by Slay (epub)
“There’s a second entrance to the garage at the back. If we park here, she won’t see the car. Oh, can I help you carry that huge box? The one the hellhounds wouldn’t let me touch when I met you?”
“Don’t mind them. The pit and the pom have bigger fish to fry once the hunt is on. They love all humans, after they get to know them, that is. Anyway, I usually get geared up from my car. It’s safer. I don’t like to enter the lair of the vampire uninvited.”
“It’s my house too,” Talen mumbled under his breath.
Amondi exited the car and opened the trunk where the VKK awaited. Thankfully, the rain had subsided. She took off the pink hat and raincoat and draped them on the spoiler of the car. Talen stood anxiously beside her as she opened the VKK. The light from the trunk illuminated the contents. Methodically, Amondi hung the axees from the hammer loops on her catsuit, secured the extra bullets and holy water in the tactical belt. Finally, she took the safety off the pink Glock and slid the gun into the belt.
“I pray that every god in heaven and every devil in hell forgive me. But you’re so hot right now. I can’t believe you’re here to kill my wife.” His voice went up a full octave.
“You mean try to talk to your wife, don’t you?” Amondi said.
“Yes,” Talen said nervously. “If that’s possible.”
“I need you to take these.” She shoved a Bible, small axe and vial of holy water into his hands. “Throw the holy water in her eyes and hold up the bible. If they don’t keep her at bay, use the axe.”
“Where will you be?” Talen asked.
“Right beside you.”
Amondi went to the passenger side of the car and unleashed the honey hellhounds. They bounded out of the car and ran to the front door of the house. Just then bright lights flooded the area. They lit up the windows of the front room, illuminated Talen and Amondi and most of the front yard.
“Shit! She’s in the house!” Talen screamed. “She’s not supposed to be here.”
Amondi turned in time to see a shadowy figure in the window, lit by the security lights, moving toward the door. She froze, remembering the moments before she confronted the head vampire that bit her. Panic threatened to overtake her. She took a deep breath and blew out the air through pursed lips. “I can do this.” She whistled for the pit and the pom. Bella and Bram ran to her side. “Talen, are there motion lights on the outside of the garage too?”
“They’re broken. I haven’t gotten around to . . . “
“Don’t apologize. Run to the garage!”
The Confrontation
Talen took off in the direction of the garage, Amondi and the honey hellhounds on his heels. “There’s a huge hedgerow across from the garage,” he shouted back breathlessly. Let’s hide there.”
Panting behind the hedgerow at last, dogs by her side and Talen white as a sheet of paper, Amondi asked, “Did we run a mile?”
“Something like that. You get used to the distance.”
Amondi turned to look at the garage and assess the situation. The three-car garage was bigger than the rectory where she lived. “Marisol will be here any minute. We don’t want to hide here with our backsides unprotected. We should get into the garage fast.”
“Okay,” Talen said as he fumbled for the keys. “There’s a side door.”
Yip! Yip! Yip! Bram started turning in circles and barking.
“Shush Bram,” Amondi scolded. “She’s close, Talen. Hurry.”
* * *
They ran to the side door while Talen nervously tried to unlock it. Amondi scanned the yard with her flashlight. Suddenly, she caught a glimpse of a pink raincoat floating in their direction.
“Taaaaleeen. Taaaaleeen.” Mirasol called in a singsong. “Where are you? Don’t you want to live forever? Come here and kiss me. I love you.”
Talen froze.
“Talen. Unlock the door.” Amondi said in a harsh whisper.
“I’m trying. Can’t you see that?”
“Taaaaleeen. Taaaaleeen. Cheeeeater. Cheeeeater. Who is she? Don’t you know you’re mine? Mine, forever and ever, ‘til death do us part?” The vampire wife continued her taunting. Her voice was high and eerie. It stabbed at the eardrums like a saber.
Bella gave a low, long, deep growl. “Forget the door Talen! Turn around!!!” Amondi shouted.
