Short Story / anti- twiliight
Do you have any idea how much it fucking sucks to grow up Catholic? Seriously, I was a little Catholic schoolgirl until I finally got away from Mom and Dad and went to college. I went to St. Agnes of the Heart Academy, a little school in desperate need of renovation that was tacked onto a church. I was an only child, squished between my parents every Sunday at the 9:30 mass, and dropped off alone for Wednesday night youth meetings. Never had a date, forget about sex. I’ve never smoked pot, or played chicken in the middle of summer in a public pool with my friends, or even broken a bone. Nothing interesting ever happened before I went to college.
I’m half laughing as I admit, I even looked the part of the Catholic innocent! I’m German crossed with some kind of Anglo Saxon or French. There’s dark hair that couldn’t make up it’s friggin’ mind whether to have ringlets or be wavy, or to be brown or auburn. It’s hard as hell to take care of, so I had it cropped so it falls right to my shoulders. I have a short ‘chubby bunny’ build my friends always tried to tell me was fine. Whatever. It doesn’t really matter now.
Every teenager rebels once they get out of their parents’ pockets. It’s expected, right? I mean, some get into drugs, alcohol, some drag race, some just start fucking anything in sight. Most of those things are stupid. For me, probably because of the no-choices religious background, it was Santeria.
Yeah, kinda stupid. I just ran across it, found out it’s actually in some of my family history. One of my great grandmothers was a priestess in Louisiana, the black sheep that people don’t talk about. The whole thing for me was about finding a different thing, it was something for me, to help me get rid of all the Catholic bullshit. Maybe that’s why my great grandmother was into it. The oreshas, the spirits, were simple. There was one for everything, and a way to ask one for anything. Everything in Santeria is about here on earth instead of concentrating on heaven or hell. It’s all about now. I like that. If more of the world’s people were Santeria, maybe we’d be more interested in fixing things. Christians all just want to go to heaven, they’re happy to let the world go to shit with pollution and overpopulation. More souls for the Pope to send to heaven, I guess. Maybe the popes are really just encouraging overpopulation because there’s a secret competition to get the most people into heaven and the best Pope gets a prize. I wish Sister Francesca could hear that, but I never want to see her again, dried up old bulldog, complete with the drool…
Anyway, I wanted to be a lyalorisha, a priestess, though I guess I can still do that.
One day I was looking up Eshu one day in the university library. He’s the oresha of trickery, luck, and many other things, but I was mostly interested in luck. It’s embarrassing to be a Santeria in rural, podunk, Stephenville, Texas. I’m irritated with myself that I couldn’t even get to school in Austin or Houston or Corpus Christi where they’re more accepting. Because of the whole idiot redneck thing, I carefully cleared the search window on the computer after I found where the books I wanted were. No one to my right or left on the other computers was looking when I checked. Each of the ten users were each busy with their own shit: research papers, Myspace, and in the case of the guy on the end who was desperately trying to turn his screen so no one else could see it, porn. What, is he going to jerk off under the table?
Either way, I had my own stuff to do, and I really didn’t want to know the answer to that question!
I hate university decorators. Someone needs to shoot them. No matter where you go, it’s the same stupid institutional carpet, shelves, lighting, ceiling tiles, completely monotonous. The stacks aisles are enough to drive anyone insane, row after row in column after column, seven shelves high and forty long of books that only get checked out or looked at once a year, if they’re lucky, usually because a professor is making some poor student write a paper. I’ve roamed through them enough times in the past two months in search of books, I’m pretty familiar with them. I never can remember where the ‘Alternative Religions’ section is, though, so I just meander around for half an hour, wasting the afternoon, until I find it.
When I did find it, there was already another girl standing there. Unusual, but I thought she was probably looking around in the Christian section. She looked the type. Everyone knows- a plain girl with religiously long hair (this model’s was auburn) pulled back in a low ponytail, scuffed sneakers to match the dowdiness of a baggy light blue t-shirt tucked into a pair of high waisted Mom jeans. The eyes behind the knockoff tortoiseshell glasses were sharp when she looked up and saw me turning into that lane of books.
She was standing in front of My shelf. Huh.
She noticed where I was headed. Apparently she was even more possessive of this collection of books. Her eyes sharpened. Her thick eyebrows puckered together.
I gave her the firm ‘Hey, I’m trying to be nice, but shut up!’ smile and reached for the first of the call numbers on the paper I was holding.
“You’re into Santeria?” Why do people ask questions like that? She read the spine on the damn book, we both knew it!
“Kinda.” If necessary, I’d tell her it was for a project. I’d gotten unlucky and it was the only topic left. Everyone bought that.
“Halloween perked up your interest?” Her purring voice was somehow harsh on the ears as she teased.
It was only a few days away, she was right. It was actually going to be on a Saturday this year. “No, I’m studying for something.”
“Personal or academic?”
“Kinda personal.” I thought maybe she’d take a hint.
It turned out she had other plans.
“Would you be interested in a Black Mass?”
“What?”
Her eyes were very odd at that point. She was smiling blandly, but there was a spark in her eye. Like she had a secret, or was in on some great joke. “A Black Mass. The opposite of a Catholic or Anglican Mass, you know?”
“I know. I’m Catholic, I mean, I was raised Catholic.”
“Oh. Then you’re Santeria now?”
“Yes. And you’re a Satanist or something?”
“Satanist is a bit of a harsh word. I prefer not to judge others, and like to be treated the same.”
“Okay.”
“Look, I’ve got a three-fifty to get to, so I need to be quick. My name is Melanie. There’s a Black Mass this Saturday, and since it’s All Hollow’s Eve, we’re trying to bring new people in for the new year. Recruits, kind of. If you’re interested, here’s my phone number.” She passed me a pre-written slip of paper from her canvas purse. “It might be interesting just to attend, maybe?”
I met those creepy eyes above her forceful smile, and felt my hand numbly accept the paper. “Okay. I’ll see if I can make it,” I managed.
“It’s in a private place, due to the nature, so don’t wait until the last minute. You’ll probably have to come with me. I hope I’ll hear from you soon!”
I’d just met a friggin’ Satanist. My Catholic roots should have been shaking. They kind of were. The rule for me, though, is that I have to also be torn by my choices, so I was also very, very curious.
