The Vampirists Read online

  I also try not to wander around at night any more, and if I have to go out, I stick to public places. Still, when I leave work I’m pretty exposed. The Copy World environ is not exactly a hotbed of human activity at 10 p.m. It’s even less busy after last Saturday. Apparently chain copy centers must represent the evils of capitalism because we had several windows smashed and a whole lot of graffiti done, not my artistic kind, either, but giant Movement logos in different colors. They aren’t very original, but I guess it definitely gets the word out. Corporate has been slow to help us fix everything; they apparently have a lot of stores that need repairs.

  Tonight, I step outside as usual and pause in the light filtering through the smashed and taped-up windows. The summer nights are definitely heating up; there’s a breeze tonight, but it’s the kind that gently pushes warm air around. I’m even sweating a bit. Or maybe I’m just nervous.

  I scan the parking lot for signs of life. Nothing. I’m not sure whether to be relieved or worried. My hand instinctively goes to the crucifix around my neck; it gives me a strange feeling of comfort. I was never very religious growing up, but lately I’ve been reconsidering. If vampires could be real, what else is there out there that I never would have taken seriously before?

  I walk quickly across the lot and head to the nearest bus stop. Given recent revelations, I’ve decided that taking the bus at night is more beneficial to my well-being than walking. I don’t think all those studies that purport how walking one minute adds two minutes to your life factored in the undead into their model. To me, public transport is a crucial component of my survival strategy. I wait tensely at the stop and keep a constant vigil up. I don’t dare to put my mp3 player on lest something be able to sneak up on me from behind. When the bus comes in sight, relief courses through my body. I’m basically safe now. Once off the bus, I’m near my house and should be home free.

  As I board, I check out my fellow passengers. No one really pays me any attention after giving me the initial once over that seems customary these days: The streets have been tense and people are wary. Several are reading about the Shatterday riots as they continue to be front-page news. The scale of it all really shook people up; the cops were completely embarrassed. They’ve boosted police presence in a lot of key areas, but I guess this side of the city doesn’t really merit many extra boots on the ground. Fortunately, I perceive that no one aboard has suspicious ice-blue eyes.

  I sit in my usual spot near the back that offers good views of everyone getting on and off. Relaxed, I pull out my music and stare out the windows at the passing streets, watching fuzzy life go by to my soundtrack. The artificial light on the bus is quite bright, and it’s hard to resolve images outside, especially when in motion. Still, I’m amazed to see all the people just walking around as though they don’t have a care in the world, not even suspecting that there might actually be real vampires out there in the night with them. If this got out and people actually believed it, so much would change. Or actually maybe it wouldn’t; people have been preying on each other since time began anyway. Still, there’s something about vampires that burrows into your psyche and doesn’t let go.

  Abruptly, it seems like a shadow has fallen over me. My hair involuntarily stands up on the back of my neck. I turn my head slowly, reluctantly, and inevitably see Vera standing next to me. Again, with her, I’m surprised I’m not surprised. She says something, but I can’t hear her through the music. I don’t move or say anything. I can’t. She smiles and reaches for me slowly. I want to run, but I have nowhere to go. I’m on a bus, and she’s blocking the entrance to my two-seat row. Plus, at this point, I’m not even sure if my now jelly legs would work.

  Vera pulls one of the plugs from my ear and says, “Hey, stranger. I thought I saw you sitting alone back here.” I manage to take my headphones off as she slides into the seat next to me. I’m trapped against the window now: There is no escape. I try to remind myself that we are on a bus, in public, but that doesn’t do much to calm me. Again, I’m struck by how normal she looks, and for a second I think how silly this all is. There’s probably a dozen explanations for why a beautiful girl would be climbing a wall in an alley at night.

  “Mind if I join you?” she asks, already seated. I just look at her, trying to prove to myself one way or the other if she is a creature of the undead.

  “You okay?” she continues. I remember to avoid her eyes. All the lore seems to say that she’ll have power over me if I look in her eyes. But I have to say something or she’ll know for sure that I know, and then who knows what she’ll do.

