He caught my eye. Gave me a crooked smile. And then beckoned me over.
“Whoa,” Kelly said, in a spacey-wastey voice. “Edwin Scullen is totally vibing you.”
J looked up. “He is. Does he want you to go over there?” She beamed at me. “You should go see what he wants!” In her own haze of happiness, she wanted me to be happy, too—and didn’t notice Ike’s glare. Oh, dear. Mr. chubby cheeks was happy to take advantage of J’s warmth, but maybe he was still holding a torch for me, too.
“Guess I should,” I said. “He probably just forgot his biology homework or something.”
I picked up my bag and lunch tray and walked over, putting my food down and sitting across from him. He looked at me with those deep dark blue eyes and a crooked smile like everything in the world was a joke and he was the only one who got it. I regarded him coolly for a while, and eventually, he started to squirm, and said, “What?”
“What, what? You’re the one who crooked your little finger at me, after ignoring me for weeks.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry about that. Or maybe I’m sorry about this. I… tried to stay away from you. For your own good.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Oh? I’m a big girl, Edwin.”
“I’m sure that’s true, but there are some things…”
“Like what? You’re a serial killer? A meth dealer?”
“I could be either of those,” he said seriously. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Maybe if you’d talk to me occasionally, I’d learn. So you’ve decided to throw caution to the wind and spend time with me?”
“I decided that the flame can’t be blamed for all the moths it burns. If the moth can’t control itself, maybe it deserves to catch fire.”
Not a bad line—a little pretentious and a lot cliché, and you could tell he’d planned it out beforehand, but still, not bad—and I laughed. “I think you overestimate your attractiveness, Edwin. I’m not saying I don’t like you—the whole man of mystery thing has a certain appeal—but I’m no moth, and you’re no flame.”
“Who said you were supposed to be the moth?” he said softly. He shook himself and gave me a fairly dazzling smile, considering he was a pretty broody guy. “Would you be interested in going on a trip to the Cities with me in the near future?”
Interesting. “Road trip? What for?”
“I confess that I sometimes find Lake Woebegotten to be… a trifle provincial. Going to a real city reminds me that there’s more in the world than fields and pigs and bodies of water. I don’t presume to know your mind, but since you come from California, it seems safe to assume you might feel similarly?”
“There are plenty of fields in California too. Agriculture out the wazoo. But, yeah, I’m more a city mouse than a country mouse.”
He laughed. “You are anything but a mouse, Bonnie Grayduck. I’ve never met a less mousy person.”
“You sure know how to flatter a girl, Edwin. ‘You’re not a rodent at all!’ What a sweet-talker. No wonder the girls are all crazy for you.”
Edwin’s smile was still genuine, which meant he could take teasing, which was promising, because even when I like people, I can’t resist getting a few little jibes in, just to keep myself entertained and my edge maintained. “I don’t care about all the girls,” he said softly. “Just one, really.”
I leaned back in my chair. “Hmm. Is this all some playing-hard-to-get fake-out? Because I can respect that. Act all mysterious to lure a girl in, then get what you want before she realizes you’re just another guy? Except if you’re a player, you’re one who hasn’t played in the two years you’ve been living here. I asked around. Which makes me think maybe you really are mysterious, and I think mysteries are interesting. And besides… I saw you shove my truck out of the way. Which tells me you’re something special.”
He rolled his eyes. “This again. So what am I then?”
“Probably some kind of vampire,” I said, and took a bite out of my grilled cheese, looking right into his face. His expression was priceless—widened eyes, lips parted, rapid blinking, then a quick return to his superior smirk.
“You don’t look much like the goth girl type. You’re into vampires?”
“I’m into remarkable things and extraordinary people, Edwin. Which one are you? A person, or a thing? Because I’m interested either way.”
A buzzer sounded, indicating the end of lunch period. “We should get to biology,” he said.
“The study of life,” I said. “What could be more interesting?”
In biology class, we finally got the chance to dissect something. On every lab table there were two scalpels and a metal tray containing the fetus of a pig.
“It’s a little piggly-wigglykins!” I said. “How cute!”
