The Tear Collector

by Patrick Jones

  She takes the book from my hand, as if it were a precious gift. “I don’t think so.”

  “They’re all the same,” I say, then sit back on the bed. “Will your book be different?”

  “What do you mean?” she asks.

  “Why must every vampire lurk in the darkness hunting for human blood? Why must they all be dark and mysterious?” I ask.

  “Because that’s what a vampire story is about,” she says.

  “It doesn’t need to be,” I counter. “Why not make your book different?”

  “What do you mean?” Her eyes are darting the room, I suspect looking for her notebook.

  “Maybe your vampire could be sympathetic,” I say. “Maybe he could be born into a family of vampires. Maybe he doesn’t want to be one, but doesn’t know how not to be. Maybe your vampire could be tired of only surviving and sacrificing. Maybe your vampire wants to be normal and live among humans instead of feeding off them.”

  “Go on,” she says, but I can’t. I’ve shown her my secret scars except she doesn’t know it.

  “Never mind,” I say, then I turn my back to her like I wish I could turn back time. For Samantha I really do feel empathy; I understand too well how hard it is to hold back a secret.

  “Are you going to tell Scott?” she asks after an awkward silence.

  “Your secrets are safe with me,” I say.

  “You still owe me a secret,” she says.

  “How do I know I can trust you?” I ask.

  “I’m the only person at Lapeer you can trust,” she says.

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I don’t have anybody to talk to,” she says. I want to tell her that every time she says something like that it’s just rubbing more salt in those wounds. But I can’t because I still need those salty tears her self-hatred produces. “No, that’s not it. It’s because I’ve proven it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I learned a long time ago that most things are better left unsaid. Secrets are meant to be kept, not shared. Keeping a secret hidden, that is what locks in a friendship. You say you want to be friends, but how can I be friends with you since I can’t trust you?” she asks.

  “I do want to be friends with you,” I say. I doubt that Samantha is bi, like her profile says. My guess is she’s not looking for sex; she’s looking for softness in her hard life.

  “I already know a secret about you, but I’ve never shared it with anyone,” she says.

  “What is it?”

  “Can I ask you something first?” she says, and I nod. Conversations with Samantha are fits of stops and starts. “Who do you think started those rumors about Craig and Brittney?”

  “I’m not sure,” I say. “Do you know?”

  “I think it was Brittney herself,” she whispers, and I lean closer.

  “Are you sure?” I ask, because that is what I’ve always suspected.

  “Positive,” she says, sounding proud.

  “How do you know for sure?” I ask. There is no way Brittney speaks to Samantha.

  “I’ve watched girls like her all my life,” Samantha says. “You’re too close to them, too friendly, but on the outside looking in it’s easy to see exactly what they are.”

  “And what is that?”

  “People who don’t care about anyone but themselves,” she says. “Do I know for sure? No. Do I have a signed confession? Again, no. But am I positive? One hundred percent.”

  “Why would she do that?”

  “You mean other than steal Craig away and become the center of attention?” she asks, and I nod. “Maybe also to create some drama.”

  “Maybe,” I mutter.

  “You understand, right?” she asks. “Isn’t that why you chopped down the Goth tree?”

  “What do you mean?” I mumble.

  “Are you denying it?” she asks.

  “No,” I say, then move off the bed and back to the floor. “But how did you find out?”

  “This is my secret about you,” she says, a little angry and excited. “I’ll ask the questions.”

  “Okay, what do you want to know?”

  “I understand what Brittney got out of her actions, although she must regret it now,” Samantha continues. “But riddle me this, Cassandra. What did you get out of yours?”

  “I was just stirring up a little excitement,” I confess.

  “And why did you need to create more drama?” she asks, assuming my Grand Inquisitor mode. “Don’t you think Lapeer High School has enough of that already?”

  “Maybe,” is all I can say.

  Samantha turns off the light, then says, “Now we have mutually assured destruction.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “In history, we studied the Cold War. The reason we never nuked the Russians and they never nuked us is we both knew that if one made the first move, the other would destroy the world. So now, Cassandra, we each have our nukes and secrets pointed at each other. Because we know secrets about each other, we can destroy each other. And so we can be at peace.”

  “Always give peace a chance.” I’m hiding a sigh of relief that my real secret remains safe.

  “Oh, we’re also at peace because we’re both freaks,” she says, then laughs. I sigh.

  “You’re not a freak and neither am I,” I remind her as I pull the covers over myself. She tries to keep talking, but I just pretend to sleep.

  I stay silent. I’ve said too much, and yet I’ve said far less than I want to. I glance through the darkness at Samantha, then turn to look at the shelves packed with vampire novels. One day she’ll learn the truth about vampires; one day, she’ll learn there are creatures who feed off humans in plain sight. One day, she’ll learn more about me, but not yet. Not yet.

  CHAPTER 17

  SUNDAY, APRIL 12

  Why won’t you listen to me?”