I called Melanie back Thursday night. She was very cool over the phone, crisp. She arranged to meet me in a parking lot behind an old groundskeepers house that was across from the student center. I didn’t even know there was a parking lot there. She said I didn’t need to bring anything. In fact, it was best if I left everything at home, just so it wouldn’t get lost because it might be hard for me to get back.
What do you wear to a Black Mass? I found myself frowning, flipping thru my closet Saturday afternoon. I was supposed to meet her at sunset.
The whole thing was a joke, I knew it. They couldn’t be serious. That or I was going to meet a bunch of bleach blond Baptist daughters who were doing their best to rebel and punish Daddy.
Long black dress? A robe so I could jump out nude? I shook ‘Ninth Gate’ visions from my head.
Flip flops, comfortable jeans, a nice pink sequined shirt, hair down around my face. I dabbed on some basic makeup. Look nice, but don’t make it look like you’re striving.
On the walk to where Melanie had asked me to meet her I had to skitter thru the crosswalks and shoo away the stupid Kappa Delta Rho boys in their four door red truck, cruising as they do nightly for girls.
Her car wasn’t parked, she was just waiting for me in her little white car, a crapmobile Lumina like half the students owned. She was icy, silent, as she let me in and slowly brought the car around in the parking lot.
We headed south on Washington, towards Dublin. Somewhere after a huge dull tin plated indoor flea market painted with a red ‘Chicken House’ sign she turned left onto one of the ranch roads. Ranch road in this area means bumpy, dusty, and narrow. You’re lucky if it’s paved. Yeah, this one wasn’t…
As we jostled along, I looked out the window. The brushy thickets and trees swiped by, the indistinct black shapes backlit by the vermillion streaked indigo clouds of the Texas sunset. A set of disembodied headlights appeared a good ways behind us, peering and swiping between the curves and thru the kicked up cloak of yellow white dust to surprise my eyes with a jab. On a particularly straight stretch, I saw some tail lights up ahead. They turned to the left.
Half a mile later, Melanie pulled the wheel about to follow that car thru a gate. The car parked in a messily arranged grassy parking area that was interspersed with trees. I got out and found myself standing in thigh-high grass. The sunset sky was gone, that or I couldn’t see it thru the trees. The only light came from what a group of a twenty people or so were holding as they stood further away from the road. The flashlights made sense, but why were they holding candles and lanterns?
Black candles and red daubed lanterns, why didn’t I see that coming?
Melanie grabbed a mass of black from the back of the car and slammed the door. “Everyone, this is Bridget La Croix.”
“Is she the lamb?” one girl curiously asked, peering around some bigger people at me.
She was immediately shushed, and swatted by one of the guys.
I tried to correct them. “Uh, I’m not a Phi Lamb, sorry.”
“Who from there would be here?” a boy laughed, invisible to me.
“Well, the leader’s really bitchy…”
“Samantha’s a different kind of evil.” Melanie grinned, beckoning for me to walk towards the group with her. That spark was in her eye again. “We admit we’re evil.”
Without a word, they turned and began walking thru the grass in single file.
Okay, there was a trail. I could feel the rocks and not grass thru the soles of my shoes. It was narrow, though. Thorns lightly traced my calves as I walked along. This definitely wasn’t a people trail. A deer path? My eyes gradually acclimated. I started to be able to see the tree trunks, the vague outline of the thickets, and a few of the people in front of me.
Melanie, directly in front of me, began pulling the black shape over her head. It fell to her feet and over her wrists. She pulled the hood of the robe over her head.
It was just too quiet. Even the crickets were silent. All I could hear was the crunch of rocks and leaves underfoot. Someone behind me cursed in pain. Apparently a briar caught them somewhere painful. Others ahead were putting on robes.
The path stopped abruptly with the bushes on either side backing off, letting out in a classroom sized grassy clearing. They turned the flashlights off. The stars were visible overhead, I saw. By the light of the stupid lamps and candles I could see that the clearing was entirely ringed by those stupid thorny bushes, mesquite, ivy, whatever bushes all around. The only exit from the space was directly behind me.
And, behind me in a circle blocking the way out, were my robed guides, all holding a black candle.
One of the taller boys was chanting as he poured a green bottle of cheap wine out on the grass.
“Lilith, accept this libation of earth. Shaitan, accept this lamb of humanity.”
‘Lamb of humanity…’ At that point, things clicked. I panicked and rushed them just as the mouth of every other person there opened in a shout of “Ave, Satanas! Vade, Patris, Filius, et Espiritu Sanctu!”
Needless to say, I didn’t get through. The bastards shoved me down and almost every one of them started kicking me.
Let’s not get into the pain. Let’s just say it isn’t nice to feel your skin being torn by blunt force among other injuries.
Somewhere around the fourth time I got kicked in the head, I was way past screaming in anger or for pity. I was actually relaxing into unconsciousness while they kept beating me to death. I heard an electric roar and saw thru the splintery yellow stars of my layered concussion a bright reddish orange glow.
“SATAN IS HERE! I HAVE COME TO COLLECT YOUR SOULS!” a loud, charged voice yowled.
The crowd apparently wasn’t that enthusiastic about their dark lord. They scattered, leaving me, and I fell asleep.
There was something wet on my neck and wrists. Wetter on my neck, and freaking cold. Wetter than the bumpy ground I was laying on. My neck and wrists burned. Everything burned and tingled in a circulation cut off and being restored unpleasant way. I couldn’t freaking move, and affter all of the indignities and bad suprises of the night, that pissed me the fuck off.
I didn’t have long to be pissed before I passed out again.
I woke up on a hard surface made up of plank-like shapes pressing into my back. Someone moved near me, murmurring softly in a female voice. A door was opened, and I was pulled into a house by my wrists. Whoever it was let out a few curse words as they hauled my limp body onto some nappy carpet.
Apparently my sense of smell had returned, because I could swear I was in one of the boys dormitories. No matter how clean they are, men have this certain smell. It’s not a bad one, it’s just a weird smell that only a place inhabbited by two or more men will ever have.
The place was silent. I either passed out or fell asleep soon after the girl put my arms over my chest.
My next waking was in the same place, just moved. Sunlight was petering thru some blinds and thin curtains into my eyes, and it hurt like hell.
“Hey, honey, do you feel okay?”
“Where the fuck am I?” I struggled to sit up and was supported by whoever.
“Uh, you’re at M’s house. Well, M’s and mine and Thomas’.”
“Why am I here?”
