by Gayla Twist
“Let’s not look at these now,” I said, closing the book and gently taking it from her. I couldn’t do it. No matter how much I wanted to know about Jessie, I couldn’t grill a fragile old lady into being sad. “I’d rather talk about happier things. Like that dance with...” I scrambled for his name, “like that dance with Walter. Did he bring you a corsage?”
Grandma dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief she’d had tucked up her sleeve. Then she smiled and said, “He wanted to bring me a lily, because of my name, but they were so very expensive. Instead, he gathered a bunch of wildflowers from along the road and made a bouquet out of that.”
“Did he court you?” I tried to use the vernacular she would appreciate.
“Yes, we were quite the item for a while. We even talked of getting married.”
“Really?” I was surprised. It was the first I’d heard of this flower-picking beau. “What happened?”
“He died in the war. He wanted to get married before he left, but I thought we should wait so we could have a real wedding,” she said, again looking quite sad. Oh, great. There didn’t seem to be a way I could keep from depressing my great grandmother. “The Bennetts lost both their boys at Normandy,” she went on. “They were so proud when their sons enlisted. And then to lose them both. They never got over it.” Grandma shook her head. “It’s a terrible thing to outlive your children.”
“How did you meet your husband?” I asked, not wanting her to dwell on the fact that her own daughter had been gone for quite a few years.
“I was working at Zucker’s, and he came in looking for a reed for his clarinet. We didn’t carry much stock at the time, so I had to order it. He picked it up but was back the next week claiming he needed another one. He purchased a good four or five reeds before he worked up the nerve to ask me out,” she said with a smile.
“What were some of your favorite songs back then?” I asked, feeling relieved I’d managed to turn the conversation to happier memories.
After another twenty minutes of reminiscing, I could tell Grandma Gibson was getting tired. As I got up to put her photo album away for her, I asked, “Would it be okay if I borrowed one of your photographs?” She didn’t look too enthused, so I quickly added, “I’ll bring it right back, I promise.”
Grandma Gibson narrowed her eyes at me. “When?”
I did some mental scanning of my schedule. “Saturday afternoon.”
“I guess it would be okay,” she said a bit reluctantly. “But please be very careful. I need my memories.”
“I will. Thank you, Grandma,” I said, giving her a kiss on the cheek before slipping the photo of her and her sister in front of the castle out of the album.
“You’re welcome, Aurora,” she smiled. Sometime during our conversation, I had turned back into myself.
Chapter 10
On the way home, I stopped by Tiburon Copies and had them laser scan the photo. “Is that the castle?” the clerk asked after he’d completed the scan and I’d paid for my copies.
“Yeah, my great grandmother used to work there,” I told him.
“Cool,” he nodded. When I’d entered the shop, he’d barely spared me a glance, but my interesting family history had earned me a second look. “Is this your grandmother?” he asked, tapping at Aunt Colette. “You look just like her.”
“Don’t do that,” I snapped, knocking his hand away and snatching up the picture. Was he an idiot? He looked offended, so I explained, “You always hold an old photo by the edges. The oil from your fingers can ruin it.” I used the hem of my cotton t-shirt to gently clean the photo.
“Relax. I didn’t hurt it any,” he said, blowing off my reprimand. A typical guy response when corrected for inconsiderate behavior.
“Would it kill you to be respectful of other people’s property?” I glared at him.
Heading out of the copy shop, I had to chuckle at myself. Maybe Blossom was right. Maybe, in a way, I was older than my seventeen years.
By the time I pulled into the driveway of our modest two-bedroom home, my eyelids were threatening to slam shut. I realized I really hadn’t slept the night before, and it was probably just adrenaline keeping me going.
I had meant to stay awake until at least nine o’clock to keep on some semblance of a schedule, but my body had other ideas. I grabbed a sandwich and sat down in front of the TV. I thought I was just resting my eyes for a second, but the next thing I knew my mom was gently shaking me and saying, “Sweetheart, you should just go upstairs to bed.”
It was a quarter to midnight as I brushed my teeth and got ready for bed. The previous night, I had been locked in a bedroom at the castle, completely oblivious to the fact that vampires existed. The thought that they were real gave me the shivers. I’d been so focused on talking to Grandma Gibson and thinking about Jessie that I hadn’t really given any thought to the idea that there were other vampires in the world.
How many of the castle’s guests were vampires, and how many were dinner? Was the woman with the long red hair that I saw in the bedroom dead now or just feeling a little anemic? Where did all the other vampires live? Were they all from the same place or scattered across the country? I should have asked Jessie more questions when I had the chance. Even though I had every right to be exhausted, I couldn’t fall back asleep until well after three in the morning.
When I finally did drift into a dream, it was one of those times when you’re not sure when you actually started dreaming. Things made sense that wouldn’t actually make sense if I was awake. First, I noticed beams of color on the walls of my room and wondered if there was a prism hanging somewhere that was catching the light. I went to catch the beams, but they fluttered out of my hands like butterflies on a breezy day.
