by D. M. Nash
Soon, I could see her house. Thankfully the lights were still on even though a glance at my phone told me it was already past eleven. Becca was probably asleep—you didn’t get to be Little Miss Honors by staying up all hours of the night—but her mom had insomnia and was probably just getting started on a Gilmore Girls marathon or something.
I steeled myself for the encounter as I went up the weed-cracked walk that led to their door. Becca’s mom, Marion, was about the nicest human being I’d ever met, and I knew if there was anywhere I shouldn’t be apprehensive about knocking it was here, but I wasn’t used to dealing with people who weren’t in my immediate family. In lots of places we’d lived I hadn’t known very many people aside from some of the ones who were getting their butts pulled out of the furnace by Dad. I hadn’t even gone to school a lot of the time. Dad just home-schooled Abby and me, and I’d gotten used to that rather limited social sphere. So it was weird not only to be knocking so late, but to be asking for help to boot.
But it was either this or let my dad tear me out by the roots again without even trying something. And in any event, it wouldn’t hurt to be able to talk to Becca, even if I couldn’t tell her everything that was going on.
I knocked, and soon the door folded inward as if it had just been waiting for a person in need, some poor wayfarer in the night who needed some porridge and a place to rest her head.
Marion’s eyes went wide when she saw me, but there wasn’t a hint of anger or annoyance there that I could see, and I didn’t know how to express the gratitude that welled up in me because of it.
“Catherine? What’s wrong?”
I could have just killed myself out of embarrassment, because I started crying. I wasn’t planning on doing that. This wasn’t full-on, toddler-tantrum crying, but I felt hot tears prick the corners of my eyes, and my voice came out lumpier than I would have liked. Ever. For the rest of my life.
“Nothing,” I said. “It’s not… well.”
She ushered me inside. “Take a seat, honey. Do you want me to get Becca?”
“Well, I…” Becca’s mom was looking at me with something akin to horror, and I realized what she must be thinking. My dad wasn’t really well-known in Campville, but I’m guessing Marion Wilcox had seen enough of him so far to get the general impression: big, scary, not an easygoing guy. I was pissed at Dad, sure, but he would never abuse me in any way, and I pulled myself together to at least set the record straight.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” I said. “Not like, you know, that kind of stuff.”
She nodded, but I could tell she was still worried. “But you are having problems at home?”
“Kind of. I mean, no. Not at home. Home is good. That’s kind of the problem.”
“Cath?” she interrupted my babbling. “Do you want me to get Becca?”
Having ascertained that I wasn’t in serious trouble, she had correctly guessed this was a problem better suited to a peer. That was one of the many, many things I liked about Marion Wilcox: she didn’t always think she had to solve every little problem for you. Unlike, say, my father, you could actually talk to this woman, get heard, and not get a barrage of “here’s how you fix everything” thrown in your face every single time.
Or worse: “Life’s tough all over.”
“Sorry it’s so late,” I said, “I’m sure Becca’s in bed, but—”
“Hey,” she said. “That’s what friends are for. It would be one thing if you came knocking on our door every night at this time, okay? But I think she’ll survive a little lost sleep.”
“Okay.”
“But you know I have to ask, does your dad know where you are? Is he pulling his hair out looking for you?”
“I doubt he even realizes I left yet.”
She looked relieved. “I’m going to call him, okay?”
“But—”
“You’ve got some problem with him, okay, fair enough. I’m more than willing to accept he could be in the wrong here in whatever it is that’s got you so upset, but you don’t know what it’s like to be a parent. To think, even for a moment, that your baby girl is lost, maybe beaten or worse…” She shuddered. “I’m sorry. I can’t let him go through that. Unless, of course, it is ‘that kind of thing.’”
“It’s not,” I reaffirmed. And really, what she said made sense. I was angry, about as mad at the guy as I’d ever been, but no, I wasn’t looking to scar him for life. And if he did go to my room and find me gone, that would only make him more likely to want to move because the fear would be so much more real to him.
“Okay,” I said. “But can you tell him… you know, sorry to have to ask this. But can you tell him that you’ll give me a ride home? I mean, if that’s okay?”
“Of course it’s okay,” she said. “You can just go into Becca’s room. I’ll call your dad in the kitchen. What’s his first name again?”
“Ray,” I said, trying not to sniffle. She nodded. “Thanks.”
V
I went down the short hall to Becca’s room, where the door was cracked open. This seemed a little funny to me, like she wanted to have the sounds of her mom’s shows on to help lull her to sleep. It was the kind of thing I would have liked as a little girl.
Even though Becca was probably my best friend, I didn’t really know what was up with her dad. She had one. As in, he was alive, I knew that much. She’d mentioned him once or twice, but in case there was something she didn’t want to talk about with me yet I hadn’t ever pried. I didn’t think her parents were divorced or anything—I had the general impression he lived in this house too—but I had never met him or even seen him, and there wasn’t any indication he was there that night.
“Becca?” I said, pushing the door open a bit. The slice of light from the hallway showed a mass of human flesh, and I almost screamed.
