A Nighttime of Forever

by Matthew S. Cox

Well, okay so I am technically hugging a tree at the moment, but it’s because I’m hiding.

  I sigh. I’m so embarrassed it’s become funny. I’ve reached the eff-it point. All I can do is laugh at mys―what the hell?

  There’s a faint, vertical white line on my chest, a little ways onto my left breast. It’s about two inches tall and as thin as a hair. Kinda looks like a long-ago healed scar.

  “What the f―”

  The instant my fingertip touches it, the world goes black. A glint of metal flashes in the darkness, and a knife comes flying toward me. I snap back to reality with a startled shriek, clutching my chest and jumping away from my attacker. I land flat on my back and scramble away from the tree, like it’s a knife-wielding maniac.

  Nothing.

  No killer.

  No pain.

  No blood.

  Once the sudden panic of seeing a knife fades, I flop limp in the dirt. My bare skin glows even paler than the moon, stark against the mulch beneath me. Despite something chasing me earlier, this spot has a sense of quiet peace. With a sigh, I gaze straight up past the treetops at the stars. I should be panicking. I should be trying to find help, or at least not lying here doing nothing. The relief I feel at not having a man trying to kill me isn’t enough to dim the constant, needling worry that something is really quite wrong. It’s like I’ve walked into a room, forgotten why I did, and have ten seconds to remember or I’m going to die.

  “This is one effed up dream.”

  Transference

  4

  So, yeah. I’m lying on the forest floor like some wood nymph. I’m not sure what freaks me out more: that I’m just chillin’ here with no great urge to move, or that I’m trapped in a nightmare I can’t wake up from. Maybe I should make a skirt out of leaves and vines or something.

  And why am I still anxious, like I need to get out of the woods really damn soon?

  “Hello,” says a man.

  I gasp and curl up in a ball, scrambling to cover myself.

  Crunching footsteps circle around from behind me. I twist my head, peering up at a blond guy in a brown jacket and light pants. He comes to a stop a few feet in front of me, hands in his pockets and an amused smirk on his face.

  I clamp my right arm over my chest and guard parts unknown with my other hand. My hair’s covering half my face and my right eye, but I’m not letting go to fix it. Huddling on the ground in front of this guy is only making me feel more vulnerable, but I can’t make myself stand up. It takes all I have to maintain eye contact. My cheeks are practically on fire.

  He’s handsome in a teacher-I-shouldn’t-fantasize-about kinda way, probably in his mid-twenties. It’s still kinda weird to think about being eighteen and graduated… technically, it wouldn’t be weird to hook up with a grown man. Wait, yes it would. It just wouldn’t be illegal. And why did I just think about that?

  “Hello, Sarah?” asks the man.

  I lean back, shivering. How the hell does this guy know my name? “What do you want?”

  “First, please know that I’m not here to harm you in any way.”

  Argh. He’s got a British accent. I’m supposed to be having a nightmare, not one of those dreams. “Okay, I wasn’t expecting this.”

  “Expecting what?” asks the man, tilting his head.

  “Umm. This dream going from nightmare to… umm. Yeah.”

  The man tosses his head back and emits a clipped but genuine laugh. “Oh, you think you’re dreaming! I’m sorry, Sarah.” He crouches in front of me, arms draped over his knees, and pulls my hair off my face, tucking it behind my ear. “You aren’t dreaming.”

  “What?” I stare at him. “I have to be… I broke… I, uhh, scratched”―I rub a hand up and down my stomach, then catch myself and re-cover my breasts―“Uhh, flying!”

  “I’m afraid it’s not a dream.” He shakes his head.

  Indignant, I leap up to stand, glaring down at him with as much imperiousness as a girl wearing only her hands can muster. “You’re messing with me!”

  He sighs and rises to his feet in a slow, non-threatening manner. “Please try to relax and hear me out.”

  I stare at him. It’s really unsettling that he’s totally ignoring my lack of clothes. He’s not even staring at me.

  “Forgive me for being delayed. I had meant to meet you at the medical examiner’s office. Circumstances beyond my control interfered. By the time I got there, you’d already come to and disappeared.”

  “How did you find me?” I ask.

