Pitch (Death Day)

by Jillian Eaton

  “Would you like some assistance?” The boy inquired politely. I ignored him.

  There had to be a something somewhere. A wire. A light. A microphone. Something.

  Determined to find it, determined to prove everything I had just endured was one big giant hoax, I flipped the chair on its side and got down on my hands and knees. “What’s your name, anyway?” I grunted out as I pressed the side of my face to the floor and tried to see under the legs of the chair.

  “My name?”

  “Yeah, your name. You do have a name, don’t you?” A swing of dark hair slipped in front of my eyes and I tucked it impatiently behind my ear, wishing I had remembered to leave the house with an elastic band around my wrist. I had been meaning to chop my hair off for months but had just never gotten around to it. Tomorrow I was going to make it a top priority.

  The boy stepped neatly over my legs and knelt down beside me, balancing on the balls of his feet. “My name is Maximus,” he said.

  Giving up on the chair, I collapsed on my side and blew a strand of hair out of my face. “Maximus, huh? That’s almost as bad as Lola.”

  “Sorrow,” he said cryptically.

  “What?”

  “That is what Lola means. Sorrow. Or sorrows plural, depending on the quality of the translation.”

  My nose wrinkled. “That’s a weird thing to know.”

  Maximus rocked back on his heels and stood up. He offered me his hand and I took it without thinking. Only when I was on my feet and he refused to relinquish his grip on my fingers did I realize what he had done. Sneaky bastard.

  He examined my new scars intently, pulling my hand so close to his face that for one crazy, breath stopping moment I thought he was going to kiss the small silver half moons. Until with a mutter of disgust he dropped my hand as if it was something vile and wiped his palms vigorously on the sides of his jeans.

  “You’re infected,” he spat.

  I studied my hand again. “No,” I said slowly, shaking my head. “I’m not. I don’t know how it healed up so quickly but –”

  “Your blood is infected. That’s why you can’t feel pain. Why you can’t feel that cut on your leg. Who bit you?” he asked, taking a menacing step forward and crowding me back against the desk. When my calves bumped into the metal drawers, leaving me with no where else to run, Maximus barricaded me in with his arms and leaned forward until our faces were inches apart, so close I could see my reflection in his pupils. I looked terrified.

  “Who bit you, Lola?” he said softly. “I need to know.”

  My lower lip quivered. “I – I don’t know what you’re talking about. No one bit me. Not for – not for real. This is all some kind of stupid joke and it’s not funny anymore. I want it to stop. Right now.”

  His fingers curled around my wrists, pinning me in place. Little pulses of heat began to radiate up my arm and I shivered even though I was the furthest thing from cold.

  “This is not make-believe,” Maximus whispered. “This is not pretend. The monsters are real and they are here and they are not leaving. Do you understand?”

  I didn’t want to understand. To understand would mean to accept. To accept that Travis was in very real danger, if not worse. To accept that the woman I had seen covered in blood was really dead. To accept that the girl who had bitten me was more than a very skilled, very scary actress paid to play a horrible prank.

  “Angelique.” My shoulders slumped. “She said her name was Angelique.”

  “Angelique,” Maximus repeated. He made it sound like a foul curse word. “I should have known.” He released my wrists to bang his palms hard against the desk, making me jump. Muttering something I couldn’t quite hear he turned away and began to pace up and down the length of the tiny unit. His shadow was enormous on the opposite wall. It moved sinuously, rippling across the stacked furniture and unlabeled boxes like something alive.

  Taking in a deep breath to soothe my understandably frazzled nerves, I hopped back up on the edge of the desk and crossed my arms tight across my chest. It was time for some answers and some action. We couldn’t stay in here forever. I couldn’t stay in here forever. Not when my dad and Travis were out there… somewhere.

  “Sooo,” I said, stretching the word out while I tried to process my jumbled thoughts. “How do you, like, know so much about what is going on?”

  “If you are going to waste time asking questions you might as well ask ones worth asking.”

