by Varian Wolf
“That was a kind thing to do.”
The voice had come from behind me. I hadn’t noticed anyone approach, too tired maybe, or just stupidly inattentive. I whipped around, hurting my bad ankle in the process, but I managed to bring the .45 up through my wince.
There was a man standing there in the snow. He wore a long, dark coat, dark gloves, dark pants, and a long, blue scarf around his neck –a man scarf. I had never seen anyone but Euros on TV wear one before. White snowflakes collected on his –oh yes, dark felt hat. He was a couple inches under six feet and quite thin with a neatly trimmed bit of facial hair as coal black as what was on his head. He was the most immaculate creature I had ever seen. He was standing very still, like a statue, like he’d been standing there for a while, watching me. Not just watching, staring. It creeped me out.
I sighted him in.
“You better get the hell on, whoever you are. I’m not trickin’, and I know how to use this better than the dirt bag I took it off of.”
The snow must have muffled his steps, I thought. That was how he’d snuck up on me. But I didn’t see any footprints. How long had he been there?
“I think you do,” he said with a little music in his voice, a slight Spanish accent. “You can do anything you set your mind to, can’t you?”
“I can shoot that hat off your Eurotrash head.”
“Please do. It would amuse me greatly.”
He smiled, and the snow-softened light illuminated his teeth. He seemed to have a bit more of them than necessary. Two in particular.
That was when the hair started to rise on the back of my neck –or, no, it was probably just the cold.
“I think you better just slink on outta here the way you came. It’s just me and Old Painful tonight. Three’s a crowd.”
“I know you have had a difficult night. You have reached the end of your ability to cope, no? What are you planning to do with that weapon? Kill? Or kill yourself? But, no.” He leaned on the bridge with sudden histrionic flair, putting a thoughtful hand on his chin and regarding me with a researcher’s eye. “I do not think you the suicide kind. I think you will use those bullets on the most deserving. Your mother? Her former lover?…Your father, if you could find him.”
What the…
“Killing them might be a good way to spend those bullets and end your free life, but you have so much more potential than that, Annie.”
On that note, I squeezed the trigger.
3
Enter Vampire
I had seen a lot of weird shit in my life. I had seen a naked Filipino man knock over a Badd Burger with a pellet gun. I had seen two dogs stuck together in a fuck that lasted four hours. I had witnessed OJ Simpson get acquitted for murder, and I’d seen an incarcerated murderer choke to death on an OJ box (yes, the box had had a little help accomplishing the feat). I had been witness to the reelection of an administration that, in eight years, had cut the throat of the American economy while its own people made off with billions of dollars; failed to bring to justice the world’s most wanted man; and bungle two wars, getting a lot of poor folks’ kids killed in the process. I’d seen Jesus in a stain on the bathroom floor. Hell, I’d even lived to see Michael Jackson propagate. Now, whether or not there was actual coitus involved, that’s some weird shit.
But I had never seen a man catch a bullet.
That’s right. He caught the bullet. Of course, I didn’t believe that he had actually caught the bullet until after I had fired two more, almost point blank, and watched him pick them out of the air like he was catching a ball. Then I was pretty sure he hadn’t been storing squashed bullets in his pocket for just such an occasion. No, he’d actually caught them, as evidenced by the distance they pushed his arms back as he absorbed their forward motion, and the fact that I was sure I hadn’t missed.
The sight made the cigarette drop right out of my mouth, and I was never one to waste a smoke.
So here was a guy who could catch bullets, not get hurt, and who knew more about me than the average nut job you meet on a bridge at four a.m.
The stranger held the trio of bullets up for me to see, then shrugged, smiled, and tossed them into the snow. He stared at me, waiting. Waiting for what? My reaction?
“What kind of fresh hell is this?”
“What does it look like?”
“It looks like you just caught three bullets in your hands. What the fuck else would it look like?”
“You would be surprised.”
He took a step toward me.
“No, no, no. You stay right where you are, José.”
“Or you will do what exactly?”
I’ll…I’ll…Fuck.
There was a distinct twinkle in his pale eyes. He was really enjoying this –enjoying this…what? What was this?
I suddenly felt like a cat toy.
“You’re awfully pale.”
He took a step closer.
And there’re some…uh, sorta big teeth…in your…”
“Yes.”
He took another step.
“And you’re, uh, not breathing, are you?”
“No.”
“And there is a big ol’ snow glob caught on your eyelashes…and it’s not melting.”
He reached up and plucked the fluffy flake from its perch. He took off a glove and held it in his bare hand. Others collected beside it. His hand was bluish, cold-looking. The snowflakes did not melt.
“Yes, sometimes that can be a problem,” he said.
He was standing near enough to breathe on me now, if he had been breathing. He took hold of my hand –the one without the gun, and dusted the snowflakes into my hand, where they instantly melted. He held my closed hand in both of his, and they were absolutely ice-ice cold. We stood there in silence for a while, me shivering and sweating at the same time, he so, so still, like a concrete statue on a grave, or like a corpse in one. Like a dead guy. A walking…
“Oh, Jesus fuckin’…next it’ll be ninjas. Where the fuck are the ninjas?”