  “Yeah, just, a little anxious. There's all sorts of … weirdness … on the streets these days,” I manage.

  She gives me a piercing look. I swear I feel myself wither under her gaze. I think perspiration is breaking out on my brow and nose. I hate how I get hot when I’m nervous; it always gives my emotions away.

  “Things have definitely gotten tenser since Shatterday,” she says. She notices my crucifix, and I see her eyes go back and forth from it to my face. I feel like an open book with a grade school reading level. “You never told me you were Catholic,” Vera says politely.

  “I'm not. I just like it,” I reply. She reaches for me … for the crucifix. I brace for something to happen. My heart is beating like crazy, and I can hear the blood flowing through my ears. She picks it up lightly in her palm and admires it. I don’t know what I thought would happen, maybe that her skin would burn or that she’d scream. But in place of smoke, there is nothing.

  She smiles and looks me in the eye, “I was once, but that was ages ago.” Again, I try to look away from her eyes. I literally feel sweat begin to drip now, so I must look a mess. I feel a rising surge of panic in my chest and my muscles tense for something, but to no end–there is nowhere to go. I can’t have a panic attack right now–that would be so embarrassing (as if being embarrassed should matter when I should be focused on staying alive!).

  “How did you know? Who told you?” Vera asks seriously.

  “I don't know what you mean,” I protest, hoping against hope that I can continue to play dumb.

  “You need a better poker face,” she says. Then she touches me lightly on the arm and continues, “Adam, I don't want to play games with you. You can relax–I like you–but this is serious. Humans shouldn’t know about us. Can’t know about us.”

  So there it is, then. “I guess I didn't really know, for sure, until just now,” I admit. “But last week after we almost kissed, I mean, when I wanted to kiss you … I saw you … in the alley. You’re a vampire, right?” I risk looking her in the eyes to see how she takes this.

  She doesn’t really react or show surprise. She just nods a little, whether to confirm my question or just to absorb what I said, I can’t really tell. “I guess after Shatterday when you bailed like that I knew you saw. But I didn’t want to admit it to myself. That shouldn’t have happened,” she finally says. She looks away and pauses for a while, then has a thought and looks back. “So this is why you’ve been so elusive lately? Because you thought, what? That I’d suck your blood?” she says bemusedly. A second later she clenches her hands into play claws and throws a gentle “Grrr!” in my direction, I suppose to make light of the whole thing. I’m glad at least she can.

  “I guess. I asked Franklin not to tell you where I was anymore. I wanted to tell him about it, too, but I don’t think he’d listen. He's not in any danger, is he?”

  “Adam, you can’t tell him. And we're not out to hurt you guys,” she says gently. “It's my job to manage recruiting. For the Movement. We need people: live humans, to be exact.”

  “Recruit? That’s like your official role?” I ask. It makes sense, given what I’ve seen. And she’s probably very good at it. Great at it, in fact. “So that's why you were flirting with all those guys at the Sh
atterday Bash?” I try to keep any note of jealousy out of my voice, but I’m not sure I succeed because she smiles at me. So I go one question further: “Is that why you flirt with me?”

  “Do I?” she asks with a little giggle. “I hadn't noticed.” I don’t know how she did it, but I realize I’m now pretty relaxed. Well, actually, I’m still a little nervous, but it’s the good kind of nervous as opposed to the oh-my-God-I’m-about-to-die-a-horrific-and-painful-death kind of nervous.

  Vera takes my hand and tells me, “Adam, you're different.” She leans in conspiratorially close. “I'm very good at reading people and you are … intriguing. In some ways, you're perfect for the Movement. A bit of a loner, not much family, attractive–”

  I can’t help myself. “Attractive?” I interrupt.

  “Don’t fish for compliments,” she teases. She squeezes my leg with her free hand, and my body stirs at her touch. So much for self-control. “But yes, you are. And it helps.” Her expression changes slightly as she changes course. “But in other ways, you're not right for us.”

