by Alex Dire
With nothing left, Norman relaxed to let the darkness around the periphery of his vision close-in completely. A tiny point of the universe remained, like the fading dot on an old black and white TV after it was switched off. Echoes of sound slipped through the dot - Norman’s last connection to the world. He barely made out sounds of shifting feet on pavement and muffled words through the peep-hole.
The final word from outside came through the hole before it faded out completely. “Stop.” The voice was youthful, but authoritative. In the blackness, he wondered who could possibly be commanding this group in Norman’s favor? Who knew he was even here? Richie? Had Richie learned enough to take on this mob? Did he know what he was up against? Norman thought not. Richie didn’t yet know his own strengths. He would lose this fight. We’re both going to die. I’m sorry, Richie. The dark consumed him.
8
Sick Day
Norman opened his eyes. A single lamp dimly lit the condo. He lay on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. His pupils focused on an inert ceiling fan dangling above him.
He turned his head toward the light. Soreness gripped him around his neck as if the hands from the previous night had never released. On the coffee table he saw a glass of blood with a straw in it. A ring of clot circled the glass just above the liquid’s surface. He picked up the glass and took a sip. A drop of life ran over his tongue and down his throat. He pulled out the straw, tossed it aside and chugged at the glass in mad spasms. Two lines of red dripped down the corners of his mouth, flowed along his jaw, met at his chin and ran down his neck. The little stream ran by a small gash where a piece of wood had pierced Norman’s throat the night before. It healed almost instantly. Norman felt himself returning from the dead.
“You’re awake,” said Richie as he sprang from a chair in the corner. “I was waiting to call in a sub for you.”
Norman finished the last gulp and let out an ahhh… “The sub would have been you,” he replied.
“That’s why I was waiting,” said Richie. “Let me defrost you another bag from the freezer.”
“No thanks. This stuff does in a pinch, but I need a fresh drink. I’ve had a hell of a night.” Norman began to sit up. His whole body protested with stabs of pain. “Perhaps another from the freezer first,” Norman said as he lay back down.
He watched Richie open the freezer for another bag of blood. “How did I get back here?” Norman asked.
Richie pushed buttons on the microwave. “I had hoped you could explain that.”
Norman’s mind filled with questions again as he realized that Richie had not come to his rescue the night before. “Three minutes, twenty-two seconds,” said Norman.
“You were missing a lot longer than that,” replied Richie.
If not you, then who? “Set the microwave for three minutes, twenty-two seconds,” Norman added.
“Oh,” said Richie reseting the device clock.
“It’ll reach exactly ninety-eight point six.”
“I must have run into a friend,” mustered Norman. “I heard a voice.”
Richie paused the instant before pushing the start button on the microwave. “He did this to you?”
“No,” replied Norman. “A group of thugs jumped me in an alley.”
“I’m surprised you’re the one who ended up all banged to hell.”
“Me too. They were…very strong.”
“Still, you…”
“The day at school didn’t leave me with much left. I knew I should have had a drink along the way. But it was hard keeping up. He was so quick. Every time I turned a corner he was gone around the next. It was like…”
“Like what?”
“I spent a few months living in the woods. Hunting animals is a lot harder than humans.”
“Someone found you there in the alley?” asked Richie.
Norman tried hard to piece together the fragments of images and sounds from his final moments of consciousness the night before.
“One guy took on the whole group? One human?” said Richie.
Norman struggled to remember. He focused on the moments, trying to put the scene together. Most of the pieces were missing, though. “I don’t know. I blacked out. I take it you didn’t see him drop me off.”
“No,” replied Richie. I heard a knock on the door. When I opened it, you were lying in the hall in really bad shape. I didn’t see anyone else.”
Norman’s curiosity finally overcame his bodily pain. He tightened his face and pushed himself up, grunting. Norman took slow, careful steps toward the door to the condo. Putting his eye to the peep-hole he viewed a fish-eye version of the door across the hall. Nothing else. Norman pushed on the knob and searched around. Empty. Looking down he noticed the spot where he’d been deposited earlier. A Rorschach painting of grime and blood discolored the white tiled floor. I’d better clean this before the neighbors start coming home from work.
He began to turn back when he noticed something at the periphery of his view: faint smudges along the hallway floor. Focusing, a rhythmic pattern of small, subtle, spots faded in. Norman walked over his threshold and stood over one of the spots. He stared down at it trying to make it out. As his energy continued to return thanks to the glass of blood, his senses sharpened. Realization struck him. He was now certain of exactly what he was looking at: a trail of bloody footsteps left by bare feet.
9
History 101
“How did Juda fight them all off,” said Richie.
“I think he knew them,” replied Norman. “It’s all so fuzzy.” He thought about the voice he’d heard. Memory eluded him. “I need some sleep. You should get some, too.”
Norman moved his glass to the sink. Richie just stood, watching.
“I need to talk to you,” said Richie.
Norman looked over from the dishes.
“About Skeete?”
A cold wave surged through Norman’s chest. The image of Skeete showing up in his class resurfaced in his mind. He stopped washing.