  “Oh, I’ve been following you ever since you ran across the street into the woods.”

  “What?” I’m so taken aback, I don’t realize my arms fall limp at my sides for a few seconds. With a faint squeak, I hastily cover myself again. “You’ve been following me for an hour and didn’t say anything?”

  He smiles.

  “Why?” I yell.

  “Curiosity. I’m rather impressed you worked out flying on your own. Usually takes newbies a couple weeks to even think of trying it.”

  I eye his coat. Suede or something… who wears a coat in June? This is T-shirt and shorts weather, even at night. “Newbie?”

  He bows his head. “Look, Sarah. I’m sorry I didn’t get there faster. If I could’ve stopped him, I would have… but I―”

  “Stopped who? What’s going on?” I forget myself again and gesture at him. “You expect me to believe this is real?”

  “As real as your bristols, hon.”

  “Bristols?”

  “Your tits.” He chuckles.

  I slap my arm back over them. “This is crazy!”

  “I rather hate to be the bearer of bad news, but… you’re dead.”

  My eyes narrow. “I’m going to kill her.”

  “Who?” asks the man.

  “Michelle. She set this up right? Some kind of huge senior prank.”

  Something about this guy’s presence changes, and I find myself staring, captivated and motionless as he takes a step closer and pulls my arm away from my chest. He pinches my wrist like he’s taking my pulse for a few seconds, then lets my arm fall limp at my side. The mesmerizing quality of his face breaks the instant his fingertip touches my chest over the thin, white line.

  “I could not watch a young woman suffer such a bad end. You’re still practically a child.”

  “I’m eighteen,” I mutter indignantly.

  The corners of his lips curl in a wan smile. “I’ve allowed myself to succumb to the sensibilities of the modern age. A woman your age would’ve once been married with a child by now.”

  “What. Happened. To. Me?” I’m too pissed to care if he’s checking out my boobs, and clench one fist at my side.

  “You’re dead, Sarah. But not.” He half steps back and gazes off into the trees. “A few days ago, I heard voices shouting in the woods. Curious, I made my way closer, but by the time I reached you, a young man had already plunged a knife of considerable size into your breast. From what I overheard, I believe you had caught the fellow being unfaithful and decided to rid yourself of his presence. He did not take it well.”

  I step back and gasp, both hands covering my mouth. “Scott?”

  His words trigger a flood of memories: catching my boyfriend of two years getting it on with Bree Swanson in the back of his car. After stewing over it for a week, I had intended to dump him, but I can’t remember doing it… and I can’t picture him stabbing me.

  “I… that’s… Why am I naked?”

  The man folds his arms. “Because the coroner’s staff removed your clothing.”

  “I’m not dead.”

  “No, you’re beyond dead.” He smiles. “Terribly sorry I wasn’t fast enough to stop the bloke before he did that, but I couldn’t abide a young lass meeting such an awful end, so I gave you the gift.”

  “Gift? You’re saying you what, like, resurrected me or something?”

  He pulls his jacket open and removes a small silver thermos. “In a manner of speaking, I suppose that’s
reasonably accurate.”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m a vampire… like you. You can call me Dalton.” He offers me the thermos. “Have a nip. You look a bit chilly.”

  “Bullshit.” I tentatively take it but don’t bring it any closer than arm’s length. “What’s this?”

  “Why don’t you give it a sniff and tell me? If you don’t like what you smell, don’t drink.”

  My eyes narrow. I stare at him for a while, but his irreverent smile never falters. Keeping my eyes on him, I unscrew the lid and hold the end near my nose.

  A flood of something like McDonald’s hits me, setting off an explosion of hunger. Before I know what I’m doing, I’ve got the thermos tilted all the way back, gulping down tepid liquid cheeseburger. It’s simultaneously disgusting and awesome. I mean, no one should ever make a smoothie this flavor. Drinking a Big Mac is so wrong. Once it’s empty, I lower it and glance sheepishly at Dalton.

  “Umm. Thorry.” I glance at the thermos and go wide-eyed at the sight of a droplet of blood running down the side. “Theriouthly?”

  What the hell is in my mouth getting in the way of my tongue?

