by Mac Flynn
"Don't touch anything!" Ralph screamed as walked by him standing near the stove.
"I've touched everything in the diner, why not in here?" I asked him.
"Because Ah don't want to get sick, that's why! Not git! Git!" he yelled at me.
"I could always just not come in to work tomorrow," I suggested.
"And leave me running this place on my own? I'd have a heart attack!" he suggested.
I put my hand on the back door knob and rolled my eyes. "Don't give me hope. . ."
"What was that?"
"Don't get me worried."
"Good. Now git on out of here. And git over that cold!"
Oh, if only I could I thought as I stepped out into the cold fall air. A cool breeze blew by, and I shuddered and wrapped my coat closer against me. The trip home was long and tiring. My head ached something fierce, and I debated whether or not to tell my 'roommate' about the latest news from the trucker-vine.
I'd just about made up my mind when I unlocked my door and stepped into my apartment. The place was dark and quiet. I tossed my coat onto the couch and plopped myself down.
"Would it destroy you to turn on some lights?" I called out.
"It would be rather pointless for me," Roland spoke up from the dark. His dark shape sat in the chair close to the couch. The soul box sat on the coffin in front of him that now doubled as the coffee table. It was either that or put it in my bedroom, and I wasn't willing to take things to second base. "Besides, I would rather be a silent partner in your apartment agreement."
I snorted. "As silent as the grave?"
I saw his white teeth flash as he smiled. "Something like that, but how are you feeling?"
"Like I have a foot and a half in the grave, and my last heel is trying to slip in," I told him.
"Perhaps there's something I can do to help," he offered.
"Bloodletting is out of the question," I warned him.
Roland smiled. "That isn't quite what I had in mind."
He stood and wandered through the dark apartment to the kitchen. That's when my weakened nose picked up on a delicious smell of herbs and spices. I raised my sniffer and took in a deep breath.
"Garlic soup?" I teased.
"No, a simple vegetable broth," he revealed. I glanced over my shoulder and watched his shadowy form pour some of the steaming soup into a bowl. He came back to me and held out the bowl and a spoon.
I took the bowl and glanced at the reddish-black liquid. "That is tomato, isn't it?" I asked him.
"Yes," he assured me as he took his seat in the chair.
I dipped my spoon in the bowl and took a sip. My eyes lit up and I swallowed the hot spoonful in one gulp. The soup slid down like a Spanish dancer, hot and with a little kick. Almost too hot. I opened my mouth and fanned my tongue.
"Wow. Not bad," I wheezed between gasps for cool air. "You'd give Ralph's apple pie a run for its money." I downed a few more spoonfuls and nearly choked on the hot spoon. "So where'd you learn to do this?" I choked out.
"My mother taught me," he admitted.
I paused in mid-slurp and my eyes flickered up to him. "Your mom?"
He chuckled. "A vampire can have a mother, at least at one time in their life."
"Yeah, I guess, but it's a little hard to imagine," I commented as I gulped down the soup. "I mean, you being all undead now. It must have been awkward to get you to eat your garlic pills in the morning."
"It was a very long time ago," he agreed.
I put down the empty soup bowl, and leaned back and sighed. "Speaking of undead, I overheard Ned talking about some sightings near Northton."
"Vampires?" Roland guessed.
I shrugged. "Or kids with overactive imaginations."
"We should investigate," Roland commented as he stood.
I let loose a torrential sneeze and rubbed my nose. "I think I'm going to have to sit this one out, at least tonight."
"I'd be glad to wait," he offered.
I snorted and snot ran down my upper lip. "Please don't."
"Then I would rather you be with me," he rephrased as he retook his seat.
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my congested nose. "Maybe I could stay here and watch the soul box while you go to work hunting down and destroying your own kind." I pulled my hand away and frowned. "Why exactly are you out to give your own kind the pointed-wood treatment, anyway?"
"They seek my soul just as Rose seeks it," he explained.
"I'll bite-in a metaphorical sense-who's Rose?" I asked him.
