by Lewis Aleman
Staring Katrianna in the eyes, Ambrosia asks, “What about Ruby? If you didn’t kill her, did anyone else hurt her? Tell me!”
“No, young one—young foolish one. She wasn’t there when they came, but they keep her as ransom to get you. As long as you live, so will she.”
“Roderick—he came to your house?” I ask.
Eyes gloss over—misty, shiny blue, “He came. He brought others—‘bout eight—ten of them—lost count.”
“Why?”
“Must’ve figured you came to me. Maybe they were following you. Thought I might know where the girl was—thought you might’ve sent her to hide at my house when they took Ruby from you,” pausing to look at Ambrosia, “All my cats—all my pretties died for you—slaughtered, and here you are—right where any of them can find you,” suddenly she jumps toward Ambrosia, “Why are you here! Why aren’t you far away hiding from them before they slaughter you too?”
Stepping between them. I hold an arm against both of their shoulders.
Ambrosia looks back toward the car, unable to keep her eyes on Katrianna.
“Answer me!” screams Katrianna, “Tell me why you’re here. Why did you come back? Don’t you see what you’ve done? Dead—all of them—dead.”
Ambrosia bites her lip and starts to cry, still staring at the car, wishing it would take her away.
“Look at me!”
Ambrosia obeys, slowly bringing her eyes to meet those of the woman in front of her, “I was bored. Just bored.”
Katrianna’s eyes dart back and forth, wide—bewildered.
“I know it’s shallow—pathetic. True. I have nothing else. Just going out—putting on a show, hoping something happens to me—hoping to find something.”
Slowing the wild movement of her eyes, Katrianna says, “I’d say you’ve found something—found something you can’t get away from.”
Katrianna’s eyes catch something over my shoulder. They grow wide again—electrified with passion, “You!”
I step to the side to see who she is talking about. Edgar. He looks worried—his fingernails sticking out, hands ready at his sides.
Pointing one, lone, tense finger in his direction, aimed to tear into his head, Katrianna says, “He—he was there! I can smell their blood on him.”
“You’re upset, cat lady. You’re smelling them everywhere. It’s just the linger in your senses.”
“Junkie liar!”
I say, “Kat, he may be right. He was almost in a coma when I found him here.”
“He stands now, doesn’t he?”
“Not a few minutes ago, he wasn’t. I promise you he wasn’t standing then.”
“Well, he—he would’ve been there if he were coherent. Been there with the rest of them!”
His face holds steady—no emotion, “That’s true.”
She lunges at him, hair moving to the sides of her face, nails extended, fangs unleashed.
I dive and grab at her waist. She moves with such force that she drags me a few inches before we stop. Her arms and legs fling at Edgar, but can’t reach—hitting me in a barrage of elbows and heels on her backstrokes.
“Listen, Katrianna—listen! He’s leading us into their lair.”
“What?” she asks, huffing—heavy breaths.
“He’s taking us to where they are—where Ruby is. Have to get to her. Have to get to her now—before anything happens to her.”
“They won’t hurt her as long as the silly one is with you.”
“Not true, Kat. They won’t kill her as long as Ambrosia’s with me. They can still hurt her a whole lot.”
My voice breaks at the end. Kat doesn’t seem to notice, but Edgar’s eyebrows rise at the sound.
“How can you trust this savage? This ungrateful beast—healed him—fed him—and he told them right where to find me—to find my babies.”
“Better to let this one lead us to the rest of them than to take him out. Use the one to get to them all.”
Try to give Edgar a wink to let him know I’m just trying to calm her down, but he’s looked away, shaking his head and grinning a wicked grin. He seems to be regaining more and more control of his mind and body, the drugs’ effects fading, making him more dangerous all the time.
“And the one you have to bring you to the others isn’t worth much to begin with,” Katrianna says.
Edgar responds, “You may be right, cat lady. You may be right, but right now, I’m all you’ve got. Great lot of chance you have.”