Her flashlight illuminated a figure standing ten feet in front of them holding a pink raincoat out at arm’s length. “Taaaaleeen. Taaaaleeen. Cheeeeater. Cheeeeater.” Marisol taunted as she slowly ripped the pink coat in half. “Who is she?”
Amondi stood, feet shoulder width apart, pink Glock aimed squarely between Marisol’s eyes. Amondi took a deep breath and blew out the air through pursed lips. Talen slowly raised the bible and held it out in front of him. Marisol hissed and raised her clawed hands for the pounce. Her long blonde hair was matted. Her skin was gray and pockmarked. Her breath stank and her pale blue nightgown was ripped and stained with blood.
“Talk Talen or I’m ending it right now.” Amondi said.
“Mari,” Talen started. Marisol flew at him. “Shit!” Shaking, Talen threw the holy water in her eyes. She gave an unholy screech as three shots rang out. Talen saw three black holes appear between her eyes and she collapsed to the ground. Talen slumped against the garage door. “End this nightmare. Please.”
Amondi put her foot on Marisol’s chest and brought the great axe down on her neck, severing the head.
The Conclusion
Talen Teasdale woke with a start. Light from the ever-burning candles in the sconce danced on the walls of the rectory. Bella and Bram slept peacefully curled into each other by the front door. He could hear the methodical ticktock of a grandfather clock. The steady swing of its pendulum, the cadence of the march of time. 10 a.m. sun shone through the small high windows.
“Good morning sleepy head. You had a rough night.”
“Amondi?”
“Yes.” The alluring voice sounded miles away, shrouded in a cloud.
Talen lifted himself up and sat on the edge of the bed. Amondi stood in front of him. She smiled.
“What now?” he said, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and stretching.
“I’ve got dogs to walk if you want to come with me.”
“That sounds terrific.”
Encounters
K. R. S. McEntire
Part One: Lyric
My husband had been dead for twenty years when I saw him at the airport.
I choked on my chai latte when I noticed him strutting along, a suitcase in one arm and a twentysomething woman, who looked like a model, on the other.
I placed my cup between my knees and gripped the handles of my seat, as if I were accelerating into oblivion rather than waiting to board a plane. I’d know that strut anywhere. That slow, relaxed gait. His aloof brand of confidence was an inconvenience to the travelers trying to push past him in the crowded terminal.
As he approached, I bent down and pulled a true crime novel from my suitcase. My thick, black curls concealed my face as I unzipped my carry on. I sat up and held the novel high, its hardback hiding most of my profile. Pretending to read, I peered over the book and watched my husband and his woman merge into a line of people preparing to board first class on my flight. My flight! Heart pounding and with book in hand, I picked up my latte and moved to another seat to get a closer look.
The logical part of my brain knew this couldn’t be what it looked like. He couldn’t be who he looked like. Not only was this man, to put it simply, not dead, he looked twenty years younger than me. Even if my husband faked his death during his trip to Nigeria, twenty years had passed since then and this man didn’t look a day over twenty-five. He did look just as handsome as I remembered, in that black tailored peacoat. His coily hair was cut in a tapered fade, and his skin looked smooth.
As I watched him approach the boarding gate, I took a deep breath to settle my nerves. My wedding was in two days, so it was the absolute worst time for me to run into my
dead husband. Maybe I was seeing things because I miss him or imagining things as I wished they were. Or maybe my husband had a doppelganger, some unknown distant relative that happened to be boarding my flight.
Right before he entered the jet bridge, he turned toward me. I tried to hide behind my book, but it was too late. Our eyes met. For a brief moment, he froze in his tracks, causing his model to bump into his shoulder and the strangers behind him to glare. Then, in less than a heartbeat, he turned his back to me and rushed onto the plane with his head down and his shoulders slumped, all prior confidence gone.
One look into his eyes was all it took. I didn’t know how it was possible, but I knew it was Derek.