“Well, I’m not sure, but I think Alexandra ditched you here…”
“Whadda what?” I slowly turned my stiff body and glared at this girl.
The long haired blond girl stared at me with grey eyes. “Alexandra, one of my friends, she left you here. You smell like her. Anyway, I found you on the porch.”
“Why would she do that?”
“What’s your name?” she quickly chirped, looking towards the television and crossing her legs.
“Bridget La Croix.”
“Bridget, honey, there’s nothing wrong and you’re perfectly safe. But she kinda turned you into a vampire.”
Bridget freaked out for a while. I really don’t blame her for how much she spazzed out. I mean, when something bad happens, people should be allowed to freak out.
I remember my first few days enough to know I was in too oppressive of an atmosphere to freak out. I don’t even know my creator’s name, but he infected me and then tried to make me his little slave slash pet in his stupid New York City apartment. I hate cities, I hate being forced into doing chores, I hate frilly little dresses, and I really hate the fact that I wasn’t allowed to ask questions or talk without being yelled at. I’m just glad the idiot gave up and dropped my in the hands of one of his ‘old buddies’, really just an acquaintance who put up with him. That acquaintance was M. He sorted me out, but more about that later.
So, I let her yell and moan her feelings out, as long as she was shouting at nothing in particular, for half an hour until she sat down on the end of the small blue couch and started crying. Then I handed her a mug of chamomile mint tea and gently wrapped her up in my favorite Navajo blanket. I remember being so cold my first year, brrr!
As I usually did, I sat on the carpet in front of the couch.
Bridget suspiciously eyed the cup, which I had made in a pottery class. Yeah, it wasn’t very nice, but I’d worked hard on it! Why was she staring at it?
“Can I drink this?” Her little nose wrinkled.
“Oh, yeah! Tea, coffee, that’s fine. Just nothing with added sugar or too much natural sugar, or it’ll make you sick.” That was a relief. I loved that ugly mug, I’d had the thing for longer than this new vampire had been alive! That was worth a laugh even if nothing about this situation was.
She sipped at it, and it gradually calmed her down. Poor thing had been dumped outside half comatose like a wet kitten.
She frowned. I’d seen her frown a dozen times, but I hadn’t seen her smile yet. That sucked. Seeing people happy is so much more fun than seeing them sad. “How long have I been here?”
“You were left here at 7 am, right after everyone else left,” I promptly replied.
“Wait, what day is it? I thought it was Sunday, why were people going to work?”
“It’s Monday, sweet. You probably slept all day Sunday, changing is sorta hard on a person’s body. Lots of stress.”
I hope she didn’t know she’d been out long enough since she was dropped off for me to replace her clothes with a blanket, dry them, and put them back on her. You know, she probably never would need to know that, I reasoned using my favorite, wiggly and malleable version of right and wrong.
“What time is it now-“
She reached into her pants pocket and flipped out a cell phone.
Dammit.
“Why’s my phone dead?! My parents are going to freaking kill me!” she shrieked, setting down the mug on the coffee table.
I kept silent. Nudity was not an issue for me, but most people got really embarrassed, even in this second millennium.
“One more reason for me to kill those damned Satanist bitches! They broke my phone!”
The corner of my mouth twitched briefly upward before I stifled it. It’s amazing how, without further information, people come to their own assumptions.
By the time people started petering in thru the unlocked front door for the nightly hangout session, she had settled down, which was a good thing. This house was grand central station for the local vampire population. Vampires from Glen Rose, Morgan Mill, even Fort Worth tended to pass thru it’s front door, usually without an explicit invitation. They usually either needed to talk to M, meet another vampire somewhere private for a talk, or just wanted to hang out somewhere that they didn’t have to worry about the snacks giving them massive diarrhea.
Bridget was puzzling her way thru things. “So, I’m a vampire. Alexandra, she sucked out my blood and transformed me into a living undead?”
“Now, that’s a bit rude. You need to chill out and think, really.” I flipped my hair behind my shoulder and adjusted my headband. “Everything is practical, even this. Vampirism is nothing more than a disease. I’ve been studying it for years, and you can trust me. I’ve earned a college biology degree, plus ones in psychology and history, and I study the folklore behind vampirism as a hobby.” I straightened proudly and re-crossed my legs when she raised an eyebrow. “I’ve looked at this from every angle. It’s just a stupid communicable disease that’s spread via saliva or blood. Like HIV, it’s a lentivirus, but-“
“Sugar, I’m thankful, but I have no freaking idea what you’re talking about!”
I blinked at Bridget, and found myself bursting into giggles. “I did it again. Okay, I need to be more simple. It’s-“
We both looked toward the front door when we heard a car park outside.
“That’ll be Remus and David. Thomas may have caught a ride with them-“
A soft clang and muttering of “Oh, piss!” made me grin. He’d fumbled his bike coming up the porch steps again. Thomas always cusses so funny! It was amazing the old Schwinn held together so well with him dropping it every other day. It, like my mug and many other things used around the house, was older than Bridget. In fact, it nearly outdated my own life as a vampire!
The big guy’s normally genial face was very surprised when he walked in and saw the girl on the couch. He reached up and pulled his golfing cap off his bald pate. “Hello, Miss-?”
“Bridget La Croix. Apparently I’m the new vampire on the block.”
“It’s a pleasure. I’m Thomas Beins, one of the English professors at the university.”
It’s amazing to me that no one has figured out that Thomas is older than he seems. Aside from his manners and refusal to learn to drive, the man wears a tweed suit, bow tie, muslin shirt, and loafers every day. Not exactly the modern man, but his habits are harmless and he’s stuck in them.
I grinned and watched them shake hands. “I was just explaining things. She just came out of it an hour ago.”
“Oh, dear!” He chuckled, eyes twinkling.
The only person I know who can be described at any point as ‘eyes twinkling’…
“Don’t let her chew your ear off. Claire will do that at times, but she knows more than I do on this particular topic.” He smiled before he took his normal seat in the armchair beside the couch. The usual stack of papers came out of his ancient leather valise along with a red pen, and he began marking papers, occasionally tisking.
“So, uh… where was I? Wow!”
The door slammed open. David and Remus walked in, both gloomy faced. I guessed they had been talking about something outside. Apparently the conversation hadn’t settled anything.
“Uh-oh. Are you two alright?”