  “My teacher said there is no such thing as a stupid question,” I said, barely managing to restrain myself from sticking my tongue out at him.

  Maximus released a short bark of laughter. “Your teacher,” he said as he pivoted to face me, “is an idiot.”

  Okay, so he wasn’t too far off there. “Fine. Here’s a question for you. What – exactly – are those things out there?”

  “Back to this again so soon? Come on, Lola. You have to be smarter than this if you survived an attack. Dazzle me with your genius.”

  “They can’t be vampires. They can’t,” I insisted when he just stood there staring at me. “That’s impossible.”

  “Going back in time is impossible. Turning invisible is impossible. Balancing the national debt is impossible. Blood sucking creatures that have been documented since the beginning of time across the entire world? Not impossible.”

  “Next you’ll be telling me they sparkle in the daylight.”

  “No,” he said, giving me his first real smile. “Never that.”

  I didn’t like what that slow, curving smile did to my insides. Now is not a good time to crush on some strange boy you hardly know, my practical side scolded. But so hot… Blue eyes… Hair… Smile… Gah gah…, my inner girly girl sighed. “So you’re really telling me those are vampires out there,” I said, telling the girly girl to take a hike.

  “They prefer to be called Drinkers, but yes.”

  My eyes widened. “Ohmygod. Angelique bit me. She BIT me. Am I going to turn into one of them? Am I going to –”

  “No, no, and no,” he said, cutting me off. “I said you were infected. I didn’t say you were changed. Use your head, Lola.” He tapped the side of his temple and scowled. “Pay attention. I do not like repeating myself. Angelique marked you. Your blood went into her, became a part of her, which means she will be able to sense you even from a far distance. Even now she could be tracking you. Hunting you.”

  “What? But how…” I shook my head, trying to take it all in. “There has to be a way to stop her though, right? I mean, she can’t find me. I can’t let her find me.” The words came out in a frantic rush as I recalled the burning pain. The choking fear. The certainty of death. I could not go through that again. I would not.

  Maximus closed the distance between us in one long stride and took my hands in his. He squeezed my fingers and I squeezed back, managing to find a quiet sense of reassurance in his touch. “Stop it,” he said softly, giving me a little shake. His eyes searched mine, probing deep into places I never let anyone look. Places I never looked. “You can’t afford to panic. You can’t be afraid. Not now, not ever again. The Drinkers feed on blood and weakness. You have already given them a taste of the first, do not let them have the second.”

  “But you said Angelique could–”

  The knife silenced me. Maximus drew it out of thin air, or so it seemed. The long blade glinted in the dim light. His left hand, still holding mine, tightened like a manacle clicking into place when I tried to pull away. I swallowed hard.

  “What are you doing? Put that down before you hurt someone.” Before you hurt me.

  “There are two ways to get rid of those scars. Kill the Drinker who bit you… Or cut them from the flesh.”

  “Cut them from the flesh?” I echoed in a strangled voice that didn’t sound like my own. “Are you crazy? I’m not letting you come near me with that knife!”

  Seconds ticked by, each one longer than the last. I held my breath, waiting to see what Maximus would do. Finally, wit
h a little shrug, he released my hand and tucked the knife back into his belt. “Fine. Just make sure you sleep with one eye open because as long as you have those,” he said, looking down pointedly at my scars, “Angelique will be able to find you.”

  Oh crap. Oh crap oh crap oh crap. Was I really going to do this? Why? Why on earth would I ever, ever do this? I had gone crazy, I decided. Only a crazy person would believe what I was starting to believe. Only a crazy person would actually consider letting a complete stranger use a knife on her to cut out scars from a vampire bite. A vampire bite. It was ridiculous. It was absurd. It was…

  “Fine,” I said tightly, thrusting my arm towards him before I could change my mind. “Do it. Cut them out.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  A Parting of the Ways

  Maximus looked down at my hand. Back up at my face. Down at my hand again. “Are you CRAZY?” he shouted. I snatched my hand away.