  My immature-sounding question goes unanswered. It is Easter Sunday evening, and my family is furious at me for my vanishing act. After leaving Samantha’s this morning, I went to church, then to the hospital. I did two shifts at the hospital, then visited Becca and her family. I wanted to finalize plans with Scott, but he’s impossible to reach. His vanishing is more complete than my own. By late in the evening, my choice was to become homeless or face the lash at home.

  “Cassandra Veronica Gray!” Maggie answers. I’d started to explain my actions, but they’re not listening. “You embarrassed this entire family. You’ve ruined everything!”

  “Where were you?” Mom asks. They’re at the kitchen table looking like hanging judges.

  “If you would just let me explain,” I say, then sit at the table with them.

  “I don’t know if there’s anything you could say that—,” Maggie continues.

  Veronica stops her. “It wasn’t easy for you either. Maybe she needs more time.”

  Mom glares at both ends of the generation sandwich, takes a sip from her bottled water, then sits back in her chair.

  “I’m not ready,” I start. Maggie looks at me with all the anger of the ages. I tell them where I spent the weekend rather than why I left the reunion until Mom pushes me for details.

  “That’s enough stalling,” Maggie says. “I want to know about Alexei.”

  “Nothing happened,” I mumble.

  “Don’t lie to us,” Mom says.

  “What do you mean?” I reply.

  The three women around the table look at each other, then back at me, until Maggie speaks. “Cassandra, dear, don’t be embarrassed. We are your family, you can tell us anything.”

  I’m staring at her; she’s looking straight through me. “I don’t have anything to tell you.”

  All three look confused and fall silent, then Mom says, “So you have not been with Alexei since Friday afternoon?”

  “No, I told you that,” I say. “I told you where I was. You didn’t believe me?”

  “I didn’t want to believe you,” Maggie says in a voice part ice, part fire.


  “The traditions in this family are very old, and Cassandra is young, so—,” Veronica starts.

  “She has a duty,” Maggie says, cutting her off; her eyes flash with anger. “A duty to this family.”

  “Alexei is evil,” I say. “Do you know what’s he’s been doing? He’s torturing children.”

  “That’s not true!” Maggie shouts back.

  I stare at her, then say, “It’s a fact, and if you want me to show you the proof, I have news articles—”

  “Stop it!” Maggie says. “It doesn’t matter what he’s done. It matters what you need to do.”

  “I won’t do it!” I shout back.

  “If this is because of one of your immature infatuations with a boy, then—” Mom starts.

  “It is not that,” I say, cutting her off. I don’t tell her that “infatuation” isn’t the word I’d choose.

  “Cassandra, this is our way,” Maggie says, but stares at Veronica with a level of anger I’ve never seen before. “It’s time for the next generation. It is your duty to mate with Alexei and—”

  “Mate! I’m not some animal!” I shout, but bury the words I really want to say: “I’m not like the rest of you anymore. I’m done living in between.”

  “Your duty is to your family, not yourself,” Maggie says to me, but she’s still looking at Veronica. There’s something going on between them that I can’t begin to understand.

  “If you have not been with Alexei, then where is he?” Mom asks, but I don’t answer.

  “No one has seen Alexei since Friday afternoon,” Maggie says.

  “Everyone is looking for him,” Mom says.

  “I don’t know anything,” I say.

  “Did he call you?” Maggie asks.

  I shrug. “I don’t know. I lost my phone.”

  “I know,” Mom says. “Lillith found it at the park. Now you see why I don’t trust you with a car, dear.”

  I let that remark go. She doesn’t trust me, not because she thinks I would have a car accident. Instead, she fears that I would drive away, never to return. That fear became even more real to everyone in the family since Siobhan showed us that there was a way out.

  I get up from the table and start toward my room. The instant I plug in my phone, the message signal comes up. Starting around two o’clock on Saturday afternoon and lasting until just an hour ago are regular messages from Scott’s mom, mixed in with a few from Samantha, Becca, and frantic calls from Mom and Maggie. Scott’s mom’s messages start out calm, but by Saturday night they escalate to thunderstorm status. In this evening’s messages, his mother is in tears, no longer angry with me, but worried about her missing son. The final message is simple. “Cassandra, I’m calling the police.”

  No sooner do I hear the last message than my phone rings. The innocent sounds of “Love Me Do” by the Beatles seem odd after listening to Scott’s mom’s accusing messages.

  “Scott, where are you?” I ask, but there’s nothing but endless silence on the other end.

  “What’s going on?” More silence.

  “This isn’t funny.” More silence.

  “I’m going to hang up unless you tell me what’s going on.” I hear deep breathing.

  “Scott, are you okay?”

  “No, he’s not,” is Alexei’s unnerving answer.

  I pause for a second that seems closer to forever.

  “Alexei, where is Scott?”

  “He is where you should be,” Alexei hisses. “Right next to me.”

  “Let me talk to him!”

  After he’s done laughing, Alexei says, “He can’t speak right now.”

  “Let him go!”

  “He’s got a lot of sadness in him,” he says. “But not much fear. Fear’s the best because it produces the strongest emotion and most powerful tears. That’s why the males in our family will always dominate. We’re willing to capture and, if needed, create tears using terror and fear.”

  “Let him go!” I repeat.

