by Declan Finn
Bosley’s smile froze on her face. She automatically took a long, healthy sip from her glass. She put it off to one side, still staring. “May I ask why?”
“I might hurt him. He might even let me.”
Bosley tossed her hands up, not even bothering to shrug. “I think that’s called love. Period. Welcome to everyone else’s problem with it. Get over it.”
“I am a blood-sucking monster, Jen. That’s worse than some headache.”
“I dunno, I think I’d have preferred my heart literally ripped out a few times,” Bosley muttered as she reached for her wine glass. “And what if he felt the same way about you? Ever think of that?”
Amanda cocked her head, confused. “What makes you say that?”
“I talked with your boy when you were still a pussy in a box, mate.”
“What?”
“Schrodinger? Cat in a box? Maybe dead, maybe in’it?” Bosley prompted, her accent thickening. “Dunno ’til you open and look inside. You were the pussy in the box this time when the hospital dropped on you, mate. He was not happy about it. He’s not exactly detached. If he’s not in love with you, I’ll eat Kalsey’s heart out myself. I mean that, too.”
Amanda smiled at the idea of the vile bar owner with his heart ripped out and being used as snack food. “Tempting.”
Bosley pointed at her like a stern schoolmarm. “Trust me, young lady. If your human knew what we were talking about this minute, he would personally jump you himself. And if I were you, I’d let him. He’s not bad looking.”
Amanda sighed. “I suppose I will have to take it under advisement.”
“Don’t give me that. I think I invented the term as a replacement for ‘Get stuffed.’ When are you going to see him next?”
“Around Christmas.”
Bosley smiled broadly. “I can’t think of a better Christmas present.”
Amanda sat back in the chair, wondering what Marco really would think.
* * * *
San Francisco
Marco Catalano sat down at his laptop and started to compose an email. For a man who had just gone toe-to-toe with a demon with as much worry as the average citizen might have against a mugger, the email terrified him out of all proportion.
Dearest Amanda,
I have a secret to tell you. Not too surprising, is it? My very smile must appear to be a mask at times.
In fact, I have two secrets to tell you. Neither may surprise you. Or both will. Though which would surprise you, or surprise you more, I couldn’t begin to say, or guess. After all, if there’s anyone who knows me better than my father or my confessor, it would be you.
I’ve told you before about the night I lost Lily for the first time. Yes, it was before I met you, but I think I told that story vividly enough. It was a mugging. The man held me at knifepoint, and I killed him. I told you the truth in that I did have to kill him. I made a mess of it. What could have been a quick disable or kill turned into a bloody mess in more ways than one. I hurt him. And I kept on hurting him until he stopped moving.
What I didn’t tell you is that I liked hurting him. I liked making him suffer. I enjoyed making him bleed and die.
In short, Amanda, I am a bit of a monster. You need blood to live, and you have only killed when you needed to, but I’m the one who enjoys it. I enjoy the stab, the slice, the twist of the knife.
However, I’ve been made aware that I might not be quite so insidious and monstrous a human being as I thought. Apparently, my time in prayer and church and confession may not be 100% for naught.
My second secret is at the same time both much more innocent, yet much creepier at the same time, given secret #1.
I love you, Amanda. That is my big secret.
It sounds stupid to say it, but I love everything about you. I really do. I love your accent. I love your hair. I love your smile. I love how smart you are. I love how you think. I love your eyes, and the way they sparkle. I like just being around you. And I like who I am when I’m around you.
Do you remember what I said to you in the graveyard as we “pretended” to make out and profess our love to each other, so we could bait the other vampires? I wasn’t pretending. Everything I said to you was true. Everything I did, I meant.
I honestly can’t imagine what your reaction is going to be to this. You could go either way. The best outcome is if you also meant what you said that night, and we have both been too dense to identify what was said as truth.
The worst case, I cannot begin to contemplate.
No matter what, Amanda, I will always love you.
Marco
Marco reached to click “send.”
About the Author:
Declan Finn lives in a part of New York City unreachable by bus or subway. Who’s Who has no record of him, his family, or his education. He has been trained in hand to hand combat and weapons at the most elite schools in Long Island, and figured out nine ways to kill with a pen when he was only fifteen. He escaped a free man from Fordham University’s PhD program, and has been on the run ever since. There was a brief incident where he was branded a terrorist, but only a court order can unseal those records, and really, why would you want to know?
He can be contacted at [email protected]
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Read his personal blog: http://apiusmannovel.blogspot.com
Listen to his podcast, The Catholic Geek, on Blog Talk Radio, Sunday evenings at 7:00 pm EST