by Lewis Aleman
Roderick’s eyes look even more maniacal with the flames raging behind us and half the balcony above us cracked and crashed onto the roof of the car. He looks perfectly at home in the midst of destruction—belonging as much to the fire as the smoke and flame.
“Where is she, Simon? Where is my girl?”
Trying and failing to not wince at the shocks still shooting through my spine, “Don’t think I’d bring her to you, do you?”
He stares into my eyes, his gaze brushes past the physical pain and the worry for Ruby, searching for himself in them—knowing that if he finds a shred of himself in me that I’m lying to him.
“Yes, I do, foolish young one; yes, I do. Is she here?”
“Of course not,” I answer, hoping it to be true—hoping she’s waiting in the car just like we told her. Figured if we had no other options, could use her as bait to get us out of a jam—a chance to get Ruby out of here, but best to keep her away from all this until we need her. Her life, Ruby’s, Katrianna’s, and mine could all depend on if she’s going to do what she was told. God help us.
“Metal wrenches, buildings burn, and bodies bleed.”
“What?” I ask.
“All of this—this destruction is all so unnecessary. So much in life is so unnecessary…so meaningless…so irrelevant—the world would never know the difference whether you win this struggle or lose. So little changes no matter what we do.”
“That’s the creed of every coward I’ve ever known: doesn’t matter—why bother? It’s a lie. It all matters—every breath, every thought, everyth—” heavy coughing stops my words.
“So wrong, young one. A human is nothing but a speck flittering for a fraction of a second and then vanishing from our world forever. The whole race of them will be gone in an instant compared to the eons we will come to know, and so few of them flicker for even the briefest moment that their little lives last anyway.”
“How can you say that? Maybe we’re some mutated branch of humans. We could all be the same. No one knows where we came from.”
“And maybe, my deceived young friend, maybe they’re a branch of us, sickly and rotting in the sun long past their time.”
Little feeling returns to my right arm. Slide my hand into my pocket. Fingers grasp a small stake that I sharpened in the woods. Pull it out of my pocket quickly and slam it into the side of Roderick’s head.
In Shakespeare, I’d be Shylock. Except my gold is chemical and flesh, and no one despises me for my race—no one who knows my race exists lives long enough to even have the opportunity to hate me for it.
Deep down I know how vile I am. Unlike man, I need no one tell me. The taste of my dark thoughts lingers like the taste of cyanide—bitter and burning, and the hole where my compassion should reside swallows a little more of my dwindling warmth every day.
My fate is certain—I have no strength to stop it. I’ll become this addiction—I’ll let it consume me now. Seeking out its next feeding in the darkness. Heading for the stairs. About to do the despicable to dive my fingers into what I crave.
I will let it consume me. The only question is will I care when there is nothing left of me inside—when I’ve lost all of myself and become full of this lust. Will I even remember? Will I remember what I used to be?
At least the self-hatred will be gone when it’s complete. When I’ve surrendered all of me to it.
My fate is to burn forever, resisting the desire swelling in me—aching for its fulfillment—screaming for a hit. Or, I quench it and then drown in hatred of myself for giving in to it—no delusions over how ugly it is—how ugly I’ve become.
I hate or I burn. Hatred or burning. Hatred or burning.
Trapped like a man swimming upstream in a never-ending river—I fight the itch like fighting the current, constantly wearing myself out, or I quit fighting and let the desire consume me—give in and let it wash me away with the current—drowning in self-hatred for giving in.
Know how revolting the path to the next hit is. Imagine the new breed on my tongue and injected into my arm. Heart races too fast—can almost taste it—breathe it in—feel it alive inside my veins. Know I’ll dive into the unspeakable to quench this thirst—to put out the burning.
Ambrosia—I know she’s too dumb to stay away—can’t stay away from the excitement to save her life or anyone else’s. Probably here somewhere in the darkness already. Maybe here on the third floor with the other girls Roderick’s been hording up there—they must all be pregnant. No matter—the others are here if she’s not, and just one will be plenty. One is a deep enough plunge for tonight. Dark—cruel—savage enough just to use the one girl.
