“Well, I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, now does it? Noble and ethical to a fault, your Ingrid. Yawn. Doesn’t all that morphine make you sick? Personally, I can’t stand the taste of junkies. If they only knew how horrific they tasted.”
“Apparently, I taste pretty good.” Jenny offered Betty a whiff of the bloody tissue she held against her nostril.
Forcefully pushing Jenny’s hand away, she barked, “Sit, before I rip the vocal cords out of your pathetic, little throat.”
“You and what army, bitch?” Jenny ambled over to the sofa, plopped down among the ample pillows and slowly raised the middle finger of her right hand.
“Don’t mind Jenny. She’s apparently flying very high on meth right now. Ingrid, take a seat. Jenny, shut your pie hole and don’t open it until I say it’s okay. Capiche?”
“If you say so,” Jenny mumbled.
Veronica sat in the matching recliner next to Betty and casually crossed her legs, accentuating the fact that she wasn’t wearing any shoes. Her feet looked horrifically in need of a pedicure. Was a pedicure even possible now? With her best amicable expression, she turned to Betty. “The reason we’ve asked you to come here, Beatrice, is because we’ve been involved in an unfortunate incident that you need to be aware of.”
“Incident?” Betty leaned forward.
“Yes. At the funeral home. You see, Ingrid brought me to San Francisco to end Desmond’s life.”
“What?” Betty gasped, gripping the arms of the chair for support. “Desmond’s dead?”
“Yes, as of today. He’d been wanting to end his life for a while now,” Ingrid offered in her most upbeat, hopeful voice. “Yep. He’s gone.”
“And since he took my life, it only seemed fitting that I take his.” Veronica laced her fingers together and leaned back in the chair. She was trying her best to convey sincerity with her apologetic tone, but she was pathetic at lying through her fangs. “But here’s the thing. We had an issue during the actual event that involves your familiar.”
Betty grabbed the phone from her purse and scrolled through her messages. “That dimwit hasn’t texted me all day. Where is he?”
“He’s in the crematory at Cook’s.” Veronica said.
“Yes, I know where he works. Did you duct tape his arms to a chair or something? Why won’t he answer my texts?”
Jenny rolled back onto the couch and laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Are you that daft? He’s inside the crematory. It’s pretty hard to text someone when you’ve been reduced to kitty litter.”
“You killed Maynard?” Rising from her chair, almost to the point of levitating, Betty’s fangs jutted between her heavily stained lips.
Veronica flinched at the threat of violence. “Yes, and I wanted to apologize to you in person for taking his life. Maynard stabbed me and then…” She lowered her voice. “He attempted to ingest Desmond’s heart. I don’t tolerate violence very well, as I’m sure you can understand.” Veronica signaled towards the other chair. “Please sit. I know you’re a reasonable woman, Beatrice, so please, let’s try and work this out.” Veronica’s voice began with the peaceful cadence of Ghandi but shifted to Gonzo when she addressed Jenny. “I’m not going to say it again, Ms. Pearson. Shut the fuck up.”
“Mom!” Ingrid gasped.
“That stupid, insipid little man. I can just see his disappointed face when he took that first bite.” Beatrice smiled wickedly. “Did he cry when he learned the truth?”
Confused, Veronica looked to Ingrid for clarification. “What truth?”
Ingrid shrugged.
“You don’t know anything do you?” Betty sat back in the chair. “I pity your ignorance, but I don’t pity the position you are now in. You killed one of mine. Now I get to kill one of yours.”
“Bitch is lying. She didn’t kill Maynard.” Jenny tossed the bloody tissue onto the coffee table and looked Betty square in the eye. “I killed him. And if you’ve got a problem with that, I suggest you take it up with me, not her, bitch.”
“Stop calling people bitches,” Ingrid yelped, her voice rising an octave as she paced the living room. “It’s so disrespectful, and you’re just escalating the situation with your nonsense.”
Jenny rolled her eyes. “Bitch has dual meanings, Ingrid. It can be used in a derogatory sense but also as a term of endearment, at least in its modern-day usage. But if you crazy bitches can’t comprehend the nuances of language, whatever.” She stood and waved her arms as if she were attempting to swim through a crowded room. “I’m out of here.”
