowly, hands on hips, a humorless smile on her face. Her body was practically supernatural. Perfect breasts, much bigger than mine. Small waist. Long legs. Delicate little bare feet with beautifully manicured, ruby red toenails.

She settled into an armchair across from me, her eyes locked on mine. I felt like a ridiculous, broken trinket beside a glorious work of art. The boys stood anxiously by awaiting orders.

“Out you go,” she said flatly. They turned and filed out of the room. The woman stared at the closed door for several moments, frowning. “Forgive me, but I remember Jack very well and he’s…there’s just no accounting for taste.”

I glanced down at my dirty jeans and blood-stained tee shirt. Without interest, I discovered a dried slash across my forearm, probably from falling down the stairs. I looked up to find the woman watching me intently. She crossed her legs and propped her elbow on the arm of the chair. Then she leaned her head against an index finger, like a shrink analyzing a patient.

“Tell me your name,” she said.

I stared at her and said nothing. It was all I could do to keep my head from slumping forward on my chest. But I had no plans to cooperate. The woman gazed at me for a long time, unblinking, and I wondered what she was thinking. Was she taking pity on me? Or was she just deciding how to kill me?

“Paulette,” she said very slowly, enunciating every sound, punctuating the ts sharply against her teeth. “Your name is Paulette Jordan. Jack thinks you’re something special. I don’t. Which means if you play along with me right now, I’ll have you back home before Saturday cartoons are over. Understand?”

I pressed my thumbs to my temples the way dad does to ease his migraines, but there was no relieving this pain. It felt like my head was splitting apart. The girl jutted out her jaw, impatient with my silence.

“Paulette, where is Jack?”

My mouth was dry and I longed for a drink of water. “How should I know,” I croaked. 

“I think you do.” 

I glanced at the blacked out window, but the stack of bright lights pierced like lasers. “What is this, anyway? Some kind of satanic cult or something?”

She pushed herself out of the chair and came over to where I sat. “Just tell me where he is.”

“He’s dead.”

The girl smiled demurely and crinkled her nose. Then she bent down, slipped her hand under the bottom of the couch, and in one effortless movement, sent it flying end over end across the room. The world streaked by in a blur of earth tones, and I was moving weightless through the air. With a hollow thud I smashed against the wall, and for several moments, my breath left me. I lay on the ground, white lights of pain exploding in my eyes. Then delicate toes prodded my ribs.

“Where is he?” The woman’s voice was weirdly soft and restrained.

No words came out of my mouth, and so I just shook my head. Then her bare foot came swinging with the force of a sledgehammer. There was the loud crack of bone, and I was airborne again. I clattered against another wall. In an instant, the woman was standing over me, her white dress aglow in the artificial light. She pressed her foot against my throat.

“He isn’t like you anymore!” she shrieked. “He belongs to me! He’s one of us! He’s one of us! He’s one of us!”

She increased the pressure on my windpipe until blackness pulsed at the edges of my vision. Then she lifted her foot and padded away. I wheezed and gasped for air, curling up my body into a ball. At some point I was hoisted into strong arms, moved through the same posh corridor, and back into the mahogany study, where I was dropped on the sofa again. The heavy footsteps receded, and I heard a key turn in the lock.