by Alex Dire
He glanced across his clipboard and looked up into her light brown eyes. “Seat number eight and welcome.”
She dropped her gaze and entered the room.
“Found you!” said Shapiro. The headmaster arrived while the river of students dwindled to a few drops.
“Yes, Mr. Shapiro. Here I am. Right in front of my room. Nice to see you.”
The headmaster shifted his weight from toe to heel. “So, how’s your year going?”
“What can I do for you?”
“Ahhh, yes. I wanted to let you know that…”
A loud crack down the hall interrupted him. A skinny youth, seventeen by the looks of him, emerged through the heavy entrance doors into the empty main hall. His ragged afro jiggled as he glanced at a paper in his hands, looked both ways, and strode with unhurried steps toward Norman and Shapiro.
A pair of aviator sunglasses reflected Norman back at himself. He reached Norman’s room and looked down at his paper again. His chin moved as if chewing. Dark skin nearly hid tattooed letters on his neck “D.S.M.”
“Good evening. Welcome to Night School.” Norman extended a hand.
“Shakespeare?” said the student.
“Yes. Please find your seat number on the board.”
“Fuck your numbers. I’ll sit in the back.”
Here we go. “I’m Mr. Bernard.” Norman searched for signs of weakness. Nothing. The boy had a good game face. Norman’s hand dangled in the air. Just before he withdrew it, the youth snapped his own up and gripped him. His grip was strong for someone so skinny.
“‘Sup, Bernie. Chubs.” The handshake went on and became awkward. “On second thought, think I’ll leave a little early today. Save me a seat in the back.” His grip loosened.
Before Chubs could let go, Norman tightened his fingers. Chubs’ face flinched. Norman focused through the glasses into the young man standing before him. The normal world fell away. Everything in his surroundings became distinct, each detail discernible but not distracting. Chub’s will floated before him, a grating red sphere, hot and spastic. Arcs like jagged electricity shot out from the orb. Norman reached out with his own smooth tendrils, gripping the erratic lightning - seizing, connecting. “Last name?”
The corners of Chubs’ mouth dipped. “Marshall.”
“I think you’d rather stay, today. Please take a seat at chair number…” Norman glanced at his clip board. “…twelve.”
“I think I’d rather stay. Chair number twelve is fine.” He released Norman’s hand and shuffled to his seat.
Headmaster Shapiro removed a brown paper towel from his pocket and dabbed the sweat from the top of his head. I don’t know how you do it, Mr. Bernard.”
If only you knew. “It’s the teacher look. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a class to attend to.”
Headmaster Shapiro nodded as he turned to walk away. He stopped mid-stride. “Oh, I wanted to talk to you. I’ve got…”
The intercom blared to life with the secretary’s voice. “Good evening Night School students.”
Shapiro’s eyes widened. “Announcements!” He spun and speed-walked back to the office.
Norman stood in front of the whiteboard, his name in blue just above his head. The intercom buzzed away. “…We know this will be a fun and exciting year. Please don’t forget to return your orientation packet signed by a parent or guardian…”
Norman took a moment to scan his rabble. His hearing picked up everything. A short kid in the back whispered to another that he’d meet after class to hook him up. Another student sat with his head down on his arm. A basketball rested next to his seat.
This was not like a reunion after a long summer. Most of these kids were strangers from schools across the city. Introductions were happening, pecking orders working themselves out. A large white boy flicked his chin at the only other white kid in the room. The other kid shook his head and sat at the margin near the window. He slouched into his trench coat so only his crew cut stuck out.
Lots of chin flicking was happening. One student flipped open his denim jacket flashing a red patch of fabric beneath. Another, across the room returned the gesture, displaying his black bandana dangling from an inside pocket. Rivals. They approached each other and engaged in a series of hand slaps and shakes. Temporary allies. Norman was these students’ Axis.
There were two spots of calm amidst the fracas. Chubs sat in the front staring ahead. Waiting. But there was another. Two seats down, a boy rumpled his thick brown eyebrows, staring at Chubs. Norman looked at his seating chart for his name: Juda Martinez.