He stared at me, unblinking. His eyes were like an endless sea of greenish glass. When I looked straight in, I could not see the end of them.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “to have complicated your evening any further. I realize that seeing the bullet thing can lead to certain disconcerting thought processes.”
“Cat shit. You planned this.”
That little smile.
“You’re bored with them. You’ve had enough. Perhaps I can show you a better time.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Come with me. Amuse me, as I will amuse you. The night can be beautiful, if you know how to exploit it.”
“You’re shittin’ me, right?”
“You think this is a ruse? Cameras behind the bushes?”
“What bushes? And no, I saw what I saw. But assuming that you are a…a…You can’t wait for me to say it!”
“I don’t hear it very often.”
“Well, I’m not going to caress your ego.”
He frowned in disappointment.
“If you are that, then it’s more than likely that this is all a game. Get the stupid little mortal all deluded and then slurp! You shouldn’t play with your food.”
“That’s not what I think of you.”
I pulled my hand away and crossed my arms stubbornly.
“Prove it.”
The stranger grinned very wide, and for the first time I got a very good look at his hardware. His teeth looked like anyone else’s teeth who had never had braces to straighten them, except the two conspicuous canines, slashing down like sabers. Ninjas, I thought. I would definitely prefer ninjas.
He turned around in the snow, swinging his arms out like a little kid. He smiled at the dark skies. He stopped abruptly and turned back to me.
His voice was filled with delight.
“This is much more fun that I expected.”
“Great. Dinner and a movie.”
“Ha!” he laughed, then suddenly
became very serious, the way the weather changes in Michigan when you think you’ve got a sunny day on your hands, and then bam! You don’t.
“Annie, I have been watching you all night. I don’t want to kill you. I am a vampire, yes. Killing is fun for me. I do it as often as is sensible, but I don’t want to kill everyone, and I don’t want to kill you. Can you understand that?”
He picked my fallen cigarette out of the snow and lit it with a lighter that had appeared suddenly in his hand, as if by magic. He offered me both cigarette and lighter. At first I accepted neither. Then I saw that the lighter was Chris’s Zippo.
He had been watching me. I started thinking about the implications of that. He had seen that whole Short John thing –me stabbing a guy, me getting shot at, me running from giant radioactive doglike mutants, and he hadn’t stepped in to help. Of course he hadn’t stepped in to help. Did he see me versus the burger joint? Me standing in the sneet outside Furlough’s, begging disingenuously for redemption? He’d apparently observed that shit storm with my mother. What else did he see? And the result of all this observation was what? That he didn’t want to kill me?
“Yeah, I get it,” I said, “You’re a sick fuck. You know how I know that? Because I’m a sick fuck. No one should like me. If you do, that makes you one. Now, tell me, Vampire, why should I come hang with a sick fuck?”
The vampire extinguished cigarette on the palm of his hand, then dropped it back in the snow. He offered me the Zippo again, and I snatched it away.
“I’m not just a, as you say it, sick fuck. I catch bullets. I walk on wires. I swim for hours without taking a breath. I’ve been all around this world, and I do just what I please. I’m a sick fuck with power and freedom. I would share that freedom with you.”
“If you are telling me that you would up and make me into a vampire–”
“No. I seek a human companion.”
“Good, because if you’d said so I’d have said you were full of shit.”
“I have no reason to lie to you. If I wanted to kill you now, I would do so, but I am offering a different proposition. I am offering you a change of life, escape. Doesn’t it sound the least bit appealing?”
“Maybe, until you get bored with me, and I become lunch.”
“You express a reasonable concern. I will not attempt to convince you that your safety is guaranteed, not you. Perhaps one day you will die –all of you do, but in the meantime, you could live a life most mortals could barely imagine. We will travel together. You can dine in the finest restaurants, retire in the most lavish of accommodations–”
“Hey, I don’t need no sugar daddy,” I said, getting hot, “I’ve seen what that’s about.”
He nodded seriously, “Of course, you fear emulating your mother. But can you not see how unlike her you are, how untamable? I would not invite you out to play if I thought you in danger of becoming that kind of human caricature.”
Humph.
“Doesn’t allying yourself with me sound like better fun than suffering lifelong incarceration at the hands of your human system of punishment? Leave prison to the criminals. Come be something more.”
Yeah, worse. Companion to a vampire. Ingénue to the dead. I had to imagine I was going to witness some pretty heavy shit.
“Isn’t there some fainting virginal beauty out there you should be fawning over?”
“I am not that kind of vampire.”
“Because I’ve banged at least a dozen guys.”
“Never miss an opportunity to enjoy yourself.”
“And I ain’t never even been knocked out.”
“The delicate ones are aperitif.”
Whatever the hell that meant.
“You gonna tell me what your name is, Pedro?”
He nodded quickly and removed his hat.
“Miguel.”
That didn’t help.
He replaced his hat.
“You’re considering it,” he said. His eyes sparked with new intensity.
Maybe.
He stood back, held up a finger.