  “I'm not?” I ask, strangely disappointed. Not that I want to join, but no one likes being told they aren’t right for something. Is she using reverse psychology on me? If so, she’s good. I’ll give her that.

  “No, you have a probing mind. You'd ask too many questions,” she explains.

  “Like why are vampires organizing protests against corporations and the government?”

  “Exactly. Like that. And I don’t want to get into that right now.”

  Okay, fine. But I’m still not sure I see the problem. “And asking questions is a bad thing?” I ask.

  Vera nods at a nearby passenger reading a fashion magazine with a model wearing a ridiculous outfit on the cover.

  “From the army to the runway, every organization needs people who will just do what they're told. Too much intelligence … too many questions … can be inconvenient for the Movement. But not for me,” she finishes.

  She strokes my face lightly. I feel the dopamine and serotonin in my brain kicking in big-time. This is the sensation I’ve been craving since our ill-fated date. It’s like a levee has broken and all the stores that have since been building up behind my mental dam are now flooding over into my consciousness. Her skin feels so good against mine. Now that I’m paying attention, the texture is a bit different than normal humans, but it’s definitely not unpleasant. And her temperature is not that off.

  “You’re not that cold. Not like last time,” I blurt out.

  “I'm warmer after I've just fed,” she replies matter-of-factly.

  Woah.

  Jesus.

  If there is one thing that can break this spell and make me remember that I’m sitting next to a predator, it’s the thought of some poor guy dead out there in the street somewhere–whose blood is currently coursing through the creature sitting just beside me. What am I even doing here? What do I think this is? What do I think she is? Some sort of pet vampire that I can tame? How many people have made the same mistake before me–how many corpses has she left behind in her macabre existence? There’s a reason that I’ve been avoiding her all week. She’s a monster. A. Real. Live(?). Monster.

  I need to bail. Now.

  I pull the cord to signal the driver to stop at the next corner. “I've got to go. This is my stop,” I tell Vera.

  “No, it's not,” she says. She looks surprised, hurt almost, as I pop out past her. She doesn’t block me. “Adam, I didn’t mean it like that. It’s not what you think.” Her expression would be enough to melt my heart if I weren’t so worried about her stalking me and killing me tonight. Still, she doesn’t move to stop me.

  “I'm getting off here. You stay on,” I say with what I hope to be an authoritative tone. She seems indecisive, like she can’t make up her mind what to do.

  “Adam, you can't tell anyone,” she says. “That would be very bad–for both of us.” She grabs my hand as if to emphasize this point, but I recoil. I’m trying not to show fear; I don’t want to put blood in the water, so to speak, but the truth is I’m terrified. Actually, a simple word doesn’t do justice to the emotions racing through me. I jump off the bus and watch it pull away. I wait until it has gone several blocks to make sure that she does not get off on a nearby corner. Somewhat relieved, I still decide to splurge and jump in a passing taxi to head for home.

  Inside the car, my phone goes off: I have an SMS from Franklin. Franklin. That jerk. I call him immediately.

  He answers nonchalantly: “Yo, dude. What's up?”

  “You didn't listen to me, did you?” I respond angrily.

  “About what? Staying away from the Movement? No, I didn't–and it's awesome,” he retorts. His temper is obviously flaring, too. I don’t care; my body still hasn’t calmed down from the shock it received on the bus.

  “Look, I’m just going to ignore the fact that you told Vera how to find me even though I deliberately asked you not to. I’m going to skip straight to the part where I try, once again, to impress upon you that the Movement is no good. Franklin, they aren't normal. They're like … evil,” I conclude, very aware of the eavesdropping driver in the front seat.

  “Evil? Come on man, don’t be dramatic. You aren’t your dad. You tag all the time–you’re no saint. You should come back out, see that it's not what you think,” he says. “And that girl Vera asked about you–again. She's super hot … like Megan-level hot. And I think she really likes you for some reason. I’m trying to be your friend … to help you not make a mistake that you’ll regret for the rest of your life. Do you know how many guys would kill to have her be interested in them?”