"She is the small vampire you met twice before," he told me.
"You mean that Village of the Damned kid? That's a nice name for someone who'd like to play dress-up with me as the doll," I quipped.
"Don't let her physical form deceive you. She's capable of terrible things," he warned me.
"Some bad acting, for one," I commented. "The first time we met she told me you were here dad. She was so cute I almost got diabetes from listening to her."
"She's also skilled in the art of primitive sorcery," he added.
I raised an eyebrow. "Primitive sorcery as opposed to what? Sophisticated?"
"Primitive sorcery is the use of natural items such as dust and tree limbs to cast magic over one's opponents," he explained.
I stood and held up my hands. "The last thing I want to worry about is a demonic little vampire girl with magical powers, so I'm going to take a shot of NyQuil and go to bed before you give me day-mares."
"She can't enter here without your permission. Never forget that," he assured me.
"Got it. Don't invite in a pipsqueak size pizza delivery girl. Got it," I quipped. I waved to him and shuffled off to bed. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight," he returned.
CHAPTER 2
I took double the recommended dose of NyQuil and slept like the undead guy in my coffee table. The next night I woke up on the right side of the bed and promptly fell off when my alarm buzzed. I never could sleep through it. That thing was loud enough to be heard in my next life.
I groaned and lifted my stuffed head off the floor. The head cold had made headway during my sleep and was now marching proudly through my upper nostrils drumming the sounds of victory.
I slithered into my waitress outfit and shuffled out into my living room. The un-living stood in my kitchen warming up something in pot that wasn't his hot soup. I slipped into a chair at the table and let my forehead slam into the tabletop.
"How are you feeling?" Roland asked me.
"Kill me now," I pleaded.
Roland slopped a bowl full of whatever he had concocted and slid the stuff over to me. I raised my head and glimpsed what I could only describe as whitish snot dribbled with the dark boogers. I wrinkled my nose and pushed the bowl away.
"This isn't fit for humans," I told him.
"It's oatmeal. It will help you to feel better," he assured me.
"Then it still isn't fit for humans. Oats are meant for horses," I argued.
He pushed the steaming bowl back under my face. "It's healthy."
I pushed the bowl away. "I don't want to live forever."
Roland pushed it into my chest and folded his arms across his chest. "You have no choice but to eat it."
I glared up at him. "Why's that?"
"Because I've hidden your other breakfast foods," he informed me.
I narrowed my eyes. "I'm starting to wonder if I'm not on the side of evil dealing with you."
"I can assure you I'm good, and so is the oatmeal. Just try some," he insisted. He lifted the spoon and held it out to me.
I grudgingly swiped it from his hand and dug a spoonful of the stuff from the bowl. I held up the spoon, tilted my spoon and let the oatmeal slide back to its brethren. "I knew someday our relationship would end, but I never thought you'd poison me," I quipped.
Roland leaned down and caught my eyes. I felt myself falling into his mesmerizing trick. "You will eat a spoonful of the oatmeal."
I didn't eat the oatmeal
. What I did was wrinkle my nose and sneeze. The snot projected into his face and gave his pale skin a speckled look. It also ruined his control over me. I shook my head as he straightened and wiped my snot off him with his hand.
I grinned, lifted a spoonful of the oatmeal, and raised it to him in his honor. "You're right, this stuff is making me feel better." I chomped on the spoon and grudgingly admitted to myself that it tasted pretty good. The dark snot was actually cinnamon andI set my spoon hand on the table and glared at him. "Why didn't you just tell me this was covered in chocolate?"
Roland finished wiping the snot off his face and pursed his lips. "It was meant to be a surprise."
"Well, I am surprised," I agreed as I dug into the stuff.
The oatmeal bowl was finished in no time, but I had less than that to get to the diner.
"Damn it, late again. . ." I muttered as I flung on my coat and grabbed my purse.
