Collection of Older Works

Faethfully Yours: Chapter Three

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

A constant beeping drew me slowly from the blackness of sleep. I'd never been a deep sleeper so it's surprising that sound didn't wake me up sooner. Guess I was really tired because I couldn't feel anything but the dryness of my lips.

Trying to open my eyes and locate the sound, everything remained black. Trying again, they still wouldn't open. My blood ran cold. Regardless of how hard I tried, nothing moved. Not my feet, my fingers… There was nothing but that blasted sound.

"This better be good Ivan, wake up!"  A woman’s voice cut through the beeping. It was breathy and seductive like a cat's purr, but also cold and distant.

Sharp footsteps shattered the silence, coming closer and closer until passing me. It stopped and she looked at me. How do I know? Well, you know that feeling you get when someone is staring at you? That prickliness on your skin, almost as if you're set to be devoured? That's what it felt like, just magnified.

Someone groaned, a masculine voice. "What-what time is it?" they muttered groggily, releasing a drawn out yawn. The accent was familiar, but my brain was foggy and wouldn't process it. There was some rustling, followed by what sounded like a handbag being opened then shut. Some more scuffing, and after a quick flickering, I smelled a cigarette.

"Christ Elena we're in a hospital!" he said. There was further scuffling proceeded by a sharp stomp on the floor. Then silence... and beeping.

It hit me then—Mr. Stokaya! This woman, Elena, had called him Ivan, but it was Mr. Stokaya. The accent was unmistakable when he said we were in the hospital.

Suddenly cognizant of his words, the flood gates in my mind burst open. Memories of what had happened brutalized me. Remembrance of the pain and the hunger and the sound of my bones breaking... I really was paralyzed.

Elena huffed irritably. "What's this about, Stokaya?"

Mr. Stokaya sighed. Soft yet cutting footsteps clicked a few steps then stopped.

“It’s about her," he murmured dreadfully.

"And who is she that you were dumb enough to call me? Us here together is not a good idea." Finally there was some emotion in her voice aside from irritation and indifference. They seemed to merge into utter discomfort.

"Her name is Charlotte. She's one of my students." He sighed, a helplessness in his tone. "I didn't know who else to call Elena. I think she's had a breakdown."

"Then how about a shrink?" Her irritation returned. "I don't see how calling a psychic—"

"Not a nervous breakdown—” he snapped, but cut himself off. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, “I mean she tried to kill me."

Even though I couldn’t feel my limbs, I did feel my chest cave. I know what I did to him, and to Jaime, but I would never try to kill someone willingly. I’d never felt as trapped as I did in that moment. All I wanted was to run away, far away from him, from her, from myself.

"Then you call the police!" Elena hissed in return.

"And tell them what? That a faerie tried to suck the life out of me?"

I forgot how to breathe, and the awkward silence that followed told me I wasn’t the only one. A faerie?

High heels clicked in my direction, preceded by a bold honeysuckle scent. Something cold and soft touched my cheek followed by a sniff.

"I can't smell anything Ivan. If she were Fae I would know. Hell, so would you. You would've smelled her before you even saw her."

"That's the point!" Ivan's sighed exasperatedly. "She sat in my classroom—she bumped right into me, and I didn’t smell a thing! Next thing I know, she's glowing and—"