by Lewis Aleman
“Back now, Simon?” asks Roderick.
Nod my head as much as I can with his hand squeezing my throat. He releases my neck.
“Carvelli and Quint, wait outside the alley again.”
“But, Roderick, he—”
Roderick slaps him across his face, and says, “Don’t question me, Quint. Do what I say or take his place when I’m done with him.”
They obey, leaving just the one monster within my arm’s reach.
“Simon, Simon, Simon. I asked you a simple question, and you nearly went to pieces. What am I to think about you? I think you’re done. Nothing left to offer me. That’s a dangerous place to be, young boy.”
“For the girl. It was for Ruby, not Ambrosia. Helped her escape because of Ruby.”
“All this—for her?”
“Could ask you the same thing, Roderick? All this for Ambrosia?”
“Don’t you worry about Miss Ambrosia. I don’t plan on hurting her at all. Just need something she has. The two of you have made this a much bigger deal than it is.”
“If you just need something she has—why not go to her apartment and take it?”
“It’s a dorm room, and if it were still there, do you think I’d be wasting my time talking to you and sending half the vampires in New Orleans out looking for you and Ruby?”
“She took it with her?”
“Of course.”
“Stupid girl.”
Smiles, “Now, you’re starting to get it, my boy. Help me find Ambrosia, and I could care less about you and your little girlfriend. I have better things to do than chase after you anyway.”
“Why don’t you let me get what you need from Ambrosia, then? No need for you to have her if you just want something she has.”
Growing impatience builds in his tone, “Doesn’t know she even has it. I’ll have to take it from her—she won’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“What if I take it from her?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Right now, I’d do a lot to end this.”
Roderick punches the bricks to the side of my left ear. The collision makes my sight shake again.
He grumbles in my ear, “Less you know about this, the better—you remember that. Now tell me where she is.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not, Simon? Don’t you know what I’ll do when I find her—especially now, after your defiance? I’ll bring a new meaning to the word torture, and you’ll never be free of me after this. Ever. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“You’d endure all that for her?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve heard the stories about my anger—things I’ve done to those who disobey me?”
I nod.
“The thing about those tales is that no one who was there has ever lived. The stories were told by those who only heard the screams from a distance—heard the wretched cries from those who knew first-hand what I can do. Nothing you’ve heard equals what I can bring. And you still defy me?”
“Yes.”
“For a girl?”
“What else?”
“They are vile, miserable meatbags, who in a single turn of our lives crumble to dust. What in any of them can make you be so foolish?”
“You live in your own dark world; you don’t see them in the day. You don’t know what they do—what they’re capable of. You judge them all based on the actions of the wildest of the bunch that you find down here—and you only see the wildest at their worst—their craziest. That’s why people come down here—for the raunchiest time of their lives. You judge people you don’t even know.”
His voice intensifies, growing like an approaching storm, “You don’t think I know what goes on inside of a human? What about the 17 years I spent chained to a brick wall in Spain? Huh? What about that little bit, Simon?”
Pause. No answer.
His voice like stones dragged across rocks continues, “My only relief from the pressing of the brick’s grooves into my back was to be taken away when one of the monks thought of a new torture for me to endure. There was no getting out of one’s chains to relieve oneself; we lived in our own filth. I killed over three dozen guards before I lost count—they didn’t care—always had another expendable soul to handle us.
“Some say only the rich were burned—the landowners. I was no rich man, but I was burned. And burned. And burned again.
“I smelled nothing but rancid surroundings and rotting flesh for 68 seasons. Hours seemed like days—days like years—years like millennia. Had no idea how long I spent in that underground terror chamber until I came out. The year 1800 passed with no notice to me in their hellish stone labyrinth.
“When the smell became too much for their own nostrils—even beneath the hoods covering their faces, they would let fire run wild through our dungeons, letting the flames decide who would be consumed and who would be spared. The fire had a taste for me as if my flesh tickled its burning tongues as they singed me. The smell of my own charred flesh was far worse than the others. It was when they marveled at how my flesh healed that they took particular interest in me.
“They found countless tortures that killed all others but would only keep me in a state of constant hell. Dislocated shoulders—shredded muscles in the rack, hanging from the ceiling by leather straps, the water torture, and little terrors made just for me. And of course the fire. Always the fire…”
His eyes flicker as he says fire, pausing before continuing, “I screamed many things into the darkness of those chambers. I could not renounce their God, but I did renounce their church. Again and again. It was my only pleasure. Screaming it at them with all my strength.
“Only a single friend and myself left at the end. He thought me to be dead when the French Army took possession of Toledo. He himself was pinned with a lowering pendulum descending upon him, rats threatening to eat his writhing body, followed by steaming walls slowly pushing him to the edge of an unholy pit. It was there that he was about to perish when the French army freed him.
“I slew my distracted guard who was trembling from the sounds of the invading army. Slipped out in the midst of the chaos. Grateful for their assistance, but I feared my treatment from the imposing army would be just as fierce if they learned what I was.”