Juda slowly turned his face to Norman. The stare was piercing. His eyes swirled dark blue, like pools of moonlit water. Norman twisted his neck inside his collar. Norman had never met a student who could intimidate him, but there was something in Juda’s eyes that made him feel defenseless.
“On behalf of all the staff here, at MLK Night School,” blared Mr. Shapiro’s voice. “We welcome you and look forward to a great year.”
With a crackle the intercom clicked off.
And…action.
Norman breathed deeply. The universe became clear around him. The background noise differentiated itself into distinct sounds, each of which Norman heard with perfect clarity - a boy crackling his gum, the hum of fluorescent lights. Every shape and color stood out. However, rather than distracting Norman with infinite importance, the depth of his heightened perception made it simple to feel the thirty-four wills before him. The class fell silent.
As he honed his focus and prepared to speak, something distracted him. The will of each student was like a fuzzy ball of electricity: red hot and arcing wildly. But two were cool blue orbs. Floating. Patient. One was Chubs, his will tamed moments ago. But there was another. Juda. He appeared already glamored. How could that be? Even after a lifetime, people never achieved that level of control over their will. Some could come close. Old Buddhist monks sometimes achieved a vibrating baby blue. Juda was cool, smooth as porcelain, blue as flame. Norman hadn’t seen anything like it in three years - the last time he’d seen another vampire, the end of the war.
His focus flickered as the connection to the class slipped. Exhaustion soaked in. Glamoring a person drained Norman of strength. Glamoring an entire class wiped him out. The class slipped back toward chaos.
Closing his eyes, Norman could still see their wills floating there. They weren’t lost, yet. He reached out with his own smooth will, grasping, pulling, latching onto them one by one. Norman had never met another vampire who could glamor more than one human. He attributed this special ability to decades of practice in the classroom.
Norman slid back into the zone. Sweat beaded on his forehead. Say the words.
“Good evening class. The seats are all numbered. Please…”
A knock rang out at the door like a shot through Norman’s consciousness. His focus shattered.
Shit.
The door swung open. A gleam of fluorescent light reflected from a bald head. Shapiro. So soon.
Norman’s muscles relaxed and nearly let go entirely. A quick step back prevented his own fall. He was glad he’d fed so deeply that morning.
“Ah. Mr. Bernard, there you are,” said Shapiro.
“Yup. Still here in my room.” Hope you didn’t look too hard.
“Remember earlier I mentioned I needed to speak to you about something?”
“Sure,” Norman replied.
“Well…Oh excuse me,” Shapiro said, interrupting himself. “Where are my manners? Good evening class.” He paused, waiting for the group reply of “good evening Headmaster Shapiro.”
The students’ silence said, Seriously?
This isn’t Night School for third graders, Norman thought. Shapiro might have been an adequate administrator a century ago.
The headmaster went on as if an exchange with the students had actually happened. “Mr. Bernard, I’m so sorry for not giving you a heads up on this. But I’d like to introduce you to Mr. Taylor. He’ll be
your new student teacher this year.”
Norman noticed a figure lurking just behind Shapiro outside the doorway. “I didn’t request a student teacher this year?”
Mr. Taylor stepped around Shapiro and into the classroom. He stared at the floor and did not offer his hand in salutation.
Recognition shot jolts of electricity through Norman’s limbs. “Richie!”
The student teacher, barely older than the members of the class, lifted his gaze.
Norman’s mouth tried for words. “You’re alive.”
Shapiro twitched his head. “Umm…” Nothing to say, for once.
The class fell silent.
Norman remembered where he was. “Take that desk for now.” He waved a hand at a small table stacked with text books at the edge of the white board.
Richie stayed quiet, but his emotions flooded into Norman like a burst levy. Anger. Hate. Relief. Images of blood and fire.
The young teacher moved to the desk and sat. He stared. The class stared. Shapiro stared.