I was in a very good mood. Just plain happy. The sun was shining, and I felt its warmth on my face. Bees buzzed around my head, and birds raced through the air chirping to one another. I caught the splashes of color by their stems, gathering a bouquet. I breathed in the sweet fragrance of the flowers, humming to myself, the grasses and leaves tugging gently at the hem of my dress.
*****
High school can be boring at the best of times, but it becomes particularly tedious when you have much more enticing things to think about. Fear of vampires had filled my head while I was lying awake in bed for half the night, but visions of Jessie filled my daydreams. I tried to focus on what my teachers were saying, but it just seemed to be random words coming out of their mouths. None of it made any sense. I didn’t even recognize my own name when Mr. Schwartzman called on me in chemistry. He must have said my name three or four times before I made sense of his words and told him I didn’t know the answer. Rather than being angry at me for spacing out, he asked, “Are you feeling all right today, Aurora? You look very pale. Do you need to see the nurse?”
I told the nurse that I had bad cramps and just needed to lie down for a while. But being in the quiet, dimly lit exam room resting on a cot made things much worse. There was absolutely nothing to distract my brain from thoughts of Jessie. After about twenty minutes of torture, I told the nurse I was feeling much better and went to my next class. Distraction was the key. I had to keep my brain busy.
Doing my homework during study hall, actually making an effort to participate in gym class, taking on extra hours at the cafe where I worked making cappuccinos and heating up blueberry muffins—these were all devices I used to pass the time. The week slowly inched along. By day, I was a model student and employee, putting in the extra effort on everything I was assigned; by night I was an insomniac. When I did manage to fall asleep, my dreams alternated between terror and longing. I really wished I didn’t know vampires existed, but mostly, I wished I could see Jessie again.
Right when I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, it was finally Thursday. The longest Thursday in the history of Thursdays, but still, it was the only day when the library stayed open late. And the library was the only place I had ever seen Jessie outside of Vanderlind Castle.
I couldn’t believe how nervous I was about seeing him. I spent at least an hour applying makeup, realizing it was too heavy, washing my face and trying again. My hair had decided to go on a rampage, and I practically needed a whip and a chair to tame it. I headed over to the library at six o’clock. The sun had not set at that point, but I couldn’t hold out any longer.
I love the library. I can usually get lost in the stacks for hours browsing from book to book. But on that day no book could hold my attention. I positioned myself in a chair that had a partial view of the library’s front door. Every time someone came in, I looked up eagerly. Every time, it wasn’t Jessie.
“We’re closing up now,” the librarian told me at five minutes to nine. “If you want any books, you should take them to checkout.”
I waited until the last possible second before slouching out to the parking lot and heading toward my car. He hadn’t shown. Jessie hadn’t shown. I’d been obsessing about him all week, convincing myself that he was also thinking about me. But no, he wasn’t. If he had wanted to see me, he would have gone to the library. I was just some foolish girl that reminded him of someone he used to love.
“Hey there, pretty lady.”
I looked up, startled out of my reverie. There was a guy leaning against my ancient VW Beetle. It was the only car left in the patrons’ parking lot, and he had chosen it as a place to roost. “Uh... excuse me,” I said, a little cautiously. What in the hell did he think he was doing?
“You headed home or just heading out?” the man asked, one eyebrow cocked in what he must have assumed was a charming, devil-may-care expression.
I knew from my mom that any time a guy tried to block access to my car, my home, an exit, whatever, it was not a good sign. After all, if I was a man would he have been leaning against my car smirking? I doubt it. I was a teenage girl and my new friend was pleased to think he was in a position of power.
I did a quick inventory of the guy. He was in his late twenties, probably close to six feet tall; he was wearing a dirty jean jacket and had his arms folded awkwardly over his chest, possibly concealing a weapon. I took a brief scan of the parking lot. He appeared to be alone. Unfortunately, so was I.
I glanced back at the library just as the lights were turned off. That meant the door was locked from the inside, and the librarians were headed out the back to the staff parking lot on the other side of the building. “Crap,” I whispered to myself.
My actions appeared to amuse my new friend. He gave me a slow smile, very pleased with how uncomfortable he was making me. “Don’t you know where you’re going?” he asked.
“Step away from my car and leave me alone,” I said in a loud, firm voice. I actually had to force myself to say it with authority. My inner girl had almost said, “Would you please leave me alone?” but that was asking him to do something. That put him in charge.
“And what if I don’t want to?” he asked, his smugness continuing. “What if I say no?”
“Step away from my car and leave me alone,” I said in a much louder voice. I wasn’t going to engage him in his “what if” game of cat and mouse.
“Whoa, whoa, quiet down, now.” He held up both hands trying to gentle me. “There’s no reason to shout,” he said, lowering his own voice.
There was every reason to shout. The Tiburon Library wasn’t out in a cornfield somewhere. It was near the center of town, and there were houses on all sides. I wasn’t going to quiet down in hopes of placating the sleaze ball. “If you don’t step away from my car and leave me alone, I am going to start screaming my head off,” I told him in a voice that was just below yelling.
“Relax. You don’t have to be so uptight,” the perv told me. “I’m just trying to be friendly.”
“You’re not being friendly,” I told him. “You’re harassing me, and you’re blocking my access to my car.”
