Unmade: A Neo-Nihilist Vampire Tale

by Vocabulariast, The

  “Well, it matters because I saw you come in and I said to myself, ‘What a shame, such a pretty girl with such sad eyes.’ And then I thought to myself, ‘You know what? You haven’t done your good deed for the day.’ The night isn’t getting any younger and I thought we could help each other. I do you a favor and you help me out with my one good deed a day addiction. Does that seem fair?”

  She looked at him, measuring him with the mental scale that existed in all girls’ heads, the flirtation scale. On one side of the scale was the girl’s patience on the other side of the scale was his bullshit. In his mind, he hoped she had one heaping helping of patience because he had just laid the bullshit on pretty thick. She must have had the patience of a saint because, instead of telling him to get lost, she replied, “I suppose that seems fair. You seem harmless enough. I’m drinking Merlot.”

  Lucinda made her way down the line dealing spirits like a blackjack dealer in Vegas. She stopped by to see if he needed another hit, and he decided to double down, a glass of Merlot for the lady and a Jack and Coke for him. Lucinda poured the wine from a glass bottle that was left sitting on the counter un-chilled. He had never been a wine drinker, so he didn’t know if that was normal or not.

  The copper-haired girl took a sip from her Merlot and, as her lips receded from the lip of her glass, he could see tiny stains of red on her upper lip. He watched closely trying to figure out if she was actually drinking the wine or just pretending. At the same time, he was trying to appear as normal as possible himself. Luckily, his Jack and Coke had arrived with a straw, which he constantly played with. Whenever the girl would turn away from him or stare off into space, he would place his finger over the end of the straw, locking the air pressure in place as well as a little bit of liquid. Quickly, he would hold the end of the straw over the bar floor, remove his finger, let the liquid slide out of the straw, and replace it back in his drink.

  Their conversation dripped along like syrup out of a freshly tapped maple tree. She genuinely appeared to be sad and pulling any information from her was like pulling teeth. He decided to move onto the tried and true method of pretending that everything the girl said was interesting and prodding with follow up questions. For instance, if the girl said she worked at the mall, he might ask, “Which mall.” The beauty of this method was that he kept her talking and giving information, just as he remained a total mystery.

  She said words, he said words. None of it really mattered. It was the simple sort of talk that people engaged in when meeting each other for the first time. He told some lies, and she probably told a couple herself. The barriers came down and soon they were smiling and laughing at everything. They enjoyed each other’s fake company, fake smiles, and fake mystery. At the end of the night, when he asked for her number it was promptly given, and he had a feeling that it was real. But you never knew, he would find out in a couple of nights.

  They parted company and he left not knowing that he would never come back to Beelzebub’s again. He cruised the freeway overpass’ underways and found some rats to munch on, fighting the urge to go out and find himself something with a little more flavor. As he lapped up the drippy lifeblood of a rat, a thought occurred to him. She had drunk all of her wine. He started to have some doubts.

  Chapter 39: Preparation

  They spent the next few nights sharpening stakes and talking. The Old Soldier rolled his beauties and drank his cheap wine as he whittled the square-handled stakes into round-handled stakes. The process was long and arduous. They did not use their super knife for any of the carving; instead, they used his old collection of well-worn kitchen knives that stuck out of a wooden block when they weren’t being used.

  The Old Soldier had acquired some new attire. They weren’t the most fashionable clothes on the market. He looked like a throwback to the days of Miami Vice. He wore a tangerine colored t-shirt underneath a gray blazer with sleeves that came down to his elbows. The Old Soldier was furious at having to stow his army jacket in the corner of the room. With one change of clothing he had gone from dirty old bastard to out of fashion man. The only good thing about the change of clothes was the fact that the old man no longer smelled like the sweaty balls of a dog.

  After a few nights had passed, he decided it was time to give the copper-haired girl a call. He had forgotten her name already and he had to look at the napkin she had written her name on to remember it. As soon as he stopped looking at it he would forget her name again. He didn’t know if he was forgetting it on purpose or if this was just one of his mind’s tricks for protecting him from the horror he was planning. It would be good to not remember her name after it was all said and done.

  He stood shaking in a phone booth, staring at the name on the napkin as he dialed her phone number with trembling fingers. The wooden stakes tucked into his belt kept catching on the plastic shell that was supposed to protect the missing phone book from damage. The night was nice and cool and everything was in control. He was in control, and everything would work out just as he had planned. He kept telling himself this, even though he couldn’t remember the last time anything he had planned had gone off without a hitch. Hell, he didn’t think that any of his plans had come off since before the accident.

  With the number dialed, the phone began to ring and the copper-haired girl from the other night answered chirpily into the receiver. He recognized her slightly sibilant S’s immediately. They made plans to go and see a movie at a theater off of Broadway on the SW side of town, nothing out of the ordinary. No strolls through the graveyard, no tours of the mortuary, and for some reason he thought he would have felt a lot more comfortable about the whole situation if they had planned on doing one of those things.

