by Danae Ayusso
“Why are you glowing and pulsing?” I asked the snaking tendrils.
They didn’t answer.
“I have to go home,” I said when the grass seemingly reached out for me and wrapped around my legs, wiping away some of the mud clinging to them in the process, as if it was trying to clean me up. “I just want to get home and pretend none of this happened,” I said, patting the chunk of moss that crawled up the closest grave marker, trying for attention as well. “I have to go,” I said again, caressing the pouting moss and tendrils.
Before they could firmly anchor me to the ground to join them for all eternity, I hurried from the cemetery, following the faint and distant sound of traffic.
Apparently the lazy jerk that buried me alive moved me all of a seven-hundred yards, if that.
“I so want a redo with a psychopath that will actually make a dang effort in my attempted murder!” I complained.
I was tired of men not making an effort or attempt, of them standing me up and looking down their noses at me.
No more.
Instead of hailing a cab, not that there are many out at this hour, and I had lost my purse in the attack, I stumbled barefooted down the sidewalk. The farther I got from the cemetery, the more severe the burning and numbing cold was. The base of my neck felt as if it was on fire and the maddening throbbing wasn’t going away regardless of how hard I rubbed.
Those I passed on the sidewalk hurried away from me.
The muddy, bloody, mumbling girl complaining about a lazy jerk that wouldn’t even give her twelve-inches… That sounded really bad and creepy, but in the non-sex sense it applied. I wasn’t worthy of a foot of dirt. I wasn’t worthy of him finishing the job. I wasn’t worthy enough to get a call from my blind date saying he wasn’t going to make it or was running late.
And apparently I wasn’t worthy enough to be asked if I needed help by any of the people I stumbled past on the street.
So irritated, I hadn’t even noticed that I passed my apartment building.
I kept walking in a daze, as if my feet knew the way.
After much internal reflection, I realized it was exactly that!
Even if my mind and body were completely disconnected, my feet knew the way.
They were taking me home, back to the Devil and his lair.
Sadly, in my heart it felt like home before I even saw the place.
Calling him the Devil was a grave understatement and an insult to the Devil, though. It was something I’d have to apologize to the Devil for later.
When my feet abruptly stopped, I looked around in a daze.
“Where in the heck am I?” I mumbled, trying to orientate myself.
Instead of the glass façade that ‘classed up’ rundown apartments in the shady part of South Seattle I called home, I was standing in front of an old church. I remembered seeing it in the newspapers a few months back. The local bible thumpers threw a total hissy fit over it being purchased instead of having it donated to them. When the former congregation neglected to pay Uncle Sam for the past two-decades, the government and city said too bad, so sad, and auctioned it off. It went for over a million dollars with a half-million dollar tax bill on top of the sale price. From what the article said, it went for much less than anticipated and a record low turnout helped with that. The developers spoke of turning it into a nightclub.
Personally, I found it amusing.
Standing in front of it now, the beauty registered with my fuzzy brain and disorientated vision, and I could see the appeal of the place. It was pretty in a churchy sort of way; stone walls, lots of stone really that took up nearly the entire block, soaring spires that disappeared into the clouds, stained glass filling each window, and large doors that looked as if they belonged on a fortress. There were no lines cued, and no music coming from the inside.
It didn’t even look as if someone was there.
Irritated at my obvious absentminded walking, I tried to turn around and head home but my feet wouldn’t move.
“Dang it! I’m not in the mood,” I whined and forcibly tried to lift my leg, to move my foot, to shuffle my feet, anything!
Yes, I was a complete airhead for trying to use my upper body strength to lift my own feet, but in all fairness I had a really long night. All I wanted to do was go home and sleep for the next week, and forget that any of it happened, and maybe get a rabies shot since I was more than confident that the jerk bit me for some reason.
But my feet wouldn’t move.
“I said I want to go home!” I yelled at them.
With all of my might, I kicked my left foot out as hard as I could, and was surprised to see that it moved. However, my momentum didn’t stop. I somehow invoked an inner ninja that I never knew existed and did a back flip, landing on my stomach on the cold, wet sidewalk.
That was my breaking point.
For most people it would have been when they were attacked. For others it would have been when they were buried alive and woke up in a cemetery. A few would have reached that point when they started seeing things that weren’t there like winking angels, crawling moss, and glowing vegetation.
But only one creature would have just then reached their breaking point…
And that was me.
I screamed and kicked my feet, throwing a complete temper tantrum, and usually I would have cared or been ashamed of my behavior in public, but I didn’t.
I just wanted this day to end!
“That does not look comfortable,” a deep voice said from the entryway of the church.
Well no duh it isn’t comfortable. Talk about the embodiment of genius, right here, not more than five-feet from me!
I should have said that out loud, but I didn’t.
“I suppose it isn’t,” I agreed, struggling to get to my feet.
“As long as we agree,” he said then slammed the doors shut.
Men; God’s first and greatest creation… What a load of crap! I really don’t like them.
Eventually I got to my feet, staggering and falling against everything and anything in the vicinity until I found my balance.
