The Vampirists Read online

  Vera’s voice is soft and delicate and thoughtful as she answers, “I know what you mean. Sometimes I feel like I blink and a decade has gone by.”

  I watch her keenly, trying to decipher if she is teasing me. After a few moments, I haven’t come to any firm conclusion, so I keep spilling my insides. I guess it feels good to get it all out; I just hope that she won’t think I’m a weirdo at the end.

  “The irony is that my dad was police. He made a pretty big name for himself combating street crime, used to be in the papers and on the news and all that. Then my mom was killed by Occultists or something–they carved her up pretty good.”

  “Despite my dad’s best efforts and contacts, her murder was never solved; it undid him completely. Looking at him now, I get so angry at him for giving up. But at the same time, I can’t really blame him. I don’t know how I’d react if someone I wanted to protect so badly was taken from me so brutally and there was nothing I could do about it. Not even get revenge.”

  “Yeah, I guess you never know,” she agrees. “It’s good you try to put yourself in his shoes, to understand what he’s going through.”

  “I do, but it doesn’t change the fact that during my second year I had to drop out of school completely and take care of him. That I don’t really have a plan anymore,” I point out. I go for my beer and realize that at some point during this I’ve managed to drain the entire thing.

  “I’m so sorry,” she says, pushing her still full bottle toward me. I see her watch me with eyes full of sadness. I’m touched that she cares, but I can’t help getting an icky feeling inside as I sense I’m rapidly moving toward pity territory: I need to change course immediately.

  “Look, it's not your fault,” I say, perhaps a little too brusquely. I lean back in my seat and cross my arms, then worry that might seem too defensive and so move back forward. “And I have my ways of dealing.”

  She reflects on this for a moment. “By tagging on rooftops at night?” she asks. “A little light rebellion?” She smiles at me, but for once I don’t feel like returning it.

  When she puts it like this, it makes me feel stupid. Painting, or tagging, or whatever you want to call it, is my escape. It’s a way I can forget myself for those few precious hours when I’m working on it. It’s something to plan and look forward to when I’m not there and something to look at with pride when I’m done. It’s something I control–something I create. I don’t know if she can understand all this … what it really means to me, and somehow, when I think of trying to explain it to her, the words all sound so silly in my head. So I say nothing and stare away.

  She waits for a while; I sense her watching me, alarmed that she has somehow set me off. I can see her trying to read my expression, trying to figure the best way to handle me. I look back at her and we just stare at each other for a bit, neither one saying anything. In truth, my momentary anger has subsided, but I don’t want to break first. I want her to realize that I don’t like things that are important to me to be belittled.

  Gradually, little by little, her expression softens, and I can’t help but do the same. She leans in closer across the table and touches my cheek lightly for a moment. I’m struck again by how cold she is; I would have thought inside she would’ve warmed up by now. Maybe she was holding onto the beer while I was talking.

  “I'm sorry. I was just teasing,” she says with an explanatory note in her tone.

  “You always tease like this on a first date?” I retort. I see her eyebrow go up at my mention of a date and realize my implicit assumption. Not for the first time tonight, I feel an unwelcome flush creep up my cheeks. She smiles, though, and I know I’m okay. Suddenly, I realize that I’m better than okay, actually.

  “Only people I feel close to,” Vera says. She reaches across the table and takes my hand. I watch her do it as if in slow motion. I don’t even mind the coldness of her hands; I just know that I can’t believe how great this night is turning out to be. I look into her eyes and find myself dazed.

  I feel her pouring into me … searching my being.

  I don’t look away ….

  Can’t look away ….

  Don’t want to look away.

  I’m drawn deep into those icy blue pools ….

  I could drown in them if only I weren’t buoyed up by a sense of warmth and compassion rushing out through those portals into me.

  Somewhere in the distant background, the song changes–I barely notice. Apparently, Vera does. She is on her feet in a second, the spell broken. She still has hold of my hand, and I find myself being half-dragged, half-coaxed onto what passes for a dance-floor at this fine establishment.

  “Come on. I love this one,” she says, smiling beguilingly.

  We dance. Or rather, she dances and I move in her shadow. As I watch her, I again have this strange sensation of time slowing. I feel myself slip back into those icy blue depths.

  Her eyes, her smile. I never had a chance.

  4)

  Back outside, we walk down the street. It’s late and I look up the road in the direction of my house. Suddenly, I realize how much I don’t want to go home to face what waits there … the emptiness within. Feeling incredibly lucky to be out here in the night, taking in the town, alive, with Vera, I squeeze her hand tighter as we walk–as if I can just hold on tight enough, then the night will never end and we’ll never have to part. I know that this is silly, but there are feelings welling up inside me that I’ve never felt before. I’m not sure how to describe it, but I know I just can’t be close enough to her right now.

  We pass an alley entrance and I get an idea. I stop walking forward and instead pull her just inside the opening. I hold her close and stare into her eyes. She lets me run my hands through her hair lightly. The butterflies are back, but I ignore them. Strangely, the tiny voice in the back of my head is silent, perhaps drowned out by the rushing of blood I feel all over my tingling body.