  He walked in a daze. The Old Soldier was at his side. They didn’t talk, and just before they reached the front of the movie theater the Old Soldier dropped back a little bit. The Old Soldier slowed his pace, pulled a beauty from the pocket of his medium sleeved blazer, and lit it in a flare of orange light and sulfur. No one paid attention to the man that was dressed like a two- bit vice cop from an eighties TV show.

  He kept strutting as he approached the front of the theater, confident in his manipulative skills. The Old Soldier was simply there for support, just in case anything went terribly wrong. The Old Soldier was his shadow, his backup plan. One of the books they had been reading religiously said, “When going up against a vampire be ready for anything,” and that’s exactly what they were.

  Chapter 40: Like a Lilypad

  He strolled up to the front of the theater, underneath the gaudy marquee full of electric lights and posters for movies that would most likely suck, sickeningly sweet romantic comedies and elaborate, computer drawn kids’ movies that lacked heart and soul. He held back because the copper-haired girl was nowhere to be seen. He observed as regular people lined up in front of the ticket booth and placed their orders for this movie or that one. They paid their money and went inside to eat overpriced popcorn and turn off their minds for an hour and a half. He was envious. He knew that tonight would be anything but normal. He felt like a super-spy trying to infiltrate a cult that had its eyes on world domination.

  As he stared up at the gaudy electric lights of the marquee, the copper-haired girl startled him by tapping him on the shoulder from behind. She looked as pale as ever. Her makeup gave her a ghostly appearance and her white face hovered as if disembodied, thanks to the complete blackness of her attire.

  They greeted each other coldly and efficiently and with just the right amount of tooth baring to trick the casual onlooker into thinking they were smiling. He let her pick the movie since he had no idea what any of them were about, even though he figured the one called Zombie Softball Slaughter Party might be about zombies that terrorized a softball team. She didn’t pick that movie though, she went with something that had a more cerebral title than he would have cared for. He bought both of their tickets for the movie that went under the name of Syntax, it was the least that he could do.


  They walked inside and thankfully they skipped right past the concession counter after having their tickets torn. They wandered through the carnival-colored carpeting of the theater, underneath the glow of light radiating from neon signs shaped liked hot dogs and popcorn. They walked arm in arm like two lovers from the fifties out for a midnight stroll in a park, back when it was still safe to do so. They escaped from the garish lights of the main lobby and ducked into the barren halls of the movie theater. It was a Sunday evening and the majority of the theater going crowd was in bed steeling their nerves for another week of mindless subservience disguised as fruitful life. They pretty much had the theater to themselves.

  He enjoyed the soft feel of the cottony material on his arm as they walked down the hallway. He enjoyed her smell even more, gentle lilac after a rainstorm. He had no idea what lilac smelled like after a rainstorm, but it sounded right and that was ok with him. Maybe she smelled like a powdered jelly donut with raspberry filling. It was hard to place smells, especially since he was dead if the books had been right.

  The books… he remembered the books… “Be prepared for anything.” He refocused his mind, attempting to not get lost in her womanly arts. The makeup, the scent, the clothes, the touch… these were all things meant to distract. How did he even know that they were on an actual date? She could just be playing him for the stuff that ran through his veins, stolen rat’s blood and the fruit of Earl’s jugular blossom. This was most definitely not a date. This was not the love of his life that held his arm as they stalked down the gaudy kitschy corridors. This was a spawn of the devil. This was a blood sucking vampire… one of the ones that had conspired to cheat him of his peace. The love of his life rotted in a coffin with worms eating her mangled corpse. She would pay, they would all pay.

  They reached the theater where their movie was playing, a red sign overhead flashed the name of the movie. She had told him it was some sort of romantic comedy, not the best kind of movie, but certainly one that would relax her, and maybe even him, for the job that he had to do later. At least it wasn’t a horror movie; that would come later, further down the road.

  They marched into the gloom of the theater and found their way to the back row. There were already a few patrons seated and munching noisily on their concessionary bounties. They sat at the end of the back row close to the aisle. They chattered and bantered, just like it was a real date. As he told his jokes and oozed the charm, he would search her eyes for any sort of malice, any sort of sign that this was more than just a date for her. He looked into her brown eyes trying to find any sort of sign that she was eyeing him as simply a talking hamburger.

  Unfortunately, there was nothing but smiles in those eyes, the joy of something new, a release from the everyday, and for a second, he felt remorse. None of the books said anything about remorse, especially not for something he hadn’t even done yet. He was glad when the lights dimmed and the barrage of trailers began, coming attractions that the girl at his side would never see.

  When the trailers were over, he enveloped his mind in the protective sheathe of the movie. The characters on the screen moved and talked, free of pain, free of cruelty, just a couple looking for the meaning of it all and finding comfort in each other’s strength. It hurt him to see all the things he had once had in the past reflected on the screen. The sun shone in the movie and for a second he panicked and began to sweat, but the movie theater sunlight did nothing to him. It was just as cool as it had been and the underscored sounds of munching vermin could be heard to his right and in front of him.

