The Vampire Henry

by Walker, Michael S.

  “’Cause there’s a great bout going on tonight. Out at the Veteran’s Memorial. Sanchez versus Trinity. Middleweights. Sanchez is gonna tear it up. Should be a great fight. And I have some extra tickets…” he says, hopefully.

  Sara looks at me. I scowl back.

  “No Juan. We already have plans tonight. Going to have to pass this time,” I say.

  Juan looks at me. Looks at Sara. I can almost hear every single thought that flashes in his grubby little mind. “How can I steal this assholes woman? How can I steal this assholes woman? How can I…”

  “You’re such an asshole, Henry,” he says.

  “There may be some truth in that, Juan,” I growl.

  “How ‘bout you, Sara? You wanna ditch this asshole and come to the fights with me?”

  Sara smiles at him, laughs.

  “It’s very nice of you, Juan. Maybe some other time,” she says. I can practically see Juan’s cock twitching in his pants.

  “OK, Juan. Hate to cut this short but we’ve got dinner plans,” I say, going to shut the door on him.

  “Ha ha. That’s funny. I didn’t think you ate anything, Henry.”

  As soon as the door is shut, I turn on Sara.

  “What the fuck was that all about?” I shout.

  “What the fuck was what all about?” I can’t believe it. She’s genuinely bewildered.

  “You know god damned well. You and Juan.”

  “What?”

  “You were flirting with that Mexican. Giving him a hard on.” I storm into the living room, go looking for a cigarette.

  “Yeah, I saw that,” she says. “But I wasn’t doing anything. I was just being nice to the guy.”

  “So…did you have to dress like that to be nice to him?” I say, waving my hand at the borrowed shirt.

  “I can’t believe this. You’re jealous.”

  I am jealous. She’s right. Very jealous. And I’ve never experienced this emotion before. Not with Debra. Not with Emily. Certainly not with…anyone else. And I don’t like it.

  “No, I’m not.” I go over to the radio, flip it on angrily. Beethoven’s Eroica comes booming out of the tiny speaker.

  “Yes, you are. Look, I wasn’t flirting with that guy. I was just being nice to him, OK? Like I said, Mexican food gives me gas.”

  “Ha. Well did you have to come downstairs dressed like that? Showin’ all that fuckin’ leg? I don’t think Juan’s been laid since he got out of Mexico.”

  She comes over to where I am kneeling by the radio, places her hands on my shoulders.

  “Look, Henry, I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. My clothes were downstairs, remember? I just put on the first thing I could find.”

  “Why didn’t you just stay upstairs in bed?” I huff.

  Later, we drive through the streets, on our way to get a drink. I’m still pissed at her about the whole Juan thing. Stupid, but I am.

  Now everything she does irritates me. The way she keeps playing with the Iron Cross, like it was a mobile hanging above a baby’s crib or something. The way she keeps fiddling with the radio, trying to find some music that she likes. The way she drums her long fingers on the glass of the passenger window. I grit my teeth in silence and drive.

  “Look, are you gonna be like this all night?” she says, not looking at me. Drumming.

  “Maybe. I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To get a drink.”

  “I know. But where?”

  “You’ll see.”

  “I wish you wouldn’t be like this. It’s stupid. I wasn’t flirting with the guy. Just so you know.”

  I continue to drive. There’s a full moon tonight, so bright it’s surrounded by a cloudy halo of light. Beautiful. I stare at it as much as I can. There are poems in that moon to be mined. Certainly. I look over at Sara. She’s actually dressed pretty conservatively right now in a pair of jeans and a pullover gray sweater. I guess she doesn’t want to look too provocative in case I decide to flash jealousy again. I feel a pang of guilt.

  “She doesn’t deserve this,” I think. I am about to reach a hand over, pat her on the thigh, do my best to make up, when she lets out a hiss and slinks down in her seat.

  “Sara? What is it?”

  “Drive,” she urges me. “Turn here or something.”

  “What is it?” She’s completely panicked. She’s starting to freak me out.

  “Serling. Serling…” she says. “He’s ahead of us.”

  I look ahead of us and a giant Winnebago RV has pulled out into traffic, made a turn from Summit St. and is now about a block ahead of us. A shiny new behemoth. Could it really be…?