“Since when is anything alright?” David growled, his dark head hunched. He took off his huge backpack and placed it just out of the hallway while Remus, who was half a head taller, pulled a kitchen chair into the living room and sat down.
The boys, as I had thought of them for the past handful of years since I met them, wore identical black leather trenchcoats, and there the resemblance stopped. David had buzz cut black hair, and Remus had shaggy sandy colored hair that he styled to stand arced up in the front. David was Hispanic, Remus was Swedish. Remus’ hair bounced with his movement as he seated himself, always a source of amusement for me, but for now I had some chores to do.
“Make sure M won’t trip on that bag! Guys, this is Bridget, she’s new.”
“New? Who turned her?”
I frowned slightly, avoiding Remus’ eyes and setting my jaw for the reaction that I knew would come. “Um, Alexandra.”
“Oh, great!”
He was always so negative about her. I can’t say I blame him considering what happened (dirty laundry that won’t be aired here, it’s completely off topic) but you can get tired of ice being cold. Anyway, I verbally pushed him back down. “There’s a reason she’s here! Alex dumped her this morning.”
“Why is that stupid bitch dropping her trash off here?!” Remus immediately spat, his attitude immediately darkening as his initial surprise and anger turned to resentment.
“She didn’t know what to do. It all happened accidentally, from what Bridget’s told me.”
“So, she’s not Alex’s new pair of ears or anything, right?” Slightly less foreboding as he edged off that topic, Remus still frowned at the poor new girl. She was bewildered enough without him making things worse. He just needed a few pokes in a new conversational direction to lighten up.
“No, she’s our new friend! Now be nice, you’re going to scare her!”
“She’s a vampire! She should be scared!” David snapped. He turned and stared at Bridget. “Welcome to hell, kid.”
“That was absolutely uncalled for, and I will not tolerate that kind of language in this house!” Thomas swiftly thundered, scowling like Zeus himself.
“Especially considering the circumstances!” I added. Yeah, my statements tend to be flagging tails on other people’s more important proclamations. “Either be helpful with Bridget, or get out!”
“You can’t kick us out. We’re here to talk to M before we all go eat later.” David tried to bluff.
I cattily grinned. “I’ll get him to throw you out and pay Richard to bring him dinner!” It would cost me fifty dollars plus sweet talking to get him in the mood for slipping a few pints out of the hospital blood bank, but Bridget really didn’t deserve to have her first few days miserable. Good first days are important. Besides, innocently obtained human blood was sooooo good, like chocolate, and it would make a nice meal to celebrate Bridget’s arrival. “M will be here in fifteen minutes, and you know he hates walking in on arguments. Either shut up, or good luck having that conversation with him.”
“Why don’t you get kicked out?” David glared at me.
I sweetly smiled back. “First of all, I pay rent. Second of all, I help cook and keep the place tidy. Third, I don’t irritate M and Thomas. Fourth and most important, I sex him up!”
“Okay, guys, TMI!” Bridget’s hands abruptly flew into the air on either side of her head. It was kind of like a cute version of a football referee calling a touchdown, without the whistle and obtuse uniform. “How about I ask some questions now. What the hell can I eat, because I’m hungry!”
“No bread or pasta. We can’t digest it.” Having momentarily lowered a video game manual that his backpack had given birth to from his nose, Remus shrugged and went back to perusing the pages. That was all the effort he was going to offer.
“Um, you’re from around here, you know we’re in the middle of cattle country, and one hour from a metroplex. So, use the traditional options of vampires for basic hunger.” I smiled, hoping she could guess.
She still looked confused.
Having lightened up, David sat down on the other end of the couch from Bridget and nonchalantly explained, “You can get a wide bore needle and collection kit and steal cow’s blood, calves if you’re picky-“
“Peuchen, Andean vampires, drink sheep’s blood!” I tossed in and laughed. Those old nook legends about us are so funny. I’d have to show her the collected stories, just like I had showed the others. “Or you can buy black market human blood. It’s really expensive for good stuff.”
Deep in his manual, Remus’ voice came out muffled. All you could see was the fluffy tips of his hair. “Just watch out for HIV, we’re already immunocompromised.”
“What can I eat now?!” Bridget sounded like a hungry puppy fixing to gnaw on a leather shoe, and her big eyes looked it. Having woken up and waited a few hours, her first real hunger was setting in.
This was very telling with most infected people. Either they were impatient by nature and stooped to eating humans, or they were more patient and would eat other more difficult or time consuming foods.
I carefully slowed down. “The boys are going out for beef blood when it gets dark. You can go with them or stay here. They’ll bring me and Thomas some in a bottle.”
“I don’t like having farmers shoot salt rock shotgun shells at me, thank you kindly!” he laughed, setting the papers in his bag.
“Can I drink more tea?”
“Yes.” I got up and headed into the kitchen, thinking.
I love my little kitchen. M cooks sometimes, Thomas loves cooking lessons, but I pretty much have staked out the kitchen. What was I doing, again? I turned towards the door, and saw Bridget.
Oh, yeah. Tea, and quick food. “We could get you some shrimp from China Palace!”
“Shrimp?”
“Solid protein. Think about it, we drink blood because it’s protein syrup. Cold shrimp is good!”
“That actually sounds delicious…”
From the look on her face, she had probably disdained seafood during his life.
“Let’s order in!” David cheered. He loved shrimp. He’d developed a taste for sushi while he was alive and on weekend passes from Nam to Japan, and it had transferred well.
“Why can’t we get takeout? It’s only a block away.”
I soothingly smiled at Bridget’s confusion and anxious yearning for sustenance. “It’s the virus we all have. Your eyes stay very dilated, that’s why the light hurts. We wear sunglasses, but it still gets in thru the sides. You really do want to avoid sunshine. Fifteen minutes going to and from class is the most that’s bearable.”
“Okay, fine, ordering in sounds just great!” she petulantly begged.
“Poor thing’s hungry.” I tisked and reached for the wall phone.
David laughed. “You sound like my mom!”
Bridget was in the middle of peeling and gulping down half a pound of shrimp at the kitchen table, with me nibbling on the one every once in a while, when M walked in. He abruptly stopped in the hallway when he saw Bridget’s unfamiliar face, a shrimp tail disappearing between her teeth. Remus and David went silent and still in the living room, awaiting his judgment of the newbie.
I could tell by how he was slouching and how deep the lines were between his eyes, it hadn’t been a good day.
