Fate of the Vampire

by Gayla Twist

  “Grandma, I know you’re upset, but I’m sure it’s not him,” I said, trying to keep my voice as soothing as possible. “It’s probably just some heartless prank by some frat boys or something.”

  “You should ask him,” she said; then she blew a little air out of her nose in a snort of disgust. “See what he has to say for himself.”

  “I know you don’t believe me, but he’s devastated by all of this,” I told her. “It’s tearing him apart.”

  “Good,” she said, folding her arms. “He deserves all the suffering he can get.”

  I spent over three hours with Grandma Gibson before my mom showed up. I had thought being there would be hell, but we mostly just watched television. She’d said what she wanted to say, and I had no plausible argument to back my denial. While we sat there, I had lots of time to think about Grandma Gibson. Before I got involved with Jessie, she had been slipping further and further into dementia, but recently she had become much more lucid. Somehow, my being with a vampire had cleared her mind. She usually played it pretty smart. I think she knew that if she started telling people my boyfriend was a vampire, she would end up on some pretty heavy medication, and that would take her out of the fight. As it was, she kept her knowledge of Jessie from everyone but me.

  Mom had better luck getting through the lobby than I’d had. Either security had been increased or the reporters had knocked off to go to dinner. Either way, I snuck out the back of the hospital through a staff entrance that a friendly orderly was kind enough to tell me about. The hospital had decided to keep Grandma Gibson for another night, but I think they were just being kind because of all the press.

  I made myself a sandwich for dinner and sent a couple reassuring texts in response to messages I’d received from Blossom and Fred. Previously, I had been trying to minimize contact with Fred as much as possible. Not because he wasn’t a great guy, but because I didn’t want him to think there was a chance we might get back together. He thought he was competing with Jessie for my affections, but there was no competition; I was Jessie’s—heart and soul. I wondered if there was a way for me to promote a relationship between him and Blossom. He had proven without a doubt that he was a guy worth having.

  I thought Jessie would come by, but I didn’t know if he’d use the door or the window. I was kind of expecting window, so I was mildly surprised when, at nine o’clock, there was a light knocking at our front door.

  My impulse was to fling the door open so that I could be in Jessie’s arms all the faster, but I forced common sense to prevail and actually pulled back the curtain and peeked through the window first. There Jessie stood with a festively wrapped, square box in his hands. He looked out of place on our front porch, like when you see a photograph of a lynx lounging at the gate of a foreclosed mansion. I actually preferred it when he floated out of the sky to land on the back porch roof, descending like cherry blossom petals from a branch in the spring.

  “Hello,” Jessie said as I yanked opened the door. I could tell he was miserable, but he still had a smile for me.

  “Come in,” I said, opening the door wider.

  He only hesitated a moment before crossing the threshold. It was obvious that it gave him some struggle, but he did it gracefully. All of his movements were those of a lithe jungle cat. “I brought you some chocolates,” he said, handing me the beautifully wrapped box.

  “Thank you,” I said as I accepted them. Noting that the package was from a local chocolatier, I asked, “Did you send Viggo out for them?” Viggo was the tallest man I had ever met. He worked at the castle and was particularly loyal to Jessie.

  “No,” he said with a small smile. “That’s the beauty of winter. I can actually go out before the shops close.”

  I wondered at the thrill some clerk must have felt, having Jessie show up in the store. I know I would probably have tripped over myself to give him excellent customer service. “Thank you,” I said again, running my hand over the thick plum and gold paper. “The box is beautiful.”

  “My pleasure,” he said, still keeping himself at a polite distance.

  “By the way,” I told him. “My mom isn’t home.”

  “Oh. Well, in that case …” Jessie stepped forward and swept me into a low dip. His one hand supported me at the small of my back, and the other was behind my neck. He bent and let his lips brush lightly across mine before pulling back a few inches, making me gasp, teasing me for a moment before bending again to encompass me in a passionate embrace. There is the expression “swept off her feet,” and that’s how Jessie made me feel, both figuratively and literally.