  “I’m afraid so.” He purses his lips. “And don’t apologize. I expected you to drink all of it.”

  I reach up to my face, probing around my mouth with a finger at my… fangs. “I have fangth.”

  Dalton pulls back his lips, and his canine teeth grow out to small sabers for a second before they shrink back to normal. “We all do.”

  Unable to help myself, I lick the stray droplet off the side of the thermos. It takes a little concentration to talk past the shock of having giant canines. “Oh, thit… you weren’t kidding. I jutht like legit drank blood, didn’t I?”

  He nods, fighting a snicker, then reaches over and taps the scar on my chest twice. “That’s where he stabbed you. You’d already lost consciousness. The gift was the only way to save you.”’

  “Wait, tho vampireth are real?”

  “As real as you or I. And before you ask why everyone thinks it’s made up, we all possess some degree of ability to influence the minds of normal people.”

  I peer down at my chest and trace a finger over the scar. After being hit with ‘Hey, you’re a vampire,’ I’m unable to care at all about standing out here naked. It helps that Dalton’s so casual about it. I’m dead. Like… that bracelet wasn’t lying.

  Okay, it was―about my weight―but crap. “I’m dead.”

  “Not entirely. That scar will probably disappear in a few days. Might not. That’s the problem with doing the Transference after a mortal wound. Normally, a newbie gives up their mortal life during the Transference, but you’d already gone past that point.”

  A shiver takes me. I wrap my arms around myself and stare at the ground, ready to break down and sob like I’d been told Ashley or Michelle had died.

  “Hey.” Dalton caresses my cheek. “None of that. You’re not dead.”

  I peer up at him, lip quivering.

  “You’re not going anywhere for a long, long time. There’s no reason to be glum about it.”

  “I… can’t believe… vampireth are real.”

  “We are.” He pats my cheek twice and lets his arm drop away. “Buck up, lass. This is only the beginning of a wonderful new you. Think about it. How many thirty-something birds would kill to be eighteen again? You’ll never worry about that. What you see now is what you’ll have forever.”

  “How do you know I’m eighteen?” I wipe the starting tears out from the corners of my eyes.

  “Saw it on the bracelet. Made me feel a little better.”

  “Better? What, because I’m legal?”

  He chuckles. “When I first saw you, I thought you were a bit younger. See, I’m normally a wee bit of a bastard, but I get cheesed off when someone hurts kids.”

  “Oh.” I kick my toes into the dirt. “Thanks for trying.”

  “Trying?” asks Dalton.

  “To save me before I got killed.” I touch the scar again. Of course, I’m dreaming and this is total insanity.

  “Oh, right. Sorry. Ruddy chav was a bit fast with that shiv. I’m quick, but I can’t teleport.”

  “What?” I blink at him. “Was that even English? And teleport? Is that seriously a thing too?” Hmm. I can talk again. My fangs are gone. Ooo-kay, that’s odd.

  Dalton laughs. “Aye. It was actual English. No, as far as I’m aware, teleportation’s still only the stuff of stories. We can, however, fly.”

  I bite my lip and look around at the woods. “So it’s gonna be morning soon. Is that whole sun thing true?”

  “Alas.” He sighs. “It’ll crisp us up right nice like. Best stay out of it.”

  “This is too much.” I pace around, waving my hands. “You’re seriously trying to convince me that I’m a vampire?”

  “The forest looks bright to you, doesn’t it?” He gestures around as if showing off prizes on a game show. “That’s night vision. And you were flying a moment ago. You drank blood. And don’t forget the teeth.”

  I run my tongue over my upper teeth. “I don’t have fangs.”

  “Sure you do―they’re merely retracted at the moment. It’s a new set of muscles you’ll get used to.”

  Yeah right. I fake bite at him, but nearly yelp when a weird twitch happens in my face.

  “They’re half out.” He chuckles.

  For a moment or two, I play around with the odd sensation twinging in my skull, until I realize I’m extending and retracting actual fangs. I don’t want to believe this, but I’m starting to run out of excuses.

  “Dream.”

  He shakes his head.

  “I’m dreaming.” I fold my arms.

