by DL Atha
“I don’t think you’re crazy, but I think you’ve got a lot on your plate. You’ve been through a lot with your mom’s passing and the bad relationship,” he replied.
“Joel killed her, Peter. I know he did.”
“But the police don’t agree.” It was a more of a statement than a question.
“Obviously not. But I know him, and I’ve looked at the evidence. And to make matters worse, Kendrick told me Joel stopped in a couple of days ago, and the police haven’t done a damn thing. He’s here! Isn’t that some kind of evidence itself? I just don’t get why they don’t see it.” I didn’t tell Peter about mine and Joel’s conversation the night before. I didn’t tell him Joel warned me to stay away from him.
“People see what they want to see.”
I bristled at his words.
“I didn’t mean that you were seeing it wrong, Tamara. Although you might be, but the police might be looking at it wrong too. People often see what they’re used to seeing or what’s easiest to see. Or some combination thereof. Don’t take it personally.”
“Easier said than done.” I smiled to take the edge off my words. My tears had dried, and I rubbed my irritated, fatigued eyes.
“Are you getting enough sleep? You look exhausted,” he said.
“Strange you should ask.” I laughed nervously remembering my dreams and the promises of the vampire.
“So… you’re not getting enough sleep. Nightmares? About your mom?”
“Vampires, actually.”
Peter looked at me as if I’d just sprouted horns.
“Vampires?” he questioned.
“You know anything about them?” I asked as I laughed despite my circumstances. “Bet that doesn’t help my crazy reputation.”
“Well, no. It doesn’t, Tam. Don’t mention vampires to anyone other than me, okay?” He said teasingly.
“Starting to believe some of the rumors of my insanity, huh?” I asked.
“If you’re looking to surprise me, just remember, it’s really hard to shock a man of the cloth. It kind of comes with the job description and I’m not the same boy you remember from a decade ago.”
“Well then, what can you tell me?” I deadpanned.
“About vampires?”
I nodded at him to continue.
“Oh, you’re serious!” His eyebrows were nearly at his hairline. I couldn’t help but laugh at his expression.
“I’m reading an old journal I found at Mom’s house. It’s an old ghost story or vampire story or something like that, I guess.”
“I’m surprised at that. Your mom really did not like the occult.”
“I don’t think she knew the journal existed. It was hidden at the very bottom of an old trunk. So anyways, what can you tell me?”
“Maybe you should be more specific. I think we all know the Hollywood mumbo-jumbo.”
I nodded at him, laughing at the ridiculous of our conversation. “Okay. Here goes. First of all, are you a believer?”
“In vampires? Really, are you seriously asking me that? If I say yes, you’ll think I’m insane. If I say no, I’m guessing you won’t say another word. So I plead the fifth. But I bet I’ve heard every legend that you have, and then a few you probably haven’t.”
I moved over, waiting for him to take a seat beside me, anxious to hear his answer. “Of course you don’t believe. That would be ridiculous.” I studied his silent expression intently. “You don’t, right?”
He laughed lightly. “I’m getting the feeling you want me to believe.” His leather gloves creaked as he rubbed his knees lightly. “Tam, I entertain the possibility that we don’t fully understand everything of the past, and I believe that where there is smoke, there is usually fire—even if only a few coals.”
“Meaning?” I asked, encouraging him to expound.
“Meaning that where there are so many legends, how can there not be some inkling of the truth? I also think they are likely a thing of the past, despite what Hollywood says, if they ever did in fact exist.”
“Okay, Father, supposing they were ‘out there,’ how were they created? And more importantly, can they be killed?” I scooped my fingers in the air like quotations for emphasis.
He raised his eyebrows at me. “You’re calling me ‘Father’ now? After last night?”
I smiled, raising my eyebrows back at him, and he continued.
