Only the Lonely

by Susan Gabriel

  “I’ve heard about the bodies,” he said. “But I swear we didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “Well, you did frighten and threaten me the other night, so naturally, I assumed…”

  From the corner of her eye, she saw the others exchange furtive glances.

  “Threaten? Yeah, I guess we did do that.” Marcus fidgeted. “I’m awful thirsty…anyone else thirsty?” he asked to no one in particular. He motioned to the bartender for another round.

  Good, his throat was dry. That meant she was getting somewhere.

  Summer scrunched up her nose flirtatiously. “You’re kind of a big bully, aren’t you?” Her hand squeezed his leg as she baby-talked, “Wanna tell me why you were being such a big bully to me? I’m not so bad, am I?”

  Marcus resembled a scolded school boy. He began to nervously shake his leg from side to side, his jeans rustling against the top of his boot.

  “I’m sorry for that. The community was talking after you showed up here the other night. After all, you are a Perceiver, and that kind of set some nerves on edge. To make it worse, you were with Lucien.”

  What an odd thing to say, she thought.

  “Lucien? How does Lucien make it worse?” Marcus cleared his throat. The tension at the table was palpable. “Lucien is sort of a loner.” Marcus explained. “He has this ‘history’ with females, well, vampire females anyway. I’ll just say that he has made the rounds of the local vampginas. But he never sticks around for long, which is no big deal to any of us.”

  He looked at his friends, shrugging his shoulders and laughing nervously. “I mean who cares who he bones and disowns, right?”

  The boys nodded in agreement.

  “Yeah, who cares?” echoed Dodger.

  “But the women,” he continued, his head shaking from side to side, “they never wanna forget him, and that’s where the problems come in.”

  Summer squirmed uncomfortably in her chair. It wasn’t easy hearing about Lucien’s exploits with other women. She kept reminding herself that they were in the past and had nothing to do with her. Still, the pattern Marcus described was disturbing.

  “We all like a little pussy now and then,” he grinned. “But when Lucien gets at it first, the girls don’t want anything to do with the rest of us. They’d rather sit on their twats for eternity, panting for him to throw some dick their way.”

  Summer’s stomach did a black flip at his remark. Scenes from the previous night flashed before her eyes, and she couldn’t help but wonder how many other women he had taken to those heights of passion.

  “So, knowing his pattern with women,” Marcus leaned back in his chair, his fingers casually playing with a stir stick, “and you being a Perceiver, we could predict where this was headed.”

  “And where exactly is this headed, in your opinion?” Summer asked curtly.

  “Duh,” Marcus mocked. “He has his fun, you go all ga-ga over him, he dumps you, and you seek revenge on vampires - a woman scorned and all that.”

  Well, that answered the question of their threatening attitude towards her. It was so simple; she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it herself. The information about Lucien was alarming, but that wasn’t why she was here. She had pretty much made up her mind about what she was going to do regarding the matter of Lucien.

  “You seem like a smart guy, Marcus.” She fished an ice cube from her drink. Holding the ice between her fingers, she sucked on it, making certain that he noticed her tongue playing with the hole in its center. “Do you think that Lucien could have anything to do with my ‘problem’ that we were discussing earlier?”

  “I, uh, I couldn’t really say.” Marcus evaded.

  Summer allowed the ice to slide from her fingers and drop between her cleavage. The boys’ eyes were as wide as a twelve year old’s looking at his daddy’s porn collection, as they watched her fingers fish around for the frozen cube.

  God, they were as easily distractible as a pile of puppies. She drew the ice from between her breasts and popped it into her mouth. Nitro’s drink slipped from his hand, landing upright on the table with a sloshing thud. He wiped at the spill with his sleeve.

  “Anything at all that you might know could really help me out.” Summer wasn’t certain if she was pouring it on too thickly. The rising bulge in Marcus’ pants confirmed that she had hit at least one of her marks.