  “But you said –”

  “If I told you to jump off a bridge, would you do that too? Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he muttered, shaking his head. “You’re an odd duck, aren’t you?”

  I stiffened. “I’m not odd. It was your stupid idea and since you seem to actually know what’s going on I thought – ”

  “Oh you thought, did you?” he mocked. “You thought you would just let me cut your hand open? Why not simply douse yourself in blood and parade through the street naked? At least that would get their attention faster.”

  “I’m leaving.” I decided abruptly. I jumped down from the table and almost made it to the door before Maximus slipped in front of me and blocked it with his body. I glared at his chest, not trusting myself to look into those brooding eyes of his. “Get out of the way.”

  “Lola, I can see I have upset you and for that I apologize…” He paused. “But you can’t leave.”

  Outraged by the command, I jerked my chin up and growled, “Listen pal, you don’t get to tell me anything, got it? If I want to leave I leave. Now move.” I curled my hand into a fist and punched his chest as hard as I could. I might as well have tried to topple over a stone wall with my pinky.

  “It’s not safe out there. You will have to wait until sunrise.”

  “Sunrise?” I choked out. “I’m not waiting for the damn sun to rise. I need to make sure my dad is all right which means you have to get out of my way!”

  “If you go out now you won’t make it to morning,” he said flatly. “They will tear you to shreds.”

  I slammed my hands on my hips and glared. “What do you care?”

  For the first time, Maximus’s veneer of arrogance appeared to crack. His mouth opened but no words came out as his eyebrows nettled together in confusion. “I – I don’t know why. I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “What about all the people out there?” I said, gesturing with a broad sweep of my arm. “What about everyone I know? My dad? My mom? My sister? My best friend Travis?”

  His expression turned vaguely pitying. “Lola, it is likely that they’re all –”

  “No,” I hissed. “Don’t you dare say it. Don’t you say anything else, you hear me? You don’t know what you’re talking about. You don’t know anything.”

  “I know if you go out there you won’t survive the night.”

  It was a risk I willing to take to save the ones I loved. Folding my arms across my chest I waited silently for Maximus to step aside. We both knew he couldn’t stand there forever. He was only delaying the inevitable.

  Finally he shifted to the right. I shoved past him and unlocked the door. I started to push it open, to step out into the cool night air and forget Maximus had ever existed, but something stopped me. Something I could not define, yet something tangible nevertheless.

  “You could… come with me, you know. Safety in numbers and all that.”

  “No,” he said without hesitation. “I can’t.”

  I peeked over my shoulder. His face looked like it could have been carved from granite. Only his eyes showed any life as they burned into mine with cold disapproval.

  “You are making a mistake,” he said.

  “Staying in here, when there are people out there who could use your help… That’s the mistake.”

  Maximus reached inside his leather jacket and yanked something out. “Take this,” he snapped, holding out his gun. I stared at it dumbly.

  “What would I do with that?”

  He forced the butt of the gun into my hand. My fingers closed around it automatically. “When a Drinker tries to rip your head off you shoot it. Simple enough. Hit it between the eyes or dead center of the chest. Anywhere else will wound it, but not kill it. If you’re not sure if it’s dead just keep shooting until you are.”

  “Like a video game,” I murmured, staring down at the gun. I had never held one before. It was a lot heavier than I imagined it would be. Heavy and awkward. How was I going to carry the damn thing? Left with little choice, I jammed it down in my left back pocket. Now, along with everything else, I would have to worry about shooting my own ass off. Better that, I supposed, than to be left completely defenseless. “What about you?” I asked. “Won’t you need a gun?”

  “I’ll be fine,” he said.

  Sure you will, hiding out in an abandoned storage unit. I almost said it out loud. Almost. One thought stopped me. The thought that if Maximus was staying here, it meant he had nothing worth risking his life for out there. No dad. No mom. No sister. No best friend. I cleared my throat and shifted anxiously from foot to foot. I had never been good at goodbyes. Thankfully, Maximus wasn’t either.