“Cute?” Edwin wrinkled his nose and prodded the pig with the eraser end of his pencil. The smell of formaldehyde wasn’t strong, but it was there, giving a certain mortuary sort of undercurrent to the experience. Our specimen was just a bit over six inches long, with a head small enough to hold in the palm of my hand. I’d done a few dissections in my time—out in the field, you might say, with certain stray animals I’d found in the hills above Santa Cruz—but I’d never cut up a pig before. They say pigs and humans are really similar in some ways—or is that just the taste? Human flesh is called “long pig” sometimes, right, because we taste like pork chops? If Edwin were a flesh-eating wendigo in disguise, he’d know.
Up at the front of the room, Mr. Whatever was talking about how the pigs were generously donated by some local pig farmer, and how they were all harvested from dead mothers and how their deaths would further our understanding of science and blah blah blah. We had worksheets telling us all the stuff we had to do: determining the pig’s sex, identifying the parts of the oral cavity, tying the pig’s legs pretty much spread-eagled before cutting open the body cavity—wow, kinky. Edwin had a look of distaste on his face, but I guess when you’re an inhuman monster who preys on humankind, a dead pig must seem fairly bush league.
I got an idea. I picked up my scalpel, caught Edwin’s eye, and sliced into the ball of my thumb with the blade. The thing wasn’t as sharp as I would’ve liked—shoddy stuff for the high school kids, surprise surprise—and so it stung a bit, but nothing too painful. I sucked in my breath as a bead of blood formed on the tip of my thumb. Then I looked at Edwin.
His eyes were fixed on my thumb, and they were no longer dark blue: they were black. His jaw was clenched, lips pressed tightly together, and he’d stopped breathing completely—not like he was holding his breath, but like he’d simply forgotten the need to pretend to be breathing. “Oh, no,” I said. “Sir, I cut my thumb.”
“Do you need to go to the nurse?” Mr. Whatever asked, rushing over with the first-aid kit.
“Oh, no, it’s just a teensy scratch.” I lowered my voice and said, into Mr. Whatever’s ear, “But Edwin here looks faint—I think he must have trouble with the sight of blood. Maybe he’d better go.”
Edwin was still staring at my thumb as Mr. Whatever dabbed on a squirt of antibiotic ointment and handed me a band-aid to wrap around the wound. Mr. Whatever considered him, then nodded. “Some people are like that. Funny, his dad being a doctor and all, he sees blood all the time, but I guess you never can tell. Scullen, go see the nurse, make sure you’re okay, sit out the class if you need to.”
“I’d really better go with him,” I said. “What if he faints in the hallway?”
Edwin grunted, and exhaled and started breathing again, but let me take his hand and lead him out of the room. Once we were a few steps away from the classroom he jerked his hand away from mine and moved to the far side of the hallway, his shoulder almost touching the lockers as he walked. “What was all that about?”
“Testing a theory,” I said, resisting the urge to move closer to him.
“What theory?”
“I already told you.”
He looked around, then said, “That I’m a vampire?”
“That’s the one.”
“Bonnie, you’re being ridiculous.”
“By the way,” I said. “Yes, I’ll go with you to ‘the cities,’ as my dad calls them. I’ll go online and look up some goth clubs, what do you say? I’ll dress in black, something long and tight that shows off my neck—”
“Stop,” he said. “Please.”
“Do you want to taste my blood?” I said lightly. “I wouldn’t mind. I think it could bring us closer together.”
He made a strangled sort of noise and fled, not heading to the nurse’s office, but for the main doors. Well, well. I’d struck a nerve. Good to know.
I glanced at my hall pass. It didn’t specify a destination. I had my liberty. Might as well go to the library and see if they had a copy of Interview with a Vampire or something. I’m not much for reading, but I finally had a subject that interested me.
SUNSHINE AND PAIN
FROM THE JOURNAL OF BONNIE GRAYDUCK
Edwin didn’t come to school the next day, and I might have believed I was responsible, except none of the Scullens and the Scales were in school. I didn’t say anything, of course, but Kelly must have seen me looking toward their table, because she said, “They’re never here on really sunny days. Apparently they go camping whenever the weather’s nice. Like, the whole family. Pretty weird, right?”