  He was broken from his reverie and introspection by the cool embrace of the copper haired girl’s hand interlocking fingers with his own hand. They sat that way until the end of the movie, holding each other’s cool hands and laughing occasionally at the inept antics of the male protagonist, whose bumbling misadventures eventually served to endear him to the woman and seal their bond, supposedly for forever.

  When the movie was over, they turned and smiled at each other, discussing what they should do next. He convinced her, not that it took much, that they should go for a stroll down to the waterfront and so they did.

  The night was empty but warm as they left the movie theater, meandering and chatting the seven blocks it took to get to the walkway that bordered the Columbia River as it made its way through the heart of the city, dividing its east and west sides. Nothing she said mattered anymore, he was simply humoring her so that, in the end, things wouldn’t be as difficult.

  They stood at the end of a pier, listening to the almost silent rush of the water as it lapped against the waterfront walls. Cars sped past on the cities many bridges, stars close enough to touch in the distance. The hum of the city stood at their back and they stared at the wasteland that was the east side of the city.

  He had his arm around her waist as they stared at the city lights reflected in the river water, an alternate universe where nothing was as it seemed. She made some observation that he totally missed or didn’t care about. She took his silence for reticence and made a move that she had been waiting for all night long.

  She stood up on her tiptoes and planted a gentle lingering kiss on his cheek. He sat totally still, collecting his thoughts and ordering them as rapidly as possible. She turned his face towards her with the gentle pressure of her nose and placed her lips on his, searching gently for a crack in his tightly sealed lips. Seemingly of their own volition, his lips parted and her slippery tongue darted in seizing the opportunity. Her arms snaked around his waist and he turned, as if in a daze, towards her. They were no longer facing the river, but each other, their tongues intertwined, sliding, exploring. Her body gave off a heat that over-powered his own coolness, and her smell filled his nose, lilacs after a rainstorm.

  He felt her hurt in her kiss, just as she must have sensed his own open wound, never quite sealed and always oozing. They grasped each other tighter her heat seeped into his own cold body, warming it. The moonlight penetrated his eyelids. He opened his eyes and realized that the glow was coming from the girl that he held in his arms. Her head leaned to the side and he felt her lips purse on his neck. He did not care. Her teeth compressed his skin, pinching it, teasing the neurons of his neck with exquisite pain, and then it was over.

  She laid on the ground trying to regain her balance and her wits. The Old Soldier stood on the other side of her body looking down at her, his arm cocked back ready to deliver another blow. The spell had been broken, and he leapt into action.

  He grabbed her around the waist and stood her on her feet, with her back against the rail that protected the clumsy water-watcher from falling into the river. Stars danced in her eyes and he slapped her across the face attempting to jumpstart her wits. Her head rocked to the side and the sound of palm on face echoed across the polluted water of the Columbia.

  When her face stopped lolling to the side, she raised her eyes to his and he saw equal parts fury and confusion.

  “Hit her again!” The Old Soldier danced at his side waving the knife around like a party favor.

  “No! Please don’t! What do you want?” The copper-haired girl, shrunk from his hands struggling to release the vice grip that he held on her upper arms.

  “We want some information and you’re going to give it to us.” His voice was cold and his heart was colder. This was the goal. This was the stepping stone. It wasn’t a girl that trembled and shook in his arms. That was all a show, a front.

  “What information?” Her squirming and fear lulled for a second, as she understood that there might be a way out of the madness, a light at the end of the tunnel.

  “I want you to tell me about them… the vampires?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  A speck of doubt crept into his mind. The Old Soldier egged him on, shoving his doubt into the corner of his mind. “Hit the bitch! Slap her across the chops!”

  He raised his hand back and hesitated unsure of whether to hit her or not and then he brought his hand down
on the side of her face. “Tell me what I want to know, or it’s just going to get worse. What do you call yourselves?”

  She bled from the lip now and her words were slow, “Who? Who are you talking about?”

  “The people like you. What are you called?”

  She looked at him fearing for her life and uncomprehending. “Goths? Do you mean Goths?”

  The Old Soldier stood off to the side waiving the knife around as if he were carving her from a distance. “Is that what you call yourselves? Goths?”

  ‘Goths,’ the word tickled the back of his mind with something smacking of familiarity. “Right. Goths. Where do the Goths hangout? Where can I find more of you Goths?”

  She shook her head, not understanding the question. As he raised his hand for another slap she spit out an answer that she hoped would satisfy him. “Goths hang out everywhere. They’re all over the place.”

  He lowered his hand at her apparent acquiescence and refined his question a little more. “If I wanted to meet some of you Goths, where would I meet them?”

  Blood from her lip dribbled down her chin and he could see the lines between his fingers on her cheek where a reddish bloom had appeared. “A lot of Goths go to the Glasshouse during the week. They have a bar and play industrial music and its pretty laid back. On Sunday’s all the Goths that I know go to Beelzebub’s.”

  “Thank you for the information.” He felt relief at not having to slap her across the face again. The Old Soldier’s bouncing rage was on edge and he was glad that she had answered his question promptly. He hoped she did the same for the next question. “Where is your partner from the stage show at Beelzebub’s?”