  For those few passionate moments, I forgot about my great grandmother and the crazy reporters and the disappearance of Colette’s body. Hell, I practically forgot to breathe. I just let myself fully relish the moment.

  He set me on my feet again, and I regained my equilibrium. My troubles immediately resurfaced when he asked, “How is Lily?”

  It was weird that Jessie had known my great grandmother when she was a young woman. It was something that I didn’t think I would ever get used to. “Not great,” I told him. “They’re keeping her another night. I don’t know if you noticed, but there are a lot of reporters in town.”

  “I did notice,” he told me, keeping hold of my hand as I led him into the living room so we could sit on the couch. “And that’s all because of Colette?”

  I shrugged. “I guess it’s a slow news week.” That wasn’t the truth. I was sure there were plenty of disasters going on in the world that deserved more attention than our tiny slice of misery did, but the discovery, and then subsequent disappearance, of Colette’s body was the type of “news” that brought out the gawker in people. But while we were on the subject, I screwed up my nerve and asked, “Did you go to the morgue last night?”

  We both took a seat on the couch, and Jessie pulled me close so I was sitting snugly next to him. “Yes,” he said simply. “I didn’t think I was strong enough to see her, but in a weird way, I’m glad I went. Even though it’s been almost eighty years, seeing her body made me realize that she is truly gone.”

  His face looked so sorrowful that all I wanted to do was kiss him and tell him everything was going to be all right. But I had to be smart. I couldn’t let my passion for him overthrow my brain and sense of self-preservation. “What do you think caused her death?” I asked, feeling terrified but forcing myself to form the question.

  “A vampire,” he said with conviction. “She was killed by a vampire. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

  “But how?” I asked, my voice just above a whisper. I knew Jessie would never intentionally hurt me, but something had obviously gone horribly wrong in the woods all those years ago.

  Jessie let out a long, soul-shuddering sigh. “Someone must have been passing through Tiburon. A vampire, I mean. Maybe even a friend of the family who intended to visit us at the castle.”

  “But who would have done it?” I asked. From what Jessie had told me, most modern vampires tried to keep a very low profile, only feeding from blood donated to blood banks or voluntarily given by companions who were attached to a specific vampire.

  “I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” he said fiercely. “This is my fault. It’s my fault that Colette is dead. I count her murder as my doing. She would have never been out in those woods if it wasn’t for me.”

  “You couldn’t have known,” I told him. “Whoever killed her probably had no idea that you were in love with her. He just stumbled across a girl alone in the woods and let his appetite take over.” Even as I said the words, they felt false. In my dreams, I always knew the beast was specifically pursuing me. It hated me. It wanted me dead even more than it wanted to drink my blood. But it couldn’t have been Jessie. It just couldn’t have. I don’t know why my brain had somehow fused Jessie to that night, but it had, and all I could do about it was ignore the whole thing or tell him.

  I decided to ignore it.

  Jessie interrupted my thoughts b
y asking, “Has your family made arrangements for Colette’s burial? Because I would be more than happy to help in any way I can.”

  I guess I gave him such a look that he immediately knew something was wrong. “What?” he asked.

  “I thought you would have heard,” I stammered. “There was a breakin at the morgue and …” I took a deep breath and blurted, “Colette’s body is gone.”

  Jessie shot to his feet. “What are you talking about?” he all but shouted at me.

  “Someone stole Colette Gibson’s body from the Tiburon morgue,” I told him. “My great grandmother did her future-seeing thing again, and she somehow thinks it was you.” I couldn’t look him in the eye when I said it. The words felt like an accusation, and I didn’t want to put him on trial.

  His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. He was staring at me, gasping a little like one of those Asian goldfish. Finally, he said, “Do you think I took her body?”

  I shook my head. “No,” I whispered, and for some reason, I felt like I was going to cry. “I just wish we knew who did.”

  Jessie ran his fingers through his hair repeatedly. He went to sit down, then stood back up again. “I think I might know,” he finally said in a low, tight voice. “I guess I’d better go find out.”