That couldn’t entirely be blamed on the concussion and situation. I’ve never been known for my grace or staying on my feet when there’s something to trip over in a thousand-foot radius.
My brother got the grace and coordination.
“I’m going home,” I said again, with more finality, and started to take a step forward, in the direction of my private sanctuary.
When I did, my feet took off in a sprint and closed the distance between me and the doors in a fraction of a second.
I slammed face first into the doors, but somehow didn’t make contact with them.
It hurt, don’t get me wrong. It felt like I was slammed face first into a set of doors, but it wasn’t the doors I made contact with.
It was something else, something without a name, and it should have freaked me out, more so than everything else so far, but again, it didn’t.
I hit something, something tangible, but not wood. It hummed like the grave markers and statues, but at the same time it felt different.
It felt like denial… If denial had a silent voice preventing me from going somewhere and instead hummed with some type of invisible force.
Yes, it was denial.
I was denied even being able to touch the doors.
To put it into perspective for you, imagine what a bug on a windshield looks like. Only said windshield is an invisible barrier against a set of twenty-foot solid oak and iron doors, and the bug is a muddy five-nine, twenty-three year old.
The doors flew open and a man stood there, the look of irritation was replaced by something else.
I wouldn’t say amusement, not in the least. Maybe murderous rage mixed with sexual frustration.
That would be the only way to describe it.
“What do you want?” he demanded, his top lip snarling up over his perfectly straight, white teeth.
I’ll admit, at first I was
awestruck.
Remember, I have a concussion, was attacked, bitten, buried, left for dead, and am a bug on a windshield.
At the moment, the man’s demeanor didn’t even register with me, rather his face did.
There was something strangely familiar about his face, but I couldn’t put my finger on where I had seen it before.
I would say perhaps in a past life, but that wasn’t possible for me.
I had no past lives.
His smooth, medium beige complexion was flawless, narrowed cognac-amber ribboned eyes were encased in the longest, thickest dark brown lashes I’ve ever seen on a man. His long, narrow nose was perfectly straight and worked on his oblong face, dark brown hair was cropped on the sides and in messy, damp curls on the top. As his eyes moved over my face, his full eyebrows knitted together, and his rose tinted lips pulled inhumanly taut across his face.
If I were a betting woman, I’d wager that he had never laughed or smiled a day in his life.
“Well?” he asked, irritated that I was just staring at him.
“I want to go home,” I whispered in the weakest and most timid voice that had ever come out of my mouth.
His head tilted to the side and his expression softened, making him even more handsome.
“But my feet won’t let me,” I added, and instantly I was cringing at just how stupid that sounded.
Just so it’s clear, I have never been known for being good with men.
“Your feet will not let you?” he asked, obviously questioning my sanity.
“Nu huh,” I pouted.
Somehow, even the first time we met in that life, the man could revert me to a whimpering child with merely a look.
The man pushed his long, slender hand through his hair, disheveling it even more before shaking his head in resignation. “This is no longer a church thus the soup kitchen is closed. Eight blocks south is the newly opened women’s shelter, they should be able to help you get cleaned up…” his words trailed off as his eyes went to my neck. His top lip snarled upward again and my eyes widened as his cuspids started to lengthen into fangs. “Luka!” he barked out loudly, causing me to shriek.
His monstrous voice echoed throughout the church, mockingly repeating the single name that would haunt me to no end.
“What?” an irritable voice barked back, this one I knew all too well from hearing it only once.
“What have you done?” the irate man demanded.
Did I neglect to mention that I’m still in the bug on a windshield pose in front of him, feet dangling in mid-air, and he hadn’t offered me to come inside or anything?
Again, men suck.
“What in the hell are you talking about now?” Mr. Bite Happy-Bury a Girl in a Shallow Grave whined from the back of the church. “Seriously, Andrei, you’re going to have to be a bit more specific since my very presence is the gravest of sins in your opinion,” Luka condescendingly informed him.
Andrei growled then stepped to the side and motioned towards the bug on a windshield girl hanging suspended in their doorway. “Something followed you home,” he venomously informed him, and suddenly I was feeling like the third-wheel in a really bad marriage.
Luka stopped in mid-step then groaned. “Shit. I thought I killed that,” he complained.
I gave him a bras d'honneur. “Next time try harder, you lazy jerk!” I snapped at him, scaring myself in the process.
Never had I talked like that before.
Thought it, for sure, but never actually said it aloud.
It felt really dang good.
“I’ll take it under advisement,” Luka said.
Even the dead wouldn’t have missed his tone.
“Brother,” Luka said with a pouting bottom lip, and I fought the bile rising from his pathetic, well-rehearsed, theatrics, “will you please take care of that for me?” he batted his long, chocolate colored lashes at the un-amused man.
I fought against the invisible force holding me up, feebly kicking and swinging in the air but it was futile.
I’m rather confident that I looked like some kind of spaz having an upright seizure.
“That,” I spat, “is right here and is a dang person that you attacked, bit, buried, and left for dead! That has a gosh darn name, and it is Shawn. Okay, not That!” I venomously informed him.
Again, it felt really dang good to say something so angry and snarky.
