Esterville (Book 1)

Chapter 8: Police Station

After the rough encounter with Mike, Oliver quickly got dressed and put on his black sneakers.

"Maybe we should talk to Allison," suggested Amelia.

"If we do that, then more lives will get hurt." reminds Oliver, tying his laces.

"Hey, Olly?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the doctor?"

"I appreciate your concern, but I am okay."

This was the third time Amelia had asked that question, but Oliver couldn't blame her; she felt like it was her fault not being there in time.

Amelia didn't understand why Oliver is ignoring the smell of cooked flesh arousing from his hand; if she were in his shoes, she would scream and cut the hand off with a meat cleaver.

"Where do we go first?" asked Amelia, brushing away the strand of blond hair.

"Let's go to the police station, maybe they have something on Mike."

Though the vampire smiled, her gaze never left Oliver's hand.

It swelled continuously, like an angry pimple. Amelia recoiled at the sight of white pus and blood growing on the red surface.

She felt bad for not stopping the attack earlier.

  Before Mike's assault, Amelia was outside, finding her meal. She was thinking about tracking Max Fields down, but she knew that Oliver wouldn't let her.

Amelia stared hard at the light blue horizon. Its white clouds drifted lazily above her eyes.

"I am super bored," she moans to herself.

There is nothing to do in this shithole: bookstores, movie theaters, and restaurants bore her.

It was rare to find something new in Esterville.

Always, the food smells the same; Amelia would see men, women, and children getting out of their cars, carrying groceries.

Clothing stores sell different sizes of shoes, underwear, socks, pants, belts, and shirts, but the mannequins are old, the dressing rooms look disgusting, and women's footwear looked as if they were born in the 80s.

Just then, Amelia heard a strange, yelping sound coming from inside of the house.

At first, it sounded like a sheep crying, but as Amelia listened steadily, it was Oliver choking in the shower.

"Olly!" she cried.

Her pale fingers lifted up the windowsill, as she dashed into the bedroom, opened the bathroom door, and yanked the towel, which was hanging from the rack, and allowed Oliver to escape the torture box. 

Though coughing and wheezing, Oliver requested water, to which Amelia quickly disappeared, and returned with a glass of pale liquid. 

Staring down at the injured hand, Oliver puts his hand over it, and recites a Latin chant:

"Tui gratia loves gratia sit cures."

Immediately, the pus-filled blisters sank into the pores of his red hand. Oliver's teeth tore through the skin of his dry lips when the swelling begin to throb.  

"Ow!" cursed Oliver under his breath.

Amelia tries to touch his shoulder, but Oliver shrugged it off.

"I'm a little hurt, but I am fine." he reassured.

The vampire tried to smile, but she couldn't stop feeling concerned.