  Chapter 6

  Colette’s body disappearing did nothing to quell the national news’s thirst for a story. In fact, it fed the flames. More news vans crowded the streets of Tiburon interviewing anyone they could corral. They were so desperately eager, I felt embarrassed for them. It was a very opportunistic way to make a living.

  Tuesday morning was more subdued at school. My family’s pain was still very much on people’s radar, especially with reporters easily visible lurking barely off school property, but there was a new drama to divert people’s attention. Liz Thurman was missing.

  She had gotten into a fight with her father Sunday night and stormed out of the house saying she was going to go stay with her sister, who was a student at Ohio State. Her parents assumed she would catch the bus down there, bellyache to her sister, spend the night, and then come on home. The problem was that she never showed up. Her sister hadn’t heard from her. And there was no record of her purchasing a bus ticket. She might have paid cash, but so far, no one had stepped forward with any memory of her at all. She had simply disappeared. Her parents were growing increasingly panicked.

  A dead great-great aunt was nothing compared to a missing classmate as far as school gossip goes. Everyone had a theory as to where Liz was hiding. The police had interviewed her best friends and her boyfriend, but none of them had a clue.

  Unfortunately, the fight Liz had with her father was about her cell phone usage, so she’d stormed out of the house without it. The police couldn’t even track her by her calls. It was spooky how easily she had vanished.

  “I think she’s just hiding somewhere ′cause she’s pissed at her dad,” Blossom said as we sat in the cafeteria during lunch.

  “I don’t think disappearing for two days is a good way to get back at your father,” I said, munching on a celery stick. I’d been indulging a lot lately and needed to reel in my eating before I ballooned up a pants size. “And besides, where is she? I mean, she hasn’t used the credit card her parents gave her for emergencies; she’s not at her sister’s; I’m sure she wasn’t walking around with enough cash to pay for a hotel room for two days. No matter how you look at this, it doesn’t sound good.”

  “Yeah, but this is Tiburon. People just don’t disappear from Tiburon,” Blossom insisted. I shot her a look, so she quickly amended her statement. “At least not in the last couple of decades.”

  I did not at all feel comfortable for Liz. And I knew, no matter what Blossom said, that there were weirdos everywhere. A few months earlier, I had been harassed by some scuzzbag in the library parking lot. Things got a little heated, and he let me know without a doubt that he had very bad intentions. Of course, that was until Jessie snatched him off the ground, flew very high into the air, and then let him drop. He caught the creep before he hit the pavement then instructed him to leave town and never harass any female ever again or he’d be sorry. I was quite sure the scuzzbag took him seriously, but it did prove my point that you always have to be careful, even in a very nice small town with a well-staffed police department.

  “So, what are you getting Dreamboat for Christmas?” Blossom asked, helping herself to some of my goldfish crackers.

  “Gah …” I groaned. “I have no idea.” The holidays were quickly barreling down on us, and I felt that I could easily panic about the whole gift-giving thing. Jessie’s family was extremely wealthy, and it was just ridiculous trying to think of something to buy for a person who had easy access to anything his heart desired. Plus, he’d been on the planet for about ninety-seven or so years, so he’d had plenty of time to indulge his whims. He’d suggested that we put a price cap on our gift giving in consideration of my more limited budget, but I intended to ignore his gallantry—as long as I could think of a really good gift.

  “Want to go shopping after school?” Blossom asked, interrupting my thoughts. “I haven’t even started on my list.”

  I shook my head. “Can’t. I think we’re getting Grandma Gibson out of the hospital this afternoon.”

  “Your life has been so fun lately,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Great grandmother collapsing, dead aunt’s body appearing and then disappearing … Good times.”

  “Yeah.” I had to agree with her. “It’s been interesting.”

  “At least you have a gorgeous boyfriend,” Blossom pointed out. “Now, there’s a shoulder to cry on. Complete and total yum.”

  “You should try talking to Fred a little,” I told her. “He’s got broad shoulders.”