“Where do they camp?” I asked.
Kelly shrugged. “I’m not sure. They drive over to the Chippewa National Forest sometimes, and sometimes to Paul Bunyan State Forest. That’s what my mom says—she’s a nurse over at the hospital, so she knows Dr. Scullen. And other times they camp more locally, I’m not sure. They pretty much live in the woods. Maybe they just walk out their back door with backpacks on. I don’t know what they do out there—hunt, maybe?”
“Hmm,” I said. Hunting. That was possible—the Scullens and Scales couldn’t be the only hikers out in the woods, and I bet hikers were delicious, if you liked that sort of thing. Probably disappeared without a trace all the time, too.
“Hey, do you, ah, want to go out with us tomorrow? We’re going to Bemidji to go shopping for dresses for the dance.”
Dance? Right. I’d seen posters. Some kind of fall formal. How exciting. “Wow, exotic Bemidji,” I said.
Kelly laughed. “Hey, it’s the biggest city in north central Minnesota. And the birthplace of the late great Jane Russell!”
Wow, I thought. Quite a distinction. “Ah.”
Kelly went on: “And more important, they’ve got a mall, which is more than you can say for Lake Woebegotten. Are you going to the dance?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t have a date.”
“The Scullens never go to dances,” Kelly said.
“How interesting for them.” A little frost in my voice made her look away.
“Anyway, J and Ike are going together, of course, and I’m going with Terrence, you’d be welcome to come hang out with us if you want, but even if you don’t, you could come with us to help us pick out clothes, you’re from California so you’re like automatically more stylish than most people around here… Never mind.”
I retracted my claws. “No, thanks, I’d love to go, actually. I’ve never even been to Bemidji.” I could make some guesses about it though: they would have fields, and at least one lake, and a lot of trees, and soon they’d be covered in a crust of snow and ice. But I wasn’t going to sit around waiting for Edwin. I’d live life—or whatever simulacrum of life I could find here in the land of lakes and woe. “Count me in.”
“Great!” Kelly said. “Do you mind if we take my car? No offense, but Marmon, ah…”
“Not a luxury ride. I know. But excellently designed for squashing people, you’ll have to agree.”
“Mind if I go to Bemidji tomorrow night?” I asked, stirring my fork around in my caprese salad. The tomatoes weren’t very good—too late in the year, so they were hothouse—but I had to admit the cheese was tasty, and at least it wasn’t a meal served on a bun or dipped in batter and fried or both, which was pretty much what Harry seemed to subsist on.
He dropped several slices of mozzarella on a piece of white bread, squashed another slice on top, and took a big bite of what must have been the whitest sandwich in history, chewed, and said, “What for and who with?”
I rolled my eyes, as teenage girls are expected to do. “My friends Kelly and J. They’re going to some mall to pick out dresses for a dance next month.”
“Hmm. They’re nice kids. You going to the dance?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t want to go stag—or what is it when a girl goes to a dance by herself? Going doe?”
“I guess it’d be ‘going hind,’ actually,” Harry said, and grinned. “Doesn’t sound too good, does it? Not sure I’d want a daughter of mine going hind.”
Harry could surprise me like that. He was not a dumb guy, and was actually pretty funny. Far more perceptive than Mom, which was a drawback in general, but I was living an honest and virtuous life these days, so it hadn’t caused me many problems yet.
“Well,” he continued, “I can’t see why not. It’s a Friday night, and we haven’t discussed curfews or anything, and despite the badge and the gun I’m not necessarily all that authoritarian, so let’s just say, use your judgment, don’t be home too late, and don’t make me worry about you. I know a few of the cops over in Bemidji, nice enough guys even if they do put on airs what with working for a pretty big city.” (Bonnie here: let me note that Bemidji has a population of about 14,000 people. Santa Cruz—not a particularly large city by California standards—is four times more populous than that. Nevertheless, Bemidji is to Lake Woebegotten as New York City is to Lizard Lick, North Carolina, pretty much, so I guess Dad had a point.) “So I can make a call and have an APB put out for you, which would be pretty embarrassing for you if you weren’t in any trouble, so call if you’re going to be too late. Fair enough?”
