by Alex Dire
Norman nodded. Skeete approached the desk. She addressed Norman in a volume low enough to conceal their conversation from the class. She nodded at Juda. “That one looks delicious. What do you think…B pos?” She resumed her staring contest with Norman. “I really didn’t expect to find you alive,” said Skeete. “You were…let’s just say… always weak and wishy-washy.”
“I didn’t expect to see you again either,” replied Norman. “You were…let’s just say…lying in a pool of your own blood with a stake I put through your heart.”
“Yes, then there is that. I still haven’t paid you back for that little gift.”
“What are you doing here? How are you still alive?” asked Norman.
“I certainly didn’t expect to see that one.” Skeete tilted her head toward Richie.
Anger and fear simultaneously gripped Richie’s face. His acute hearing heard every word of the conversation.
“I saved him,” replied Norman.
“For now,” said Skeete.
Norman bristled at the threat. Almost too loud, he repeated in slow cadence, “What do you want.” Norman wondered if Skeete could provoke him to blow his own cover. Would that be such a bad idea? Skeete could destroy everyone in the room. Perhaps Norman should take her out now. Skeete was strong, but Norman had Richie. Then Norman remembered. He’d done that once already and, apparently, it didn’t take. If a piece of wood through the heart didn’t kill Skeete, what would? Norman decided to play it safe.
Skeete picked up Norman’s copy of The Collected Works of William Shakespeare from the desk. “To learn my Shakespeare,” she replied. “I love the bard.” Then she leaned forward and glanced over at Richie before she whispered into Norman’s ear, “You’ll see. Everybody has to choose a side eventually.” She winked at Richie before walking to an empty seat in the back. She opened the book to a random page but didn’t even pretend to start reading.
These last words sent a shudder through Norman’s body. He had gotten used to a world with no sides over the last three years. There weren’t enough vampires left to make sides. What the hell was Skeete talking about? “You’ll see…”
6
Detention
The rest of class had been excruciating. After the bell rang, Norman and Richie decided they needed an emergency plan.
Norman bit off a piece of duct tape and attached the sharpened broomstick handle to the underside of Richie’s desk drawer. A small leather loop used to hang the broom to the wall still dangled from the dull end. “There, now you’ve got one, too,” he said. “If Skeete gets violent, just follow the plan.”
Richie nodded slowly. Norman could see Richie wondering if he’d be up to such a task. Norman wondered, too. He also wondered if the stake would do anything but slow Skeete down. It would have to be enough.
“Let’s call it a day,” said Norman picking up his satchel. He stopped mid-motion when he heard a knock on the door. He and Richie looked at each other. The room, empty of students, would at least make a better battle ground. No chance of hostages and collateral damage.
Richie reached to detach the freshly taped stake.
“No. Wait,” whispered Norman holding up his palm. Norman grasped his own stake from under his desk. He slowly crouched and placed his satchel onto the ground as he said, “Come in.”
He steadily stood up gripping the stake behind his back as the door inched open. Norman tensed his muscles and honed his focus, ready to pounce. His extra sense gave him nothing. He’d have to strike first and decisively. Skeete was more powerful than Norman. He’d gotten lucky with Skeete once. He couldn’t count on it this time around.
The door reached its halfway point and stopped. Norman narrowed his eyes.
He saw a figure through the frosted window. It moved to enter the room. Wait for it, thought Norman. He flicked his eyes to Richie, the second line of defense. Richie had broken into a sweat, his heavy breathing increasing in pace. Little help there. Norman’s first strike would have to do the trick.
Slowly, the figure emerged, peeking around the door. Norman scanned the face and recognition struck him. However, it was not Skeete’s face. Chubs stood there, half in the room saying nothing at first.
Norman let out his breath. His brain still racing too fast to put it all together.
Chubs announced, “I’m here for detention.”
Norman pushed the stake into the back of his belt.
Richie, unable to hide his relief, dropped his forehead down onto his desk.