Norman returned Shapiro’s gaze. “Anything else?”
The headmaster’s voice had lost all tone. “Welcome back.” He coughed, smiled and turned to the class. “Have a great first day.” His words hung in the air as he disappeared out the door.
Norman wouldn’t need to glamor his class into compliance today. “Please take a moment to fill out your emergency cards.” The arrival of another vampire had done that.
Norman was no longer alone.
Chapter 2: Student Teacher
The late night diner held few patrons at this hour - a perfect place to reveal secrets. Norman sat across from Richie and glanced over his shoulder at the two men in a nearby booth eating french fries. Norman moved his gaze around the room - anything to relieve his young friend of the burden of eye contact.
The sole waitress walked to them across the tiled floor with two porcelain cups. “Here you go.” She smiled, placing the two mugs of something resembling coffee on their table.
“Thank you,” replied Norman. His student teacher looped a finger through the ring of the cup and stared into the black liquid. His skin had gone pale, and his blond hair desperately needed washing. Norman wanted to reach out and embrace the young vampire. For three years he thought Richie was dead and now Richie sat right before him. He resisted. Give the boy his space.
Richie didn’t look up from his drink as he spoke. “You haven’t aged a bit.” He chuckled through his nose and chanced a brief glance at Norman.
“Healthy living.” Norman forced a laugh.
“I’m in a new teacher training program at the community college. It’s free. They even pay a stipend. I’ll owe three years at Night School if that’s where they place me.”
Norman leaned forward. “Richie, what happened?”
The young vampire finally lifted his eyes to meet Norman’s. “You abandoned me.”
“I…I thought you were dead.”
“I don’t believe you. Couldn’t you feel me? I could feel you.”
“No…Yes…I don’t know. I felt something. But you were dead. I thought it was…sorrow? Guilt?” Norman’s gaze looked through Richie, into the past. “Ghosts.” He zoned back in. “Why didn’t you find me?”
“I didn’t know how.” Richie’s forehead wrinkled. “You never taught me how. You never taught me anything.”
Norman thought he’d failed Richie and let him die. Now he realized he’d abandoned the boy.
Richie took a breath and spoke slowly. “I sleep in a boiler room under a network of pipes two floors below the basement at the College.” His words increased in pace and volume. “I sneak into the locker room to shower. I’ve been burnt nearly to nothing by the sun over and over. I don’t have a single friend. I’ve spent whole months wandering around the sewers. I eat rats and bugs. If I’m lucky I come across a feral cat. I’m barely alive…and immortal at the same time.” The coffee mug clattered against the saucer as he tried to set it down.
A feral Vampire. That’s what Richie had become. He’d had none of Norman’s advantages - the Vampire Union, a community of peers. All destroyed by war. Ritchie had never even had a maker.
How many other vampires were out there? Were they reorganizing or were they solitary, like Norman? Were the old groups reforming? The old battle lines being redrawn? Dear God no.
Richie’s breathing became quick and deep. “Why did you make me?”
The words slapped Norman as if they were physical things. They knocked the pieces into place in Norman’s brain.
Norman had birthed Richie into a vampire world just as it was ending. Richie lived in a vampire apocalypse; wandering the streets amongst humans who, for all intents and purposes, were ghosts to him. They were figures in the night who only served to remind him of what he’d lost. He had no one to show him what he’d gained.
“You were my student…my friend. I didn’t want to watch you die. I thought I’d saved you. Then, so soon, I lost you all over again.”
Richie’s stiff lip quivered and his eyes narrowed. Norman felt the young vampire’s emotions flaring out of control. He glanced around the diner again. Only a few occupants, but best to avoid a scene.
Richie slapped his hand on the table. “You should have let me die!”
The two men eating french fries in the booth turned to look.
“Richie. It was my fault,” began Norman. “The reason Skeete came to your house that night was to find me. To her you were a quick meal, collateral damage in the war. To me you were…a friend.” Norman watched the words sink in. “I had no idea how bad it would get. I never dreamed of all-out war. No one did.” Norman remembered the quick escalation that he thought had claimed every other vampire. “After it was over, I’d assumed you’d been killed. So many of us were dead. I thought I might be the only one left.”