  “Turn, Henry…turn,” Sara whispers. She has her eyes closed as if she could, just by shutting them, will the giant vehicle away.

  “Maybe it isn’t…”

  “It is. Can you just get off this road, please?”

  So I turn my truck off of High Street--the main road we were taking south--and head down a side street flanked by brick duplexes. The full man hangs low on the horizon, like an oasis of white, beckoning us toward it.

  I pull the truck over to the curb. Take Sara in my arms. She’s shaking.

  “Are you OK? Maybe it wasn’t…”

  “It was him, Henry. I’m sure of it. I memorized his license plate first time he let me out. Oh Henry, I thought he was long gone.” She starts to cry.

  I hold her for a long time. Until she calms down.

  “So? He abandoned you Sara. So what if he’s still hanging around? Doesn’t mean shit.”

  She purses her lips thoughtfully. Stares at me.

  “I don’t know, Henry. It just…scares me. That’s all.”

  I hold her some more. Stroke her hair. Tell her that it’s going to be OK. That everything is going to be OK. But there’s a tiny pit of fear in my stomach that just won’t go away.

  Chapter Seventeen

  We go to the Greyhound Bus station. I come here occasionally to hunt because a bus is usually the way the poor, the crazies, the indigent get around this asshole country of ours. The ones who are already close to being invisible. The ones that, like I said, I prefer to drain.

  Sara’s sitting next to me, in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs they have in here. She’s watching some stupid sitcom on a coin-operated television--the TV’s attached by a metal arm to the chair. She seems to be OK now--in fact she’s laughing at the show like it’s the funniest damn thing since the Marx Brothers.

  Amazing.

  “You’re probably right, Henry,” she said to me as we entered the terminal. “What the hell do I care if Serling is hanging around here? Maybe the hunting is good for him here.”

  “Still, it would be better if he moved on,” I replied. “If he’s as careless as you say he is…well, that might not be good.”

  But she seems to have forgotten all about him now.

  About three spaces down from us, two women are having an animated conversation with each other. I think they are a mother and daughter. They are both swathed head to foot in black bhurkas. Chatting in Arabic or something like that. I imagine what it would be like to unwrap them both, like early Christmas presents, and sink my fangs into their dusky necks.

  As if Sara were reading my thoughts, she pulls herself out of her show, nudges me in the ribs, and cocks her head toward my Middle-Eastern beauties.

  “What about them?” she whispers.

  I shake my head slowly. Who knows the connections there? All we need is Islamic Jihad to come down on our vampire asses.

  And then, she steps off a bus arriving from Pittsburgh, PA. And she is perfect.

  She looks to be about eighteen or so, maybe older. Dyed blond hair (the black starting to grow back again in streaks.) High cheekbones, almost like Sara’s. Violet eyes. She’s wearing a faded jean jacket, tight jeans. She has an olive-green duffel bag slung over one slight shoulder. She looks lost, almost panicked. I sense immediately that the city is new to her. And that n
o one is coming to pick her up.

  No one that is except…

  Now it’s my turn to nudge Sara. She looks up, her eyes following me toward the new arrival.

  “She’s lovely, Henry,” Sara whispers. “But so young. Do you think...?”

  “Why don’t you go introduce yourself?” I say. “Looks like she might need a friend tonight.”

  “Don’t you want to come too?”

  “Not…not just yet. Don’t wanna overwhelm her.” To tell you the truth, I’m not exactly confident about Sara and I hunting together. Two vampires turning on the charm all at once. The poor girl might explode right here in the Greyhound Bus Terminal. Besides, it’s fun to watch Sara do it all on her own.

  “She’s a little thing. Not much blood in her,” Sara pouts, getting up from her chair.

  “I know. I know. But it will be all right.”

  Sara gives me a quick peck on the cheek and starts across the terminal to where the girl is standing, clutching the strap on her duffel bag for dear life. The bus she was on hasn’t even emptied out yet. As usual, I watch Sara’s beautiful ass bounce as she walks away from me. She’s turning it all on now, as she approaches the girl, and the indolent sway of her butt as she prowls is thrilling to watch. Electric.

