Angeles Covenant

by Michael Pierce

  “You’ve opened my eyes and shown me there’s still good left in this world.”

  I felt his lips brush the top of my head, then he kissed me.

  “I’ll continue to advocate for your release,” I said. “Don’t give up hope.”

  “Hope is all I have left,” Nathan said, guided my face to his, then pressed his lips to mine.

  25

  Susan

  2006

  I couldn’t believe Roland did take care of all Fiona’s hospital bills. He even flew in a hotshot plastic surgeon from New York City; he examined Fiona, then we agreed to a final reconstructive surgery in three-months’ time, for which he’d fly out again. I couldn’t imagine how much this doctor’s time was costing.

  Roland also paid for Becca’s funeral. I wondered if he’d come to the service, but he didn’t—at least not that I saw.

  It had been several months since the attack, and I hadn’t seen or heard from Roland since that day at the hospital. But his words had stuck with me ever since—his assurance that I wasn’t crazy. His agreement that what I saw was real wasn’t comforting, but it gave me purpose. My eyes had been opened like no one else’s, and I was determined to do something about it.

  It was remarkable how well Fiona was doing. She would have scarring for the rest of her life, but it would be minimal. She’d already regained a full range of motion on her right arm and she could smile evenly with both sides of her face. Even the nightmares went away after a few weeks, though her previous love of dogs was greatly affected. But she seemed to have no memory of what really attacked her—the being I’d seen and continued to haunt me—which was such a relief.

  The hardest part was still the absence of Becca. Fiona took it hard when I told her Becca wasn’t coming home, but she continued to be optimistic that it only meant for now. She didn’t understand the permanence of the situation. So, I didn’t touch a single one of Becca’s things, leaving the room exactly how she’d left it, dirty clothes on the floor and all. Some mornings, I’d wake up to find Fiona sleeping in Becca’s bed, and as much as I wanted to stop her from doing it to preserve Becca’s memory, I knew Fiona needed to connect with her sister in her own way.

  Mom and Dad came over a lot to check on us, even though they said they were always just in the neighborhood. They were never just in the neighborhood this much before. But Fiona loved seeing her grandparents, and I appreciated the extra help with keeping her occupied and happy.

  I finally had to tell them Roland had paid the hospital bills since I wouldn’t accept their money and they knew I couldn’t afford the accumulation of bills all on my own. This also brought up a number of other uncomfortable questions, which I deflected as much as possible.

  No; he wasn’t coming back into our lives.

  No; I wasn’t going to try to get more money out of him.

  No; I was not still in love with him.

  But during the nights, once my parents were gone and Fiona was in bed, I continued my search. There was so much crap on the internet that it was hard to find any true and worthwhile information. However, there were a few words Roland had left me with that came up periodically and to which I gave more clout than the rest of the noise. Sisters of Mercy. Fangloria.

  All the official information painted Fangloria to be a vampire-inspired fetish club, but some of the forums spoke about it being so much more. These conversations led me to another name that started coming up more and more—Vampire Nation.

  As expected, there was a whole subculture obsessed with vampires. But these fanatics—or vanatics, as they sometimes referred to themselves as—spanned the gambit. It was difficult to separate the crazy from the truly enlightened, but I tended to trust the quieter voices, the subtler voices. And many of these whisperers spoke of Vampire Nation, which also connected back to Fangloria. There was far less accessible information on Sisters of Mercy, which I learned was a psychiatric hospital that frankly scared the shit out of me, so I focused most of my attention on Fangloria by choice.

  The latest problem I faced was with access to the club. The name was out there in the internet cosmos, but it was surrounded by tons of secrecy. I couldn’t find an address for the life of me, though it seemed to be located somewhere in the greater LA area. Unfortunately, the greater LA area was a big place.

  I spent night after night scrolling through webpages, blogs, forums—anything I could find to guide me to this elusive club. Since Roland had mentioned it by name, I figured it had to be important. And from what I could gather from Vampire Nation, they were some type of vampire groupie… but their status supposedly gave them a general immunity from attacks. They had a symbol, which was also used for a tattoo.

  I didn’t have any tattoos and had never seriously thought about getting one, but maybe this was something I needed to explore more.

  I leaned back in my desk chair, staring at a forum post from a woman who’d taken a picture of the bright red tattoo on her hip to show the rest of us curious voyeurs. It was a very straight forward design with an encircled “VN.” Not much creativity in the design. But then again, it was intended as a brand rather than an artistic expression.

  My eyes wandered to the pistol Roland had given me, lying on the desk beside the monitor. I felt weird about having it on me around Fiona but kept it out while conducting my nightly research. Something about my online search for vampires made me feel I was summoning them. I felt better having the loaded gun within reach. Roland had said it had bullets specifically designed for vampires; I didn’t know what that meant, but he was clear I shouldn’t waste them.

  One night, I’d removed the clip and plucked out one of the bullets, to see what made them so special. It appeared to be made of wood yet was still heavy, like metal. After a few online searches, I supposed it could have been Ironwood, a common name for types of trees with extremely dense wood, found around the world.