Maybe I’ll take two…
Hatred and burning. Going to dive so deep into the flames—killing all the feeling inside of me so hopefully I’ll never feel this burning again—surrender completely, leaving this struggle behind forever—along with leaving all that I am behind me too—gone forever.
I take the first step onto the staircase—knowing I won’t come back down again the same. I’ll become an abomination to quench this—to kill this burning. And I don’t really care.
His body passes beside me on the old stairs like I’m not here. As if one of us were ghost and not concerned with the other. Not sure if he viewed me as dead and shear or if he was the ghost on another plane of existence and uninterested in me. Either way his mind was so fixed on something upstairs that he didn’t notice me.
If an apparition were ever going to be real and reveal itself to me, this would be the house for it.
Still, I race to the bottom of the stairs—wanting to be far away from him before he has a chance to look back and see me—come after me.
The darkness at the bottom of the stairs is only broken by the inconsistent flickering of one stubborn chandelier down the hall. All the other lights must’ve shorted out with the explosion. Flames cast their moving glow on the hazy windows beside the front door.
Bodies move on the porch.
Just as the deep darkness of the downstairs reaches and touches my feet, arms, and face with my first step into it, a hand grasps my shoulder and yanks me backward.
It’s him. The ghoul from the stairs. Pale skin. Red hair and beard. Fangs.
No longer looking like a ghost, but a very live beast—hungry and violent. Something familiar about him.
“You may wear Maxine’s clothes, but you’re no vampire.”
“These are my clothes,” I say looking up to the flickering chandelier that suddenly goes completely dead. Darkness falls over me like black air.
“Nice try, pretty thing, but I can smell her all over your clothes.”
“You—you’re wrong.”
“Where is she? In the blue room? Taking your place so you can sneak out?”
Panic stalls my mind, shows up on my face.
He smiles a pointed-smile—sharp corners of his mouth—two long, fierce teeth. Know I’ve seen them before.
“Who are you?” I finally ask.
“I’m the wolf, drooling over a tender lamb, and you’re a peace offering for a traitor.”
“What?”
“Roderick’ll be glad to see you—glad I brought you to him. That’s all you need to know.”
“You! You’re the one from the woods—Edgar!”
Sharp nails tear through the front door behind him, ripping through it like a saw blade.
The beast that holds me at my shoulders releases me and turns around to see what’s slashing into the door.
My whole body aches to run, to tiptoe swiftly into the darkness of the hallway, heading for the back door, not knowing what else is hidden in its pitch. I turn and quietly enter the dark corridor.
No, what if it’s him? What if it’s Simon? Turn my back on the dark hallway, returning my stare to the beast who has just attacked me and to the unknown being tearing through the door.
The first thing I see through the hole I’m ripping in the door is nails flying at my body. Grab his wrist and yank it
forward through the hole, slamming his body into the remaining shell of the door—his head hitting above the hole—his lower body smashing and cracking the wood below the hole.
Flames scorch my shoulder. Fire raging on the porch—closing in on the house itself.
From the smell, I know it’s Edgar whose hand yanks free and retreats back into the house.
Roderick lies on the wooden porch—flames rising closer to his unmoving body, stake still lodged in his head.
Fire department will be here soon—this place is either going to be engulfed in flames, killing us all, or the vampires are going to clear out fast, taking Ruby with them. Not much time. Have to get to Ruby—God, I hope Katrianna’s gotten her out of this mess already.
Flames sting at my shoulders again. Rush the door, slamming my body into it, ripping the hole I made wide open—my body falls through it onto the floor.
Look to my left—my right—up the stairs. Edgar’s gone. Vanished.
Eyes stare at me from a few steps into the hallway. I can see them strain—trying to take me in—trying to see who I am. Definitely not Edgar’s—too soft. Beautiful. Ruby!
I get to my feet—spine still stinging—movements slower than normal.
“No!” she shouts from the darkness, “Look up! Simon, look up!”