I paused with the front door open in front of me and glanced over my shoulder at Roland. The vampire stood in the kitchen and held my empty bowl in his hand. He had a long face on his pale mug and his shoulders drooped. For the first time I got a glimpse of lonely, long immortality. Maybe eating oatmeal wasn't so bad.
"Think you can have that soup ready for me when I get home?" I called to him.
Roland glanced up from the bowl and showed off his sly smile to me. "I'd be glad to."
I grinned. "Good, because I have a feeling tonight is going to be a long night," I returned. I waved to him. "See ya."
I hurried outside and to my car. The drive was quick, and so was the return of my aching head. The head cold was like some sort of bad horror movie sequel. Revenge of the Returned Son of Snot. The tagline would have been 'just when you thought it was safe to blow your nose.'
I stumbled past Ralph in the kitchen. He stood over a boiling pot of bubbling acid that he described as 'chili.' The rest of the world, and the regulars, described it as a crime against nature. I walked into the busy front of the diner and saw Candy standing by the cash register. The trucker across the counter held his credit card in one hand and his stomach in the other.
"Come again," Candy told him. The man groaned and shuffled out of the diner.
"The chili?" I asked her.
She nodded. "I tried to warn him, but he said he wanted a whole bowl." I cringed. He was lucky we weren't mopping up his puddled remains. "Oh, and two of the guys had a fight over the urinals. They broke the soap dispenser," she added.
I groaned. Ralph bought the cheapest soap money could buy. The stuff oozed out of the dispenser slower than the tectonic plates and left a slick wax on everyone's hands. When it got on the linoleum it created a floor wax that threatened to murder anyone who dared face its wrath and step on it.
"How bad?" I asked her as I sidled up to the cash register.
"I tried cleaning it up for an hour and gave up," she replied.
My shoulders slumped and I sighed. That meant the soap had time to conquer at least a half dozen tiles around the dispenser, creating a hazard that could only be avoided by placing one of those orange cones on it and hoping the guys wouldn't dare each other to step on the mess. There was one time where the dispenser spilled across half the floor and the guys got a betting ring going for who could slide across the whole floor without killing themselves. I had to admit I got in on the fun until I lost five dollars on a sure-win. He crashed into a urinal and fell backwards on the floor. The guy hit his head hard enough to knock him out. The sudden silence in the usually boisterous group brought Ralph on the scene. I had no idea a lot of those trucker guys could run like that, but they beat it out of the diner faster than kids on the last day of school before summer break.
Candy looked me over and frowned. "You sure you're up for work? You look awful."
"And I feel worse, but I'll make it," I promised.
She shrugged. "All right, but don't croak on the job. I look terrible in black. Later."
"Later," I returned.
Candy left me to man the front counter and the usual trucker traffic. I went through all the stages of grief starting with regret that I'd ever come to work. My nose ran fast enough to break the sound barrier and my head throbbed like a high school band filled with only drummers played between my eyes.
The unforgiving truckers, oblivious to my slow descent into a lower state of being, came and went in a steady stream of hungry humanity. By the time my shift ended I had entered the acceptance stage. I accepted that I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible and reacquaint myself with my bed. The quitting hour struck, and I shuffled out to my car and slipped into the front seat. The dark, cool fall night wrapped itself around me like a wet blanket, and I was a cat.
I started the car and put it into reverse.
"We may have a problem."
I screamed and spun around to find Roland seated in the back seat of my car. In his lap was his soul box.
"What the hell are you doing back there!" I yelled at him.
"Waiting for you," was the mundane answer.
"So you can what? Dig me an early grave?" I growled.
Roland leaned forward and pressed his cool hand against my forehead. I started back at the cold and surprising touch.
"Your illness has worsened," he stated.
"No, my illness is getting better, I'm getting worse," I corrected him.
"Perhaps this is a bad time for such a discussion. We should get you home," he suggested.
I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. My hot anger had cooled some of my illness. I still felt like shit, but at least I was warmed shit.
"You might as well tell me what the problem is," I told him.
"I spoke with Ned about the sightings at the industrial park in Northton," he revealed.
