Music of Souls (Chapter 4, page 2 of 9)

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Chapter 4

Jackson collected their glasses and poured their fourth drink. He handed Sarah hers, sat close, and put his arm around her, planting a gentle kiss on her temple. She sat with her head on his shoulder for a moment then began to weep softly. He offered an Irish linen handkerchief from his pocket and waited.

"His eyes were wild with fear," she sniffed, "I couldn't get him to listen to me. I kept saying, 'I would never hurt you, I love you', but he just kept trying to get away from me, begging me to let him go. Calling me a monster. He's never going to accept this."

Jackson took her face in his hands and found her eyes. "You know this is a huge shock for him and it's going to take time for him to adjust. You need to be patient and give him a little space. Allow him to digest the news."

"I should have listened to you and waited to tell him."

He would never say 'I told you so' at a time like this. "What the hell do I know? The bottom line is, if this guy really loves you, he will find it in himself to accept you, fangs and all."

Sarah chuckled through her tears. Jackson could always make her laugh regardless of her misery.

"Do you want me to talk to him?"

"Promise you won't hurt him or influence him?"

He flashed his most sardonic grin. "You're such a buzz kill. Let me just grab a quick shower."


Jackson returned to the drawing room to find Sarah exactly where he left her. She seemed so lost his heart ached for her. He bent over and kissed the top of her head. She tilter her head up and forced a smile. "I like you best in casual clothes, you seem less arrogant."

What an odd thing to say at a time like this, he thought. She seemed to be grasping for any distraction to dull the pain. Jackson's hair was still wet and slicked back. He wore black jeans, a dark gray Versace silk sport shirt with the cuffs rolled up, and a pair of A. Testoni loafers. "I'm not quite sure what to do with that information, but thanks, I guess. Anything special you want me to tell him?"

"Not really, just that I love him… and don't hurt him."

"Yeah, yeah, quit your nagging."

As he walked to the door leading to the basement, Sarah called after him, "Thank you."

"Haven't done anything yet!"


The 'holding cell' was a lavishly appointed 700 square foot room. It contained a sofa, two wing chairs, a queen size bed, a fully stocked wet bar, kitchenette, bathroom, wide screen TV, books, and magazines. All the comforts of home, except behind the rich brocade fabric walls stood twenty-four inches of rebar reinforced concrete and the door consisted of eight-inch diameter solid steel bars.

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