Chapter 2: Burn
It was dusk. The sun hung low on the horizon and should have painted the sky gentle shades of violet, peach and gold. But something was wrong. The sky burned red and angry, blazing and flickering like fire. Peter looked around him. His feet were bare and the grass was cool and damp beneath them. He was outside the Hemlock Grove chapel, the same chapel he nearly died in trying to stop Christina and trying to protect Letha.
The air around him was completely silent. There were no birds singing their last song of the evening, no whispering of wind through the leaves of trees, no distant car engines or faraway shouts of children. There was only the pure, oppressive silence.
Peter approached the church, but did not go inside. He walked alongside the external wall, running his hand across the cool stone masonry. Behind the building was the old cemetery, shadowed headstones jutting from the earth and silhouetted by the bloodied sky. There was someone standing in the graveyard, leaning against a headstone. The figure lifted a lit cigarette to its mouth and the cherry burned so brightly that Roman Godfrey's face was momentarily illuminated, as if on fire. His face returned to shadow as he exhaled, the smoke curling in halos around his hair.
Peter approached Roman and the silence turned to a roar, like a train tearing through a long tunnel. It wasn't until Peter was standing directly in front of him that Roman straightened, crushed his cigarette against the headstone and looked Peter in the face. He smiled wickedly and the roaring in Peter's ears died down and sounds returned to normal.
"You will not leave me," Roman said, his eyes wide and intense.
"What?" Peter asked. His mind felt dazed, drugged.
Roman placed his long elegant hands on either side of Peter's face. "You will not leave me. You will never leave me, Peter Rumancek. You cannot." The flickering sky lit Roman's face like a demon out of hell, all beauty and sharp angles. A drop of blood fell from Roman's nose into the grass, and then another. The drops became a steady stream but he did not wipe away the blood.
"But…I…" Peter stuttered.
"You belong to me." Roman smiled a frightening and beautiful smile, lips curling around sharp teeth and Peter flinched.
Roman's grip on Peter's face tightened and Roman's lips were on Peter's. His kiss was deep, powerful and tasted of blood. Though the hands on Peter's face were cool and dry, Roman's mouth was hot, his tongue probing. Unable to move away or break the kiss, Peter felt himself sinking. The heat was rising in his body, from his groin to his face. It was consuming him. He moaned into Roman's mouth. He felt as if he might be drowning, but couldn't convince himself to care. It felt too good, too easy…
Peter woke in a cold sweat, tangled in a blanket. His head was fuzzy and ached like a hangover, but he hadn't been drinking. He slowly heaved himself upright, rubbing the blur from his eyes.
He was on Destiny's couch. It smelled of stale cigarettes and patchouli, which made Peter's head spin painfully and crave a smoke. He pulled a crumpled cigarette from the pack on the table and lit it, inhaling slowly and deeply and exhaling to shroud himself in smoke.
That dream felt too real. Thinking about it caused Peter's stomach to flutter and tighten into knots. He needed a cold shower and to clear his mind. He and Destiny were planning to hit the road that afternoon and head west to stay with some relatives until they could make arrangements to meet Lynda in Romania. But something didn't feel right. As much as Peter wanted to flee, something in the back of his mind wouldn't allow it, something that whispered don't go...you can't go. Staying in Hemlock Grove would have serious consequences. Peter would be forced to live amongst the ghosts of Letha, Nadia, Miranda, Christina. The bodies were piling up around him and he wasn't sure he could stand to exist in their absences. Not to mention that he wasn't sure he could ever look Roman in the eye again after that dream. Admittedly, Peter had experienced some pretty weird dreams since his arrival in Hemlock Grove, but this one made his skin crawl. It wasn't the kiss that frightened him, per say. It was that horrible feeling of drowning, of losing control of his mind and will to live. It made Peter feel trapped, claustrophobic. It made him want to shed his skin and run until his legs were weak and his body exhausted. But for now, that wasn't an option.
Peter put out his cigarette and walked to the bathroom. Destiny must have left for the morning, probably gathering supplies and preparing for their departure. Peter ran his fingers through his hair and gave himself a hard look in the mirror. There were deep purple bruises streaking his rib cage and encircling his neck. To his surprise, the left side of his neck where Roman had bit him was nearly healed. Bruised severely, but the wound had closed leaving only a shiny pink scar tissue as evidence.
"What the fuck?" Peter asked aloud, examining his neck closer in the mirror.
Now, Peter healed quickly, a side effect of his condition, but this was too fast. He had expected at least a week before the wound healed to this stage. Peter sighed. The weirdness would never end, he guessed.
He turned on the cold water in the shower and stepped in. The water felt like a cleansing rain after the burn of his dream. That dream. Peter closed his eyes, recalling the details for any hint of purpose. Peter's dreams were often ominous and foreboding, foreshadowing things to come, but this one was different. In his mind's eye he could still see the scene vividly, the chapel, the sky on fire, Roman kissing him.
The cool water suddenly felt scalding, but Peter made no move to adjust the temperature. He was lost in the dream again, swimming in it, drowning in it. Peter was consumed by that mesmerizing heat that burned so hot if felt cold, or perhaps the other way around.
Somewhere in the apartment, a door slammed and Peter was shaken from his meditations. His eyes snapped open. He had braced himself against the shower wall; head hung and cool water streaming down his face. He was seriously aroused and seriously uncomfortable with the source. Peter groaned.
He could hear Destiny puttering around in the apartment, probably readying her things and packing a carpet bag stuffed with crystals, nag champa, beaded door-hangings, other hippie shit. Peter washed up quickly and got out of the shower. He tied a towel low around his waist and walked into the living room.
As predicted, Destiny was stuffing items haphazardly into a bag.
"I wonder if I'll be able to pick up anymore Nightshade before we leave for Romania. You never know when you'll need it," Destiny said absentmindedly. She glanced up at Peter and stopped in her tracks.
"Destiny, I can't go," Peter said solemnly.
"What the fuck are you talking about? This was your idea, Peter," Destiny said.
"I know. Things are really fucked up and I want to go, trust me. But I can't. I don't know how to explain it. But I just can't leave. I can't run away this time. Not yet," Peter said, pushing wet hair from his face and staring intently at the floor, afraid to meet Destiny's judging gaze.
"You mean you won't leave him. That boy has got you seriously fucked up, Peter. This codependent bullshit is so unlike you," Destiny said, hands firmly on her hips.
"I don't know what to tell you. Roman's my friend and I can't abandon him," Peter said.
"You did it before! If you hadn't come running back with your tail between your legs you'd probably be fucking happy and could have moved on from all this horrific shit. Instead, you came back and everything got worse. What the fuck do you think is going to happen if you stay?" Destiny said accusingly.
"Things will probably get worse!" Peter threw up his hands, exasperated. "You go, get out of Hemlock Grove. But I can't. I have to stay."
"Roman has done a number on you, you know that, don't you Peter? He's fucked with your head. You do realize you are covered in bruises, right? Let me guess, Roman beat the shit out of you and somehow tricked you into feeling like it's your fault. You don't owe him anything. He's an Upir and eventually he is going to lose control and he is going to kill you. He'll rip your throat out without thinking twice," Destiny spat.
Reflexively, Peter's hand flew to his throat before he could stop himself. He felt the heat rise in his face.
"You stupid bastard! He's already attacked you! You're lucky to be alive, Peter. Next time, you won't be so lucky." Destiny threw down her bag, turned on her heel and stormed out of the room. Peter sunk down on the couch, head between his hands.
He sat that way for a few moments, feeling guilty.
"Shit," he said aloud as he pulled on his jeans and some dirty shirt, threw on his jacket and walked out the door.