“Not so fast.” Betty lunged, lifting Jenny by the neck and slamming her head first against the wall. “I am not a reasonable woman. Nor do I take kindly to being called a bitch in any sense of the word.” She squeezed Jenny’s neck harder, then let her fragile body fall to the floor.
Aghast, Veronica and Ingrid stood back, watching the events unfold yet unable to move. Frozen by fear and guilt, Veronica knew she could never take on Betty in a physical match. All she wanted was to be home with Frank, but that possibility didn’t seem to exist anymore.
“As payment for Maynard, this one’s mine.” Betty dragged Jenny to her feet. “Perhaps I’ll let her detox in my basement for a few days before I drain her.”
“No!” Veronica grabbed Jenny’s track-marked arm and pulled. “She’s my familiar and you can’t have her.”
Betty roared with laughter. “What could this rude, ugly little runt possibly offer you?”
Veronica thought hard as Jenny’s nose continued to trickle more blood. It smelled heavenly. Jenny’s droll voice resonated inside her head. Bitch thinks she’s Betty Page. Take a swing. Do it. I’ll hold her down.
“She makes me laugh,” Veronica offered sheepishly.
“If I was eternally your age, I’d need something to laugh about too.” Betty smiled and drew Jenny closer.
I know you can hear me, Veronica. Let go of my arm and hit the bitch. Knock her teeth out with your walker, Grandma! Veronica dropped Jenny’s arm and giggled. Nervously, she rubbed her nose and flashed Jenny a look. What if Betty could read her thoughts too?
“See, there she goes making you laugh again. I’m so glad you find this situation humorous, but here’s the deal: I’m not leaving empty handed,” Betty snarled. “You need to make a choice: Ingrid or this piece of funny-smelling trash.” She sniffed Jenny’s jet-black hair and placed her in a choke hold.
Ingrid darted over to Betty’s side and dropped to her knees. “Please don’t hurt her. She’s just a stupid addict. We can make this situation right. Can’t we Mom?” Ingrid’s gaze darted frantically to her mother’s.
Veronica remained as silent and frozen as the Northern Plains.
Betty released her grip on Jenny’s neck.
“If you take me. I’ll do anything you need. Do you need someone to take over Maynard’s duties? I can do that. Mr. Cook knows me and I’m sure he wouldn’t have a problem with me working the crematory. I mean, if you spoke to him first, of course.” Ingrid nearly kissed Betty’s bejeweled hand.
Veronica had never seen this side of her daughter. Either she had become a total kiss-ass, or she was deathly afraid for Jenny’s life.
Make your choice, Sophie. Your daughter thinks she’s Katniss Everdeen, but I’m cool with whatever you choose. It’s better than rehab.
“You can have Ingrid, but only for a year. I’m sure you’ll find someone more suitable to your particular needs in that time. Is that okay with you, Ingrid?” Veronica pushed up her sleeves as if she were going to start a fight, or maybe wash the dishes.
Ingrid nodded, but could not hide the shock of rejection.
Veronica reasoned that a year was nothing to a vampire or at least someone who used to be a vampire. “You’ll have to work around her school schedule, of course. She recently enrolled in high school. Isn’t that right, Ingrid? Prom, football games, pimples and all that fun teenage stuff,” Veronica lied.
“Yes, that’s right. I start
George Washington High on Monday.” Ingrid rose and brushed off her knees, going along with it. Betty wouldn’t own every hour.
“Why in the world would you want to go back to high school?” Betty sniffed, pushing Jenny back onto the couch.
“Because I’ve never been. I missed out on a lot of things because of Desmond. So did my Mom.”
“The only thing your mom missed out on was incontinence and a nursing home. Am I right?” Betty smiled smugly.
“When would you like for me to start?” Ingrid grabbed her phone from the end table.
“Give me a week with Mr. Cook to figure out a schedule. Truth is, I only really need you for my deliveries on Saturdays. No exceptions. There will be no sick days or homecoming dances. If you’re not there, I have to push people off of the Golden Gate and that’s just a giant pain in my ass. Are we good?”
“Yep.” Ingrid flashed her mom a look that indicated they were one step closer to becoming even.