“You get me back in front of the ones that did this to me tonight, and I’ll worry about chance,” she says.
“Edgar, you just lead us down there,” I say.
Words come from his red-bearded mouth slowly and steadily, “Oh, I’ll lead you down there—don’t you worry—I’ll take you there. Take you where you’ll wish you’ve never been. Question is—who’s going to lead you back out?”
An insignificant voice. Always made myself an insignificant voice. I’ve always taken away the chance for anyone to think any more of me.
Suddenly, Ruby’s life is in my hands.
Poor girl.
Fled the woods before the sun was full in the sky. Couldn’t bear to see them in the forest in the sunlight—together. Golden and hand-in-hand. Too much. Just too much.
Came here to get away—a little distraction. Poison the system—numb it with alcohol, occupy mind with whatever was here—always something here. Typical Maxine bender—no one’d think anything was up. Acting like I’ve acted for as long as any of them can remember. In the least, it’s how I’ve acted the only times they’ve given me some attention. They don’t notice me much when I’m quiet.
Don’t know if there’s much to notice about me when I’m quiet.
Came here—into the playpen of Roderick—everyone knows how much I hate him. Been here before though—few desperate evenings. He kept his distance—I kept mine. But came here—near the one person I hate most in the world to be away from her green eyes looking at me—knowing she has the one man I want. Came all this way, and they bring her in here, kicking and screaming, dropping her in the blue room with Quint and Carvelli at the door.
Guess they don’t know I know her. No reason for them to even think I’ve ever seen her. None of them have said a word to me about what’s going on. Hate Roderick so much—he may not want me to know. Might think I’m dangerous. Definitely might think I’d help Simon—but could never think I’d help the girl. Never been one to have female friends—not even vampire girls. Women see me and hate me. Don’t blame them—wouldn’t like me either—too much competition.
When someone meets me, they see me putting on a show. Trying to be exciting—and not just for other people to see me—it’s for me too. I do wish I could be exciting. But, I perform—I act this way when I’m happy, I do it when I feel like crying, I do it when I feel blah, and I do it when I’m pining over Simon. I do it no matter how I feel—the performance is me smiling—me drinking, me dancing—wild, crazy me. What I feel like doesn’t matter.
Do it because I don’t know what else to do. Know it’s a show—it’s not really me. But a show that never ends isn’t really a show at all—it becomes your reality. Even if it’s not one that you like—even if it’s not one that fits your soul—playing the game makes you become something that you weren’t meant to be.
It’s sad. Know it’s my fault—no one makes me act this way—fault’s all mine. But no matter, it is sad that by trying to be what I thought I wanted to be has made me lose myself—almost all of me gone, just leaving a show that people are growing tired of seeing. People might like a performance, but they only love other people. Love’s for the real thing, not a spectacle. I’m not sure where I’ve lost my real self, but I’ve definitely become a spectacle.
Silly of me to think it’d work on Simon. Never works on anyone for more than a night or two anyway. Easy to be the most watched girl in the bar. Just wind me up and watch me go. Harder to be the most watched in someone’s heart.
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Temporary attention I’ve gotten in abundance, but never with any staying power. Sure I’ve been the #1 wildest night of some of their lives, but I’ve never been the #1 love of anyone’s life, never even been in anyone’s top 3, never placing. But, I’ve made a damn sexy 4th.
Now, that Simon’s returned, it all seems so empty.
Been waiting for Simon to come back to normal for decades. That mess with Eleni really twisted him up. A lot of us thought he’d eventually dry up—didn’t want to live anymore.
Then one evening he comes walking into ‘80s Night—his eyes as electric as if he’d been storing up all his energy for decades and suddenly releasing it. We danced. Been waiting for him for so long—not waiting with my body, but waiting with my heart. Things might’ve worked better if I had done that in reverse. Would’ve saved myself an ongoing hurt-party-hurt-party marathon that lasted for years and left me hollow, and I would’ve had something more to give him than a show—more than an insignificant voice.