  If only I could test out the bullets on the vampire who’d murdered Becca and nearly taken Fiona. I’d slashed his throat, yet he’d still gotten away. Maybe I’d be able to find him again. Ridding the world of that particular monster would certainly help me sleep at night. Then maybe I would no longer feel the need to keep the gun under my pillow at night.

  I turned my attention back to the screen and the woman with the tattoo on her hip. I scrolled down to the comments of admirers of her tattoo, not to mention the seductive picture she’d taken, having to pull her panties down at the side to reveal the design.

  Was this a real thing? Do these cryptic initials actually provide sanctuary? Or is it a beacon for suckers to be preyed upon?

  Further down the thread, another woman had a picture of her lower back with the same emblazoned emblem. In her post, she wrote about the best night ever at Fang.

  Then someone responded saying, the bitch at the gate wouldn’t let me in!

  I kept reading, hoping someone would bring up the gate again, for someone to provide some small bit of information to help guide me there. After a few more posts, cross streets were given. When I looked them up, I found they were in South Los Angeles, near the 101, just north of the river. Then I noticed instructions to look for the woman who didn’t belong.

  I think I found it… I picked up the gun to feel the weight of it in my hands and carefully considered the information I’d just discovered—if it was accurate. There was only one way to find out, and if I could get past the gate, then I could also find out if sanctuary truly was possible among these monsters. And if it was possible, then I could secure the safety of the one little girl I had left and make damn sure no one ever sank their teeth into her again.

  26

  Fiona

  When Matthew had said the world had stopped after I awoke, he wasn’t kidding. The world very much seemed to be at a standstill. Everyone had to be glued to their TVs, streaming devices, and social media updates, all while locked away in their homes.

  Matthew wasn’t concerned with breaking any traffic laws, so he sped to my mother’s apa
rtment in the R8 as quickly as possible. There was no reason to even wait for green lights.

  I didn’t want to take any chances with my mother potentially coming home, but since she’d been part of the newscast this morning, I was pretty sure she had a busy day ahead of her in Los Angeles—meaning I could get in and out of the apartment unencumbered and unscathed.

  Just stepping inside the apartment felt irritatingly familiar and comfortable. It felt like I had never left and still belonged here, and I desperately wanted to rid myself of that feeling. This was no longer my home, and the sooner I accepted that, the better.

  “This won’t take long,” I said as I headed straight for the kitchen. “But I’d appreciate a few minutes alone with my sister.”

  “Take all the time you need,” Matthew said, strolling over to one of the couches, and taking a seat. “As soon as you want some help packing, I’m here.”

  “You want me to turn on the TV?”

  Matthew shook his head. “I’ve seen quite enough for one day.”

  I couldn’t agree more.

  I’d hoped to find a bag of Oreos in the pantry, and this was one place Mom didn’t disappoint. I took the bag and gave Matthew a small smile as I headed for my room, then closed the door, so I could have my sister all to myself.

  I set the bag on the bed and grabbed the first cookie, giving it an expert twist and popping the frosting side into my mouth. Oreos were heaven to me for as long as I could remember, but one never tasted quite so good. I already felt tears starting to prick the corners of my eyes, and I hadn’t even heard her sweet voice yet.

  “Hey, Becks. It’s me,” I said as I set down the naked half of the cookie and grabbed a second. I paced around the room waiting for a reply. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath until I heard her finally answer and I let out a long exhale.

  “Fee, I’ve missed you so much,” she said.

  “I’ve missed you too. More than you’ll ever know,” I said.

  “Have you and Mommy made up? Are you home for good now?”

  I felt a lump forming in my throat. “No, Becks. I’m afraid it’s rather the opposite.”

  “What you mean?”

  “Mom and I are not in a good place and I can’t live here anymore,” I said, and the first of the tears managed to spill down my cheek. “I have to leave.”

  “When are you coming back?” she asked, innocently.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know. And I never wanted to do this to you. And it doesn’t mean I don’t love you anymore.”

  “I so want to go with you.”

  “I so wish you could, Becks.” I wiped my cheeks as more tears spilled over the brims of my eyelids. “I so wish you could.”

  “Is Mommy still gonna be here with me?” She sounded like she was crying now too; it was a small grace I couldn’t see her. “Because I don’t want to be alone.”

  “You won’t be alone, Becks. I won’t let that happen. If Mom ever does decide to leave, I’ll be right back here in a heartbeat.

  “I wish she’d go and you could stay,” she said, bitterly.

  “And maybe one day, we can make that trade,” I said, wishing to God that was somehow a possibility. “If I can negotiate that, I will. But until then, you’ll have Mom. I know she loves you too.”

  “I know,” she said. “That’s why I don’t understand why you guys can’t get along.”

  “It’s complicated.” I ate my fourth cookie and told myself I had to stop. Once I finished chewing, I took a deep breath and sighed. “This is like the worst day,” I said and plopped down onto the edge of the bed.

  “Where are you gonna go?”

  “Probably stay with Matthew. I heard you got to meet him on more than one occasion.”

  “Yeah; he’s nice.”