“Technically, that’s two questions, and there are lots of answers. Remember, vampire legends originate the world over. I took some classes that dealt with Russian and Slavic mysticism in the past, and so I know those legends best. According to my studies, vampirism was the penalty for suicide or dying in opposition of the Church. There were, of course, a few other bizarre beliefs like falling from wagons and dogs jumping over a corpse, but the most widely held origins concerned the suicides and heretics. Legend also states that they cannot die. You can hold them in the grave, but the only way to kill them is to bring them back into the fold of the Church so that the natural process of death can occur.”
“So they could live forever rotting in the ground?”
“No. That’s the crux. They can’t die, and they can’t decay. They are forced to exist, to be aware sun up to sun down, paralyzed with the coming of the day and fighting to escape at night. They become weak, but never weak enough to die. It’s an eternal punishment. They are truly immortal. A stake won’t kill them, and neither will decapitation. It will contain them,” he lifted a finger up for emphasis as he shook his head, “but it won’t kill them. Remember, the Bible says there is only one death on this earth and then the judgment.”
“That’s truly the meaning of hell on Earth,” I whispered, more to myself than anyone.
“Why are you so interested in this? It’s got to be more than some old journal that has got you so riveted.” He turned to face me on the bench.
“Promise you won’t go straight to the authorities about my sanity?” I asked, looking at him suspiciously.
“Cross my heart,” he replied, tracing the outline of an X on his chest.
I raised my eyebrows even higher, searching his face for the truth.
“Um… you do realize that I’m an actual minister, right?”
I laughed out loud now. “Yes, Father. But you’re a man and my track record with men is not so hot.”
“Have a little faith and let me redeem my gender.” Peter smiled. It was pleasant and refreshing just like dinner the night before.
Taking a leap of faith, I continued with the story. “This is where it really gets weird. I’ve been going through and organizing some of Mom and Grand-mom’s old stuff. Squirreled away in some musty old boxes, I found this journal belonging to a Russian surgeon and a bottle labeled ‘vampire blood.’ I even found the doc’s name in the family Bible. I read the journal, and the surgeon talks about a specific vampire in his writings.” Now I truly felt crazy.
“Are you serious?” he asked just as his cell phone began to jingle in his pocket.
I nodded as he put the phone to his ear and listened for a few moments.
Covering the mouthpiece, he whispered, “Sick parishioner. Can I stop in sometime? I’d love to see the journal. And I’d love to see you again.”
“Sure,” I whispered back at him, knowing I could not let that happen.
“You really are okay up here?” Peter asked, his hand still covering the mouthpiece.
Nodding a yes, I smiled and motioned him away with my hands. He looked back at me once as he walked away, and I pointed towards the front entrance to the cemetery.
Alone, I relaxed into the scenery. I suppose most people find graveyards disconcerting, but this place had the exact opposite effect on me. Some of my most serene moments had been spent here, leaned against the back of a fallen headstone. The dead who slumbered nearby had never objected to me, and I’d certainly never objected to them. Overall, it was a friendly relationship.
This hallowed ground had been the resting place of my people for as long
as had been recorded in the family Bible, and it was as natural to be here as my childhood home. In fact, the cemetery had been my first stop after arriving back in Sitka. It seemed fitting. Mom had been laid to rest in this dark ground before I made it home, and I couldn’t go home without seeing her first.
When my father had passed at a young age, I’d stopped in every day after school to visit him. I whispered to him about boys, the ones I liked and the ones I didn’t, and fights with Mom. And occasionally, I did nothing but describe the weather, a beautiful fish I’d spotted, or a particularly impressive whale spout. It didn’t matter really what I talked about, the talking had made me feel better.
Death had claimed Dad early, heart attacks weaving their way through the paternal side of his family tree, and it was therapeutic to tell him about things we’d shared in our short time together.
But there were other happy memories here as well. My first kiss, a chaste peck with Peter, had been concealed here in the lush greenery. Our lips had barely touched. The cemetery had been a perfect place for an egg hunt one Easter morning, and the place to prove your bravery on windy, wet October nights. I smiled, remembering my friends and I as we set huddled together, shivering at every creak of the tree limbs and moan of the wind.