  “Not yet.”

  “I want to see him,” I say. I move over to my desk and unlock it.

  “Good, because I want to see you.”

  “Let him go, or else,” I say out of pure animal instinct to protect things that matter.

  “Or else what?”

  I pull out the folder of news alerts. “I’ll call the police.”

  “The police?” he asks, then laughs.

  “It was you. In Midland, and before that in Bay City. I’ve been tracking you.”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

  I open the folder and start reading the articles. Rather than cutting me off, I sense Alexei almost enjoys the listing of his crimes, since shame and guilt are just more human emotions he cannot feel. I end by saying, “How did you become this way?”

  “What way?”

  “Evil,” I say, and hiss.

  There’s silence on the line. “You should join me,” Alexei finally says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not evil, I’m frustrated,” he confesses. “I’m tired of waiting.”

  “Waiting?”

  “Waiting for you to be with me. Waiting for father, grandfather, and Simon to die,” he says. “I want to be in charge of my family; I’m tired of taking orders. Aren’t you tired of it?”

  I say nothing, since I cannot agree with Alexei. I cannot admit any similarity.

  “What you call evil, I call necessity,” he says. “Evil is the existence we’re forced to live. Evil is not being able to feel love. If I can’t feel love, then all that leaves is hate. All that leaves is evil. You know what I’m talking about. Join me, Cassandra, it is your turn too,” he says.

  “But,” I start, then I think not of myself or my family but of Scott. And then I know that I’m not like Alexei; I’m not evil—because I do feel love. “Enough! Let Scott go or I’ll call the police and—”

  “No you won’t!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because unlike me, you won’t break our rules,” he says. “You won’t reveal us.”

  “I broke the family rules on Friday when I left you with nothing,” I remind him.

  “That’s going to change too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll let Scott go in exchange,” he says.

  “For what?” I ask, but I know.

  “For you.” I feel his smirk snake through the phone and wrap like a cobra around my neck.

  “This is wrong!” I say, but there is no wrong or right, just the power of his will.

  “You won’t betray family. You will do as you’re told. And you won’t turn me in,” he says.

  “I’ll tell Simon you’re the one breaking the rules,” I counter.

  “I didn’t break any rules,” he lies.

  “Yes, you did, Alexei. Yes, you did. We feed off human suffering, we don’t cause it.”

  “We see the rules differently, you and I,” he says.

  “We’ll see what Simon and Veronica say when I tell them what—”

  He cuts me off. “Simon’s useless. Veronica’s time is up, and everybody knows it.”

  “I won’t do it,” I finally say.

  “Yes, you will, Cassandra,” he says. “Because if you don’t, then Scott will—”

  I cut him off: “I don’t care about Scott.”

  “But you do, Cassandra. You do and I know it,” he says.

  “Scott’s just another boy,” I say tossing more lies on the fire. “There will be others.”

  Again, Alexei tortures me with his laughter, as he’s probably tortured Scott with deeds. “I figured out what’s wrong with you. I know why you ran away from me on Friday,” he says.

  “Oh really? Why?”

  “Because you’ve changed,” he says.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re becoming human.”

  I don’t deny it. If I’m human, then I can feel love. Humans will make any sacrifice for love, Siobhan said. This is my test.
“You win. I’ll do whatever you want to protect Scott.”

  He laughs at my weakness, then tells me where he’s waiting back in the park. He assures me that Scott isn’t hurt physically. I don’t believe him, but I know there’s little I can do. If I’m to rescue Scott, I’ll need to tangle with Alexei. I’ll need strength. I’ll need Samantha.

  “Samantha, I need your help again!”

  Samantha answers with a yawn, like I woke her. “Why should I keep helping you?”

  “Please,” is my nonanswer. I’m so used to giving help; I don’t know how to ask for it.

  “No, Cassandra, I’m not helping you again,” she says. “I’m hanging up.”

  “Tell me why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why you won’t help me?”

  “I’m hanging up,” she repeats.

  “I know why, and I understand,” I say. “Because I’m using you, and I’m sorry for it.”

  “You finally admit it. How brave,” she says with supreme sarcasm.

  “It is not what you think,” I say. I know I’m in too deep. I’ll figure how to get myself out of this hole later, but I need her help now. “I’m not using you for just rides.”

  “I don’t have anything else to offer anyone,” she mumbles, but her words shout that she was right the other night. It’s not like flipping a switch; change and healing both take time.

  “Yes, yes you do,” I say almost in a whisper.

  “What are you taking about?”

  “You have all this pain in your life that you don’t know how to handle,” I say.

  “You’re just like Brittney. You want to be around other girls who have less so you can feel better about yourself,” she says. “I thought you were more mature than that.”

  “That’s not it either.”

  “Then I guess I’m too stupid to understand,” she says.

  “You want to know the truth about me?” I ask. “You have your suspicions, right?”

  “Yes.” But in those three letters, I detect a wave of emotions sweeping over her.

  “Give me a ride and come with me,” I say, then take a deep breath, as if I’m planning on being underwater for forty days and nights. “Then I’ll reveal my true nature to you.”