“Well you’re not.” Richie’s jaw trembled. Norman heard his heart rate accelerate.
“Come stay with me. I can show you how to survive among humans. To become strong.” Norman heard the rapid beats of the boy’s heart.
Richie’s face twisted into a sneer. He grabbed the wooden back of his chair and, with a jerk, tore off a jagged piece. He lunged at Norman, jabbing the make-shift stake. But, Norman was much quicker. He grabbed Richie’s arm, blocking the thrust. It had been a long time since anyone had tried to stake him. Richie stared into Norman’s eyes, then turned his wrist so the stake pointed back at his own heart.
“Do it,” Richie pleaded.
Richie didn’t want to kill Norman. He wanted to die. Richie’s clenched face loosened. Tear’s swelled in his eyes. The piece of wood dropped to the floor with a clatter.
“Come with me, Richie. I’ll teach you.”
Richie dropped his gaze to the floor and leaned forward, resting the top of his head on his teacher’s chest. Norman gently placed a hand on his back.
The two men in the booth had stopped eating and stared at them. Norman narrowed his vision. Two vibrating red spheres appeared before him, throwing off their jagged lightning. He gripped them. “I think you both need to get up and go to the bathroom. When you return you won’t remember we were ever here.”
The two diners rose and walked off to the bathroom.
“How did you do that?” Richie asked swiveling his gaze between the bathroom door and Norman.
“Class begins tomorrow. Today, you sleep. Sun comes up in thirty minutes.”
Richie fell onto the sofa in the condo as Norman microwaved some blood from the freezer. The couch and two chairs were arranged around a coffee table and faced a television mounted on the wall.
“I’m exhausted. I can’t believe it’s only the third day. Feels like weeks,” said Richie. “How do you not collapse by third period?”
Norman sat and handed him the glass of blood. “You will discover that you have many abilities you’re not used to. Some of them you’ve probably already figured out. Your human abilities are…enhanced,” said Norman. “Your senses are cranke
d up. You’re fast. You’re strong. You’re only going to get stronger with age. You can learn to maximize these abilities with time and practice.”
“Which one will we work on first?” asked Richie.
“None of them,” replied Norman.
Richie pulled one side of his mouth into a smile. “You’re not going to make me ‘wax on, wax off’ are you?”
Norman ignored the joke. “I let you down once. I won’t do it again.”
Richie’s smile faded.
“The first and most important lesson is to avoid daylight no matter what.”
“That’s what you want to teach me? I’ve been burned before. I think I’ve figured that out already.”
“Not good enough. All human tissue is fuel. If you get it hot enough it will burn,” said Norman. “You, however, are like gasoline vapor. If exposed to the sun your cells will explode in flame. You’ll burn away one layer of skin at a time. Then muscle. Then organs. Until there’s nothing left but ash. A tiny fleck of light can kill you if you can’t get out of it.”
“OK, then,” said Richie. “Teach me.”
Norman led his student down the stairs of the building and out the door. “Follow.” He dashed off in a blur.
Richie struggled to keep up as they wound their way through the maze of city streets until they came upon the warehouse district. Norman stopped in front of an old building. Its hole-pocked exterior was missing entire panels of corrugated aluminum in places. Old orange paint still clung to the sides in spots.
Richie caught up half a second later and stopped next to Norman, panting. “Damn you’re fast,” he managed between breaths. He bent down and put his hands on his knees. As his breathing slowed, he looked up and took in the scene. “Why did you take me here? It’s just old bombed out buildings. The sun will be up in a few minutes, anyway. Aren’t we supposed to avoid that?”
“That’s exactly what we’re supposed to do. And that’s exactly why we’re spending the day here.” Norman turned the old knob on the structure’s green door. The rusted hinges groaned as they swung open. They stepped inside.