I flicked the light on and let out the breath I was holding. She was fine, but apparently she slept like Harry Houdini in the middle of an escape attempt, with the blankets wrapped around her like a straitjacket.
“Wha…? Huh…?” she said, blinking at the light. “Catherine? What are you doing here? Am I late for school?” The alarm in her voice was real even though this logical jump didn’t make much sense. Why would I be the one to wake her for school? “What’s so funny?” she asked, and I realized I was still smiling about how intricately she had herself knotted up in her sheet and blanket.
I picked up her pillow from the floor and sat at the edge of her bed, hugging it in front of me. I was aware of the fact that I hadn’t said anything yet, but with the mix of my anger and sadness, the awkward energy of my being here at all at this time of night, and the silliness of her trying to extricate herself from her bed sheets, I didn’t know where to start or what to say.
Her glasses were next to her on the bed stand, and I watched as she blinked at the digital clock, trying to read it.
I said, “It’s 11:13.” Finally, I could actually speak!
Her brain was still sleep-mushed. I could tell because she asked, “At night?”
“No,” I told her, “But the sun didn’t rise this morning.” She stared at me without comprehension, so I took pity on the poor girl. “I’m kidding. Yes, of course it’s night.”
“What are you doing here?”
“My dad…” Suddenly, it really struck me how dumb it must seem that I’d come here. I mean, I still thought this whole debacle might have an effect on my dad, but it was all for him, not Becca. I really didn’t know what to say. Obviously, she had no idea what my dad did for a living. I didn’t even want to say he wanted to move because of all the uncomfortable questions this might bring up.
This was a night of firsts anyway, so I tried out another one: playing the friend card. Aside from with my dad and Abby, which doesn’t really count, I don’t think I’d ever done this before. “I can’t tell you,” I said. “But I just need you to trust me that I’m here for a good reason.”
She looked at me and looked at me. At so
me point she must have silently grabbed her glasses, because now they were on. I studied my friend for a moment, kind of envying how normal she looked for having just been woken up. I’m pretty sure I look like a cross between a crash-test-dummy and a meth addict when I get woken up in the middle of the night.
She had short, kind-of-blond hair. Her face was markedly bookish, and the thickish glasses did nothing to dispel this fact. She was a bit heavier than me and didn’t have a high opinion of herself, but I thought she was really pretty, and judging from the way the guys we knew talked to her, I didn’t think I was alone. But I’d stopped trying to tell her so after about the fourth time she’d punched me for bringing it up. She wasn’t good at taking compliments.
Becca came to some kind of conclusion and said, “Okay. But I’ll have you know, this is very weird.”
“It is, isn’t it?” I said. But to be honest, I didn’t feel that weird. I felt this… sense of acceptance and happiness I hadn’t felt in… well let’s not go there. Becca and her mother had given me a gift and they didn’t even know it.
I wasn’t leaving this place. Campville. I just wasn’t. Not when I had people like this in my life.
“But if I’m going to be awake, you’ve got to give me something,” she said, still blinking at the faint light from the cracked door
I laughed. “Like what?”
“I don’t know, some gossip or a story or something. Make up a reason you’re here, at least.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’m here because I had a dream that Chloe Cameron wanted to give me a valley girl make-over.”
She swatted me with one of her pillows. “You’re mean to her, you know that?”
“Oh come on,” I said. “Is it even possible to be mean to a girl like that? That’s like saying I’m racist against white people. It’s like an oxymoron or something.”
“Wow… jealous much?”
“Don’t tell me you’d want a make-over from the Drama Queens.”
“I wonder what they’d say if they knew you called them that.”
And then I saw the flash of eyes, the glint at the window, and my blood ran cold. It shouldn’t have run cold—I was pretty sure I knew who it was, and I really didn’t think he was a danger to me or Becca—but it did all the same. Along with that came the thrill and rush in the veins, and I knew I liked it.
“Hey,” Becca said, misinterpreting my silence as offense. “I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m just kidding.”
It’s like I said. I’m a fear addict. Of course, mostly I was scared of what—who—I was seeing because my dad had raised me to be scared, but that didn’t make the fear any less real.
I said, “Will you excuse me for a minute?”
“Uh, what?” Becca said. “You just woke me up to chat and now you want to be ‘excused?’”
I felt almost giddy. I couldn’t even feel bad about getting her out of bed right then. “I’ll be right back,” I said. “I hope.”
VI
I went out the back door so I didn’t have to see Mrs. Wilcox again. I could hear television voices bouncing softly down the hall, strangely lively in the stillness of the night, so I figured she’d already gotten off the phone with my dad.
In their super-dark backyard I noticed the temperature had dropped even more since I’d gone inside. That, or I just wasn’t as hot-headed as I had been going in.
“Why are you at my friend’s house in the middle of the night?” I said in my normal speaking voice. Although I couldn’t see him anywhere, I knew he’d hear me even if I whispered. It’s just one of those vampire things.
“I’m here because you’re here.”
Vampires. Most of them are probably on the spectrum, if you know what I mean. They forget how to talk to people. The longer they’ve been dead, the more creepy they get. You know, that’s not actually fair to autistic people because even if they get a little socially awkward sometimes, at least their go-to thoughts and feelings aren’t typically as scary.