My anxiety grew once I boarded the plane. I needed to get to first class and figure out what on earth was going on, but I was stuck between a window and a redhead, who looked as if he were having a panic attack. His hand tapped against his thighs, and his breaths were quick and wheezy. I watched him from the corner of my eye as I fiddled with my book. He noticed my side eye and smiled sheepishly at me.
“I hate flying,” he said.
At the head of the cabin, a flight attendant briefed us on safety instructions as the plane took off. Once the plane reached cruising altitude and the attendants finished passing out snacks and answering questions, I looked around to make sure the coast was clear. Just as I was about to stand and make a beeline for first class, the man beside me spoke.
“I want to warn you,” the redhead said. “I’m really afraid of heights. Can we keep our window screen closed at all times? Please?”
I nodded, closed the window and stood up to sneak away when we hit a bit of turbulence. A moment later, the redhead had unbuckled his belt and was crouching on the ground in front of his seat. One hand rested on his belly, and the other gripped my ankle.
“Oh God. Oh God. I think I’m going to be sick!” he cried.
I had absolutely no time for this. Two flight attendants made their way toward us, glaring at me as if I had just assaulted this man, as if I were the one causing this commotion.
“Excuse me.” I slipped my leg out of the man’s grip and rushed past the flight attendants, bound for first class. The man continued to wail on the floor. As I rushed down the aisle, one of the flight attendants stopped to check on him. I glanced over my shoulder and noticed that the other continued to follow me. I increased my pace.
“Ma'am!” the flight attendant called after me, following me behind the first-class curtain. I ignored her and walked through the aisles until I saw Derek’s face looking at me as if he were the one who had just seen a ghost.
I marched over to him, unsure of what I would say once I had the chance to speak with him. The flight attendant was still on my heels.
“Ma'am, I’m going to have to ask you to go back to your seat,” the flight attendant said.
I kept my eyes on Derek.
“You are not supposed to be back here.” The flight attendant put her hands on her hips.
“It’s okay,” Derek said. His familiar voice made my heart stop all over again.
I had videos and audio recordings of his voice that I'd held on to over the years, but it was nothing compared to the real thing. How could this be possible?
“I know her.” He looked at the flight attendant with pleading eyes. “Please give us a moment.”
His friend raised an eyebrow as she leaned over and whispered. Though I could not make out her words, her Nigerian accent was unmistakable. Suddenly, my fear and confusion dissolved into rage. Did he go to Nigeria and meet a new lover? Did he fake his death rather than telling me the truth? He missed every milestone in his daughter’s life. In my life. He missed his only child being born!
“That’s right.” I glared at the flight attendant until she stepped back. “I need to talk to him.”
He looked over at the woman, apologetically.
“Excuse me,” he said to the Nigerian woman, trading seats with her to be closer to where I stood.
She turned toward her window to give us some semblance of privacy.
“Lyric, we should really talk in private,” he whispered to me.
“Do you know where I’m going?” I asked. “I’m going to pick up our daughter!”
His eyes widened and mouth parted in awe. He looked like a deer caught in headlights.
“I have a daughter?” he asked, a warm smile slipping across his face.
“Yes, you have a daughter who’s extremely ill and believes her father’s dead.” My voice was so loud that all the first-class passengers gave me dirty looks. The flight attendant moved closer.
Derek frowned. “What's wrong with her?”
“You would know if you were in her life.” I shot at him. Her type one diabetes had already caused two near-death experiences, and she was only twenty years old. I had no need to explain this to a man who chose not to be in her life.
He was silent for a moment, pondering. Finally, he spoke.
“Does she need urgent medical care? Is that why you are going to see her?”
“No, she’s doing okay right now,” I said. “We are meeting up for… other reasons.”
“Why are you going to Chicago?”
“I’m not,” I said. “I just have a layover in Chicago. I’m going to New York, where she lives.”
He motioned to the woman at his side.
