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I had no answer for him, at least not one I was willing to admit to. I inched closer to the window, each step minute to ensure I curved around him enough to make the jump.
“If you expected me to believe you were not together, you would not continue to call yourself by his name,sister.” Adam pulled another letter from the pile. “You even wrote to them about me, about how I did nothing for you. I only wish you knew just how much I’ve done.”
“Stop it!” I shouted, the dam of feelings breaking, washing over my insides. Putrid, festered pain engulfing everything.
“Come, let us go see Noel. You can tell her where Ole Will is and we can be done with it all. I believe you’ll be most surprised when you see her.”
“I don't think so, brother.” I propelled myself out the window, agile and panther like, onto the streets of London where I sprinted for miles without stopping. I left all that had kept me sane in that room, my memories, my money, every connection to my past. Now what was I going to do?
I didn't stop running though, pushing myself farther and farther from the city toward the east. It was only a matter of time before I'd hit Liverpool where I could hopefully catch a ship to America. Finally I would do what I had wanted to for too long… I would visit my mother and father.
My home.
Packing up the festering ache in my chest, I let the tears slip behind me, trying to focus on the freedom of running. I tried to focus on how light it made me feel, how utterly unchained it was an action. Encountering these old wounds caused a throbbing in my chest I tried so desperately to bury these last thirty years. I had not just been running from William and Noel, but from the hurt. From the pain of my brother; Adam had truly deserted me. Where did it all go so wrong?
I wondered if it was possible for Noel to love Adam, despite what she said when she’d killed me. Who could I trust? Why would Noel confess all of what she did to me thinking I’d never be able to tell a soul, only for Adam to share something much more… sinister? And it was sinister, what he said about William. Even though I remembered William never drank directly from me, he didn’t even know I could become pregnant by him… it simply didn’t add up.
I thought Adam was so much more clever than that. He had been the top of his class, sharp as a tack, Father’s pride and joy; Noel must have been truly powerful to sink her claws into his mind.
Though, there had to be a connection. William was always so secretive, so less forthcoming with information. It was all too much. They had caused me too much, Changed me into something I didn't want to be–something like a demon.
And yet despite it all, the years and isolation, he still haunted me. His betrayal was grave, yet he still burned behind my eyes. Why could I not severe that connection?
Chapter Twelve
Ireached Liverpool before sunrise, my stunning ruby dress was ruined from the run and I was entirely a mess. Could I pull off a rape victim? Or would a shipwrecked girl floating in from the harbor? Either one sounded good enough, either had merit. And as much as it pained me, lies such as these were a necessary evil when as a vampyre. I had to make it along somehow.
William had warned me of such. The realization turned my gut with something like guilt.
Damn him, and damn Adam for running me out. Worrying my lower lip, I reached the busy dock, stacks of cargo and men shouting all around. The air brimming with the scent of salt water and fish.
I liked my second idea best; a girl floating in on a piece of driftwood, unsure of her surroundings, just knowing she was on a ship to America from Dublin. I could pull it off. Sneaking around corners of cargo, I avoided the men loading a large, metal ship to New York. A good enough destination for me.
Silently, I came behind one of the larger shipments of crates to an old lifeboat. Working with haste, I tore the wooden boat in half with a loud crack, taking the largest piece with me as I jumped into the water. Swimming down into the deepest part of the bay, driftwood in hand, I kicked some hundred yards out before resurfacing. I flung my torso over the wood, kicking to propel me back inland.
Now it was time to float dramatically toward the dock. My dress, tattered and stained from the run, wrapped around my legs in the water. I gripped the hem, tearing the poor fabric in specific places in an attempt to make it worse, as if I had been through some true horror.
“Sorry, new friend,” I muttered, mourning how beautiful it had been.
Laying there on the makeshift driftwood and continuing closer and closer to the dock was probably the hardest part. The water was chilled and lapped against me as I closed my eyes. To keep myself under control, I practiced the part over and over in my mind. I had become such a wonderful liar through the years but if it weren't for the fact that my entire existence needed to be hidden, I do not know if I could ever lie to anyone like this.
The sun peeped through the clouds, ringing in my ears as it reflected on the deep blue water of the bay. I tried to keep a serene face as I floated toward the docks, but the discomfort—
“Man overboard!” a voice called out in panic. Men came running, their boots thundered on the wood of the dock as they rushed together in my direction. They all seemed to speak at once, several yelling commands to pull me out of the water, their trepidation tangible even from here. I rocked back and forth with the waves and decided to add a flare of dramatics by slipping off into the water. Three men jumped from the ship itself, two others jumped from the dock.
I let my body sink deeper into the bay, gulping water to feign drowning. Oh, I was grateful for the dark, for a break from the beating sun. Before I could linger on it any longer, an arm wrapped around my waist and brought me to the surface. The man gasped when he hit the air, but I did not, holding my breath to heighten his tension. He seemed to notice this, calling for the others to throw him a ladder with strain to his tone.
I listened to the commotion and alarm above with some sort of sick pleasure; this plan really had turned out well. The ladder splashed into the water and my rescuer began to climb it, hoisting me over his shoulder to hang limply. When he reached the top of the dock, he carefully laid me down on my back.
“She’s not breathing, sir!” a man said.
“Wonderful assessment, Dawson. I hadn’t a clue,” came the asinine reply. Two heavy, large hands placed themselves on my body, one on my chest and the other, my stomach. Rhythmically they compressed; one, two, three, one, two, three. Over and over again he pushed his palms into my hard flesh.
“She’s cold as ice!” he shouted. He continued his compressions, desperation building in his movements. Poor thing, I was already dead.
Murmurs erupted from the men around us and after a few agonizing moments, I finally coughed up the water I’d swallowed, fluttering my eyes open dramatically.
I gasped, gripping the man’s shirt as I became more oriented to the space. Sailors surrounded my rescuer and I, all smelling of beer, tobacco, fish, and mint. Their clothes were as soaked as mine and their beards dripped with the bay water. Beside me, his shirt in my grip, was the one who had pulled me from the water. He was young, handsome, and his eyes were as hard as steel as he watched me with a weary expression.