At least he liked me as much as anyone else. Told myself he was just the male version of me, but I knew he wasn’t. No matter how much I wanted to believe we were two of a kind, I knew he was different. Even at his worst, there was something sincere about him. Lots of excitement—but no show.
In just the last six months since he changed from reclusive wallflower to sexy vampire, he’s met his share of girls. But, he never lied—he was never mean. All the girls adored him—he was more than just hot. He made each one of them feel special. Just standing next to him shot sparks into you. Don’t think I’ve ever made anyone feel anything like that.
Maybe each one felt so special around him because he is so wonderful, yet humble, and he chose to spend time with her, even if just for a dance. Dripping in confidence, but never treated anyone like he was better than them. Don’t know if there’s a sexier combination than that.
I guess there’s not much wonderful about me. I’m about the opposite of humble, and my time comes cheap—just have to wait your turn.
Until now, my voice has never mattered before. But, at this moment, everything’s fallen into my lap. Life or death in my hands.
It may seem so shallow to think Ruby is disposable—to even think of letting her die. Just have to see things our way. How hard would you work on setting up the man you love with the girl he likes if you knew she’d be dead by the weekend? Her whole life to us is just a flash, only here for a brief moment and then gone—like last night’s dream in the daylight, fading until there’s no memory left of it at all. She’ll be long gone, and I’ll still be here…hurting.
So hard to justify helping her.
So easy to do nothing and let things happen.
Let the beast kill the princess and have a chance at Simon—save the girl and finally have said something significant.
Know he’s coming any second. He is lies, and lies are him—impossible to separate the two. He can take a tiny bit of truth and weave it through miles of lies—hooking you with the lure of the one small fact—snaring you—trapping you—then dragging you down his long path of deceit.
Still…I believe his promise of injecting me with that sickness.
My veins feel tense and irritated just from the fear of it. It made Simon so sick—Simon whose immune system is nearly indestructible—did all that to him—would destroy me in no time. No chance.
Poor Simon. My sweet, strong Simon. God, I hope he’s healed.
Despite what Roderick’s said, he must believe Simon’s recovered. If not, he’d be out there now hunting Ambrosia down. Instead he waits here, confident Simon will bring him Ambrosia to free me. Working so hard to use me against them—messing with my mind. Not sure what he wants from me—hasn’t made that clear, but he’s definitely been working me over—trying to turn me against Ambrosia, trying to make me think Simon can’t save me. Maybe it’s so ingrained in his personality that it’s just what he does—toying with people’s psyches—sending passive-aggressive half-truths out all the time. Maybe it’s just how he keeps order—keeping everyone around him insecure and dependent on him.
Hard to fight. I know what he’s up to—not what his goal is, but know that he’s messing with my head—feeding me lies to get to me. I know it, and it’s still working. So hard to fend off.
A loud thud booms from the hallway. Followed by groaning. Another heavy thud. Heart races.
Heart races almost as fast as the car. Needle buried on the speedometer—only goes up to 145—good old Danny put in an add-on gear to overdrive the overdrive. I’d wonder if he’s ever gone this fast in his own car, but I know him too well to doubt it.
Cars we pass look like they’re standing still—like specks of dust motionless in the sky getting blown past by a speeding, fiery meteor—a blazing superbolide.
Long-fanged junkie, Edgar, sits in the passenger seat beside me. He runs his tongue over the sharp edges of his fingernails one at a time. Not sure if he’s playing a masochistic little game, seeing how hard he can press—how close he can come without slicing into his tongue, or if he’s trying to get another taste of whatever they were into last.
Crazed cat lady who’s lost everything she loves in the world—desperate and enraged—sits directly behind me. Eccentric and unpredictable. Sanity was questionable before her furry ones were slaughtered.
Ambrosia sits behind Edgar and holds her head in her hands, elbows on her legs, eyes covered. As wild as she is, she hasn’t handled the speed well.