Norman, backing off from attack mode, said, “Why didn’t you stay after class? I thought you took off.”
A squeaky sound came from behind Chubs. “Marshall,” said the tiniest sparrow-like voice from outside the door.
Chubs looked down and replied “Shhhh…”
“Marshall….I have to pee,” insisted the sparrow.
Norman approached the door and opened it the rest of the way. As it swung, it revealed a small boy, five years old at most, holding Chubs’ hand. Norman looked up at Chubs.
“I take care of him after Night School. I had to go home to get him.” When Norman didn’t reply Chubs added, “My mom’s at work.”
Norman, still rattled from the battle that never happened, couldn’t quite put it all together. He’d glamored Chubs into agreeing to detention. However, he thought it very likely that Chubs would simply not show up. A glamor could only last so long.
“I need to pass this class,” said Chubs.
Norman answered with silence, waiting for more.
“If I don’t pass, I go inside. The deal they gave me means I have to go to Night School and check in with my probation officer every day. I’m cool ‘till the end of the term. Then, if I don’t pass…no one to take care of Daeshaun.”
The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place for Norman. Chubs attended Night School as an alternative to prison. This arrangement didn’t appear in Chubs’ paperwork because he was a minor and entitled to certain protections.
Reflecting over Chubs’ first few weeks of school started to stab at Norman’s stomach. He’d seriously damaged Chubs’ rep amongst his peers with his frequent subjugations by glamoring. Young Marshall Stanley appeared more like an open wound than a calloused scar right now; his brutality all but evaporated. It seemed to Norman that in his battle to control the class he’d claimed some collateral damage of his own. He thought back on all the brutes like Chubs he’d had in his career. He pondered those whose stories he’d uncovered. Learning their truths always displayed the sources of their rage. When he looked at those sources, among the other horrors, he always saw himself. Norman wondered why he had to keep learning this lesson over and over.
“Marshall, I have to pee,” repeated Daeshaun, tugging at Chubs’s sleeve.
“I’ve got it,” said Richie from his desk. He reached into his drawer and pulled out a pack of white board markers and a ream of copy paper. “Hey Daeshaun, would you like to color?”
The little boy saw the colorful markers and smiled. He nodded his head.
“I’ll take you to the bathroom and then we can color some pictures, OK?” offered Richie.
The little boy looked so much like Chubs, it seemed to Norman that he peered through time. The stabbing pain in Norman’s stomach increased as he watched the miniature version of Chubs display delight at the array of colors in Richie’s hands. Norman looked up at present day Chubs and wondered if anything made him feel like that anymore.
7
Teacher's Pet
“Same time tomorrow?” said Norman.
Chubs looked down at his little brother who held his hand.
“Bring him,” said Richie. “It was fun.” Richie waved to the boy.
Daeshaun waved back with a paper he clutched in his hand.
Chubs nodded at Norman. “Say thank you little man.”
“Thank you,” said Daeshaun, reaching his hand up offering his paper to Norman.
Norman grasped the picture in both hands. “What have we h
ere?” He smiled at the drawing of batman sketched in simple lines and scribbles.
“It’s you,” said Daeshaun.
“Later Bernie,” said Chubs. He turned and left with his brother in tow.
“Late night,” said Richie. “You might just save that kid.”
“At the end of the day, they have to save themselves. We just show them the way. You can glamor them all night. But if you want to save them, you have to teach them.”
Norman flicked off the light and locked the door behind Richie.
Down the hall the office door opened. Norman stopped and watched. Juda emerged. “Juda,” shouted Norman. He jogged up to the youth. “What are you doing?”
“I talked to Mr. Shapiro myself.”
“And?”
Juda dropped his head. “Thanks for all your help, Mr. Bernard. No point in coming any more.”
“Juda. Wait. Let me have a word with him.”
“Na,” said Juda and turned to leave.
Norman placed a hand on his shoulder. Juda tilted his head back up. Those swirling blue eyes stared, pierced. “Trust me,” said Norman.