  “I suppose it’s possible that he’s involved.” Marcus squirmed, attempting to adjust his jeans around his tell-tale boner. “Like I said, Lucien is a loner. I don’t know much about his habits, but dumping corpses in the river is not his style.” He paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Nah,” he said finally shaking his head, “no way would anyone find his kills unless he wanted them to be found. I don’t know if you realize it, but Lucien is an old and powerful vampire.”

  “Yeah, he’s as close to an ancient as we have in this city,” Nitro chimed in, a hint of pride in his voice.

  “He doesn’t need the safety of a group anymore.” Marcus sounded almost wistful when he said it.

  The awe Lucien’s name evoked in them was striking, and she wondered what she truly knew about Lucien. Perhaps they knew him better than she did, or perhaps no one really knew him at all.

  “Well, you have been very generous with me tonight.” Summer stood, flinging her jacket over one shoulder, her sheer blouse clinging to her breasts like cellophane. “I want to assure you that I am on your side. I do not intend to blow the whistle on vampires, no matter what happens between Lucien and me. You have my word. Do I have your word that you had nothing to do with the murders?” The Vicious Ones nodded in agreement, and she believed them. They were probably too stupid to plan anything so elaborate.

  “I guess I’m finished here, then.” Summer tossed a hundred dollar bill on the table. “Next round is on me, boys. Have a nice night.”

  Marcus grabbed her hand, flashing his fangs in a smile, “Why don’t you stick around for a while?”

  “I’d love to, honey, but I have something I have to do.”

  Like a Stake through the Heart

  Back at the loft, Summer removed her jacket, turned on the television and waited for Lucien.

  “Another body was pulled from the river today,” the reporter announced. “A man fishing downstream in Jefferson County reeled in an unexpected catch…”

  Summer snatched the remote and turned off the TV. It felt as if a tiny dwarf with a pickaxe was mining the veins in her skull. She decided to step into the shower and try to clear her mind.

  Of all of the features in her loft, she loved her shower the most. It had cost her dearly, but the glass-enclosed, double-sized unit, with sixteen adjustable full body showerheads, was her favorite spot. She could adjust the spray from a fine rainforest mist all the way up to powerful pummeling jets.

  Tonight, she chose to turn the showerheads on full blast. The steam rose, filling the room with a dense vapor. Closing her eyes, she stood on the tiles, allowing the pulsating jets to hammer her weary muscles. The tension dissolved from her body and disappeared in soapy rivulets down the drain. She mentally rehearsed what she was going to say to Lucien, and hoped she had the gut for it.

  The thought of him weakened her, and she wondered if her resolve could sustain the sight of him. That is, if she even saw him tonight.

  With a sigh of half-hearted conviction, she turned off the shower. The voice of Humphrey Bogart came from beyond the bathroom door. She must have left the TV on, she reasoned. “I was born when you kissed me. I died when you left me. I lived a few weeks while you loved me,” she heard Bogie lisp as she towel-dried her hair. She wrapped her body with a towel and stepped through the door into her bedroom, the steam from the bath rushing through the opening in a thick fog.

  Through the mist she made out the form of Lucien, lying nude on his stomach across her bed, chin planted into his palms, as he watched television. His boyish ass was as round and white as the moon hanging outside the window.

  Sh
e found that his sudden appearances no longer stunned her. In fact, she had grown to expect them.

  He rolled to face her, propping his head in his hand. His penis lay unapologetically flaccid on his thigh. “You know what?” he chirped as casual-as-you-please. “I believe I like your place better than mine!”

  The bottom dropped out of Summer’s stomach as she looked at him there, all grinning and lively, knowing that she was about to rain on his parade.

  “No, really,” he went on, apparently not noticing the distress on her face. “Your place is quite modern. I like it. In fact, I’m thinking of tossing out my old things and getting with the times.” He smiled broadly. “What do you think?”

  “What do I think?” she repeated, sinking into a chair. Oh, Christ this was going to be even harder than she thought. Why did he have to look so damned happy? She felt like such a heartless bitch. Squaring her shoulders, she took a breath and uttered the four words most feared by men, “We have to talk.”