Set them up this way on purpose. Katrianna behind me to still Edgar if he tries anything stupid while I’m driving. She can lean forward and get right between the two front bucket seats. Also wanted Edgar where I could see him. Having his nasty fangs and nails behind me is not something I wanted on my mind while testing the top speed integrity of these tires. Not thrilled about having Ambrosia next to Katrianna. Had Roderick not been looking for Ambrosia, I would’ve never been to Katrianna’s house and neither would have Roderick. Her cats would still be alive if Ambrosia never existed.
“You know they’re going to kill you as soon as they see the girl’s with you,” Edgar grumbles between sliding his tongue over one nail and moving to the next.
“They can try.”
“Simon, get real. There’re many of them, and then there’s just you. You don’t stand a chance.”
A long-fingernail-ed hand reaches from the back seat to his shoulder, “He’s not alone, Edgar.”
“Won’t make a difference, old woman. You’ve already seen what they can do—what they did to your cats. Two of you won’t matter.”
Her nails dig into his shoulder. He doesn’t move.
I say, “Katrianna, please let him go. My friend’s very particular about this car. I’m gonna owe him a lot to fix what we’ve already stained in here. Don’t make it worse.”
She doesn’t let up, digging in deeper. Edgar’s face starts to grow angry, revealing the tips of his fangs. Ambrosia looks up, gasps, and buries her head back down in her hands.
“Katrianna, we’re also going way past 150 miles per hour here. Having a melee in the car right now wouldn’t be the smartest idea.”
Grip the wheel tighter with my left hand. Brace my left foot hard against the floorboard—my right still presses the gas pedal to the floor. Bring my right hand to her wrist on his shoulder.
“If you ever want to get at the people who killed—who did this to your cats, you better let him lead us to them.”
Her face stays angry.
Edgar’s expression grows angrier, lips sliding back, fangs fully out.
Ambrosia squeals from behind her hands.
Brace myself for high-speed warfare.
Slowly, Katrianna slides her nails out of him. Could swear I hear her hiss as she eases back in her seat.
A little spit flies out Edgar’s mouth and lands on the dash as he brings his lips back down, eclipsing his fangs.
“You better wipe that up, junkie—my friend’s very particular about this car. Very particular.�
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Blonde hair in ponytail walks through the doorway. Fingers grasp something in its right hand—looks like the top of someone’s head—brown hair ripped completely off them. Poor soul.
My shoulder blades are pressed flat against the wall, standing on top the ancient, dusty dresser next to the door. Hold my breath—strain at my knees trying to stay still to keep the old, aged furniture from creaking beneath me and sealing my death. Blonde head moves deeper into the room just ahead of the dresser. I jump, swinging the sharpened stake like a club.
It cracks the back of the golden-haired head with a thud. Sways. Drops to a knee. Then topples to the cruddy hardwood floor.
Black corset strings dangling—makeup showing through the spaces between the hair covering her face. Not Roderick. Not man at all. It’s Maxine.
Quick look to the hallway through the opened door. Carvelli and Quint lie on the floor. Not moving.
“Been waiting to do that a long time, have you, Ruby?”
Her voice is the only I’ve ever heard to sound so soothing and cryptic at the same time, like a poisoned breeze. She’s already rolled to her side on the floor, hand to the back of her head, the pain visible on her brow, but her smile as unaffected as ever. Her corset is unlaced and hanging loosely on her chest.
“Wha—what—Oh my God!—What are you doing here, Maxine?”
“Shut up, and get naked.”
“Turn here,” says Edgar pointing as the next exit on the interstate grows near.
“If—” starts Ambrosia from the backseat, her first words since cowering her head down when we reached 100 miles per hour, possibly the longest she’s stayed quiet in her life, “If they have to keep Ruby alive as long as they don’t have me, then why are you bringing me? Why not leave me off somewhere, so they can’t get me and keep Ruby safe?”
“Because if I show up without you, Roderick’s going to punish whoever he can get his hands on—he’s already got Ruby. If we don’t show up at all, you can bet he’ll think of bad things to do to her.”