Mia bisnonna would have been so proud!
Andrei’s eyes widened before they narrowed and Luka backed away from him. “You buried her?” he snarled, stalking towards the quickly retreating man. “Where?” he demanded.
Luka shrugged. “I don’t remember?” he offered.
“Cemetery!” I called out then smiled wide when Luka glared at me.
Andrei stopped stalking towards his brother, shook his head and erected himself. “This, брат, is your mess thus you will clean it up. I am done risking everything for you. That thing is your responsibility, not mine, thus I will not get my hands dirty this time taking care of your problem.”
Luka gasped. “But-”
“But nothing!” Andrei shouted, an accent flaring. “You fed on a human-”
“Accidentally!” Luka interrupted. “She kicked me in the balls! What was I supposed to do… Okay, it was an accident, but she started it!”
“Oh yes, because that is simply terrifying and lethal,” Andrei shot back, blindly motioning towards me.
“Shawn, not That,” I reminded them, but they paid me no attention.
Again, that not so warm and fuzzy third-wheel feeling was back.
“Then you have the audacity,” Andrei continued as if I wasn’t there, like I was nothing more than an inconvenience to his evening, “to leave that alive, bury it in a goddamn cemetery… Obviously I need to remind you how vampires are made!” he yelled in Luka’s face.
Oh crap.
Yeah, this night could get a lot worse and it obviously has.
But something overly amusing occurred to me at the most inopportune time.
“Vampires living in a church?” I snorted. “Isn’t that sacrilegious or against the rules or something?” I asked.
Of course they ignored me; they are really good at doing that like every other card-carrying member of the penis coalition.
“I am not taking care of the problem this time,” Andrei repeated, his accent getting even thicker. “It is your problem so you will have to get your hands dirty in order to fix it for once, брат. I am done with you and your infantile behavior and will not tolerate it any longer. Do you understand?” he hissed.
“Again, I’m right here!” I reminded them, trying to change the subject from the combination of problem—which was obviously me—and the whole mention of vampires and, well, I wasn’t sure what else but I knew it wouldn’t be good for me whatever it was.
Luka gasped, as if offended. “You can’t be serious, Brother! You want me to kill that thing?” he sounded almost disgusted at the thought of having to do something for once.
Again, I gave him a bras d'honneur.
“Seriously, Brother, look at it!” he waved towards me as if it explained it all, and honestly, with my lackluster appearance, it pretty much explained it better than words and a power point presentation could have.
“In all fairness, I had a really crappy night,” I said with a sigh, giving up on the endeavor of getting down or freed from whatever was holding me up.
Honestly, I was just too exhausted to fight anymore.
“Get it over with or whatever it is that you’re going to do,” I said, closing my eyes. “It isn’t like this night could get any worse if I tried.”
“Uh huh,” Luka snorted, rolling his eyes. “The grownups are talking right now, Little Girl, so keep your mouth shut like a good little pet.”
“Don’t call me that!” I yelled, my eyes snapping open; only Luka could give me my second wind by simply opening his mouth. “Don’t ever call me that!”
Andrei’s head til
ted to the side to regard me. “How would dying not be the worst part of your night?” he asked, indifferent.
I pouted, crossing my arms over my chest and glared.
Andrei was pretty dang hot when he wasn’t being a complete jerk.
“Let me think,” I said and pretended to think about it, making a face.
The corners of his mouth twitched for just a fraction of a second.
“I got stood up on a blind date,” I informed him. “Mind you, this blind date I didn’t even want to go on but my annoying coworker that apparently moonlights as a matchmaker from the seventh level of Hell wouldn’t stop hounding me so I caved. It wasn’t supposed to rain and yet it did. I missed the movies, but I got to hear the last reels from the shallow grave your annoying brother buried me in.”
“Count that in the positive category,” Luka informed me. “The movie was rubbish.”
“It was Oscar nominated,” Andrei and I said in unison, causing my eyes to widen, and he looked at me curiously.
Okay, he has great taste in movies like I do.
That meant he couldn’t be entirely bad, right?
“I ruined my dress that I really couldn’t even afford, but my reasoning was it had less calories than a pint of Ben and Jerry’s so why not?” I continued, speaking to Andrei since he had better taste than his brother. “Lost my cape shawl that I spent way more than I should have on last year, but it reminded me of the one my mother would wear when I was a child so I blew my paycheck on it. Lost my grandmother’s shoes…” my words trailed off and I wiped away the tear that rolled down my cheek. “That was all I had left of her. That is worse than being attacked, bitten, buried alive and left for dead by your little brother. Honestly, I’m indifferent over the fact he couldn’t even finish the job, and buried me in a shallow grave that was barely eight-inches deep. Twelve-inches I would have been slightly more accepting of because it meant he made an attempt, but eight?” I huffed. “That’s barely moving the dirt around with the toe of his shoe. Was my outfit not pretty enough or was I not worthy enough for those extra four inches of dirt?” I venomously demanded, glaring at the annoying vampire. “Even for a passing moment was my dress not pretty enough for an effort to be made?!”