“Now that that’s resolved, I have a question for you.” The truth, or lack of the truth, was gnawing away at Veronica’s insides. “Why did Maynard want to eat Desmond’s heart?”
“Mom,” Ingrid rolled her eyes.
Betty stood. “Because he was stupid and gullible. Kind of like you.” She caressed Veronica’s cheek. “He wanted to be one of us so badly, he could taste it. I just can’t believe he was dumb enough to actually do it.” She slid her leather clutch onto her arm. “I tell you, ignorance is one thing, but desperate and dumb is a lethal combination. It’s probably a good thing you killed him.”
“So, you lied to him?” Veronica clutched her hand into a fist. “What is it with you people? All you do is lie.” She straightened her fingers and smoothed them on her pants.
“If you spot it, you got it,” Jenny interjected.
“Shut it, Jenny, before I rip your thorax out and shit down your neck.” Veronica’s nostril’s flared.
“Well, this has been fun, but I have people to eat.” Betty strode across the room.
“Aren’t you tired of it?” Veronica called after her. “I know I sure as fuck am. I’m tired of the hiding and the running and the lying. We could have avoided this whole bullshit situation if you hadn’t lied to Maynard.”
“Yes, dear. I lied to him. But that’s all in the past now. Let’s move forward, shall we?” She pulled out her phone and swiped at the screen, keeping her eyes fixed on Veronica. “Would you like to know how to tell when I’m lying to you, Ms. Bouchard?” She raised the phone above her head and smiled. “My lips are moving.”
After Betty and her Chanel No. 5 departed the apartment, the three women remained silent. Veronica didn’t know what to say to her daughter. They’d been estranged for so long. While she was grateful for her sacrifice, she was simultaneously resentful of the withholding of information. Her life would have been so much more pleasant had she known about the sun.
“Are you going to be okay?” Veronica scooched closer to Ingrid on the sofa. “Because…”
“Mom. I’ll do it. It’s no big deal.”
But it was, and Veronica knew it. There wasn’t time to ruminate on regrets and personal debts. Veronica wanted to get to North Dakota before she changed her mind.
20
“So where on earth did you get the drugs, Jenny? You didn’t get them at the airport, did you?” Veronica adjusted the seat of Desmond’s meticulously maintained vehicle and glanced at her reflection in the rearview mirror. It was both satisfying and surprising to see her own eyes again.
“They were on me, but now they’re all gone. All gone.” Jenny’s voice trailed off into a yawn. She reclined her seat.
“If they were on you, how did you get them through airport security? Those machines can see everything, and if I were a TSA agent, you would be the first person I would pat down.” Veronica didn’t really care about the origin of the drugs; she was just trying to kill some time on the drive to North Dakota. After checking the GPS on the car’s dash for the third time, it was apparently going to be at least a thirty-hour haul to Pembina at the tip of the Canadian border.
“Okay officer, you got me. My rehab stash was in a hollowed-out tampon in my vajiggles. Can I go to sleep now?” Jenny stuffed her balled-up sweatshirt under her head, curled into a fetal position and closed her eyes.
Veronica had been desperate for Jenny to shut up earlier, but now all she wanted to do was keep her talking. Anything to keep from being alone with her thoughts. “How can you possibly sleep after snorting amphetamines? I’d be awake for days. I take that back, I’m always awake. Maybe that stuff would make me sleep.”
“Ya know, crazy shit might happen to you every day in vampire land, but yesterday was pretty fucking bonkers.” With half-closed, bloodshot eyes, Jenny peered up at Veronica. “Do you think I’m going to go to hell for killing that dude?”
“No, I don’t.” Her voice softened. “Jenny, you were defending me, and I think anyone would agree that he deserved it.” She tapped her short nails on the steering wheel. “And If I were you, I wouldn’t worry too much about the afterlife. Judging by the traffic on this bridge, I think we’re already in hell.” Veronica turned on the radio and hit the scanner.
“Summer of 69” blared from the stereo. The tempting image of bleeding fingers like little warm popsicles popped into Veronica’s mind.
“God, I wish I had some weed.” Jenny stretched in her seat like a cat in the sun.