“Works for me, Dad,” I said. Calling was no problem. Keeping up social and family appearances was one of my personal specialties.
I went to bed, and I dreamed of Edwin again. No bears this time. Not much blood, either. We were camping, out in the woods, and… let’s just say we didn’t do any hunting. We never even left the tent.
Another bright and sunshiny day, another total lack of the Scullens and the Scales. I didn’t believe for a moment they were camping, especially after Edwin told me he found Lake Woebegotten too countrified for his taste—why would he want to lower his civilization quotient even further? (Okay, possible answer: his parents forced him. But I had a hard time imagining anyone forcing Edwin to do anything.) Wasn’t it more likely that his absence on the first two consecutive cloudless days since I’d arrived in Lake Woebegotten had more to do with his vampirism?
Fine. That’s not actually more likely, the answer to a question like that is pretty much never “yes,” I understand, but it’s certainly more interesting. Maybe his sort of vampires are only vulnerable to direct sunlight or something. Perhaps vampires are like clematis (a plant that has always sounded like a particularly banal sort of sexually transmitted disease to me): they thrive best in partial shade. It was a theory, anyway. Or maybe I’d really scared him away by pressing the issue, cutting my thumb and showing him the blood. That was the possibility I didn’t want to dwell upon: that I might have blown my chance at true love and, not incidentally, eternal life and awesome predatory powers. I took comfort in Kelly’s claim that the Scullens always disappeared on sunny days, but damn: you’d think the boy could at least call me. Vampires don’t have cell phones? Vampires don’t text? Maybe he was hundreds of years old or something and didn’t have the hang of totally everyday modern technology. And, eww, that was kind of a gross thought. If Edwin was all kinds of ancient, wasn’t his obsession with me the next worst thing to being a pedophile? (Or, at the very least, an ephebophile, like the high school teacher I slept with the year before I moved to Lake Woebegotten said he was: obsessed with sleeping with lat
e adolescents, which is only illegal for the first few years of their age-15-to-19 uber-fuckability window, depending on where you live.) But if he was that old, everybody was a child by comparison, unless they were dead like him, so he had no choice but to be a dirty old man, unless he wanted to be a necrophile. The moral complexities of vampire-human love matches made my head hurt, so I did what I always did when confronted with such a moral problem: decided morals are for losers and the weak, and, thus, utterly irrelevant for me.
I hoped to hear from him eventually. We were supposed to go to the Twin Cities soon, and the weather was going to be clear all weekend. I don’t like being stood up. If someone’s going to be stood up on, I want to be the one doing the standing.
I got through another day in school, made unspeakably tedious without the distraction of Edwin. Biology was increasingly ridiculous, as my lab partner had been absent more often than not—at least Mr. Whatever seemed inclined to cut me some slack on that point. How did Edwin get away with ditching so often? I needed to learn his secret. Maybe having a doctor dad meant he could get doctor’s notes to excuse his absences, but how far could you push something like that? The Scullens and Scales were all old enough to drop out of school if they wanted, but still, it seemed pretty unlikely Edwin would ever be able to actually graduate with so many missed days. That also pointed to him being a vampire: he obviously didn’t give a crap about his future, which made sense, when you figured his future would last potentially forever. What did getting a diploma matter?
Then again, why did Edwin and his quasi-siblings go to a public high school at all? It didn’t really make any sense. Sure, they looked young enough that they should be in school, but everybody thought their family was hardcore weirdos anyway, so it would’ve been easy to claim they were being homeschooled like a bunch of religious kids. Maybe Edwin and his brothers were just hungry for sweet teenage girlflesh, then—but what about those bitches Pleasance and Rosemarie? Were they eager for human contact to fill the empty hours of their lonely immortal lives? That didn’t make a lot of sense, either. Wolves don’t hang out with sheep for kicks. And my dad hadn’t mentioned a rash of disappearances or bodies turning up drained of blood in the past couple of years. What kind of vampires didn’t feed on the human cattle around them? If I could drain and kill these morons I would.
The Twilight of Lake Woebegotten Page 10