“You and Skeete have history.”
Norman dried his hands and moved to the couch. “Yes,” replied Norman. “Please, sit.”
Richie sat in a chair across the coffee table.
“She was…my best friend,” added Norman, “until she chose sides.”
“Sides of what?” asked Richie.
“I’d hoped I wouldn’t have to revisit the past,” said Norman. “…that the war had killed it all.”
Richie looked on, waiting for more.
“It seems our history has returned from the dead.”
“What war? There aren’t enough of us for a war,” said Richie.
“Not any more…or so I thought,” returned Norman. “There used to be a lot more of us. So many that we had whole communities hiding right in the middle of every town and city of the world.”
“How did you keep yourselves secret?”
“We had rules. We were organized.”
“How?”
“Time and space don’t mean the same thing when you live forever,” said Norman. “Cities, states, nations…not very meaningful for the immortal. We had a worldwide Vampire Union: The VU,” Norman said with a hint of contempt.
“And you had a problem with that.”
“No. Not with the VU itself. It’s natural for people to try to figure out how to live together,” replied Norman. “It’s the parties I had a problem with. That’s where the real power lay.”
“Ahhh,” said Richie, “and power corrupts.”
“Absolutely,” replied Norman.
“That’s why you didn’t take sides.”
“I just wanted to live my life under the radar….to do what was required of me by the VU and just…live.”
“But Skeete chose sides,” said Richie.
Norman’s mind flashed back to when Skeete revealed her treachery, killing Norman’s student, Richie. He remembered the feeling of shoving a piece of wood through her heart.
“She went with the bad side, I
gather,” said Richie.
“No,” said Norman, “she joined the worse side.” He placed the glass down on the coffee table. “They called themselves Corporation V. They assumed humans would eventually discover us and declare war on vampires. Corps. V wanted to preempt that by killing and turning most humans and leaving a few for blood harvesting. They saw it as us or them.”
“What stopped them?”
“The VR,” said Norman.
“What's that?”
Norman sighed. “One of the parties. The Vampire Republic.”
“Their platform?””
“They wanted to reach out to humans, create treaties, work together to create blood banks so we wouldn’t need to feed directly on them.”
“So both sides wanted to engage with humans in one way or another,” offered Richie.
“I just wanted to go about my life in secret…the way we always had.” Then Norman looked out the window as if he looked a thousand miles away. “But there were sides…speeches…movements…armies…and now we’re all dead.”
“Not all of us.”
“So it seems.”
Richie looked as though he still had a million questions, but he held back. Norman thought through this history and tried to fit in the past few days’ events in his classroom.
“What are you wondering?” interrupted Richie.
“If those of us left are still taking sides,” Norman answered. “Dear God I hope most of us are dead…because if the lines reform and the fight resumes…all of us will be.” Norman looked from the window and into Richie’s eyes, “We need to run.”
A knock rang out from Norman’s apartment door. Both men’s eyes snapped over. The knock came again.
“I never have visitors,” said Norman.
“I’ll get it,” said Richie walking to the door. He peered through the peep-hole. “It’s Wilfredo from class. What’s he doing here?”
Norman shot up. “Richie, don’t!”
The door exploded open and Skeete charged into the room. She picked Richie up over her head and threw him. Richie sailed across the apartment and crashed against the opposite wall, crushing the framed photographs that hung there. “Nice to see you, too,” Skeete said to Norman. Behind Skeete stood Wilfredo in the hallway, glamored into a trance.
Norman shouted to Richie, “You OK?”
Richie pulled a shard of glass out of the back of his arm which began to heal immediately. They had both fed recently so Richie’s healing abilities functioned at maximum. He looked up to reply and saw Skeete crouching to pounce. “Look out!” he shouted.
Skeete launched into the air toward Norman. Norman ducked and reached up. He simultaneously caught and threw Skeete. She flew into the television, smashing it to pieces. She stood back up and brushed herself off. “Now that wasn’t very nice, Norman, was it?” She flicked a piece of glass off her shoulder. The fleck sailed across the room and dug into Norman’s cheek, distracting him momentarily.
In that instant, Skeete ran full tilt at Norman, hands outstretched for Norman’s throat. Norman put his hands up in defense and braced for impact. It never came. Richie blurred across the room striking Skeete from the side. The two vampires tumbled across the floor wrestling for control.
Norman ran to the tussling duo and grabbed Skeete. Now Skeete was the one held in midair. Norman shouted to Richie, “Out the door. Run!” Then his keen auditory sense detected commotion in the hallway. The neighbors were getting curious about the fracas in Norman’s apartment. “Wait,” he shouted. “The window!” With these words, he threw Skeete down, hard. She smashed to the floor, cracking several floor boards and a few ribs as well.
Norman reached down and grabbed the flaps of Skeete’s Jacket.
“Is this how you treat all your guests,” said Skeete as Norman began to lift her off the floor.
“Um, Norman?” said Richie from across the room.