Before I can get my eyes off her in the darkness, Edgar falls onto my shoulders from the burned-out chandelier above. Feel his nails slicing into my shoulders and back.
“Aaah,” he shouts.
I didn’t touch him. He falls off my back to the floor. See Ruby hitting him repeatedly with a beaten-up bit of wood in her hand.
Swing with all my might, punching him in the back of his head. His head sways. Hit him again. Sways more. Step back and land a kick square into the back of his head. Falls over.
“How are you doing, Bright Eyes?” I ask.
Her arms fling around my neck, making my sore muscles come alive. She buries her head into my chest. The wonderful scent of her fills my nostrils, awakening my numb body.
Put my lips to her forehead. Bring my hands up to hold both sides of her face.
“They didn’t hurt you, did they? Are you alright?”
Shakes her head, “No, they didn’t hurt me. What about you—are you alright?”
Looking down into her emerald green eyes, feeling her hands caressing the back of my neck, “Never been better, Ruby. Never been better.”
Scrambling noises come from behind us through the hole in the front door.
“Don’t look back. Walk to the back door. Keep walking—keep moving no matter what.”
Creaking noises come from the balcony. The fire is either weakening the wood of the porch or the remaining half of the balcony, making one of them crack and about to collapse. Sounds of breaking—destruction.
There were a lot of people on the balcony. Maybe some are hurt—maybe some ran in fear—but some had to stay. They could be anywhere—still on the front lawn, inside the house again through the back door, just a few feet away from us in the darkness—reaching out to grab us right now.
Got to get Ruby out of here.
A woman shrieks—a horrible sound echoing down the stairs.
Ruby turns around and grabs my arm tightly, “Ambrosia! That’s her screaming!”
Shake my head, but Ruby continues before I can curse, “Go help her! Please, now!”
“You get out that back door and find the car.”
“I know: five streets down—bright red car. Got it.”
“Ruby, I—”
Scream comes again—piercing, haunting.
So close to Ruby—where I’ve wanted to be for so long. So worried she had been hurt—now she’s here where I could throw my arms around her and keep her safe or die trying, and I have to run again. Her eyes sparkle like jade, even in the darkness.
Kiss her lips quickly and rush to the stairs.
The front door has been kicked in completely—someone came through after me. Look at the ground—Edgar’s body’s gone too. There’s at least two of them in here—they have to be what’s causing the screaming upstairs.
Hope Ambrosia’s okay by the time I get there. Hope Ruby gets out that back door.
Body’s recovering—taking the steps three at a time. Joints crack and muscles are sore, but the shocks through my spine are weakening.
Don’t know where Ambrosia is in all of these dark hallways, but I’d bet she’s on the third floor with the others—exactly the most dangerous place for her to be, and the furthest place in the house from Ruby. And, all that depends on if Edgar was telling the truth about what’s on the top floor. Either way, it’s a safe bet that Ambrosia’s near the chaos, and the chaos is up there somewhere.
A different female groan-wail comes from above—definitely the third floor. Not Ambrosia’s voice—a little deeper, a little too raspy.
Reach the edge of the second floor. Make a 180 turn, immediately heading up to the third—going after the last scream. Hope Ambrosia’s there too.
The darkness feels much colder—chilling, since Simon disappeared into it. Before we found each other in this lethal, dim hole of a house, my eyes had just started to adjust to the dark horrors, growing used to rushing through it to the back door, waving my hands in front of me to find objects I couldn’t see.
Then I caught a glimpse of him before me—touching him—arms around him—quick kiss in the lightless hallway. For a moment, the pitch dark posed no threat—I was happy in the middle of this hell as long as he was near me, making the darkness around our entwined bodies seem so harmless. He was here, and everything was changed. The shadows were suddenly weakened by having something so wonderful in them.
I know it was a kiss goodbye in case he didn’t make it back to me. That’s what freezes through me now—stinging cold.