  ***

  Lucien waited impatiently in the living room. His fingers drummed the arm of the chair, his mind raced trying to piece together the source of her concern, but his thoughts came up as empty as his attempts to read her had.

  With each moment that he waited for her, a little wire of tension drew within him. Perhaps she was angry because he put her in her own bed last night, but woe to the sleep-vulnerable vampire in the presence of a mortal, no matter how trusted or beautiful she might be. There was more than one way to lose your head over a girl.

  At last, she entered the room, her hair wet and sleek, her body swallowed up by the plush white robe that she wore. It reminded him of a butterfly encased in a wooly cocoon, although it was lifetimes ago since he’d seen one.

  “Now, what’s this about, mon petite?” he asked coaxingly. “Lucien,” she began, her arms folded across her chest. “Corpses are being pulled from the river every day. They’re multiplying like a school of fish!” His eyes followed her as she paced back and forth across the room.

  “Every one of them is wearing an Only the Lonely T-shirt that I signed.” She turned, fixing him with a basilisk stare. “Don’t you find that just a little bit strange, because I sure do.”

  He pondered what on earth she was getting at, and as two and two began coming together, he didn’t like what they were adding up to.

  “Twenty-four hours after I meet you, my fans start turning into the dearly departed.” She threw her hands into the air, the overgrown sleeves of her robe dropping to her elbows. “I’m sorry, Lucien, but I can no longer ignore the coincidence,” she said, adding air quotes to the word “coincidence.”

  He couldn’t believe his own ears. Was he really going to have to defend himself against her silly accusations? She was playing detective, and he was one of the usual suspects. He wasn’t shocked, just bitterly disappointed.

  “Summer, are you saying that you actually think I have something to do with this?”

  She paused, her gaze sweeping some unseen point in the distance.

  “Yes, Lucien, I do,” she said finally. The notion that she would confront him with this allegation after their night together was as painful as if she’d driven a stake into his heart, and felt just as fatal. Like a cornered cat, Lucien felt his hackles rise.

  “Summer, this is ludicrous,” his voice bellowed. He sprang to his feet and paced the room. Summer scurried out of his way, perching on a bar stool, her jaw set with determination.

  “First of all,” he raised a finger to the air, looking directly into her eyes. “Your friend Bob was a Perceiver. Did you know that Perceivers risk their lives every time they are discovered?” “I-I didn’t realize…” she trailed off wordlessly, her lips still parted in mid-sentence.

  “Some vampires make a sport out of hunting down Perceivers, and Bob just announces it over the airwaves. He might as well have put a sign on his back that said Bite Me.” Lucien pumped his fingers mimicking flashing lights.

  “What about the others, Lucien?” Summer folded her arms across her chest, her chin raised in challenge. “If you can come up with an explanation, believe me, I would love to hear it.”

  “Honestly, I don’t know about the others. I’m sure that I have fewer clues than the police do.” Lucien braced his arms on the back of the sofa, leaning his body in Summer’s direction. ”Speaking of the police, why don’t you stop bumbling around like Inspector Clouseau and allow the police to do their jobs?” he asked, mockingly. The set of her face had rage written all over it as she sprung from her seat as if she’d backed into a cactus.

  “The police!” she shrieked, tossing her arms in the air.

  He felt her agitation from across the room, and he kept one eye on her hands in case she decided to chuck something at his head.

  “I’m supposed to just sit idly by while someone is sending a message that is obviously meant for me? The fucking cops haven’t even called to talk to me!” She marched from one end of the room to the other, as the words spit from her mouth. “They are my callers…my T-shirts…and I am the one that is hiding out like some damn low-life criminal.”

  “I still don’t understand what this has to do with me,” he pleaded. Didn’t she see that she was making the facts fit her conclusion, instead of the other way around?

  “You’re a vampire, a fucking murderer, for Chrissakes!” The crimson blush on her face was the color of fresh blood. “And you just happened to appear in my life at exactly the time that bodies started to drift to shore.”