  And then, Sara is talking to the girl. And just like in that club, the transformation is startling--the way her eyes flash red, suggestive punctuation marks, grace notes of lust soaring above everything she says. And the girl is helpless, of course. Immediately in Sara’s power. She stands there nodding, her mouth slack, her eyes transfixed as Sara talks to her, leans in toward her, touches her shoulder with long fingers. Every time Sara touches her, the girl seems to vibrate a little, as if mini orgasms were rocketing her body. I can see it from here with my vampire eyes. It’s as sexy as hell.

  And then Sara is leading the young thing back across the terminal and toward me. I am out of my seat in a second.

  “Henry, this is Mary Ann,” Sara says. An announcer comes over a PA and in a wormy voice announces a bus leaving for Gary, Indiana. A bus leaving for hell.

  “Hello,” I say, turning it on myself.

  On the ride back to my place, Mary Ann tells us her story, sandwiched between Sara and myself. It’s sad, of course. As all stories seem to be these days.

  “I’m from Lancaster, CA,” she says. “You ever hear of it?”

  “No,” I say. But the name seems to be ringing a bell. Lancaster, CA? Lancaster, CA? Did I ever kill anybody from Lancaster, CA? Sounds like the title of some perverse song or something. But no, I don’t remember.

  “It’s the armpit of the fucking universe,” Mary Ann says.

  “That bad huh?” Sara clucks. She has one hand resting casually, protectively on Mary Ann’s plump thigh. I can’t wait to get these two home and see what happens.

  “Shit, yeah,” Mary Ann replies. “Nothin’ but strip malls and slag heaps. Nothin’ to do there but drink, smoke weed, and have sex.”

  We all laugh at that.

  “So what brings you here?” I ask.

  “A bus. Ha. No. I had to get the fuck out. I couldn’t stand livin’ with my mom and her fag boyfriend for another second.”

  “Fag boyfriend?” I say.

  “Well, he’s always braggin’ that he’s bisexual. But I’ve never seen anybody swish as much as that motherfucker. Anyway, he moved in with mom and me about a month ago. Started actin’ like he was my fuckin’ father. And that ain’t all.”

  “Yes?” Sara says.

  “Well…” she blushes. “He was always comin’ in the room when I was on the computer. When mom was at work. And askin’ me stuff. Like, do I ever go to porn sites? Do I masturbate? Do I shave my pussy? Stuff like that. I’d tell him to get the hell out. Told him I was gonna tell on his skanky ass. But I’m sure Mom wouldn’t have believed me. She was just happy to finally have a man in her life.”

  “So, you finally ran away?” I say.

  “Well…I met this guy on the Internet. He lives in New Jersey. I’m goin’ there…to be with him.”

  Red flags there, I think. What if this guy tries to find out what happened to her? Manages to trace the bus route she took to here. What if…?

  “When was the last time you talked to him?” I ask, casually.

  “Yesterday, on my cell. When I was in Chicago. And then I lost my fuckin’ phone. I think I left it in a toilet stall. Story of my fuckin’ life…Hey, do you mind if I play the radio?”

  “Sure, go ahead,” I nod.

  She leans over and flips the truck’s radio on, starts punching the buttons looking for a station. Of course, she isn’t a classical buff.

  “Don’t you think your Mom’s gonna miss you?” Sara asks.

  Mary Ann laughs. A contemptuous little snort more than a laugh.

  “Her? Nah. The only thing’s she’s gonna miss is the disability checks I bring in.”

  “Disability?” Sara says.

  “Yeah. I can’t work. I’ve got this bi-polar disorder. One minute I’m up, the next I’m really down. Supposed to be taking meds for it. They make me all fuzzy.”

  “I know what that’s like too,” Sara says. “I have something similar.”

  “Yeah?” Mary Ann says. She’s finally settled on a radio station. A lead electric guitar sends a fast flurry of notes careening around the cab of my pickup. Sound and fury signifying NOTHING.

  “Yeah,” Sara says, quietly.

  “You know…I liked you right away,” Mary Ann says, turning toward Sara. “You remind me of my friend Cherry back home. She has red hair just like yours. Maybe…not as beautiful, though.”