  I glanced at the closed door and smiled through the tears. “He is. He’s a pretty special guy.”

  We continued to talk as I removed my suitcase and duffle bag from the closet and started to throw a bunch of my clothes and shoes into them. I couldn’t fit everything, but could fit most of the stuff I still wore regularly. Lastly, I grabbed my purse and backpack, stuffing the first inside the latter. The rest of my belongings would have to stay.

  When each bag was filled to the brim, I zipped them up and closed my eyes, picturing Becca, the way she’d looked in pictures mere days before her death. “Goodbye, Becks,” I said, trying to keep the tears from returning. “We’ll talk to each other again, it just might not be for a while. But I want you to know I’ll always be thinking about you.”

  “I’ll miss you super much,” she said, quietly.

  “I’ll miss you super much.” And before I could break down again, I heaved the strap of the duffle bag over my shoulder and rolled the suitcase toward the door.

  When Matthew noticed me exiting the room, he jumped up from the couch to give me a hand with my bags. “I said I’d help you,” he said, removing the weight of the duffle bag from my shoulder.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “Now I just need my makeup and stuff from the bathroom, then we can go.”

  “How’s Rebecca?”

  “Sad, but she’ll be okay.”

  I retrieved my primary makeup and toiletries from the bathroom, having to make a little extra space in my suitcase. I was also able to sneak in my hair straightener, but there wasn’t enough room for my blow dryer. Luckily, that was something Matthew already had in his many homes.

  Standing in the entryway with my packed bags, I took one more look around. We’d lived here as long as I could remember. Many of my memories—good and bad—stemmed from this small apartment. And my sister would be forever frozen here, which was terribly sad the more I thought about it. One way or another, I would never have been able to stay forever. I’d grow up and eventually die while she remained six years old, confined to the small rooms within the apartment walls. What would happen to her when the building was eventually torn down?

  I didn’t want to continue stressing about my sister’s eventual fate, which would send me straight back to the Oreos. I said one final silent goodbye and headed out the door.

  Matthew took all but the backpack from me and shoved the other two bags into the R8. I kept my backpack with me in the front seat.

  On our way back to his estate, we drove by the mall where Hot Coffee was situated. The parking lot was a ghost town like all the others. I asked Matthew to drive in for a closer look to see if any of the baristas were actually inside.

  The coffee shop was dark, and unless whoever’s shift it had been was hiding in the office, the shop was empty. Then I heard a crash of shattering glass and saw movement a few shops down, by the corner of the complex.

  “What was that?” I asked, but Matthew was already inching the car forward to check it out.

  Then came the scream of an alarm. What we found was a gang of teenagers—four that I could see—breaking into the shops at the far end of the complex. The storefront glass of a sandwich shop was shattered. The alarm was coming from the wireless provider shop next door, which also had a large pane of broken glass. The boys had thrown something through the windows.

  There was no one around to stop them. Police weren’t coming. So, with the rest of the pandemonium of the morning, they’d been free to destroy as they pleased. And they were working their way closer to the coffee shop I held incredibly dear to my heart.

  “Stop the car,” I demanded.

  “Why?” Matthew asked, though he stopped at the same time as asking.

  Instead of answering, I hopped out of the vehicle and yelled to get the boys’ attention.

  “Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”

  My presence startled them, but upon fully seeing me, they didn’t judge me a threat. Two of the boys even laughed. One ignored me completely and went back to looting the cellphone store.

  “There are no laws anymore,” one boy said. “I’d keep driving if I were you—if you know what’s good for you.”

  “I
f you know what’s good for you, I’d get the hell out of here!” I shot back, holding my ground. I was about to pull out my Society-issued pistol, when Matthew stepped out of the car and strolled around the hood.

  “You’re right,” he said. “There are no laws anymore. And it looks like lunch is served.” He growled and showcased his fangs.

  “Holy shit! It’s one of them!” one of the boys cried, his face instantly draining of color.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here!” another seconded, and all four boys ran for their lives around the corner of the complex.

  I chuckled at their comical exit. “Well, that was easy.”

  “Hey, I might as well use what I’ve got to my advantage while I can, because we both know it won’t last,” Matthew said, his fangs already retracted.

  I walked closer to the shattered storefronts, safety glass crunching beneath my shoes, the siren still wailing. “What a mess.”

  “And it’s only going to get worse,” Matthew said, coming to stand beside me. “We can’t stop everyone looking to take advantage of the chaos.”

  “I know. It’s just that Hot Coffee’s right over there. I still consider it mine.”

  “You don’t work there anymore, and who knows how long it will be able to remain open.”

  “Still… it’s special to me,” I said, kicked a few pieces of glass, then headed back to the car with Matthew.

  27

  Sean

  I pulled up in front of my house with the U-Haul, still not knowing what to expect when I went inside. There was no escaping what was happening around the world at this very moment unless you lived out in the wilderness somewhere, completely off the grid. No one in Southern California was completely off the grid, though. At least I now knew what I was going to tell them—the truth.

  No one came running out the front door as I got out of my car, and I shouldn’t have expected it. I wasn’t living in some cheesy made-for-TV movie.