Oh, Crap. There goes the welcome wagon, crashing down the street towards that ‘Stop’ sign with no driver, and on fire…
I, being the only one in the kitchen with the interloper, immediately came under his line of fire. “Claire, who is this?”
I hate it when he’s quiet. “Matthew, this is Bridget La Croix.”
He continued without moving, in the exact same tone. “Why is she here? And please tell me she’s just a little pale and has a thing for seafood.”
“She’s just a pale person and adores seafood.”
“Claire!”
I cringed at the sudden shout. “Alexandra infected her last night after a group beat her most of the way to death. She left her here right after you left this morning.”
“I hate that girl!” he immediately exploded, carefully putting down his laptop case before he ripped off, balled up, and threw his coat in a corner. “She left a vampire here, probably made you miss class-“
“Only one, and it won’t matter! Bridget needed me!”
“I know! Alex needs to learn to think!”
“She panicked!” I hate pleading the case of someone that I know did wrong, but he really needed to lighten up, if not just for Bridget’s sake.
“Look, I can leave if I’m a problem!” she shouted in the middle of it, standing.
I hadn’t expected that, and neither had M, apparently. He silently stared at her.
She smiled stiffly. “Thank you very much for helping me, Claire. I’ll go to my dorm now.”
I shook my head and stood with her, pleading. “Bridget, you barely know anything, you’ll make yourself sick or get yourself killed!”
“If I’m not welcome-“
“M just doesn’t like surprises.” I turned back to him and tried to smile. “Honey, why don’t you go upstairs and take a nice, long bath.” He had probably already been thinking about one before he’d walked in. They always made him feel better. “I’ll take Bridget back to her place tonight, or she’ll stay in my room. She won’t be a bother to you.”
“The bath sounds fantastic.” He passed the door to the kitchen, then came back and emphatically caught my eye. “We’ll discuss the rest,” he meaningfully added. I had the oddest feeling that I was in trouble and that I wasn’t going to get out of it that easily. But, I knew I hadn’t done anything wrong!
While I puzzled that out, M headed up the stairs to the second floor, reminding them, “Guys, knock on the door when it’s time.”
“What do I need to know that’s so urgent?” Bridget sighed.
“How to get a meal and what not to eat. You’ll get a practical lesson in hunting tonight if you want to go with the guys. You can’t eat sugar, carbohydrates, and most vegetables. Any fruit with low sugar content is fine, though.”
“So, humans are off the menu?”
I raised my right eyebrow. “Is there someone you want to kill or infect?”
“About twenty, actually.” A dark expression crossed her face, most of it focused in the grim, absolute tightening of her lips.
“Okay. But no one in this group will want anything to do with you afterward.” I smiled firmly. “That’s why we don’t associate with Alex. She’ll actually eat human blood, killing her unwilling donors. It’s too easy to live on meat and animal blood, and that helps us stay on the lighter side of the law. Having people suspect that you’re murdering people makes it hard to stay in an area for too long, and then we have to move and get new identification and all of that mess.” I’d moved too many times since ’67. I sat down again on the floor, and she slowly seated herself on the couch again.
Remus and David started to talk about one of Remus’ military shooting video arcade games. Thomas set down another red covered paper and picked up a fresh page.
“You use fake IDs?” Bridget inquired like she was asking if I liked green tea.
“I was born in 1951. If I told someone I’m-“ I had to pause and stare at the ceiling for a moment. “fifty-eight years old, would they believe me? No. I get a new ID every eight years or so, and say I’m either older or younger than I look. All of us do.”
“How old are you?”
“Biologically? Seventeen. I can get away with going to high school, working a low rung job, or going to college. It’s cool.” I shrugged.
“Why don’t you age?”
“It’s complicated. Our bodies stop metabolizing most things, so we kind of go into a living stasis. The main contributor is our diet: not being able to eat carbohydrates dramatically slows aging because there’s no more free radicals from digesting those things building up. I can explain it in more detail-”
“No, please!” Bridget’s squeaky plea brought a few bouts of laughter from the next room and, as sometimes happened in our thin-walled house, the floor above.
“Shut up!” I shouted at the ceiling. “I’ll turn on the dishwasher!”
“I’m not in the shower, troublemaker!”
“I hate him,” I muttered under my breath, thinking quickly about what to tell her next-
“No, you don’t!”
“Oh, just take your stupid bath!”
“As you insist, Mistress!” Apparently the bath had done it’s job of relaxing M. Now he was just spending time until the hunt, probably reading a book in the tub.
I held my breath. No matter what I say, M always gets me. Length of existence has no bearing on this, I’ve found. He’s too clever for me ever to get the last word or the best witty comment. “Now, your skin is going to get paler gradually from here on out-“
“Why?”
I took another deep breath, for another reason. “Infected persons gradually lose their skin color, their melanin, by metabolic processes. Your body cannibalizes melanin, reverses the process that normally turns the amino acid tyrosine into melanin, but only when you get stressed.”
“Simple English!”
“You’ll gradually turn white, with your freckles and moles disappearing first. Eventually, even your scar tissue is the same color as your skin, that’s why people think we’re invulnerable to injury. African vampires turn white in 20 years. You’ll look odd in about 3 years, for now no one will be able to tell by your skin. Just try to stay calm,” I finished.
“So, I’ll end up looking like Thomas? And why do you look normal?!”
I grinned. I was very proud of my ‘barely pale’ skin and ‘freckled’ nose. “Honey, I’m as pale as Thomas. Thomas just doesn’t wear makeup. You’re going to want to use cover-ups like spray-on tans, a spray-on makeup kit like I’ve got, and blush to hide how pale you’ll end up being. Brown eyeliner is good for freckles and moles, if you memorize where you put them. When you end up with bruises under your eyes from getting thin-“
Bridget snorted and crossed her arms, emphatically wiggling her torso. So what if she was husky now, it didn’t matter.
“-use some concealer makeup on them.”
“Hello, I doubt getting too skinny is going to be an issue!” she bitterly pointed out.
I smiled softly. “No matter what, you’ll lose weight. You’ll end up thin, your body is going to cannibalize anything you don’t need to live, in order to live with the disease. Thomas used to be clinically obese, and M is a string bean! M’s the oldest vampire here.”
“How old?”
“He won’t say, but if you don’t make a big deal about it he’ll reference things that no other vampire I’ve met has mentioned.”