I shudder, trying to shake the nastiness of the tale off my skin. KMFDM’s “Juke Joint Jezebel” vibrates its way through the door into the alley.
“So, young one, I know all too well the imaginings of humans and where their inquisitions will take them. How much do you think you know in your short life with them? How much have you been through to be right where I’m wrong?”
“Can’t condemn them all by what a few did to you—as terrible as it was. Can’t blame the innocent for the guilty. Just like you can’t blame me for your own actions.”
“Just you live with them long enough, young one. They’ll change your mind. Mark my words; humanity makes its own enemies—they don’t need my help.”
“Where do we go from here?”
“Well, I have two options.”
“They are?”
“One: I call Carvelli and Quint, and we tear you apart until you squeal or until you die.”
“And two?”
“I let you think about all this.”
“What?”
“I let you go—let you take in all we discussed. Think about me finding you and your girl. It’s only a matter of time—I will find you—I will find Ruby; you know it. And there will be no talking then.”
“Let me go to think about what? What do you think is gonna change?”
“Think about giving me the information I need. Think about living happily ever after with your green-eyed Ruby. Think about all of us living to see a better day, or…huh…I can show you one hell of a dark evening tonight.”
“I can’t promise you anything.”
Puts his nose an inch from mine. Less than an inch. Less than a centimeter.
; His wicked smile takes me by surprise.
“That’s why I’m giving you a chance. It’s your very weakness that is saving your life right now. Your worthless earnestness is why I trust you will think it over. You will come to the conclusion that saving your love’s life—an innocent life at that—is worth turning over one far less innocent, one who won’t even be harmed—just need to take something from her—something she doesn’t even know she has or will ever miss. To me words are but the bait in the trap. The distraction that snares my prey. To you words are some kind of soul contract—a holy promise, to be treated as serious as death itself. Ridiculous. But it’s oh so useful to me now. Not promising me anything is promising me that you will be sincere—your word when it comes will be true. Make no doubt—it will be your undoing someday. But for tonight, it saves you.”
“Does it save me? Or…”
“Or what?”
“Does it save your miserable, cowardly flesh from me?”
“Carvelli and Quint,” he says as he raises his hand in the air.
The two shadows at the end of the alleyway rush toward me. I grip the two small stakes behind my back—one in each hand, pulling them out of my pants. I see the loading zone behind Carvelli and Quint—the only way out—as a heaven that I hope I can reach. Hope for Ruby’s sake that I make it. Know that I may never leave this alley. My fangs scream into the night. Rage is my only hope. That and the sharpened bits of wood in my hands.
Chapter XIII
Midnight Sonata
The noises of the woods form a terrifying symphony. The crickets sound like a thousand wings beating their way out of hell, flapping through the darkness between the trees, beating closer to me with every second.
At least that’s what I envision in my mind.
The cracking of twigs is the premonition of bones snapping, making my body jump, fearfully hoping all of my parts are still unbroken and whole.
Scuttling in the brush of some animal I’ve scared sends images of Maxine pouncing on me, ripping into me with her nails.
Could swear I hear something calling my name—pleading for me to respond.
The sway of a branch in the subtle night breeze sends my imagination flying—the blur of Edgar rushing at me in the night without Simon here to save me. The two goons from the bar and the school, each grabbing at an arm and dragging me away deeper into the dark of the woods. Roderick’s eyes, filled with an evil glow, violating me with their harsh intent.
Simon. God, Simon. Where is he? Has he been gone too long? Have they got ahold of him? Should’ve made him take me. Shouldn’t have let him go alone. A lot of good Maxi is doing out here anyway. Torments me and disappears into the trees. Great protection she turned out to be—almost ripped my head off.
Still searching for her—she’s the reason I’m out here in the wild instead of hiding still and quiet in the clearing where Simon and I were staying. Don’t know why I care so much about her hurt feelings after she’s been so awful to me, but I do.
Don’t really regret any of the things I said to her. Somehow wish I could’ve said them nicer though. Guess I regret some of them. A little.
Maybe I just understand how she feels about Simon and pity that she must hurt deeply to know how wonderful he is and know he doesn’t see her the same way.
She’s probably not even here anymore. Been looking for her for hours. Could be long gone. Could also be right behind me, toying with me—letting me stumble around scared in the dark woods, waiting for the right moment to rip me to pieces.
Snapping and crash. A loud thud. Just ahead of me—maybe 50 feet or so.
Heart goes wild. Terror trembles through my veins.
Eyes strain to see anything in the darkness. Darkness there—nothing more, but something crashed in it.
Maxine—did one of the hunters looking for me grab her? I start walking in the direction of the sound, trying to be quiet and not give myself away. Must be quiet—can’t help her if they kill me before I get there.
Simon—was it Simon coming back to me, and the beasts grabbed him?
I sprint into the pitch, branches scraping at my arms and legs, dragging over my skin like demon claws trying to pull me down into hell.
None of it matters. Not until I know it’s not him. Not until I know he’s not hurt.
How far have I run? Where was the sound? So hard to tell. My breath sounds like thunder. As I look around while running at full speed, I can almost feel the air moving past my straining eyes.