Norman sped through the doorway, right past the front desk and into Headmaster Shapiro’s office.
“Ah, Mr. Bernard. What can I…”
Norman dispensed with the pleasantries. “Juda Martinez will be allowed to retake the district assessment.”
“Of course,” said Shapiro.
Norman left. The less time he spent with administration, the better.
“You’re all set,” said Norman to Juda.
“Wait, what? That quick?”
“I told you. I can be very convincing.”
Juda extended a hand. “Thank you, Mr. Bernard. I owe you.”
“No you don’t. Just don’t miss any more school.”
Juda winced. “We’ll see.” He let Norman’s hand slip out of his own and left.
The main doors swung closed behind him.
“You saved two in one night,” said Richie.
“I’m not so sure,” replied Norman.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s time to do a little recon on our friend, Juda Martinez.”
Norman slipped through the main entrance. He never took his eye off the back of Juda’s head, following him into the “the hood.”
It always seemed darker in this part of town. It kept most yuppies away. Norman was a different kind of yuppie. He thrived in the darkness. Norman slid through these streets with ease and comfort. Juda’s quick and silent pace kept Norman on his toes, though. Norman actually began to feel his breath quicken as he strained to keep track of him.
He watched Juda pass by an alley and then around a corner. Norman sped up. Can’t lose him. His extra sense pricked up as he approached the alley Juda had just passed. He kept a keen eye on the ally as his proximity revealed more down its length. Just as he passed the entrance his senses turned white hot. A dark figure leapt out. Something thin and shiny in the stranger’s hand reflected weak light from the lamp post. The glare blurred up over the assailant’s head ready to thrust back down.
In that moment Norman caught the man’s eye. “Not tonight,” he said. Norman, without breaking his stride, passed the alley. In his mind, Norman saw the man slink back into shadows having decided against jumping the outsider. It didn’t take much effort to glamor the mugger, but Norman had little left from a difficult day at school.
He hustled as best he could to the corner, eager to re-engage his pursuit. Who was this youth who had missed school at least once a month since he was five, could control his will to perfection and had un-glamored Chubs with only his words? Norman swung around the corner and stopped. Silence and emptiness smacked him right in the face. His head darted in all directions looking for a hint of his quarry. Nothing. Add incredible stealth to Juda’s talents. Norman would have to rely on his special abilities. I could really use a drink.
He closed his eyes and allowed his other senses to open. He smelled garbage and urine from the alley he just passed. He searched for Juda’s scent. He could only smell lower mammals: a little cat, considerable rat, and a huge dose of dog. Typical. In the toughest neighborhoods, a dog was better protection than a gun. No hint of Juda.
Norman listened. His hearing projected outward like a zoom lens. He heard the scampering of rodents. He tuned in to different frequencies. He could make out the breathing of the man in the alley who had jumped him moments ago. Norman shut off his nose and his sense of temperature. He stopped breathing. Where are you, he thought. He dialed in to listen specifically for the sound of plastic soles on pavement. He listened. Damn it. No one can walk that quietly.
An odd rhythmic sound emerged from the static. What’s this? he wondered and re-tuned his hearing. He expected a hard sound, solid sole against sidewalk. This sounded softer. There was moisture involved. Norman realized his ears were picking up soft tissue on pavement. His target had removed his shoes. Frustration mingled with his exhaustion. As he figured out the sounds, he could now clearly hear the soles of feet gingerly bounding across a sidewalk. Gotcha. He dashed full speed toward the sound. The slapping of skin on concrete pulled him along.
Norman traced the sounds to another alley four blocks down the street. How did he get so far, so quickly? Like a bat, he closed in on his target following the ripples of sound through the air. Norman’s inhuman speed propelled him to the edge of the alley in seconds. Before he rounded the corner he listened. The sounds had stopped. Norman looked around. The emptiness had returned to the street.