Before she could bite one of Jenny’s fingers, the station changed. “Young Blood” played by some dastardly DJ. Oh my god. Yes! Jenny’s blood was young and iron rich and she was right there! It would be so easy. And she would taste so good. “I don’t think God assists in the procurement of drugs. And since you’re clean out of money, you’re kind of SOL if you’re planning to do any shopping at the doobie department store.”
“This song is gross.” Jenny pressed the scan button.
It landed on the opening of Foreigner’s “Hot Blooded,” its pounding rhythm pulsing from the car’s speakers.
“Don’t call it doobie. You sound like my health science teacher, and he was beyond stupid. And just so you know, God, Buddha, Allah, or whatever star you wish on, works in mysterious ways. I’ve seen like five different cars with people smoking chronic in the past ten minutes. I’m a young chick with low standards and even lower self-esteem. I don’t need money to score weed.”
The scanner switched to a distant, scratchy “Sunday Bloody Sunday.” What day of the week was it?
“Eh, please don’t go there. I don’t want to hear about it.” Veronica flipped off the radio, looked up at the sprawling bridge and the cars that sandwiched her. “Burning Man or Bust” was scrawled in pink paint on the back window of the dented junker in front of them. “Why aren’t we moving? It’s noon on a Friday. Don’t people work in this town?”
“I think it might be Labor Day or something.” Jenny grabbed the worn Pikachu from her backpack and snuggled it to her chest.
Veronica looked down at Jenny’s tiny body; a rush of maternal protectiveness came over her. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you when we stop for gas.” She reached over and rubbed her arm, wishing it were Ingrid’s.
“How long will that be?”
“If you want to stay alive, don’t even start with that line of questioning.” Out of curiosity, Veronica peered down at the gas level. Full tank. “It will be about three hours, maybe more.” Eyeing the bumper to bumper cars and the jovial passengers they contained wasn’t helping her state of mind. She wanted to remain somewhat hopeful and positive, but the enormity of the task ahead and the humility it would require weighed on her. She sighed heavily, hoping to arouse Jenny’s sympathy. But the young woman she chose over her own flesh and blood simply snored her indifference into the worn upholstery of her seat.
Traffic inched all the way from San Francisco to Nevada. As Jenny lay comatose in her seat, a parade of odd cars and odder people were making their way to something called “Burning Man.” Veronica h
ad never heard of such a thing, but almost every person at every gas station was either part of the strange gridlock pilgrimage or else complaining about it. Standing in line at the 76, she selected random items for Jenny, guessing according to what Frank usually asked her to smuggle into the movies: Twinkies, beef jerky, Raisinettes, Gatorade, spearmint gum and a jumbo box of Hot Tamales. But Jenny never roused from her slumber.
Without anyone to talk to, Veronica blazed through Idaho and Montana with the cruise control set to 82. Jenny managed to zombie walk into a few gas stations to relieve her bladder but returned to her comatose state in the car. Not even her ringing phone could arouse her.
Don’t wanna be an American idiot
Don’t want a nation under the new mania…
Veronica didn’t feel compelled to grope around the passenger seat to find and silence the annoying ringtone. More than likely, it was the rehab facility, and neither of them was in any state to address Jenny’s “no show” status.
Don’t wanna be an American idiot
Don’t want a nation under the new mania…
And that was the irregular, gratingly repetitive soundtrack to Veronica’s drive, all through the flat expanse of North Dakota.
Don’t wanna be an American idiot
Don’t want a nation under the new mania…
Feeling like quite the martyr for all the miles she’d travelled in the last twenty-nine hours, Veronica pulled into the lot of the Pembina Motor Lodge Motel.
Don’t wanna be an American—
Veronica had had enough. She dug in the side pocket of Jenny’s backpack to mute the damn thing—and accidentally thumbed the green button.
Senator Jimbo Pearson’s bloated face and shellacked hair appeared on its screen. “Jennifer Ann Pearson, where in the world are you?” His thick Texas twang boomed in Veronica’s ear.
“I’m sorry, but you have the wrong number.” Veronica turned the power off and dropped the phone in her own purse. She’d seen enough true crime shows to know that the surrounding cellphone towers would eventually give Jenny’s location away. But only if they were looking.
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