  “I do not murder,” Lucien insisted, the insult hotly burning in his chest. “I hunt.”

  Summer stared wide-eyed with a look of incredulity. “What’s the fucking difference?” she asked smartly.

  His rage bubbled up like noxious green acid.

  “What’s the difference, you ask me?” he growled. “Ignorance,” he roared at her. “Ignorance is the fucking difference!”

  Summer backed into the safety of the armchair, and drew her knees up to her chest. Lucien moved to the window, putting some space between them. He hadn’t meant to frighten her. A lump of regret formed in his throat, and he swallowed it down whole. His eyes scanned the darkened waterfront.

  The surface of the Mississippi was smooth as glass tonight, reflecting the silvery moon like a mirror. But deep beneath the calm surface, the currents violently twisted and churned…like the Beast within him. Lucien stared out the window, the glass reflected Summer’s image, but not his.

  “I know humans like to think they are at the top of the food chain,” he said quietly. “But what if they are not? What if there is something in the shadow that is stronger, faster, and smarter?” He saw her reflection move as she raised her head, looking at him with narrowed eyes. He turned to face her.

  “I am that something,” he said, locking his gaze to hers.

  She didn’t say anything for a moment, and then she replied with pursed lips, “But it’s still killing, all the same.”

  “Yes, I kill - the lion kills, the falcon kills - and I kill!” he cried. “What would you have me do? I - have - no - choice!” he wailed, as he slid to the floor.

  She rushed to him, dropping on one knee. Her hair was dry now, soft and wispy, and he wanted to bury his face in the gold of it.

  “Try to understand,” she cajoled. “If you were me, what would you be thinking?”

  She would never comprehend. How could she comprehend? It was like a guppy trying to understand a shark. He rested the back of his head against the cool window glass, a sigh of frustration hissing from his lungs, like air through a leaking lifeboat.

  “For starters,” he raised his hands in emphasis, “how about your average, everyday American-made serial killer - has that possibility crossed your mind, or have you just decided that Lucien the vampire is guilty without a trial?”

  He searched her eyes for an answer, finding sorrow there and something else. Grief?

  “Doesn’t what we’ve shared mean anything to you at all? Have I just been a curious
diversion?”

  He wasn’t certain he wanted to hear the truth, and as he awaited her answer, Dread crept in on silent paws; it kneaded his flesh and then curled into a ball on his chest. Summer turned away, her shoulders jerking up and down as she made small sniffling sounds. Lucien looked on helplessly as she attempted to regain composure. Try as he might, he could not examine her thoughts.

  After a moment, she turned to him, her cheeks stained with tears which she hurriedly brushed from her face.

  His arms reached to enfold her, to comfort her, but she eluded his grasp, rebuffing his embrace and rising abruptly to her feet, and as she did Dread rose from its slumber. It stretched and yawned, sharpening its claws on his bones.

  “There’s something else that I need to tell you.” She swallowed hard, swiping her tongue across her lips. “I think we have to stop seeing each other, and not just because of the killings.” She turned her back to him, and as he sat in the chill of her shadow, Lucien felt the frosty fingers of isolation snatching at him, pulling him into its emptiness.

  “I am starting to have feelings for you - genuine, powerful feelings.”

  Turn to me, he willed, directing the silent request at her mind, but she would not, and Dread kissed him on the mouth, smothering him like a succubus, and thieving the air from his lungs.

  “What if I’m falling in love with you?” She walked further from him, and the inches might as well have been miles. With each step, he felt their connection grow weaker.

  “Fuck, I’ve never been in love before. How do I even know if it isn’t already happening? What then? You’re immortal and I’m…I’m not.” The news that she might love him should have brought him joy, but instead it hung over his head by a slender thread like the sword of Damocles, ready to drop at any minute and slice him in two.

  “Where does that leave us, Lucien?” She couldn’t even look at him.

  Here it comes, the inevitable end. He knew it before she even uttered another word. He knew it because he felt all the light go out inside of him, and he reclined there in the darkness of his misery, her words like daggers through his heart.