Blood: The Third Course

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Spencer lifted his toes away from the cold steps, feeling the way the bumps and ridges of the rough poured concrete dug into his skin on the bottom of his feet. He stared into the gloom of the basement, urging himself to take another step. The empty drain of withdrawals was nothing to the hollow he'd felt since August had told him what had happened to Paige.

Standing on the stairs, knowing that her body had been placed in that basement room, he wanted to feel more. He wanted to go through those five steps everyone talked about. He'd not been through them when he'd lost his life, he'd not had anything to grieve the loss of. He'd been opening himself to a whole new life, or afterlife. But Paige was gone.

He wanted to feel angry, to hate the men who had killed her, or that werewolf, Carson, for not returning Edeline as he'd said. He wanted to hate them, but he didn't. He hated himself, but even that was far away and echoed in a large chamber of nothing. He wouldn't cry, not now, and he wasn't sure he had the right to that release after everything he'd done. He had brought this about. He was responsible for both of Paige's deaths. He'd not stopped Thomas from committing that massacre in the coffee shop that meant Paige needed to make a choice, and he'd not stopped himself before he destroyed everything he held close.

A quiet murmur of a voice drifted up the steps, and Spencer leaned against the wall, listening to the quiet breathy sobs that broke forth. It was unrestrained grief in its purest, disbelieving form. Denial, that was one of the stages, wasn't it?

Spencer crept another step down into the basement. He knew that he shouldn't be listening, grief was a private thing, but empty as he felt, he couldn't help the pull that dragged him closer, eager to feel something, anything, even if it was through someone else.

"It's not fair," the voice said, cracking on the words. Spencer recognised it instantly. "We were supposed to have forever."

Thomas had been inconsolable when the news had first reached him, explained in small words by William. Thomas was a smart man, he could have been given the direct facts, but even William had known that this would not be easy news to take, so he made it as simple as possible. Paige was gone. She was dead. She would not be coming back.

He had howled a cry that echoed through the house. It had cracked into the hearts of everyone who lived there. Spencer had never been a believer in true, destined love, but Thomas' grief made him wonder. It had made him feel jealous, in a way. He wondered if anyone would grieve that way for him. After all he'd done, he doubted it.

Spencer turned away from the basement. He couldn't disturb Thomas' grief, not after he had been the one to cause it. He pushed the door open, grimacing as the door groaned and whined, as if it too were grieving. Glancing down the stairs, he chewed on his bottom lip. Thomas would know that somebody was there. He hoped that, if he fled, he wouldn't have disturbed him too much.

Before Spencer could take another step, Thomas appeared from the basement door, rubbing under his eyes with the heel of his hand. He hurried up the steps, barely giving Spencer a first glance, let alone a second, as he pushed past him and disappeared through the door. Spencer heard the padding footsteps running up the stairs, and he was sure that, should he wait and listen, he would hear a door close to Thomas' room.

There was nothing holding him back now, no excuses to justify not going to see her. She was his, his and August's. She deserved a proper goodbye.

Spencer crept down the stairs, each step slow, his hand braced against the rough brick wall. He felt every bump, focused on every inch of cold concrete sucking the warmth from his skin. He wished he was still in August's bed, curled up in the warm blankets as he waited for the blonde to return. He would roll his eyes and tell him that one of the others had taken an emergency stash without permission, or that two had gotten into a fight, which was why he'd been called downstairs. August would tell him that the feeling of emptiness that had plagued him all night was the absence of the voices Edeline's blood gave him access to. He would again urge him to go out and feed, reassure him that he would be with him to make sure nothing happened.

He longed for those hours of empty paranoia before he knew that there was nothing explainable about the way he felt right now.

The mattress had been covered in half a dozen blankets, a white sheet tucked in around the edges. Her body sank into them, and staring at her, Spencer could only think of the princess and the pea. He wondered if she would have felt it if he'd hidden a pea for her, or if she'd have sniffed out a token he hid. He would have driven her mad, little practical jokes. Thomas would have been in on it, of course, but he would break far too easily and tell her anything she wanted to know, including who had hidden vegetables in her bedding.

Who was he kidding, Spencer would have broken to. He would tell her anything she wanted to know.

He approached slowly, his gaze sweeping over her, seeing how she changed the closer he came. Her hands were greying, the nails soon to be black, but her face was still tanned and smooth. The texture was wrong, and when Spencer took a seat beside the mattress, his fingers drifting over her cheek, he recognised the silky touch of make-up. It had been Heather, no doubt. He made a note to thank her, giving them Paige as she had looked.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, the tips of his fingers to her hair, smoothing it in the places it had become mussed. "I never wanted you caught up in this. I would change it all. I would take it all back."

The thin white blouse was translucent in spots over her collarbone and a tang of salt hung in the air. He wished he could cry, to give over something to her, even if it was only tears.

"I can't take it back. I can't fix anything. I can't..."

The material didn't hide the half rings of cuts down her arms. Taking her hand, Spencer turned it over, his gaze falling on her wrist. A curve had been carved there, right at the point where Spencer would have bitten for a good draw on a vein. Edeline's scars would have been different, two piercings instead of a solid curve, but the voice echoed in his head.

"Just a little, Spencer. Get the taste back again. Remind yourself of what it should feel like."

Spencer shook his head. She wasn't here, and there was nothing left to take. She couldn't save him, any more than he could save her. All those promises were gone, taken because of what he had done. A life with Thomas, with August watching over her. With him.

"But when I get to know you, I'll let you know if I like you."

She'd never had the chance to get to know him. He'd not been able to get to know her. She was a voice in his head, as detached and addictive as the ones he'd craved drinking Edeline's blood. Paige would never know if she liked him.

Only, the voice that came to him wasn't Paige's. It didn't sound like her at all. His breath came faster, more desperate, as he searched for it again, hoping that this time it would sound like her. She'd sounded like she was smiling. Even when she was frustrated, as she'd been on the nights of her turning, he could hear the smile. But there was no smile. The words were hollow and cold. Spencer lurched over as he realised it was his just his own voice, repeating back her words, nothing more than a bad actor reciting an old scene from an unfinished play.

She was already gone, and no matter what Spencer had thought during his withdrawal, when he'd wanted nothing more than to be alone within his head... now he was truly alone.