  “Thank you,” Sara says, smiling at her.

  The full moon is back in my windshield again. I stare at it as I drive and it stares back at me. I can see the man in the moon there, winking at me.

  We take Mary Ann to an all-night waffle house and get her some chili, a milkshake. It’s a thrill to watch her eat, to watch her neck quiver and pulse as she devours the food. There’s not much blood in her for two vampires, it’s true. May have to top off the night with a few pints of bagged blood as well. But the hunt is partially about the blood and partially about the buzz I get from donning someone else’s soul for a few precious minutes. Nothing in life (or death) quite matches it.

  After she finishes eating, she steals one of my cigarettes and sits in the booth smiling, looking sleepy and contented.

  “Wow. Thanks. You two are so awesome. I didn’t know what I was gonna do. Don’t really have much money on me. Just enough to get to Jimmy’s…”

  “Jimmy?” I say.

  “My guy. In New Jersey. Hey, does anybody got a cell phone? I should probably call him. Tell him I’m all right.”

  Sara shakes her head. I stare at Mary Ann, boring down into her soul, making her forget Jimmy with the intensity of my vampire gaze.

  “You can call him from our house…” I say.

  Sara and Mary Ann are on my bed, naked, kissing each other. Mary Ann is murmuring nothings into Sara’s mouth, her hands moving like jittery little animals through Sara’s fiery hair. Sara brushes her fingers against Mary Ann’s tiny breasts, making the poor thing quiver helplessly each time she does. I’m standing next to the bed, just content to watch right now. But thirst is getting the upper hand.

  “Henry…” Sara whispers, as she kisses her way up from Mary Ann’s breasts to her soft pink neck.

  I take off my boxer shorts, the only thing I am wearing at the moment. My cock is completely rigid, but sex is going to have to wait for now. I get on the bed. It is an uncomfortable fit really for the three of us, like a tiny life raft with three naked shipwrecked survivors it, but we manage. I don’t even think Mary Ann is even aware that I am there, she’s so immersed in the bubble of pleasure that Sara is building for her with her fingers and her tongue.

  I crouch on the bed at Mary Ann’s plump thighs, admiring the roses there, the shiny new skin above treasure. My tongue moves involuntarily in my mouth, scraping ag
ainst the sharp points of my canine teeth. I bring a hand to one of those thighs, making languid circles against her flesh. Testing the waters. Sara is kissing Mary Ann’s mouth now and she sighs, sounding as if her soul were already splitting for the ether.

  And then, I sink my fangs into her leg, fixing on her femoral artery. I have never done this before and it’s messy. I tear at the skin to get there. The blood gushes everywhere as I drink.

  Another sigh from Mary Ann. This time, the very last.

  Sara has sunk her fangs into Mary Ann’s neck and is drinking too. It’s so great. I can feel our three hearts intertwining as it happens. Two growing stronger and one fading, like a battery slowly running down. And of course, Mary Ann’s life flashes before my eyes as the girl expires. I can see her mom, this middle-aged woman with dark sad eyes and a downturned mouth. Works in a factory eight hours a day putting wires inside cable casings. And the boyfriend: sandy-haired, prancing about in a kilt of all things. Letting the mom support him. Thinking the world owes him that or something. And her friend, Cherry was it? A redhead, certainly, but nowhere near as beautiful as Sara. Mary Ann did lie about one thing or omit one thing actually. She did have sex with the boyfriend before she left. Always trying to find a modicum of that thing called love. That precious resource, going…going…

  Gone.

  All too quickly, it is over. There is no more to drink. There is no more Mary Ann. So long, Mary Ann. I detach from her body and kiss my way up the corpse, anxious to kiss Sara, to bask in the afterglow of our first real kill together.

  To make love to her once again.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It’s been raining for three days straight now. Magnificent, I think. I lie in bed in the morning and there’s the rain to lull me to sleep, falling in harsh whispers against the roof tiles. It reminds me of a line from a song that Emily used to listen to all the time, when I was with her in San Diego: “London is drowning and I, I live by the river…” Or something like that. I really dug that song. It was both desolate and defiant at the same time.