  “Where did you come from?” I ask Vera.

  “I’ve been here all along,” she says breathlessly.

  I have to explain how I feel about her, how even though we’ve just barely met, I know that my life has been changed dramatically. But I’m at a loss for words.

  I finally manage to stammer out something: “Being with you, I feel ….”

  “Such a rush,” she says, completing my thoughts.

  I brush her hair back over her ear and stand in awe of this beautiful creature before me. Without thinking about it, I lean in to kiss her. I see her bend forward, too, and then I close my eyes. But a moment later they are back open because something happened. Or more precisely, nothing happened. My lips hang in the air: my attempted kiss, unanswered.

  Vera is staring into the darkness behind me in the alley. I turn, seeing nothing. She turns her attention back to me and pulls back a bit. I try to hide my emotions, but I feel as if I’m being crushed from the outside. As if all the air is being pulled from me and there is nothing left to hold me up. I drop my embrace. How did I mess this up? Everything was perfect.

  “I should go,” Vera says. As if sensing my disappointment, she reaches out and touches my arm with genuine affection. “But I'm really glad I did some light stalking tonight.”

  I’m a bit flustered by the sudden turn in events and only manage to blurt, “You can stalk me anytime.” Wow, definitely not my smoothest line. Still, Vera smiles her enchanting smile and gives me a warm hug. I guess I should go before I make things more awkward.

  “Good night, Vera,” I say by way of parting.

  “Good night,” she replies.

  I walk back out the alley and head away, my mind racing over the night’s events. I had always just assumed beautiful girls and I wouldn
't have gotten on well together. I don’t know what I did to make something like tonight possible, but I know that this is a good thing and I don’t want to mess it up. Opportunities like this don’t come along very often; you have to seize them when you have the chance.

  Suddenly, I realize I’m not following my own advice. Back there in the alley, I had an opportunity, and I let it get away from me. I’m not sure what happened when I leaned in for the kiss, but I know that the moment was right. The moment could still be right. I should man up and go back there and kiss her.

  With new determination, I quiet the butterflies, steel myself and stop. I turn around slowly, preparing myself mentally to take the plunge. But once facing in the other direction, the direction I just came from, I don’t see her anywhere on the street anymore. For a moment, a heady mix of disappoint and relief washes over me. I won’t have to put myself to the test tonight after all.

  I feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest. Like a college final that I didn’t study for has just been postponed. I’m about to turn around and bounce on home when a thought from the back part of my mind elbows its way forward: She must have just cut down the alley. Instantly, the pressure on my chest returns. I momentarily think about giving up and just going home, but I know deep down that I won’t do that. I try to focus on how nice it will be to have her in my arms again … how good it will feel afterward to know that I cowboyed up and plowed through to the end. Like a kid pulling a Band-Aid off, I rush back toward the entrance to try to get this whole thing over with quickly. Now there, I still don’t see her, but she can’t have gotten far. So I gaze deeper into the darkness.

  People always say that if you drop your guard and let someone in, they might surprise you. They were right. For some reason, this is the first thing that comes to my mind as it tries to absorb and make sense of what it’s witnessing. Somewhere in the distance on a rooftop I think I see a dark shape punctuated by two blue pearls of reflected light. But that’s not what has me stricken with disbelief. That’s not what has me stunned into immobility.

  What my brain can’t really process is something that looks a lot like Vera scaling a bare wall with her hands and feet. She moves freakishly fast and her movements are unnatural though somehow graceful at the same time. I feel a tightness in my chest and realize that I’m not breathing. I force myself to take two deep breaths; it takes more effort than I expect. As oxygen begins to circulate through my blood, I get some control back over my limbs.

  I creep back to the alley entrance, my body moving on autopilot as it responds to some deep instinct from within. Just as I’m about to slide out of view, I think I see her pause and turn her head toward me, cocking toward the side like a hawk searching for prey. I hide behind the corner and hold my breath, not wanting to give my position away. Several loud heartbeats later, I don’t hear anything coming my way. I struggle with the temptation to look back into the alley. Part of me wants to confirm what I just saw (mostly because I’m not totally sure) and part of me wants to make sure it–she–didn’t see me. But instead I settle for running as fast as I can in the opposite direction.

  I don’t stop running until a bus catches up with me from behind. I get on board and sit at the back, anxiously watching each passenger boarding after me as I try to catch my breath. I realize that I’m also starting to pour sweat, but I know that it’s not just the running that is affecting me so. I’m on edge–jumpy–and feel like I’m viewing everything through a crazy tunnel or something. Is this what a panic attack feels like as it comes on? I don’t want to be sitting here: I want to be outside running away. But I also don’t want to be outside at all actually, and I know that in here is the safest place for me. I sit tight and fight against the tide, attempting to keep afloat with my sanity.

  Deep breaths.

  Deep breaths.