“Like?”
“A mundane example? The Civil War.” This should be good, I internally giggled.
“Cool, 140 years.”
“The British Civil War.”
“They never had a civil war!”
“Yes, they did, in 1641.”
“That’s 350 years!” Bridget squeaked.
“Stop talking about me or I’ll do something!” M threatened, his happy tone missing a few notches.
“He’s also got great ears.”
“That’s it, I’m wiping my ass on your bedcovers!” It was back!
I giggled. “Fine, I’ll just wash them!”
“You’ll have to sleep with them tonight!”
“See? I can’t ever win!”
Bridget chuckled with me, downing the last of her second cup of tea.
Ironically, with her smiling, I frowned. “You were really dehydrated. You should have peed by now.”
“How much TMI goes on around here?” Bridget loudly consulted.
“A lot!” David and Remus chorused from the next room.
“Shut up and turn on the television or I'll make you go get venison!” I pretended to be irritated, silently laughing.
“Hey.” Bridget suddenly frowned once more, holding something and eyeing her pants. “Why is my phone wet?”
Oh, crap…
Ch 3: Civilians are nuts, video games are educational, and tranq-ing a friend is sometimes justified.
So, I held the barbed wire rungs on the fence up and pushed the next wire down so Remus could slip through from the short cropped pasture grass to the long, chigger infested grass and weeds of the roadside. No worries about snakes, even they hate us.
A quarter of a mile away, the farmhouse stayed as dark as when I’d scoped it out on the way in, half an hour ago. Farmer’s car was parked the garage, and the only two lights on were in the bathroom and on a bedside lamp. He was dead asleep, just a mound under a blanket, and his wife was reading one of those trashy novels, a fingernail between her teeth.
Remus grouched when that mess of hair predictably caught on the metal thorns and tugged a lock out of his scalp. Then his coat got caught.
“You should have left it in the car like I did.”
“In a video game, you would probably be the irritating, know it all coach from the introductory training sequence,” he grunted, shouldering the four wine bottles he’d tied together with nylon rope. Some cheap corks easily sealed in the field.
“Sorry that I just know how to run a recon operation. I guess you want some buckshot in your ass.” I had two gallons of blood in milk bottles. The needles and tubes were hanging around my shoulders, the razor and alcohol from shaving a small spot on the cows’ necks in my vest pocket. I’d put everything back in the proper pocket once we were in the car.
“Hey, wait up.” M puffed over and waited for me to step down on and pull the wire. He was loaded down with at least three gallons, divided into six or seven wine bottles that were strung up like Remus’. Poor guy, Claire really needed to move her ass and help him out on these runs. It’s not like she had dinner dishes to freakin’ wash.
As M got thru the fence and straightened his lanky body out, two of the wine bottles loudly crashed together. It sounded as loud as a train wreck compared to the deserted road and sleeping cows. One cracked and the contents splashed out. The bottle finished emptying just as a light came on in the farmhouse’s living room.
“Move, people!” I urgently barked.
We made for the car. Remus’s white Lumina was true to its name, shining like the moon overhead as we ran along the shoulder towards it.
A loud crack had me instinctively ducking. Remus cursed, shrill. “I think I’ve got a pellet in my ass!”
“I thought you said he had a shotgun!” M accusingly hissed at me, running faster now.
“He does, by his bed!”
“Did you ever think he might have more than one gun?! Some recon expert! Everyone that has one weapon, usually has another! You’re never allowed to bash my video games again!”
“Slam it. Who’s got the keys?”
Another shot whizzed by.
“David was holding them.” Remus’ coat flapped like crazy behind him. It’s amazing how fast people can run when they’re scared. “This better not hit my coat, or my hair!”
My eyes widened. “Shit, I think they’re in my coat!”
“Oh, ya lil’ dunce!” Stressed, M’s weird accent came thru, burring his words.
“Wait, here they are!” Stupid pants pockets. I found the keys just as we got to the car and tossed them to Remus.
In a few seconds and with some clinking, we were in the car. One nice U-turn and we were on our way back.
“Tonight sucked,” our driver grumbled.
“Come on, that was exhilarating!”
“You’re not the one with a pellet in your ass!”
“Claire’ll take it out when we get to the house,” M sighed.
Remus looked over quickly and glared at him. “Hell, no! One of you is doing it!”
“Ok. I’m sure you’ll shit it out sooner or later.”
“Wonderful.”
“You can ask Richard to do it…” I snickered. My bottles were settled beside me in the back seat.
“That’s not funny!”
“That was a little over the line,” M agreed. “Well, I hope Thomas and the girls had a better time back home. They’ll be happy to see us!”
“Aren’t you hoping Bridget’s gone by the time we get there?”
“Claire said she would probably be gone, and if not she’ll stay in her room. That means she won’t be gone, and I’m going to have another girl underfoot for a day or so. Just until Claire wears Bridget out.”
Chapter 4: Why're there no coffins in here?
The house was very nice, I had to say that. It was a pre-WWII, two story house with white clapboard sides. I could hear the school bells chiming the half hour from the front yard.
Claire had definitely painted the house. It was white with orange highlights in random spots. The shutters were forest green, and the front door was bright red. The sofets had been painted dark blue. How the two calm, levelheaded men put up with her sense of style in painting their home was beyond me. I’d have to ask.
I was allowed to poke around while she called a friend.
There with three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs, and a restroom downstairs. The bedrooms each had locks, one unlocked. Peeking inside, I guessed it was Claire’s. There were really weird, exotic clothes thrown everywhere, dolls and puppets in piles, craft materials, a sword standing in the corner, Christmas lights tacked across the ceiling, a fountain on a desk that was so congested with papers and books as to be unusable for it’s original purpose, just… yeah. It had to be hers.
There was a locked study downstairs claimed by M, and a ‘breakfast room’ walled with windows that were curtained by heavy burgundy velvet. That room was taken by Thomas.
The living room was apparently Claire’s. The walls of the room had two shelves holding movies and books the three owned and an entertainment system. Some posters occupied the walls.
Over the couches and walking spaces were what my grandmother called “trinket shelves” festooned with ornaments, toys, tools, anything. Claire demonstrated how she got things down by running past me in the hallway, leaping, and grabbing a pair of chopsticks before sedately returning to the kitchen without a word.