I held up a hand. "How'd you talk to Ned without scaring him silly?"
"The same method I used to nearly have you eat your breakfast," he explained.
"Ya know, hero's don't extract information from a guy that way," I argued.
"A hero must bend the rules occasionally, and his weak mind wasn't injured," Roland defended himself. "He also gave me further information that a child's laugh had been heard."
My face fell. "Child's laugh? Like a creepy vampire child?"
"Perhaps. The only way we can be sure is to investigate the matter," he insisted.
I groaned and slumped in my seat. "There you go with that 'we' thing."
"I would appreciate your assistance," he pleaded.
"Why? Why should I feel appreciated?" I asked him.
He held the box through the gap between the two front seats. "Because I trust no one else with my soul box, and I would like to protect the ones I trust."
I sighed and unfastened my seat belt. "Fine, but this better not take too long. And you're driving."
CHAPTER 3
I sat in the co-pilot seat with the box in my lap and Roland at the helm. He followed my directions through the long, dark highway. The country was made up of scattered orchards and the occasional farmhouse surrounded by corn fields. It was relatively flat country with a few scatterings of hills and clumps of houses. There wasn't a cop in sight, but Roland drove like there was a cop around every corn field.
"You can go the speed limit," I assured him.
"I would rather not. I have no driver's license," he revealed.
My face fell. "Then maybe you should pull over and I drive. I don't want to be as old as you by the time we get there."
"I will get us there in ample time," he assured me.
I glanced out the window. The corn stalks drifted by. I swear I saw an owl speed past us. I sighed and shifted. The soul box sat precariously at the end of my bent knees and I held it in place with the tips of my fingers.
"This thing isn't going to spontaneously fog on me, is it?" I asked him.
"Only if you hold it that way," he warned me.
I pulled the box securely onto my lap and jerked my head towards it. "What's so special about this soul,
anyway? I haven't seen you do anything with it," I pointed out.
"The box is still locked, and the devil has the only key," he reminded me.
I leaned back and inspected the lock. "It doesn't look that complicated. Have you tried to pick it?"
"The devil's work won't work on the devil's work," he told me.
I blinked at him. "Come again?"
"Picking a lock is often done for dastardly purposes, thus it is the work of the devil," he explained. "Since the devil has locked the box, those who do his work can't open it."
"So like fighting fire with fire, but without the success?" I guessed.
"Exactly."
"Damn," I replied.
"That is often his line of work," he agreed.
I rolled my eyes. "So if you can't get it open by picking it, what about doing something good?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Such as?"
I shrugged. "I don't know, maybe something that's supposed to be nice. Tried helping an old lady across the road while carrying the box? Or saved orphans from a fire? Maybe that much goodness would make the devil's box want to throw up your soul."
He smiled. "Not yet, but I'll keep the suggestion in mind."
I turned the box over in my hands and frowned. "What else can it do besides ruin rugs? I mean, if if you do happen to get it open, what then? You get to be a human?"
"In a fashion. I retain all my vampire abilities without the deficiencies," he revealed.
"So you'd be a vampire with benefits?" I suggested.
"Something like that," he admitted.
I studied the box again. "Any way I could get some of that soul before my cold makes me a permanent undead?"
Roland chuckled. "Not unless you know how to break the lock."
"Damn. . ." I muttered. I glanced out the window and watched the shadowed scenery fly by. The darkness reminded me of our destination and the rumors. "So what exactly is your plan with all these vampires?"
"To find if they're a threat and deal with them appropriately," he replied.
I shook my head. "I mean something a little more permanent. There's got to be an easier way to convince them to go away besides making them into piles of fertilizer."
"They seek my soul's promise of power. Their attraction to the area will likely vanish if I am reunited with my soul," he surmised.
I frowned. "But what can they do with your soul?"
"They can unite with it as well as I. We're all empty vessels," he pointed out.
I snorted. "So souls are one-size-fits-all?"
"When the vessel is that of a vampire, yes," he concurred.