“I told you to be quiet,” he snapped at me, not at all pleased I wasn’t proving to be an easy target but still trying to gain control over me.
“No! Now get away from my car, and leave me alone,” I repeated at my loudest volume yet.
The guy gave me a look that was sheer venom. His easygoing demeanor had vanished. “You little bitch,” he said in a snarling whisper. “I was being nice, but now I am going to make you so sorry.”
The porch light went on at a house across the street, and I moved in that direction, never taking my eyes off the jerk for more than a second and still glancing around from time to time to make sure no one else was sneaking up on me. The door to the house opened and an old man shuffled out. “Is everything all right out here?” he asked.
“No, it’s not all right.” I looked over at him, just for a brief moment. “I need help.”
There was a sound like a flag flapping in a stiff breeze, accompanied by a muffled shriek.
“This jerk is harassing me and won’t let me into my...” I looked back to keep an eye on my potential assailant, but he was gone. Not just that he’d walked away—the parking lot was completely empty.
“What’s that, young lady?” the man on the porch asked.
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “There was some guy harassing me, but I guess he left when you came out. Would you mind standing there for a minute while I get in my car? I’m worried he might come back.”
“I guess so. Be quick about it,” the old man muttered.
“Thank you so much,” I called to him over my shoulder as I jogged over to my car, jammed my key in the lock, and scrambled inside, immediately locking the door again and starting up the engine.
Seeing me reasonably safe, the old man went back in his house. I released the clutch and pulled out of the parking lot. Where the hell was that guy? I scanned the sidewalks all around me. He had to be around somewhere. He didn’t just vanish into thin air.
I began to shiver a little. Partially because of my confrontation with the perv and partially because I didn’t know what happened to him. I was definitely spooked. When I got home, I pulled my car into the garage, something I usually don’t do in nice weather, and didn’t get out until the garage door was completely closed and I was sure no one was in there with me.
“Hi, honey,” my mom called from where she was sitting at the kitchen table as I let myself into the house. Her smile faded once she got a look at my face. “What’s wrong?” she asked, immediately concerned.
“I was at the library and some perv was harassing me in the parking lot,” I said, opening the fridge.
“You’re kidding,” she gasped, my statement turning her smile into a full frown. “What happened?”
“Well, I was the last one out of the lot and this jerk was just there, leaning on my car,” I told her, pouring myself a glass of milk.
“What did you do?” she wanted to know.
After I told her the full story, she said, “Can you describe him?”
“I guess so,” I said, shrugging.
“Good. We’ll go and talk to the police tomorrow. They should at least be alerted that there might be trouble.” We had a very well-funded police department, and they took their job of keeping Tiburon a nice town seriously. I was about to protest, but Mom anticipated me and added, “Honey, what if the next time he tries to prey on someone who doesn’t handle it as well as you did? You wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to someone else, would you?”
“No,” I had to admit.
“Good.” She got up and gave me a squeeze. “By the way, I’m not going to scold you for being alone in an empty parking lot at night because you handled it so well.”
This made me laugh a little. “Thanks, Mom.”
I didn’t say anything to my mother, but I had a very bad feeling about the guy in the parking lot. First of all, he was up to no good, and it’s always creepy when you encounter someone like that, but secondly, I felt weird about what happened to him. It was like he was just plucked off the pavement, vanishing into thin air. The thought had me jittery.
Heading up to bed
, I gave some more thought to the local police. It was common knowledge that the Vanderlinds always made a sizeable donation to the department during funding events. Every year they got complimentary tickets to the policemen’s ball, and every year there was a rumor that they were actually going to attend, but they never did. It all suddenly made sense to me. Of course the Vanderlinds would want Tiburon to be a nice, safe place to live. If there was a murder or a drug ring or a missing person, they didn’t want detectives and the FBI and whoever poking around and possibly unearthing a little too much of their history. It was a very smart move. The vampires were more invested in the town than I’d ever imagined.
I closed my bedroom door and then pulled Jessie’s tux jacket out of the closet, like I’d been doing each night for the past couple of nights. It was starting to lose his fragrance. I’d sniffed it too much, but I couldn’t help myself. I hung it by its hanger from a hook on the back of the closet door and then straightened the fabric so it lay perfectly. The jacket was probably suspended an inch or two too high, but very close to where it would have been if Jessie were wearing it. Triple checking that the curtains to my room were closed and that my mom was still downstairs, I did what I did every night: put some music on the radio, closed my eyes, and slow danced with the tuxedo jacket. I knew I was being foolish, but I didn’t care. It was the closest I could come to having his arms around me. Besides, a girl shouldn’t be judged for the romantic foolishness she does alone in her room.
As I stood there, breathing in his faintly lingering scent, I felt almost hypnotized by the thought of him. We’d never danced, but it was like I could feel his strong arms around me, the faint warm penny smell of his breath, the look in his fathomless eyes.
How did I know his breath smelled like copper? I opened my eyes and considered. I guess it only made sense, given what he had to drink for dinner. That thought made me gag a little. I didn’t even like dealing with a scrape on my knee. The thought of drinking human blood in order to live made my stomach churn.