  At my stop, I get off and try to walk calmly to my house. I end up scurrying down the block and taking the steps three at a time. I’m at the front door. Damnit, I should have gotten my keys ready in the light on the bus. I fumble around with them, not sure whether to pay more attention to finding the right one or looking over my shoulder. But this is crazy: She doesn’t know where I live and couldn’t have followed me home on the bus. Then again, maybe Franklin told her that bit of info, too. I remind myself that she has no reason to be suspicious; she–it–whatever–couldn’t have seen me in the alley. Still, I feel much better when I’m safely in with the door closed firmly behind me.

  Then I notice the darkness inside. Normally, this doesn’t bother me, but tonight I rush around and turn on the hallway and kitchen lights. My dad will just have to deal with it, if he even notices. Satisfied that we are alone, I walk over to his shape in its usual spot on the sofa and put a blanket over him. Nothing else to clean up tonight (thankfully) except a few empty beer cans. He coulda left a full one for me. I certainly could use it right now. I plop down in the chair next to him and try to relax in the comfort of his presence.

  I look over at the family picture on the side table and am reminded that once my father was the pillar of my world: the resolution to any trouble I faced (and the source of punishment for any I caused). Now, looking at the feeble middle-aged man dozing in a fetal position on the couch, it’s hard to imagine that I could have relied on him so much. Hard to reconcile this person with the iron man from my youth. I realize that I’ll find no comfort here, no answers. Though I’m barely old enough to drink legally and technically still live in my parent’s house, I’ll need to handle this myself.

  I can’t even begin to imagine how to do this, so I go up and lie in bed to think the night over. My cluttered room, which usually is a source of guilt as I hear echoes of my mom’s voice nagging me to clean it, now seems oddly reassuring. It’s a mess for sure, but 100% my mess: I see nothing that is strange or foreign here. And it feels like nothing could be hiding anywhere, given how crowded it already is. Still, I leave the light on and curl under my blankets the way I used to do when I was eight. My thoughts race, and I don’t think of any good resolutions for the whole ordeal, but at some point, I guess I manage to fall asleep.

  I don’t feel better in the morning. The situation seems less menacing with sunlight flooding in, but now I begin to feel a different kind of scared, scared that these feelings for her that have just been awakened will go away. Or worse, that they won’t. I walk over to the pull up bar and start banging out reps. I try to tell myself that whatever I’m feeling for Vera is just a chemical reaction in my brain. Serotonin or dopamine or something like that firing off and causing me to feel like I can’t live without her. Really, I just like the sensation of these chemicals, not her. And yet, when I think back to our shared touches, the moments of intimacy in the bar, dancing, walking together, I know that I won’t be able to talk myself out of this.

  You’d think that after what I saw I wouldn’t feel this way, that some sense of self-preservation would kick in and I’d be repelled by her. But all I want to do right now is call her and ask her to give me some reasonable explanation for last night. Good thing I never got her number (how stupid of me!) or I’d probably break down and do just that (and how lucky … ). I can’t do any more pull-ups, so I switch to chin-ups. I keep wracking my brain to try to make sense of it, but the truth is that as last night fades from the immediate past into a memory, I’m less and less sure of what I really saw.

  I go back and forth–I mean, technically I had been drinking, though only like two beers, I think? Did I drink more than I thought, or was my beer spiked? It could be possible; Vera gave me hers, after all. That was weird–suspicious even. Or just nice. But in the end, I realize that I know what I saw–pretending otherwise is not an answer, just avoidance. Still, maybe there is more to what I saw; for example, was there a ladder there I didn’t notice? Or maybe she and her friends are playing a prank on me because I acted so superior to their
little movement.

  Annoyed that exercise is not doing much to calm my mind, I give up and decide to get on the internet to do a little online research. Not knowing where to start, I type in girls climb up walls. The results display a bunch of internet videos and articles on rock climbing. That’s a little bit different than what I’m searching for. I pause for a moment, not really wanting to type what I think should go next. Finally, I key in creature climb up walls. This time I’m invited to read about a variety of insects and lizards.

  I guess I don’t have much to go on, but then I start remembering other stuff I’ve been basically ignoring due to my surging hormones. Like the fact that her hands are always cold, even after being in a warm bar dancing. Alone, I don’t think much of this; my hands are always too hot and even a little sweaty, especially when nervous. I was actually glad her hands were cold because she seemed to appreciate my warmth rather than finding it icky.

  But hers were really cold, like when coming in from outside without wearing gloves in the winter cold. That’s just not normal. Neither was how fast she was scaling up that wall. Even if there had been a hidden ladder or hand holds, she was moving up as quickly as someone could have rappelled down. And given all the rest, I might as well add in her unusual eyes. So beautiful, but definitely unusual. It didn’t seem like there were contacts there: I definitely spent enough time last night staring at them up close.

  With all this in mind, I enter in some new search terms: female creature, scale walls, cold, pale eyes. My eyes skip over something on the Epic of Gilgamesh and are drawn to an entry on vampire lore. Vampires. Jesus. I pause for moment, unsure. But then I continue on and click on the link, scanning over the characteristics attributed to vampires: typically have inhuman speed and strength, ability to walk on walls, pale features and eyes, below normal body temperature, and of course … the need to drink blood. Holy hell.