I could have stayed here reliving memories for hours, but I was running out of daylight. It’s easy to do when you only have seven or eight hours to start with, and I’d squandered too much time between here and the police station.
I spent the last remaining half-hour of light tidying up the grave sites. Using my hands, I swept away the leaves that had gathered across the soft mounds of dirt. I removed all the dead flowers. I regretted it immediately; Mom’s grave looked so barren, and I wished I’d thought to bring some fresh ones to replace the old. Whispering my goodbyes, I promised to visit again soon. I’d bring her favorite lilies when I did.
Before I left town, I bought a few odds and ends groceries, nodding to a couple of old classmates I met in the grocery aisles along the way.
The sun was setting as I loaded two small bags of produce and milk into the cab of the truck, and by the time I pulled onto the highway from the grocery parking lot, not a ribbon of pink could be seen staining the horizon.
Chapter 8
As the sun set, the roar of the vampire’s consciousness rose in my mind like the moon that trailed behind on my drive home. At first, it had only been a niggling in the back of my head, but it grew in intensity until I could again hear syllables, although I still couldn’t yet make out the specific words. The voice waxed and waned and was at times so deafening that it forced my hands off the steering wheel to squeeze my temples in efforts to suppress the sounds.
The respite of Peter’s comforting presence was soon forgotten as the white noise compounded the anxiety I was feeling about Joel. He was out here somewhere, and he was already manipulating the police. It’s one thing to have suspicions but another thing altogether to have them confirmed. What games did he have planned for me?
I pushed the white noise to the back of my mind as best I could and focused on driving. I passed one last car as I drove across the Indian River Bridge, and then I was alone on the highway. The road stretched out like a gray ribbon through a sea of blackness. The mountains to my left and the ocean to my right were virtual voids and despite the moonlight, the ribbon of highway was dark.
It felt lonely and I was scared—scared of Joel and the rush of the vampire’s voice in my mind. I’d only been forced to listen to it for a half-hour this evening, and already I was about to pull my hair out. Nervous to the hilt, my eyes were in constant movement between the road in front of me and my rearview mirror, but the highway remained dark and empty as I neared my home.
I’ve never had a psychic hit, but as soon as I turned off the main road onto Mom’s driveway, I felt like the air changed around the car. Maybe it was the vampire’s blood pushing through my veins that lent me his sixth sense. Maybe I was just on edge and expecting the worst but something seemed off, though I couldn’t put my finger on what.
The drive was narrow, hidden in a curve and nearly obscured by trees. I surveyed every inch of it as I drove the length, expecting to see Joel at every turn. But as I passed the hulking form of each ancient tree, I found nothing but quiet empty shadows. I was so intent on what was in front of me that I’d reached my parking spot before I realized someone had pulled in behind me. The car must have been concealed on one of the side roads that I had passed, waiting for me to drive by.
Now there was nowhere to go. I was blocked in. My yard wasn’t big enough to turn around in, and there wasn’t a second entrance to the property and my house blocked my going forward. I studied the car in my rearview mirror. The lights, both interior and exterior, were off, and I could just trace the outline of someone in the driver’s seat. The tip of a smoke flamed to life in the darkness of the car as the occupant inhaled deeply, and then it waned to only a dull glow. Too fat to be a cigarette, I recognized it immediately. King Edward cigars, Joel’s favorite, light up the night like no other.
I watched the glow of the cigar arc out the passenger window and fade into the landscape before I realized that the outline of the driver was gone, and I had no idea where. Pressing hard on the brakes because I was too chicken to put it into park, I sat in the truck, idling, unsure of what to do. Tingles of alarm quivered down my back; I held onto the steering wheel, forcing my trembling hands to grip it firmly. My knuckles stood out white on the dark leather of the wheel, and I stared at them for inspiration.
