Chapter 7 Mistake #2
She, of course, was bright eyed and bushy tailed.
But Rachel was on a mission. While the rest of the reporters were there to get stories and report on the Ever Dark, the Vampires and the students, she was going to save a son for a mother.
They walked in mostly silence to the coffee shop.
He asked her about the lodgings for the reporters.
“They’re plush. Really! It’s like they picked something out of everyone’s head and created it.
I didn’t know why my room felt so familiar until I realized it was from a book I’d read when I was like 12,” she answered.
Then, more slowly, she added, “I suppose they could have picked something out of my head. We had to go through a mind reading protocol.”
“It’s the Ever Dark actually,” Grayson told her offhandedly.
“What do you mean?” she blinked.
“While I’m sure that Balthazar could read your mind and pluck something that would suit you, that’s not what happened,” he told her. “The Ever Dark itself does it.”
“That’s–that’s amazing. How does it do that?” She stared at him intently.
He wondered if he had said too much, but then he realized that there was no harm in telling her this. It wasn’t a secret as the students knew it.
“I have no idea, but I had the same experience,” he admitted with a shrug.
His palace had come together much the same way. Unlike Weryn who had gone out and sought the materials to create his palace with his own bare hands, the Ashyr Palace had been totally a creation of his mind. But he didn’t tell her this.
The coffee shop was utterly charming like something out of a Hallmark movie where people seemed to always eat baked goods and have endless cups of coffee while they looked for true love and a way to save something in their sweet town.
Baristas were busy steaming milk and pulling espressos when they came in.
They did not have silver eyes, which meant they were human.
Acolytes maybe?
Regardless, they expertly created Rachel’s very specific drink which had oat milk and a vanilla shot and something else.
He ordered a pot of the hot jasmine tea and an assortment of pastries for them to share.
They then sat down at a small corner booth away from the front and talked aimlessly about their drinks and how good the monkey bread was.
Grayson was in no hurry to discuss his mother and it was just as clear that Rachel wasn’t sure how to bring her up.
“Grayson…” She opened and shut her mouth.
“You brought your tablet,” he said suddenly.
It was in front of her. She was fiddling with the stylus.
“Oh, I–”
“This isn’t an interview, Rachel,” he told her sharply.
“N-no, of course not! It’s just a habit and I’m never sure when I’ll need it here as amazing things happen around every corner,” she said as she quickly stuck the stylus back into its holder and closed the tablet’s cover.
She set it to the side of the booth seat beside her.
“No notes. No reporter. Just Rachel here.”
Grayson realized then that he should have asked Balthazar to get all the news reports on this matter for him. He wasn’t sure what Rachel–or anyone knew–or what his mother had said. Well, he’d talk to her now and he’d have Balthazar follow up for him.
“Has my mother given any interviews?” he asked.
Rachel shook her head. “No, no, she would only speak to me and then off the record.”
“So how does anyone know what happened that night?” he asked.
“The p-police report,” she answered.
He grimaced. Of course. There was a police report. There had to be. She’d had to call the police after… Well, he couldn’t have expected her to bury his stepfather’s body and clean up the house and never speak of him again.
“I–I have a copy of it, if you’d like to see.” She gestured to the closed tablet.
He should look at it. But he found himself shaking his head. “What did it say?”
She fussed with her hands a moment, clearly wondering if she should take the report out and simply read from it, but instead, she merely gave him the gist, “That your stepfather had attacked her and she’d, accidentally, knocked him back against the wall.”
His forehead furrowed. “That she knocked him back?”
She’d lied to the cops. She hadn’t told them what he’d done. But if that was the case then why was he suspected of murdering his stepfather now?
Rachel nodded. “That’s what she told the police.”
“But they didn’t believe her?”
How could they? He’d battered the man to a pulp. An “accidental” push or shove–even repeated pushes and shoves–couldn’t do that.
“The damage to the body was… extensive, especially the head, and the blood splatter…” Her voice drifted off. “The evidence didn’t support her version of events. And then there was the fact that you were missing.”
He swallowed. Yet surely the police had realized that a young teenager couldn’t have done what had been done to his stepfather’s body either unless she’d confessed to what actually happened.
But who would believe her?
Yet people were believing that now. But the Sect of Dawn knew–or guessed–that he wasn’t normal.
How had he gotten away from Jill? Even a completely incompentent Vampire should have been able to handle him if he were normal.
So they’d dug and found his stepfather’s death and all the inconsistencies with it.