  “Well, all right. You’re dreaming. But before you dream of sunrise, come with me.”

  He grabs my right wrist and drags me into the air.

  Vulnerable

  5

  We fly for a few minutes, though I don’t so much fly as trail behind him like a helium balloon tied to a speeding car. We pass over civilization, and Dalton lurches downward without warning, towing me into a landing by this creepy-as-hell gothic stone building about the size of a lawn shed. I cling to him, mostly to cover my lack of clothing while gazing around in search of anyone who might see us.

  “What’s this?”

  “A cemetery.”

  “Duh. No kidding.”

  Dalton pulls the thick stone door open with his left hand while grasping my side above the hip and ushering me into a blank chamber with two coffin-sized concrete slabs on either side. The floor is a little slimy and wet, but it’s nowhere near as cold as it looks.

  I spin around and find him standing right outside, blocking the doorway. “I mean, is this necessary? Being in a graveyard?”

  “Not entirely, but it’s the closest, best place for you to get out of the sun. There’s not much time left, and you really don’t want to get caught out when it pops up.”

  “That’s real?” I brush some dirt and leaf bits off my forearm. “You’re really serious about that?”

  “Aye. ’Tis the most thorough way for us to die for good. Now, some o’ that other stuff like garlic, crosses, or mirrors… Most of it’s rubbish. Stakes hurt, but all they do is make holes. No idea where that garlic codswallop came from. It does jack shite. Same wit’ crosses or any religious type stuff. The sun though, that’s the big one. At sunrise, you’re gonna collapse. No way to avoid it. Body will shut down.”

  “What, like just flop?”

  He nods. “Basically… unless you’re outside at the time. See, there’s only one thing that’ll wake us up when we ought ta be sleepin’―an imminent threat to our existence. Bein’ out in the sun counts.”

  “So, like the movies? If someone sneaks up to stake me in the middle of the day, I’ll wake up?” Wow, look at me talking like this is real and not a dream.

  “Well, yes and no. It’s not so much the stake, since they’re merely annoying. One of the Old Guard started th
at rumor up a long time ago. Tricked the mortals into sharpening wood for weapons.” He cackles. “Idiots. But anyway, someone comes close to you with, let’s just say, ‘bad intentions,’ it’ll do the trick. Although, if my suspicious are correct, you’ll probably be able to wake yourself up after only a couple hours’ rest. Still, I’d not go out in the sun if you find yerself awake before it goes down.”

  I sigh and gaze around at this little stone room. “Not even a mattress or something? No blankets? Hey.” I stare at him. “What about clothes?”

  Dalton smiles. “Not yet.”

  “What?” I blink, hands on my hips. “Not yet? Are you serious? What is being a vampire like some kinda RPG and I’m not high enough level for clothes?”

  “Three reasons. One, not enough time right now. Two, you’re more likely to stay here out of sight and be a good little girl. And three, most importantly, you are essentially a newborn babe, and the vulnerability should serve to remind you that you’re dependent on me for everything. So, behave yourself.”

  My stare hardens into a glare. “Oh, so now I’m a house elf? I behave myself and you eventually give me a sock?”

  “Oh.” Dalton’s eyebrows go up. “I suppose there’s a fourth reason.” He grins. “You are quite the pleasure to gaze upon. Certainly a model worthy of an old masters’ brush.”

  I gasp and cover myself with my hands again. Before I can think of anything to say back to him, he shoves the door closed with a heavy thud.

  “You asshole!” Growling, I fling myself at the door and pound on it with both fists.

  The meaty smack of my hands echoes in the bare stone chamber. Once it becomes clear I am nowhere near strong enough to get out of here, I take a few steps back, shivering with anger. Upon realizing that I can see in a completely sealed stone tomb with no source of light, my rage pops like a bubble.

  No, I have to be dreaming. I can’t possibly be dead. What’s my family going through right now if that’s true? How long was I in that cooler? My head swims with sorrow, anger, and fear. I can’t make up my mind if I want to scream at Dalton, attack the door again, or collapse in a heap and cry. For the second time in the same night, I’m trapped in an enclosure―but at least this one’s big enough for me to walk around a little.