The couches were unmatched, but worked for the situation to make the most of space. The backs of the couches were covered with soft blankets. Random scraps of fabric and pieces of hand knitted lace were sewn onto the furniture.
The floors were wooden, and the stairs were kind of closeted, with doors upstairs and downstairs. The upstairs even locked, oddly enough. The walls were wood paneling in some places and that stupid, lumpy, clay-ey spray-on white stuff in others.
“Chloe!”
Cringing slightly, I chuckled and turned at Claire’s ecstatic squeal. She had an odd growing charm, kinda like a rainbow colored tumor.
“You’re here!”
“Are you kidding? I heard you’d gotten rid of the guys and ran over. Is anyone else coming?” This woman was Claire’s height, reddish brunette, with a very relaxed air. She had a broom skirt and T-shirt on, very comfortable.
“Nope!” Our host shrugged. “Unless you want Alex over.”
“Pass!” she mock-operatically sang, grinning. “Okay. You got the diet chocolate?”
“Yesss! You brought the whipped cream?”
She pulled the spray bottle out of a slouchy bag and wiggled it along with her eyebrows.
I longingly watched the bottle. Whipped cream. I love eating that stuff off my fingers, globs of white fluffy sweetness.
Claire noticed and giggled. “She’s hungry. All she’s had to eat the past few days was shrimp and tea.”
“Aw, that ain’t right!” Chloe tsked. “Here, let’s start the vamp s’mores going. Anyone got any gossip?”
“Nothing good since I’d seen you last.”
“Eh, poo.” Apparently Chloe liked to gossip!
I coughed softly. “Can I ask you two some questions?”
“Fire away.”
There were a few things I was really worried about with this change. Maybe I could find out what they regretted not having anymore. Might as well face it, right? “What do you miss about being human?”
Chloe raised her hand. “Oh, I’ll take that one! For one, I can’t get high.”
“What?”
Claire nodded like a dashboard doll. “She’s right. Our diseased metabolic pathways make it impossible for our dopamine or serotonin receptors to overload.”
“What does that mean?” I sighed at the biology jabber again. I was fixing to fail that class. Maybe she could tutor me.
“We can’t get high, at the most you’ll get dizzy,” Chloe unhappily muttered.
“And getting drunk is more fatal for vampires than humans; it thins our already low blood cell count and makes us more anemic. We also can’t absorb more blood for a day or two after getting drunk.”
“Why?”
“Osmotic pressure differentiation. The red blood cells burst.” Claire smiled softly, suddenly and immediately subdued. “It’s ironic. There are so many false legends about our kind that you should ignore, yet the Romanian stories about killing vampires, or as they say strigoi, by getting them drunk are true.”
My attention was suddenly pulled back towards Chloe. “Also, I had to watch my son grow up.”
“How is that different from any other mother?”
“He had to start saying I was his mother’s younger sister, then his sister. Soon, he’ll be calling me his niece.” She pursed her lips and intently looked away. “Pass the choco, ladies!”
Smiling broadly around one, Claire tossed her a handful more of the diabetic Hershey’s Kisses.
“So, do you guys communicate with other vampires or what?”
“I talked a lot when I was new, but I know I wasn’t as inquisitive as this one. Why can’t you just relax and find out?”
“You’re such a hippie.”
“Damn straight.”
“Tell me. You’ve got a Texas accent.”
“South Texas German accent, yes.”
“What were you doing in New York, before you were turned?”
Claire smiled for some reason, meeting Chloe’s eyes. “I was in Central Park on April 15.”
“Why?”
“For the Central Park Be-In.” Claire shrugged. “It was a war protest gathering that turned into a series of protests against racism and elitism.”
“Oh.”
“I envy her,” Chloe smiled, popping another chocolate into her mouth, topping it with whipped cream straight from the bottle.
“Why?”
“I got to hear MLK speak. I was standing fifteen feet away from him, sitting on my boyfriend’s shoulders.” Eyes unfocused, Claire nodded with a pacific smile. “He wasn’t as important as he is today, he really wasn’t that well known. But that man was a great speaker!”
“She also flashed him,” Chloe divulged, chuckling.
At that, Claire grinned broadly. “That’s my craziest claim to fame, I guess! I flashed Martin Luther King Jr. Oh, and later on that day the Grateful Dead had a concert for us, Guitars against Wars or something like that, and Jerry Garcia signed my left boob.”
“Cool.”
The expression on my face at hearing that drove Chloe into a fit of laughter.
“That’s pretty funny, actually. So, at what point…?”
“People were passing some stuff around during the concert. I got some strong LSD, and started tripping like crazy. I apparently took some other things, too much, and woke up in jackass’s apartment a few days later.”
“So, do you have to wait for someone to by dying to change them?”
“It’s a custom and a rule, to keep the population low.”
“You’re sure he didn’t just chomp you and lie about it?” I asked. “You can’t remember…”
“That’s what he told me, what else am I supposed to believe?” Sighing, Claire shrugged. “No matter what, I am what I am.”
Before I could question (or tease, I admit that’s what I was doing) her further, we heard the car outside and strained voices. Its strange how, when people try to be quiet but they’re upset, those hushed tones can carry right thru cement walls. Maybe because that tone signals danger, I dunno.
Claire darted out and came in behind the guys, who were still arguing about something. Each of them carried heavy bottles and jugs full of darkness.
A draft hit my face and I felt my stomach agonizingly cramp. The bloody coppery smell that accompanied them seemed so intense.
Chloe glanced over and immediately got up. She took one of the green bottles from M. She emerged from the kitchen with a glass cup full of blood and handed it to me.
I gulped half of it down without thinking.
“-taken care of!”
“What?”
Claire was chasing Remus around the crowded room with a wooden chest under one arm. “You want it to get infected?!”
“I don’t want you touching me there!”
“Don’t bother with that crap, you know I’ve seen you naked, when Richard brought you here!”
“Just give me some alcohol wipes and a bandage.”
“Fine! That pellet is not going to be good for you!”
“Neither will you digging it out!”
Claire rolled her eyes and frowned when he ducked into the bathroom with her box. “He got shot in the ass-“
“What the hell do you have in here?!!” Remus shrilly shouted. He stuck his head out, eyes rimmed with white. “What is all of that?!”
“Medical equipment. Just look for a mesh bag, that has all of my bandages. There’s a bottle of alcohol, use some toilet paper with that.”