“I know you do not require any more demonstrations of my capabilities.”
Yes, but.
The vampire put his hands in his pockets. Then, without further warning, he vaulted straight into the air, rising some eight feet and coming to rest on the snow-blanketed rail of the bridge, on his feet, as primly as a ballet dancer on a polished stage.
Then, he began to dance. He trotted off to one side, trotted back, hands in pockets, with an air of physical humor akin to the movements of vaudeville dancer, but with grace akin to no human that ever lived.
“I know I must seem the least acceptable part of this night’s unpleasant events,” he said as he danced.
He dropped into a handstand, on one hand. The other held his hat.
“…but that I am the only person you have encountered this evening who does not mean you harm is as true as it is unlikely.”
He pushed off with his hand, springing once more to his feet.
“In fact, it is delight and not harm that I wish to bring you…”
He spun on his feet like a top.
“…as harming you would delight me less.”
“Dude,” I admonished. “That is some seriously tripped-out shit you got goin’ on there.”
“I find your world grim and brutish,” he continued, “It is only reasonable that you should neither trust me nor my ability to improve your condition. Perhaps a demonstration of my potency is in order…”
He flung his hat high into the air, but he did not wait to catch it. Instead, he jumped, in an incredible display of ability, fifteen feet straight up to pluck it from the air, mid-arc. He landed once more on deft feet.
“…to draw distinction between myself and your numerous antagonists.”
He bowed low before me. Looking up, he grinned wide and devilish.
“I can kill them for you. Shall we start with Tim?”
He put the hat back on his head and sat down on the rail, smiling intensely with only his eyes and waiting for my reply, waiting for me to give my soul to the Devil.
I didn’t make him wait long.
“All right. I’ll ride your crazy train, Vampire, but if you try and call me ‘Shorty’ I’ll knock your frigid balls off.”
4
Trust
Vampire Miguel’s generous offer notwithstanding, I was the very next thing to a corpse after my little night of horrors and in no condition to enjoy an invigorating homicidal romp. My list of ailments was long, with pure exhaustion at the very top. I needed sleep, and soon.
“I must rest with the dawn,” he concurred. “Let us go to my car.”
He came toward me with the apparent intention of offering me an arm, but I jabbed him with the pool skimmer.
“Back off, Don Juan. I’m no wilting flower,” I warned. “I’ll go on my own steam.”
“Walking was not what I had in mind.”
“You got a car around here?”
“Around, yes. A short distance for me, but for a human not so short. My transportation is parked thirteen miles from here.”
Thirteen miles? I looked around. In this? I looked down at my foot. With this?
“Let me suggest,” he said carefully, “that you consider accepting one of the perks of intimate association with my kind. Let me suggest that you allow me to carry you.”
I just stared at him.
“It will be like nothing else you have ever experienced. Mortals cannot move as I move.”
“So it’s…athletic?”
“Very.”
“It’s not like being escorted through the park?”
“Not at all.”
“So no fair damsel in distress BS.”
“None whatsoever.”
I was too tired to argue anymore.
“Fine.”
The vampire reached for the pool skimmer. I gave it up. He slowly gathered me into his arms.
“Hold tight to that gun.”
&nbs
p; He jumped.
If none of the other insane shit he had done had impressed me, this demonstration did. We rose with such speed that I felt as though I was strapped to a missile that had just been launched. Yeehah. My initial impression was that I was going to fall out of his grasp to my death, but within seconds –seconds that were ample time for Miguel to make several leaps and landings in succession, I had no room left in my brain to doubt the surety of his grip upon me. His arms were like iron, and I was but a leaf.
He leaped with the grace of a puma, the silence of a soaring hawk, the speed of, well, a vampire. We passed over the snow and streets of Detroit like Santa’s reindeer. One moment we were poised at the edge of a rooftop, his toes barely, but so adeptly, clinging to the precipice, the next we were flying twenty feet through the breath-stealing night air and alighting on another building, a privacy fence, a power pole, with no concern for ice or snow. His muscles must have been trained so perfectly, he could organize their functioning into the perfect combination needed to land on any given surface, to skirt along any narrow width.
He was showing off.
I had to admit, the vampire was magnificent. He did it all in next to silence. The only sounds I could hear were the rushing of the air through my ears and the whipping of the fabric of my tattered clothes. Miguel’s garments, I noticed, made no sound as they moved. They were apparently chosen well for his eternal occupation. Not a single soul noticed our passage, not even the trusty Pit Bulls of inner city fame, ever alert for something to bark at or, better, tear into. The journey was a far cry from my crazy flight two hours before. The night was ours alone.
Okay, so even Angry Annie Eastwood wasn’t entirely immune to the allure of the vampire. The freedom I felt was that which I had always wanted, the speed of a sports car in your muscles, the strength of a grizzly in your bones. I wanted to whoop with enthusiasm. It was a little bit like those last moments of a great fight, when you’ve got the other bitch just about shit-canned, and you know you’re invincible. That was as close a thing as I had ever experienced, at least. It was like parkour on steroids –supernatural steroids.