“At first, the police suspected that you’d been killed, too–”
“What?!” The word hissed out between his teeth.
He had never considered that his disappearance would be thought of as anything other than what it was: running away after killing a man. But that was foolish. Of course, the police didn’t think a teenager had done this. They thought his mom had and maybe killed him too…
Her hands, which had been folded before her on the table, clenched so tightly that her knuckles went white. “I was looking out the window that night and I told the police I saw you leaving.”
“You saw me?”
“Yes, don’t you remember? I called out to you,” she said.
He closed his eyes and tried to remember.
He’d flown out of the house, the front screen door slamming behind him.
There was the churr of night insects and his own breathing.
Both frantic and singing. He’d thought he’d heard someone calling his name, at first softly and then louder.
But he hadn’t stopped running. He opened his eyes.
“I remember,” he told her. “And you told the police you’d seen me.”
She hung her head. “Yes.”
“Thank god,” he whispered.
Her head jerked up. “What? But I thought–”
“They thought she murdered me, didn’t they? My mom? The police thought she’d done it?” he confirmed.
She nodded. “I guess so.”
“And you told them she didn't… that’s good. They knew she couldn’t have done it if you saw me leaving.” He shook his head in relief. “I never considered that she’d get in trouble. I thought…”
He hadn’t known what he’d thought. Only that he kept replaying her horrified expression that she’d turned on him after it was done. That he couldn’t forget. He’d moved towards her too.
“Mom?” he’d said in this wavering voice.
And she’d jerked back from him. Frightened.
Terrified. Her son was a monster. He’d just killed her husband in the most brutal way.
He might turn his teenage rage against her.
Logical. Entirely wrong, but logical. He just couldn’t forgive her for it.
But to know now that she’d never given him up to the police? That she’d tried to take the blame?
“I didn’t think about it like that. I suppose that was good. But it made you seem guilty in their eyes so…” Her voice drifted off.
“You blame yourself for that?” He was startled by this.
“Of course, if I hadn’t told them–”
“They would have thought my mom murdered me,” he finished.
“What happened? I filed FOIA requests, but as it is still an active investigation they wouldn’t share the files with me–”
“Active?” Grayson grew tense.
“Not really. No. But any cold case they say is active even if they haven’t done squat on it,” she said with a moue of disgust. “They don’t want anyone looking over their shoulders to report on their mistakes even when the case could be solved if they let someone else handle it.”
“You’re a true crime buff?” he guessed.
She sat up very straight and lifted her chin. “I’m an investigative reporter.”
“So not an amateur then,” he corrected himself.
She let out a breath. “Maybe my job involves more reporting on local events. Business openings. Marriages and stuff. But your stepfather’s death is still news in town. It’s an open, gaping wound–”
“No, it’s not,” he cut her off coldly.
She lifted her head, surprised at his tone. Her mouth was still open.
“Rachel, he was an evil man and he was stopped from harming anyone else. The end. No story. No gaping wound,” he said firmly. “There’s no story there.”
“Not his death. That’s not what I meant. It was your disappearance,” she explained.
“Rachel–”
“Your mom still lives in that house. She’s kept your room just as it was when you left it. She’s hired private investigators. Spent thousands, probably tens of thousands, to find you. You are the open, gaping wound, Grayson. What happened to you. That she lost you. That we lost you,” she insisted.
His shoulders drew in tightly against his body. “I don’t understand why that should be.”
She stared at him, completely perplexed. “You were loved, Grayson. You are loved. Do you not know that?”
He was halfway out of the booth and didn’t notice until she had a firm hold of his arm.
“You disappeared and no one could find you until you reappeared at a school for people who want to be Vampires. What happened between then and now? Where have you been? How did you do what you did?” Her eyes searched his.
His mother had clearly told Rachel what had happened.
“And you don’t think that’s a story? You don’t think that would haunt a person? ”
I’m Ashyr. Not Grayson. Ashyr!
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Kaito and Dani enter the coffee shop. The two of them were approaching him. Their shining Vampire eyes and barely hidden fangs were a warning. But Rachel was too intent on him to see.
She continued, “Please, if you won’t talk to me, talk to your mom. Grayson, she’s been destroyed by what happened. By not being able to protect you and not being able to find you all this time. Please talk to her.”
Grayson pulled away from her. He felt Dani’s hand on his back and Kaito’s warmth at his side. “This was a mistake. A mistake. We’re done here.”