“You need to get that slug out-“ David stopped speaking when Claire pulled a baggie out of her pocket. She opened it, pulled out a huge white pill, broke it in half, ground it up, and stirred the powder into Remus’ open cup before returning the leftover half to her pocket. Apparently Chloe had brought everyone cups out, I’d been too self-engrossed to notice.
David grinned. “You know, maybe you should just sleep on it. And a good meal will help you sleep better!”
“I know.” Remus came out limping a little and handed Claire back her chest. “Keep the box of torture equipment away from me.”
“You got scared by the scalpels and surgical scissors and clamps and probes-“
“You know that stuff frightens me, shut up!” He angrily sat down on one hip and immediately took a huge swig from his cup. “Do you have any pain meds? I mean ones that’ll work.”
“They’re expensive, so not unless you’re in agony,” she firmly replied.
“Eh, I’ll just sleep it off.” He took another deep gulp as we all watched.
“I’m sure you’ll manage.” The corners of Claire’s mouth twitched.
M stoically maintained a marble face and settled further into his seat. “You guys wanna pick a movie?”
“Nah, I’m on my way out.” Chloe hugged Claire and blew kisses, giggling, at everyone else. “Bye!”
“Bye!”
“Ugh. I’ll be leavin’ inna few minutes, so ya’ll pick whad you want,” Remus blandly replied. His eyes when he smiled at M were glazed, drooping.
“Well, just be sure to drive safe.”
“Why?” he snorted, his hair bobbing and the rest of him wobbling now in his chair. “It’s not liggum gonna-“
When he suddenly pitched forward, David stuck out an arm and caught him. “Where do you want me to put him?” he droned, sighing.
“Kitchen table,” Claire immediately replied, following them.
“You need him undressed?”
“I’ll just slit open the spot where the bullet went in his pants a bit, work thru that, and stitch them up afterwards. He’ll think he just got very tired.”
“You really thought about this, huh?”
“With you guys around, I keep a full pharmacopoeia and compliment of surgical tools, and plans for any situation.”
David came back in chuckling. “Full of surprises.”
“You two feel fine letting her…?” My querulous voice trailed off when both of the men in the room stared at me.
“Okay, you don’t know any of our backgrounds. Here’s hers pertaining to medical practice: Claire was thrown out of her house by her parents when she was 11, and moved in with relatives in south Texas. This was in the late fifties, early sixties, licensed medical help was sporadic back then, so she learned from a curandera and her grandmother how to take care of people. Then, because no one really cared if she left, she started into the hippie culture and while she was with them learned how to use even more herbs and drugs to help people. Plus that Biology degree she’s earned, and the massage and acupuncture school she went to in San Francisco when we were there in the eighties…” Sarcastic, M nodded. “Yeah, I feel fine letting her pull a BB out of his ass!”
“Chill, I’ve already got the pellet out!” Claire leaned out, holding a metal stick with a mashed up ball on the tip in one plastic-gloved hand. When I stared at the stick, she smiled. “Magnetic surgical wand. Probe the wound with it and the bullet attaches. All you have to do is pull the stick out and you’ve got the bullet, no cutting, no sticking fingers in, nothing.”
“Yeah. They used those for minor shrapnel wounds in ‘nam,” David nonchalantly added.
“I’ll just put some antibiotic cream in the wound, put the same bandage back on, and stitch up his pants. We’ll stick him in Thomas’ armchair.”
“Why didn’t you just call Richard?”
Eyebrows high, Claire pointed the wand at M. “You want to explain to him that Richard had him in this condition? I can talk my way out of having him in this situation, but I don’t think he’d trust me after inviting Richard into it!”
“Well, he already doesn’t trust you medically,” I pointed out.
She waved her hand, blowing raspberries. “Nah, that’s just because it was his butt. He’s let me patch him up several times.”
“So, what movie, honey?”
“I dunno. Dangit, I have to change gloves because of that stupid raspberry!”
M laughed and continued perusing the movies. “I’m feeling a little weird here. ‘The Dark Crystal’?”
“Wake up Thomas, he loves that movie!” Claire soon emerged and snapped off her gloves and threw them in the trash. “Ok, David, bring ‘im out!”
“Why’m I always the grunt?”
“You’ve been saying that since you got drafted, get over it. You’re good at grunt work.”
Once M was settled on the big couch, Claire between us, he kind of sighed. “Bridget, you don’t know this, but if you want to keep walking around, you need to get yourself some paperwork.”
“What happens if I don’t get papers?”
“You’ll find yourself dead. We have a government of our own that doesn’t like rogue vampires.” Thomas sadly shook his head from his spot in the armchair, his eyes still trained on the television. “It used to be so much nicer.”
“Then why the heck did you all give them so much power?!”
“They help us out with fake IDs, food when we can’t afford or find our own, stuff like that. What they do the most is cover for us when we get in trouble, so we don’t get exposed to the public.” Claire shrugged.
“So, why do I need paperwork so they don’t kill me? What’s the root reason?”
“Yeah, why?” The hippie girl turned to the tall redheaded.
“You already know, dunce! Why don’t you tell her?”
“I forgot. Tell!” She clapped her hands and giggled at his expense.
He groaned. “It was a rule created in 2002. During the 80’s and 90’s, our population boomed. The fantasy of vampires was popular. Then, with 9/11, fake ID’s became harder to procure, and we need new ones every ten years or so in this country. We’re under constant threat of being discovered because of the crankdown on terrorists.”
“Isn’t it a ‘crackdown’ on terrorists? You said crankdown,” I tried to joke.
“No, sweetie.” Thomas smiled softly. “The people who think that’s going to stop terrorist strikes are greater fools than their enemies who blow themselves up. It just makes banking, attending universities, and buying property harder for us.”
“Now I remember!” Claire straightened and seemed to recite, “We die so rarely, paperwork is necessary to maintain a constant or negative birthrate.”
“Also, the person who makes you needs to be responsible and guide you into your new life. With unlicensed turnings, lack of responsibility was high.” M grinned broadly. “You’re not the first baby to be dumped at my door in a cardboard box.”
“Shut up!”
Even as a laugh tickled at the back of my throat, I felt my nose and forehead wrinkle. “Claire?”
“The guy who infected me sai
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I absolutely loved it. it deefinately kept me reading. i believe, in the beginning, you not use that harsh of language. i think it would be better towards the end. i don’t know how this is qualified as a short story, though. overall it was great!
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