“Go! Run!” replied Norman. “I can handle this.”
Norman lifted Skeete up by her jacket, holding her just off the ground.
“Norman!” demanded Richie.
Despite her predicament, Skeete cracked a smile.
Norman looked over to the window to see Richie slowly backing away. Entering the apartment from the fire escape were two darkly clad figures. They stood side by side in front of the window glaring at Richie. The two forms smiled broadly revealing fully descended fangs.
“You might want to put me down, now,” said Skeete.
Outnumbered, Norman slowly lowered Skeete’s feet to the ground.
Skeete straightened her jacket.
Norman said curtly, “What do you want? Why are you here?”
“Oh Norman, why so hostile? I just wanted to say hi! School is such a formal setting. I thought we could relax. Get reacquainted.” Skeete walked across the room to join the other two vampires by the window. “I can see we’re not welcome, though. Too bad, I was hoping for a night cap.” Her playful demeanor melted from her face as she shot a glance at her two henchmen. The three of them slipped through the window and disappeared into the night.
Norman and Richie both relaxed.
The voice of an elderly woman interrupted their relief. “Is everything OK in here?” said the voice from the broken doorway.
Norman looked to the door. Wilfredo still stood there by the doorway, blinking vacantly. Next to him, Norman’s seventy-year-old neighbor, Lesha Andleman, peered through the door. “I heard noises,” she added as she looked around at all the destruction. “What happened?”
“Sorry,” replied Norman, “night terrors.”
Norman and Richie walked wordlessly to school. Norman tensed the muscles in his lips the whole way, plowing through syrupy thought. Richie’s face practically screamed the questions he had about the attack on the condo. He showed considerable restraint in not voicing them, instead choosing to straighten his tie and smooth out his ridiculously bright yellow collared shirt.
As they walked up the steps to MLK Night School, Richie finally cracked, “What the hell did they want?” asked Richie.
“Exactly what Skeete said they wanted,” replied Norman as they entered the main hallway of the school and headed toward their classroom.
“To get reacquainted?” asked Richie, puzzled.
Norman took his classroom key out of his pocket as they neared the door. “Sort of. It was a probing attack.” Norman looked up from his keys. A few teachers entered their rooms to prepare for the day. A young teacher, Kelly Houser, scurried past them with a stack of freshly printed copies. She looked curiously at the two men. Norman smiled at her and whispered to Richie, “Let’s talk inside.”
They stepped into the room and closed the door. Norman tossed a white board eraser to Richie and said, “Get the board set up.” Richie began to erase.
“Skeete was testing my strength,” said Norman.
“She knows you’re pretty strong. You killed her once,” answered Richie.
“Not my personal strength,” said Norman. “She wanted to know if I had numbers. If I represented a group that could threaten her.”
Richie stopped erasing. “But, she found just the two of us. They had us outnumbered. Why not finish us off?”
“The risk with information gathering is inadvertently giving up too much information in the process and tipping off your enemy.”
Richie turned around and looked at Norman.
“Which she did,” Norman said. “First, you’re right. She didn’t kill us. So she’s reporting her intel back to someone. A superior. Or a group.”
Richie nodded.
“Also, we know that Skeete wasn’t aware of me until recently. Otherwise she’d know that I was solo.”
Richie raised an eyebrow.
“Well. We’re solo,” Norman amended. “It also tells me that she’s organized and she’s encountered opposition. She’s being careful. She has strength but is being cautious, so she fears others may have more strength.”
Richie interjected, “So
there are others.”
“Apparently.”
“Why haven’t we encountered any?” wondered Richie.
“It’s amazing what you don’t see when you’re not looking,” replied Norman. “I’ve spent the last three years thinking I might be the only Vampire left in the world. I need to start thinking differently,” explained Norman. “We need a plan.”
“A plan to gather some intel of our own?” asked Richie.
“No. A plan to run,” said Norman. “It’s a few months early, but today is our last day of school.”
10
The Office
Norman looked around his classroom, wondering how he might keep himself and Richie going after he left this job. It was hard being on the run when you could only move at night. And the money would run out. Norman glanced up at the clock. Two minutes left until the bell.
“Why don’t we stay and fight?” said Richie. If Skeete and her crew are still around, maybe some VR members survived as well. We could join them and…”
“Absolutely not. Most of my friends were VR and they’re all dead. I’m not interested in repeating their mistakes. We’ll go underground for a while and see what takes shape. If there are still sides to take out there, then they’ll probably wipe each other out…again.”
Richie piped in, “But...” The morning bell cut his thought short.
The first period class flowed into the room and took their seats. In the three minutes between the first and second bell, Norman relived the events of the night, looking for a way to come to a different conclusion. Night School had become a pretty good gig for him. He kept his night hours and the pay was reasonable. He had hoped to spend the next couple of decades here. Unlike other night Jobs, the staff turned over so frequently at MLK that no one would be around long enough to notice that he never aged. He might’ve stretched his time into a full thirty years: a whole human career. That’s when the system would notice he’d spent too much time at the top salary bracket.