  “Yeah … I guess.” Blossom turned her head to shoot a speculative look across the cafeteria to where Fred was sitting with a bunch of the other jocks. “I’m just really over the whole jock thing. You know?”

  For Blossom to say she was over dating jocks was like Mother Theresa saying she didn’t care about feeding the poor of Calcutta. It just felt wrong. “Are you feeling okay?” I asked, lifting my hand to touch her on the forehead. “Are you running a fever?”

  “Get off.” Blossom brushed my hand away with a laugh. “I just don’t feel like I can date a high school boy right now, and I’m not getting involved with some creepy college guy who is too immature to date someone his own age,” she insisted. “I just think maybe I need a break from guys in general. Unless,” she added, after giving it some thought, “Jessie has a hot brother, and you feel like fixing us up.”

  “He does,” I told her. “But he’s twenty-four and kind of a jerk.”

  Driving home from school, I wished, and not for the first time, that Jessie had a cell phone. I wasn’t one of those girls who were always glued to their phone, but it would have been nice to be able to send him a text. Not that he’d get it until after sundown, but still, I was seventeen. I did crave some interaction with my boyfriend beyond his fleeting visits. Plus, I had no idea if he was coming over that evening or not.

  Mom came by the house to get me, and we headed to the hospital together. I was hoping for a few minutes alone with Grandma Gibson so I could tell her that Jessie was not responsible for stealing Colette’s body. She probably wouldn’t believe me, but I was determined to at least tell her. I knew it was ridiculous to want to make my great grandmother actually like my vampire boyfriend, but her approval meant a lot to me, so I had to keep trying.

  When we got to the hospital, there were even more reporters than the day before. It was like there was no other news happening in the whole country, and everyone was converging on our tiny town. Fortunately, the staff was ready for us, and we made it up to room 444 without much hassle.

  Grandma was ready and waiting for us. She did not like hospitals and was eager to leave. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay with us a few days?” Mom asked her.

  “You can have my room.
I don’t mind the couch,” I assured her.

  “No, I don’t want to be a burden,” Grandma Gibson said.

  “You wouldn’t be a burden,” Mom insisted, sounding almost angry. “You’re my grandmother. This is what families do.”

  Grams just smiled and patted her on the hand. “Let’s just get this over with. I think they’re serving creamed corn tonight, and I don’t want to miss it.” I knew for a fact that Grandma Gibson hated creamed corn.

  I hated to be selfish, but I was secretly grateful my great grandmother wasn’t coming to stay at our house. I could only imagine what would happen if Jessie came by and she was there. Knowing how feisty she could get, I imagined she might try to stake him with a wooden spoon or something.

  All patients have to leave the hospital by wheelchair for some reason, so we rolled Grandma Gibson out the back. Someone must have tipped the reporters off that we were on our way because they swarmed us, shouting questions and shoving microphones in our faces. “Leave us alone, you parasites,” my mother yelled at them, trying to pry open the car door.

  Fortunately, the police showed up to inform the parasites that the parking lot was still hospital property and they had to get back. Grandma Gibson appeared to shrink and wither under the glare of the lights and cameras that kept rolling even though the police physically made sure the reporters gave us some space. I felt so bad for her. For almost her entire life she had worried and fretted over the fate of her sister. And now that she finally knew the truth that her sister was dead, now that she could properly mourn, she was being terrorized by the unceasing appetite of the twenty-four-hour news cycle.

  As Grandma Gibson got to her feet, her head started wobbling a little, like you see with very old people. I thought she was going to cry, and I was reaching out to support her, but then I noticed there was a fierce look in her eyes. She turned to glare at the reporters. They were all hair sprayed and camera ready, eyes glistening with the hope of a good sound bite. She pointed at the dyed blonde who had accosted me in the lobby. The woman smirked, thinking she’d been singled out for an exclusive. “You will die of ovarian cancer,” Grandma Gibson told her. “Even now, cells are mutating in your body. You will ignore the symptoms, assuming the disease would never dare touch someone like you. By the time you are diagnosed, it will be too late.”