Feet hit something and snag—body keeps moving forward, falling into the brush. Hands fling out to break my fall—they are first to feel the scrape of the prickly bush I’m smashing into. Tuck my head into my forearms, trying to block the harsh scratching of the branches and pointed leaves. Its tear finds my cheeks and slashes my right ear. Burn radiates through me.
Knees hit the ground. Force myself out the thorn-filled brier torture I’ve fallen into.
I spin around to see what I tripped over. I hear its breathing—deep and desperate like the sick.
Boots. Face down against the ground. Simon—my God, it’s Simon!
I crawl up the side of him as fast as I can—shove his shoulder to turn him over.
Fear still swirls in my heart—imagining Simon wounded or worse. An echoing panic hits me that I’ll roll him over not to see his handsome face but one of the nightmares in my head.
Finally lift his large shoulder off the ground and turn him over.
His face—beautiful and faded. His features more pale—eyes shut and sunken. Lips look blue—even in the moonlight.
Try to pick him up by his arm. Straining my skinny muscles. Feet struggle to grip ground. He doesn’t move. Foolish—waste of precious time.
“Help!” I shout into the darkness. “Help! Someone, please, help!”
My eyes leave his face and scan the black. No answer.
My hand holds his tightly. Motionless. Eyes hot with anger, I scream, “You can have me—you hear me, you filthy beasts! You want me—come and take me! You can have me! Just help him. Help him!”
His hand barely squeezes mine. Eyes remain shut—barely breathing.
“Shut your mouth, drama queen,” sharp voice obliterates my hope, “Death isn’t the end.”
“Ha-Wh-o’s th-ere?” comes choppily out my mouth.
“Who’s there? Who’s there?” it mocks me, high–pitched and unnatural—sounding like it comes out the tree branches above.
Glaring at the trees around me—still grasping Simon’s hand, “Help him! Help him now, or so help me—”
Thud lands behind me. The branches in the tree above me rustle as my head spins round to see what is upon me.
A nightmare in pretty makeup—fangs exposed and a smile on her face.
“Maxine! Help him—he’s dying!”
She raises her head to the treetops, laughing heartily, giving me a hideous view of the underside of her fangs.
I scream at her, “Said you loved him—help him! Help him, you sick bi—”
“Settle down, little princess. Don’t go and say nasty things like one of us beasts.”
“You—”
“He’s not dying, love.”
“What?”
“He’s just dry.”
“Dry?”
“Needs blood. Soon.”
“What-d’we-do?”
“You,” she says pointing a sharp nail at the space between my eyes, “Give me your finger.”
I offer her my hand. Grabs it in a snatch. Holds my index finger in front of her face like she’s trying to read some hidden writing on it. In a white blur, she flings her head at my finger, slicing her right fang into it.
Blood runs down my hand toward my wrist from the skinny, shallow laceration she’s made.
My panicked eyes are on her face that stares strangely at my running wound.
“Put it in his mouth.”
I look at my bleeding hand and to his still, emotionless face.
“Do it! Now
!” she says, suddenly becoming frightened as she gets a better look at his face.
Drop to my knees before him. Press my lips tightly against his. Cold—sparks have left him.
Slide my clean hand over his lips, pulling them open. Place my crimson finger into his mouth.
Nothing.
Look over my shoulder to Maxine. Her hand on her heart. Face in pain.
Back to Simon. His lips become deep red.
Tears run onto my neck. Didn’t notice them till now.
His face so lifeless. So sad.
My eyes wrench shut. My breaths come choppy and weak—all I can hear. Mind empty. Chest so cold.
Then I feel it. Pressure on my finger. His cheeks taught. Eyes beginning to stir.
Pull my finger out.
His eyes barely open, smile forms, “What’s up, Bright Eyes?”
“Simon!” I squeal.
“Don’t stop—don’t stop! He’ll go out again,” demands Maxine over my shoulder.
Place my finger back in his mouth. His tongue slides over it, sending tingles up my arm and into my chest. Know the feeling is so wrong—so inappropriate, but it lingers.
Color returns to him—the little color that keeps his pale face from looking like death.
Maxine leans over me, her eyes intent on him. Death over my shoulder, life spilling from my finger before me, and I’m caught somewhere in-between.
Maxine sits off to the side, eyes closed, breeze blowing over her golden hair. I sit next to her. So late. Don’t know what time it is, but the sun must be about to break through the darkness any minute now.
I say, “Scary few minutes there.”
Looking straight ahead as if I’m not even here, she says, “Sorry—had no idea he was so far gone. Never seen anyone so dry. Never heard of a vamp dying of being dry—never even seen anybody try to hold out this long before.”
I look back to Simon, who sleeps soundly after having his fill. His color has returned, and his breathing is strong and steady.
She asks, “He never fed on you? The two nights you were together—he never fed at all?”
“No, he didn’t even try.”
Shaking her head, “Must’ve thought you were too delicate—too pristine to feed on. I wouldn’t have fed on him earlier as payment for keeping an eye on you if I knew he was that dry.”