“I’m taking her to Chicago,” he said. “When you leave the plane for your layover, can we talk then?”
The flight attendant moved in. Apparently, I had overstayed my first-class welcome. When her eyes met mine, I knew I didn’t have much time.
“That’s fine,” I said. Before the attendant had a chance to reprimand me, I stormed past her toward my seat in a haze of confusion and rage.
By the time I landed at the O’Hare airport, my anger had subsided. It was replaced with a sense of melancholy and regret, though I knew I’d done nothing wrong. I pictured the life I'd thought I would have so many years ago, the two of us raising our child together.
It had been twenty years since Derek’s “death.” Our child was an adult, and I was getting remarried in New York in two days. Even if he lied to me about his death, one chance encounter shouldn’t shake me or change my plans. But I was already shaken. My hands quivered at my side as I walked off the plane and looked around, not wanting to hope too much lest my heart get crushed all over again. I didn’t know if he would be waiting for me, or if he’d already run off with his new friend.
As I looked around the crowded terminal for tall black men in peacoats, I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard his all-too-familiar voice.
“Angel,” he said.
It had always been his favorite pet name for me. My stomach twisted at the sound of it. I spun around to face him.
“Derek…”
“We don’t have much time,” he whispered. He grabbed my hand and pulled me away. His hands felt cool against my sweaty palms. He guided me past the rushed travelers toward a room reserved for first class guests. Rather than entering the room, we stood in an empty hallway nearby. It may have been the quietest spot in the entire airport.
“I want you to know I never lied to you,” he whispered. “About dying. I did die. . . or at least I would have—”
“I got all of those calls about you being sick, losing consciousness in the hospital,” I interrupted. My voice rose.
He put his hand on mine and gave it a soft squeeze to calm me. The coldness of his touch sent chills through my body.
“Before I could book a flight to Nigeria, I got a call saying you were dead!” I went on. “I tried my hardest to get your body back here. I booked a flight to Nigeria myself, but I had no idea where you were or where to find your body. The hospital stopped returning my calls. Why go through all of those lies? If you met someone new, wouldn’t it have been easier to just leave me? I never even got a chance to tell you I was expecting Evelyn.”
“Evelyn?”
“That's your daughter’s name,�
� I said.
Tears burned before overflowing. He reached to wipe them away, but I pulled back.
“She’s been having a lot of issues with her health.” I looked into eyes I've seen a thousand times before, but they now held an unfamiliar distance. I turned away. "But you’d know that if you were here.”
“I stayed away to keep you safe.” Derek's voice was firm. As ridiculous as it sounded, I could tell he believed it. “I know this won’t make sense, but it was my only option.”
“Why?” The tears flowed now. My ragged breaths sounded like the redhead’s breathing on the plane. “I really need to understand why abandoning your family was the only option you could think of.”
He sat down on the floor cross-legged and slumped against the wall. It made him look small and vulnerable, like a child.
“I’m not supposed to tell,” he said, his head in his palm.
“Tell what?”
“But what are the odds of us being on the same flight?” He looked up at me with desperation in his eyes. “It’s almost like it’s fate. Like I’m supposed to tell you. But I want you to know that it’s dangerous for you to know.”
“Why would you ever think leaving your family would keep us safe?” I shook my head.
“Because I’m dead,” he said.
I frowned, my confusion and rage coming back. Was he toying with me?
“Undead,” he said, clarifying. “After the doctor said there was nothing else they could do for me, they gave me the option of going to a private doctor for an experimental treatment. Everything was off the books. They didn’t even charge me anything. They had… other motives for changing me. I thought it would be better for me to live like this… than be gone forever. At that facility, the private one, I consumed the blood of the undead.”
Why was I wasting my time with this liar?
“Goodbye, Derek.” I started to leave.
He jumped up and grabbed my arm. With a smooth gesture, he took my hand and placed it on his chest. I tried to pull my arm away.