My head roared, my heart thumped, and I thought I was going to be sick. Begging my brain to concentrate, I searched the darkness that surrounded me, but there was nothing to see, nothing that gave me any indication where Joel was hiding.
The floodlight for the yard had been burned out when I moved into Mom’s house. I’d been meaning to have it replaced, but money was tight so it had remained on my to-do list. I should have bought less coffee, I chided myself. And fixed the damn light.
Thick mists had rolled in from the sound, providing many hiding places even in the small confined area in front of my house. I strained my eyes and searched every crevice of the yard, mentally forming a picture of the different places he could be hiding. In my rearview mirror that I checked repeatedly, his car mocked me.
Except the vehicle blocking my exit, everything looked just as I’d left it. The back part of the house was lit by the lights I had intentionally left on in case I got home later than expected. The porch was illuminated but dimly so; the lights were meant only to provide enough background light so you wouldn’t fall going up or down the stairs without destroying the natural ambiance of the view of the sound. I guess I’d forgotten to turn those off when I got up this morning.
The glow from the bedroom light illuminated enough of the living room through the picture window that I could make out the curtains fluttering with the ceiling fan breeze. I couldn’t see any movement inside the living room or the part of the kitchen I could make out.
About twenty feet to my left, the forest leaned in on the yard, its border densely dark against the lighter shades of the yard. The trees to my right formed the rest of the cocoon, and I searched the borders desperately for any signs of Joel, but the yard and its perimeter remained silent—menacing actually because I knew my property concealed him.
Feeling the sudden need to look in the bed of my truck, I turned my head slowly, my gut tightening up as I did so. Behind me and to my right, I caught the blur of a movement. My mind shouted a warning, and I barely managed to hit the electric lock as a gloved hand curled under the door handle.
“Dammit!” The curse erupted from him even as he pounded a fist, once, hard into the window. The truck shook with the impact, and I flinched as his fist flew towards me. A short-lived scream ripped from my throat before my mouth clamped shut.
Like a guppy in a fishbowl, I watched as Joel circled my truck. Again, I wished for a cell phone but then remembered I was in Alaska. Cel
l phone coverage was sketchy at best and nearly non-existent where I sat, trapped.
Joel’s long strides carried him quickly around the truck, and trying to watch him made my head swim a little. Adrik’s roaring in my head didn’t help and increased my dizziness exponentially. For a moment, Joel stopped at the driver’s window, arms crossed in front of him. He was fairly tall, so I had to lean in towards the window a little to see his face. He was examining my truck the way a wolf studies the frame of chicken coop.
Catching me looking at him, he leaned down to smile a leering grin at me before turning to walk behind my truck. I dreaded the dizziness but turned my head over my left shoulder as far as my neck would allow to watch him stride behind the bed of my truck. Swiveling my head the other direction, I strained over my right shoulder to find him but couldn’t locate him in the darkness.
I screamed again as his hands reverberated against the window to my left. He’d doubled back, catching me off guard.
“You can’t sit in this damn truck forever, Tam! Got to come out some time,” Joel shouted, his mouth so close to the glass that fog formed, obscuring his face. Originally from Alabama, a heavy southern drawl clung to his speech. “Nah. You’ll have to take a piss soon. Never could go long without taking a piss. I can already see you starting to squirm, sugar.” He jeered at me through the truck window.
I ignored his words even as I realized I had to pee. Mentally, I cursed the twenty ounces of soda I’d downed at the grocery store. I couldn’t sit in the truck all night, and even if I could, what good would it do? It wasn’t like morning light was going to bring the cavalry.
“Don’t you wish you could do this?” he said as he leaned back slightly. He made a big show of undoing his fly before letting a stream loose on the door of my truck. You could always count on him to be classy.
It was perhaps my only opportunity, and my mind seized on it immediately. Shoving the door open with all my strength, the sharp metal edge caught him square in the groin, sending him to his knees. He sucked in air in a loud whoop as he doubled over at the waist cursing out loud.
