Free Lust for Life by Jeri Smith-Ready Page B

curls. His
     white linen shirt, drenched in blood, rides up to expose his pale belly. I look down
     to see red drops splashed on my jeans, the kitchen wall, and the stuffed blue dog
     in the corner.
    As long as Jim’s bleeding, he’s still “alive.” The moment he starts to die— if he starts to die—it’ll run backward into the wound, along with the rest of him.
    I don’t know what to do or what to feel. It’s like I’m in a movie, and the director
     just shouted “Action!” but Idon’t know my lines. I don’t even know which character I’m playing. I wish someone
     would yell “Cut!”
    “What do I do?” I ask Shane.
    “Just wait.” His voice drops to a whisper. “I’m sorry.”
    I’m not sure who he’s talking to: me, Deirdre, or Jim. Or all three of us.
    The bleeding just stopped. I think.
    I hold my breath.
    For a long moment, the blood on Jim’s chest and the floor beneath him becomes a still
     pond.
    Then the pool begins to shrink. My breath sucks back into my lungs, mimicking the
     action of the blood. It’s begun.
    Shane slowly gets to his knees, crosses himself, and closes his eyes.
    “What’s happening?” Deirdre whispers.
    She’s never seen a vampire die. Did it have to be her own maker? “Deirdre, come with
     me.” I look at Shane. “I’ll take care of her.”
    He nods, never taking his eyes from Jim. Once, years ago, they were friends.
    Jim’s flesh begins to crawl, sliding toward the hole in his chest.
    “NOOOOOO!” Deirdre’s scream of horror is cut off when her own breath stops. She falls
     back, flailing. I catch her before her head can hit the wall.
    With some difficulty, I pick her up, carry her into the dining room, and lay her gently
     on the floor, away from breakable objects.
    The moment I put her down, she starts writhing, clawing the air and the carpet beneath
     her. With one hand I clutch her wrist, and with the other I pull out myphone and call Jeremy. To survive this, she needs fresh blood.
    When he answers, I say in a preternaturally calm voice, “We need you to save a vampire.”
    “What? Who? I’m on the air.”
    I look at the clock. It’s almost 5:30 already. Morning twilight is in forty-five minutes.
     I have no desire to spend the day in the house where Shane killed Jim. “We’ll bring
     her to you.”
    “‘Her’?” His voice pitches up in panic. “Is Regina—”
    “Not Regina. Just get ready.” I hang up. “We have to take her to the station so Jeremy
     can save her.” Shane responds with only a nod.
    I look down at Jim’s body, which is starting to fold in on itself. Then I turn and
     watch his mirror image in Deirdre. She scrapes at her dress, exposing the skin that’s
     bruising from the inside. A blue and black circle widens across her ribs. Her eyes
     roll up, showing nothing but white in her agony.
    Jim’s back arches. Deirdre’s back arches.
    Jim’s back breaks in half with an earsplitting crack. Deirdre falls to the carpet,
     mercifully unconscious. I check her pulse, erratic but strong, and focus on the rhythm
     of her breath instead of the sucking, snapping sounds from the kitchen.
    In the corner of my eye, the stuffed dog seems to shudder as a small red cloud rises
     from its fur. The blood drifts up, against gravity, over the dog’s outstretched paw.
     It hovers, then flies across the room into the wound, which is now an unrecognizable
     vortex of flesh.
    The last few drops enter the hole, and I wait for the soft pop that came with the
     three staking deathsI’ve witnessed—including Colonel Petrea’s, the one I inflicted.
    The wound explodes like a firecracker. I cover my ears and hold back a scream, half
     expecting Jim to reappear, inside out, rejected by the realm of the truly dead.
    But he stays gone.
    I lower my hands, and for several moments all sound is muffled, like after a concert
     where I’ve sat too close to the speakers.
    Shane rubs his ears, then bends over and collects Jim’s clothes: a pair of black