  I know he is right about the attention she must get. Still, if I can’t trust him not to pass her information about me, it could be a big problem.

  “I say you shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, man. Just take a good thing and enjoy it,” Franklin tells me. If only he knew what I’d probably find in her mouth if I dared to look.

  “You have no idea how ironic that is,” I respond.

  “What?” he asks, confused.

  “Nothing,” I say. “I just wish you'd listen to me about this. Just stay away from them.”

  “Look, I get it,” he begins smugly. “You're jealous I'm finally finding a place where I belong and you’re worried that I’m not gonna be around to hang out with all the time. But you could be a part of this, too. You don’t have to make me choose between you and the Movement. And frankly, I wouldn’t make me choose if I were you. But that’s your decision. So you think about it–I gotta go.” There is an audible click as the line goes dead.

  I definitely did not see that one coming. He’s so far off base and yet so sure of himself that it really irks me. But still, we’ve been friends for so long that even if we are drifting a bit currently, I don’t want to see him get hurt. I can’t think of anything left to do but send him a text and hope he re-reads it when he’s cooled off a bit. With Vera’s anxious warning bouncing around the back of my mind, I key in: I know you're mad. Very dangerous to explain more. Please just trust me on this.

  Even pulling up in the taxi in front of my house, I’m a bit tense. The gloomy nature of my tree-lined, darkened neighborhood doesn’t help; nor does the fact that all the lights in my house appear to be off. It’s like a cloud of darkness has settled right on top of the one place that should offer me safety–well, relative safety.

  The thought crossed my mind that Vera knew it wasn’t my stop and might know where I live. She also was on a bus that had a head start on me, so she could be here, waiting for me outside somewhere. I pay the driver and have the presence of mind to pull my keys out in the safety of the taxi before sprinting for the front door.

  Safe
inside, I lean back on the shut door and close my eyes, breathing out a huge sigh of relief that is almost louder than the snores coming from the sofa. I look over at my dad’s just visible shape, illuminated by the TV, and for some reason I’m really annoyed by it. I’m not sure exactly why when this is basically the story every night; maybe it’s because for this once I’d really like to have someone supportive I could speak to, or just to know that there is another capable person in the house for protection if something bad were to happen. Fat chance of that, though.

  The TV reporter cuts into my consciousness and I move over to glance at the news. It is a story on the Shatterday riots.

  “Investigations are continuing into last week's international mass store vandalisms,” the reporter voices over while a pre-recorded video of the Vice-President giving a speech fills half of the screen. On the other half, images of the devastation flash by.

  The reporter continues: “The Vice-President has spoken out strongly against what he labeled as rioting and looting and promised to push for the administration to use increased force to prevent future occurrences. Meanwhile, the Chinese premier also affirmed his government's resolve to use whatever force is necessary to quell the growing unrest–” I click off the TV. That’s just what we need: more violence to rile up Franklin’s deadbeats even more.

  I look over at my dad again. I know I should take care of him, he and mom did devote many years to raising me after all, but somehow I just cannot be bothered tonight. Not with everything else I have going on. “Screw this,” I say out loud, perhaps secretly hoping it will register somewhere in my father’s drunken dreams. I go upstairs to my room and close the door behind me. After a second thought, I use the sliding bar mechanism I installed myself after reaching puberty to make sure this door is locked as well.

  Inside, I expect to relax, but instead I can still feel the tension in my body. I feel tight, on edge, alert to everything and nothing at the same time. Thoughts of Vera keep trying to surface, to poke their way through the mental barrier I’m trying to erect. I can’t even begin to sort through the conflicting emotions I feel for her to figure out which dominates. I’m definitely sure there is some fear of, and admittedly lust for, her. There may also be something burgeoning that is a little more significant than lust, something like infatuation on the way toward a true connection. Or maybe I was imagining that … or maybe I was being led to believe that for other, more sinister, reasons.