'Abroad'
by
Samantha Henderson

H

orrified, I stared at the contents of the suitcase. "Jeremy!"

His half-shaved face appeared in the bathroom doorway.


"Jeremy, did you pack my pills?"

He vanished, returning with his face buried in one of the Hotel St. Jaques' pristine towels. "They're not in your bag?"

"No." And the bottle in my purse was empty.

We sat side by side on the bed. Automatically I wiped a stray blob of shaving cream from the duvet.

He took a deep breath. "Should we go back?"

I shook my head. "I'm not giving up my vacation. And neither are you."

"Remember what happened…before."

"I don't need reminding," I snapped. And I didn't. The dreams never let me forget: running dreams, dreams of the chase, the kill, the sweet scarlet flow.

I patted his arm. "Look, there's no need to panic. I'll call Dr. Ruthyn in the morning. It'll take days for the pills to wear off, anyway."

He looked at me, considering. "If you're sure…"

"Quite sure." I'd be damned if we left early. We'd both worked to hard for this.

We dined that night under a haunted Paris moon. As he held my chair, Jeremy whispered in my ear. "What did the doctor say about your medication?" He sounded worried. Silly boy. I never meant to hurt him, before.

"Didn't I tell you? I found it. Under my panties."

"Thank God." He smiled. Why alarm him? I knew I could master it this time. Of course I could. All it took was a little concentration, a little self-control.

Jeremy consulted with the waiter, and I absently probed my canine with the tip of my tongue. It was getting longer, sharper already.

The waiter returned with a green bottle, and poured a ruby stream into Jeremy's glass. He turned towards me, one eyebrow cocked in inquiry. "And Madam?"

"No thank you." I smiled. "I never drink wine."

 
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(c) Samantha Henderson, All Rights Reserved
 
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