He spun around the corner and peered down the alley. Near the end he made out a barely visible form standing, waiting. Norman walked in toward him. “Why did you run?” he asked as he made his way closer. He noticed something strange. The man he approached had combat boots on his feet. This wasn’t the person Norman had heard running. He froze and sized the man up. At first he had appeared to be Juda. Closer up, Norman realized his mistake: same hair and build, slightly taller, older.
The man replied, “Why didn’t you?”
Not again. He knew he could glamor the man, but he was so drained already. Having failed to find Juda, he just wanted to go home, have a drink, and get some sleep. Perhaps he should do this the old fashioned way.
“Sorry,” offered Norman. “I thought you were someone else.” He spun around to make his way out of the alley. However, as he turned he found himself confronted with eleven dark figures blocking his way. This is not going well. Norman figured he could take out one attacker fairly easily, but twelve…? He crouched into a defensive posture. Why hadn’t his senses gone off to warn of danger?
Norman prepared to engage. The group just stood there, staring. Norman tightened his legs like a spring. The instant before he released them, an arm grabbed him from behind around the neck. Norman tried to spin, but the hold was too strong. He couldn’t breathe. He flailed his arms wildly, trying to get a grip on his assailant. His vision blurred. His brain began to feel the effects of oxygen deprivation. He could feel consciousness slipping away.
He flew through the air and slammed against the side of the brick building. He rebounded from the wall and smacked to the ground, brick chips and dust coating him. So strong. He wondered if the others were like this as well.
The group advanced on him. “What do you want?” Norman asked.
“You should have run,” said the man who threw him. “You don’t belong here.”
Some in the group flicked out knives. This is going to hurt. The leader picked him up again. Norman’s skin tingled, anticipating the beating and stabbing that was about to occur. If he bled out, or lost conscienceness, he could lie here until day break before he healed enough. That would be the end.
The man lifted Norman over his head, carried him to the center of the alley and slammed him onto the ground in front of the group. Perhaps he could hold off one or two of them. These men, however, had strength he was not used to dealing with and there were many.
One of them
stepped forward, grabbing Norman’s shirt with one hand and raising a knife above his head with another. Norman clutched at his arm and whirled the man off of him. The man flew down the alley and crashed against some old wooden pallets stacked near the back.
Norman snapped to a crouching position and sprang to the air. He flew up over their heads. His fingers grasped the metal bars of a fire escape and he pulled himself up. He looked down over the railing at the group. They stared up at him. Why no pursuit?
Relieved, Norman turned to climb the ladder to the roof. Instead of the ladder, he stood face to face with the angry leader. Oh shit.
He picked Norman up once again and threw him down to the waiting mob of strangers. The man who Norman had thrown down the alley, picked him up by his collar, lifted him off his feet and pushed him against the wall. The savage bled from the side of his face. He slid Norman's back up brick facade.
So tired. Norman just hoped they would be done beating him before sunrise so he could slink back to his condo and heal.
The assailant reached down to his leg where a large chunk of wood had lodged itself. He grabbed the giant splinter and gritted his teeth. With a sudden jerk he un-stabbed his leg, letting out a grunt.
Mortal fear seized Norman as he realized the man’s make-shift weapon could end Norman forever. Not the heart!
The attacker put the point of the rudimentary stake up to Norman’s throat. He pushed it just enough to release a drop of blood. Somewhat relieved Norman winced and braced himself for the pain. It didn’t come. The thug slowly dragged the point down Normans throat, over his Adam’s Apple, to the center of his breast bone. He edged it slightly to the right until he found a soft spot between two ribs.
Norman lurched, vainly trying to free himself. His vision began to blur with exhaustion amplified by fear. He wouldn’t make it to sunrise. He was going to be staked.
“Goodbye, vampire,” said the captor.
He knows. Norman shuddered. A pang of resistance flitted through his mind, but exhaustion held his limbs. He spit a gob of mucus at the murderer, but it just trickled down his own chin.