“You do realize you sound like a stalker, don’t you?”
My eyes were adjusting a little to the dark night, but I still couldn’t see Richard. There was a streetlight past the Wilcox’s neighbor’s backyard that I thought probably normally illuminated this place, but it was out. I hoped the bulb had just expired or something and that Richard didn’t have anything to do with it.
“Why are you here?” he asked, like he had any right to ask.
“I don’t like talking to shadows,” I told him. “I’m weird like that.”
He stepped out of the fence’s shadow. I hadn’t known where he’d been hiding, nor had I tried to guess. There was no point with vampires. They were illusionists, all of them, and if they wanted you to think their voice was coming from the opposite direction, they usually could.
I was happy to see that Richard stepped out from roughly where his voice had been. That was a good sign. A lot of vamps use their trickery as often as possible. Maybe because they think it keeps us mortals on our toes, maybe because they forget how to be honest and straightforward over the years, or maybe just because they like it.
Richard was, apparently, one of those rare vampires who didn’t seem to feel the need to be constantly duplicitous.
I said, “Why are you so interested in me?”
I should have realized he’d probably give me an honest answer to this question, but I wasn’t really expecting one quite that honest, when he said, “Because you’re Ray Briar’s daughter.”
I laughed out my surprise, but I was also a little stung. I guess I’d hoped he was going to tell me it was because I was so beautiful and interesting and smart. Oh yeah, and because he liked my fashion sense.
“I don’t quite follow why that means you want to stalk me.”
“I’m not stalking you,” he said with an earnest lilt to his voice, which, for a vampire, usually really means something. “I’m trying to protect you.”
A shiver ran down my spine. I wish I could say I didn’t relish it a little, but I did. Or, I wish I could say that pleasure was simply because I was flattered by the idea that a good-looking guy wanted to protect me. Instead I knew I liked the excitement that sense of danger brought with it.
“From what?” I asked, as if I were slowly unwrapping a gift.
“Something bad has its sights set on Campville,” he said. “Things are going to get heated. The whole town could be in danger.”
I thought about this. It wasn’t good news. Whatever it was, Dad had probably gotten a whiff of it even before Richard the Vamp here, and it almost certainly had to do with Dad’s desire to get out of Dodge.
“What kind of ‘thing’ are we talking about? A vampire?”
“No,” he said, and then the fear mounted a bit too much for my liking. For a moment, my resolve to stay in Campville come Hell or high-water wavered. If it wasn’t vampires, that usually meant it was something worse. Vampires were scary, don’t get me wrong, but they were at least manageable. Dad had a lot of experience dealing with them. And vampires were a lot like humans, when you got down to brass tacks. They lived in the same society we did, and a lot of them had consciences and considered themselves “good guys.”
A lot of the other creatures and stuff out there? No such luck. For the most part, it seemed the further you got from human, the more depraved you got from a human standpoint. This wasn’t always the case of course, but it was a good general rule. So, if not vampires…
“Then what? What’s coming.”
“Already here,” he said.
“Okay, then, what’s already here?”
He was silent. “This is hardly the time or place to—”
Predictable. I said, “This still doesn’t explain why you’re interested in me or why you want to protect me or whatever it is you’re doing in my general vicinity.”
“Catherine?” it was Becca, standing at her back door. She’d looked so sleepy when I left her room I’d just assumed she’d go back to sleep until I returned. I hadn�
��t planned on her hearing any of this. “Who are you talking to?”
I don’t like to lie, especially to my friends. In my opinion, this policy just makes sense, but apparently some people find it weird. So I said, “A boy.”
“What?” She stepped into the backyard, and I heard a furtive rustle off to my left. Becca was shading her eyes as if the sun were out. To be honest, the gesture looked a little stupid, and I’d have told her so under other circumstances. It was nice to have someone you could be blunt with.
“You won’t see him,” I said. “He’s gone.”
“But you were just talking to him. Who was it?”
“No one you know.”
She gasped. Which I thought was a little dramatic. That is, until she whispered. “The guy you were with on Monday?”
“What?” I asked. “How did you know about that?”
Her response was totally unexpected and put me on-edge immediately. The hunter side of my brain kicked into high-gear, searching for possible explanations to the question I’d just asked her. I even changed my stance a bit, ready to spring forward or dart away if need be. My instincts assured me this bit of news was way out of normal bounds.
“Hey, is everything alright?” Ms. Wilcox asked from the door.
“Yeah,” I said, trying to make my smile heard in my voice. I didn’t want her to think I was angry with anyone present. “I think I’m ready to go home.”
“Sounds good,” she said, “Just let me get my shoes on.”
I got a little closer to Becca and said, my voice suddenly low and serious, “How did you know about me seeing anybody on Monday?”
Even in the poor lighting I could tell she was nervous. Good. This whole thing bothered me. It wasn’t like Becca to see or hear about something like that and not bring it up with me. She might look like the bookish, straight-A’s type, but she had a gossiping streak in her a mile wide.