  “Either stay in or get out, but either way shut the door,” he scowled.

  A faint smile touched my lips, saying everything I couldn’t put into words. Nice to meet you. Thanks for the gun. Have a nice life. Hope you don’t die. And then, mustering what little courage I had left, I stepped out into the night.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Pop a Top Again

  Nothing tried to kill me on the way to the apartment complex, which I took to be a good sign. My temporary sense of hope quickly faded, however, when I found Mr. Jacobson, the door man. He was slumped against the door he had guarded for the past twenty five years (something I knew because we had just thrown him a party). The glass leading down to his head was streaked with red. He might have been sleeping, if he slept with his eyes wide open. Looking away, I gave him a wide berth and hurried inside.

  The lobby was dark. I tried hitting the light switches, but nothing came on. The power must have been cut, which meant the elevator wasn’t working, but then again it never was. I took the stairs two at a time, making an effort to keep my footsteps quiet as possible. The air stank of sweat and cigarettes and something too sweet. Mrs. Dobbs in 32C must have been smoking again. I wondered if she was still alive. If any of them were. The fat cat lady whose name I didn’t know who lived across the hall from us. Old Mr. Graham two units down who pulled a lawn chair into the middle of the hall every Sunday to read his newspaper. Sue and Livvy, married last spring, who always waved when they saw me.

  I thought of them, all of them, as I passed by their doors to get to my own, using the light from my cell phone to guide me. Some of the doors were ajar, but I didn’t look inside. I couldn’t. The blood that had leaked from their rooms to stain the beige carpet a dull brown told me everything I needed to know.

  With my heart lingering somewhere in the vicinity of my throat I reached my own door. It was closed, but not locked. The knob turned easily under my hand and I held my breath as I walked inside.

  Air came out of my mouth in a whoosh of pain when my shins collided with something hard. I stumbled, arms wind milling for balance. The phone slipped out of my hand and went clattering across the floor. Reaching out blindly I managed to grab hold of something solid and steadied myself.

  It took a few seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. When they did, I realized why I had stumbled. Nothing was where it should have been. Furniture had been overturned. The
television was smashed. Desk drawers had been ripped open and the contents scattered about. The apartment was always a little untidy but this… this was a disaster.

  “Dad?” I whispered as loud as I dared. “Dad, are you in here?”

  Nothing… and then…

  A quiet, familiar pop. A little hiss of air. The sound of slurping.

  I charged through the living room like a crazed rhinoceros, kicking things out of my way as I went. “Dad, where are you? Dad? DAD!”

  I found him in his bedroom closet. He was slumped next to a box of shoes and was using a case of beer to hold him upright. When I threw back the closet door he lowered the beer he had just opened and squinted up at me, his watery eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

  “Aiko? Honey, is that you?”

  “No Dad,” I gritted out. “It’s Lola. Your daughter.”

  Relief went hand in hand with anger as I leaned over him and ripped the beer can out of his hand. Everyone was dead and my dad was getting drunk. At least only one of those things was abnormal. “Dad, something has happened. You have to get up. It isn’t safe here.”

  “Aiko?” he said again.

  I drew my hair back and pushed my bangs up so he could see my eyes were gray instead of brown and not slanted at the corners like my mother’s. “No, not Aiko. Lola. It’s Lola, Dad.”

  “Lola?”

  “Yes! Now come on.” I grabbed his arm and tugged. He collapsed forward and rose unsteadily, swaying back and forth.

  My dad had started drinking before my mom left him. I don’t know if the drinking triggered the divorce or the divorce triggered the drinking. It didn’t matter, really. Either way, the results were the same.

  He wasn’t a mean drunk. Just a careless and forgetful one. He had never once raised his hand to me in anger, or even his voice, for that matter. I should have considered myself lucky – I knew other kids didn’t have it so easy – but how is cooking dinner for yourself every night of the week because you dad is passed out on the sofa by seven o’clock lucky?