With him gone—even his footsteps on the stairs have faded—the blackness looks so thick—so dense—mind racing to fill every inch of it with images that terrify me. The red-bearded one who grabbed me just moments ago dropping down on me from a chandelier as he did to Simon, Carvelli awakened and after me, attacking from the front, Quint grabbing me by my throat from behind, and Roderick’s evil smile—angry fangs exposed and flying toward my neck. Even Maxine’s sharp fingernails slicing through the air and tearing into my face. I know she helped me—I know I owe her, but her image is still scary in the shadows.
All of the images stay fresh on my mind—keeping my skin feeling prickly—heart pounding like a sledgehammer in my ears.
God, I hope Simon comes down those stairs safely with Ambrosia. I sent him after her—couldn’t live with myself if something terrible happens to him—couldn’t live with myself if we ran out and left Ambrosia to die either—Simon didn’t know it was her—didn’t recognize her voice—it was all up to me…can’t wait to get out of this awful place.
Want to be up there with him now—my eyes on his every move to see that he’s alright—to know he’s alive before every breath I take. Don’t know what help I’d be—I’d do whatever I could. But, he told me to get out of here and get to the car. Last time I didn’t listen to him they kidnapped me at the bottom of the stairs at the bar and drugged and beat Simon. That’s what’s gotten us into this mess and into this awful house. Better do what he says—just hate not trying to help keep him safe.
Something squeaky and furry rushes past my right ankle. My whole body jumps. Rat—running from the fire. Its feet patter down the hallway ahead of me. Wonder how many more of them are coming.
Fire rages on the porch—its flickering the only violation of the darkness, casting its glow into the building behind me through the windows and the hole in the door. Too bad it’s not lighting up the side of the house where I’m headed. As it grows—ravaging the front of the building, the rats may not be the only creatures fleeing this burning nightmare.
Eyes strain to see what sharp, menacing creatures might be coming toward me.
Knees smack something unseen. Body flops forward—
crashing into the unknown. Feet lift off the ground. Hands reach out in front of me. Fingers slide into grimy fabric—stirring up stale dust—face following behind, breathing in its stagnant odor.
A sofa. I’ve crashed onto a short, grimy, velvet couch—the dust on it like a layer of slime.
I was just taken out by old fabric stretched over moldy cushions on a thin wooden frame—landed on my face and hands—and it nearly gave me a heart attack. How in the hell am I going to get out of here—past the things with fangs and cruel hearts?
Push my body off the couch and get back on my feet.
Speaking of cruel hearts, my mind flashes to Maxine in the woods, enraged and charging at me—nails reaching out to slice into my head. Why would she help me now? The only time she wasn’t entirely brutal to me was right after she cut my hand to save Simon. It was all about Simon—not me. Why would she care about me now?
Maybe she had a reason to get me out of that room. Too hard to kill me in there. Two guards at the door—she did take them out, but she wasn’t safe from anyone else who could’ve come in the room—Roderick coming in to torment me, Simon coming in to save me. Either one wanted me alive—Simon forever, Roderick just long enough to snare Simon and get his hands on Ambrosia.
Maybe she just wanted me out in the open darkness where no one would be looking for me. Get me away from the action where she could let me wander down these creepy hallways, toying with me in a dark game—taunting an uppity, little, human girl who took her man from her.
She helped me—I know she helped me, but it looked like she could’ve killed me in the woods if she hadn’t promised Simon. She hasn’t promised tonight, and if she kills me in the lightless hallways, no one’ll know it was her. Simon’d think it was Roderick.
If Maxine broke into my room just to kill me, Simon’d know it wasn’t Roderick. He’d know it was someone else—Roderick doesn’t need to break into rooms in his own house—no one’s going to stop him from killing his own prisoner.
Maxine didn’t kill Quint or Carvelli—just knocked them out. She had to know they’d wake up and eventually figure out it was her in the room and not me. Why would she leave them alive? They’ll know she had to be the one who knocked them out. Maybe she wanted them to wake up—that she’d be long gone herself by then. Have them not know what happened to them—just that I was gone. Leave no signs that she set me free—they’d think it was Simon.