by Billy Lyon
When she realized no reply from Steven was forthcoming, she continued. “We enjoy our dope like any human junkie, but we take things to an entirely different level. We not only love dope, we worship it. You could even say that it’s our sacrament.”
Steven wondered whether she actually believed the craziness that was coming out of her mouth. If so, it had to be the result of some kind of drug-induced psychosis. Still, she snorted every bit of an ounce and a half of pure dope and she’s still standing, his inner voice said, and don’t forget that little trick of talking inside your head. How did she pull that one off, smart ass?
“My name is Anna Marie Jennsen, and I’m the leader of our little band of undead dope fiends. From time to time I amuse myself by walking the streets of whatever city we’re living in at the time and searching for someone worthy to join our ranks. Very rarely do I succeed. Of course all junkies love dope. Hell, all junkies even worship dope in their own way, but there are very few junkies who have the inner steel necessary to make them worthy of being called up to the big leagues.”
Steven still felt certain that Anna Marie was bat shit crazy, but he was curious nonetheless, so he pushed back the bile creeping up his esophagus just enough to speak. “So how do you distinguish a run of the mill addict from a potential Junkie Superstar?”
Anna Marie’s eyes twinkled in amusement and in a perfect imitation of the little kid from The Sixth Sense she said, “I see strung out people.” Then she quickly turned serious again. “Just trust me. I can tell. I’ve been doing it since the Egyptians were building the pyramids. One thing I often look for is a little punk kid who can’t shut his mouth even when he knows it could get him killed. Sound familiar?”
Steven smiled in spite of himself. “So what’s in it for me?”
Anna Marie blew a blond ringlet out of her eyes.. “Steven, I can make it so that you can use as much dope as you like, whenever you like, without any fear of an overdose, or ever going through withdrawals again. I can grant you eternal life, and the next thousand years will seem no longer than the time it takes to drive from here to Miami. You’ll never be homeless again and most importantly, you’ll belong to a family of vampires that will stand by your side for all eternity. How long has it been since you’ve had a family, Steven?” She lightly stroked the cut she had made in his cheek with the back of her hand. It had been ages since anyone had touched Steven with anything even closely resembling affection, and he had to admit, it felt pretty damned good.
“And the down side? There’s always a down side.”
“Unfortunately, most of the old vampire movie clichés are true. For instance, you’ll never see the sun again. You’ll watch helplessly while everyone you love that’s not a vampire grows old and dies, and believe it or not, you really will have to sleep in a coffin. Let’s see, what else? You’ll have to give up human food and exist solely on human blood. That part is quite enjoyable, believe it or not.”
“Is that’s all?”
“Nope. We’re shunned by God, and rejected by the devil. We don’t always get along with other clans. There’s one in particular, The Draconians, who hate us as much as we do them. Religious do-gooders are always trying to shove wooden stakes into our hearts and cut off our heads, and if you’re a big fan of garlic, you’re pretty much fucked.”
Any other person would have wanted to spend a great deal of time thinking about a proposition that would transform them from a human being into a creature most people feared and detested. It wasn’t the kind of decision to be made without a great deal of consideration. Not Steven. He made up his mind immediately.
“Okay, sign me up.”
‘I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple.”
Uh-oh, Steven thought. Here comes the catch.
Anna Marie laughed. “Here comes the catch. Like I said, I’m the Queen, and as such I have the authority to bring over anyone I choose. As with most rights, however, there’s a corresponding responsibility. Anyone I allow to join us must be someone special, someone each clan member can trust with their life. I know that sounds melodramatic, but it’s true. Even though it’s nearly impossible to do so, we can be killed. There are times when we have to fight to survive, and I have to make sure I can implicitly place my trust in everyone fighting alongside me. This brings me to what you said earlier, that you would do anything for some dope. I have to know that you’re telling me the truth. Would you kill for it, Steven?”
By now Steven believed every word that came out of Anna Marie’s mouth. He knew that just like she said, vampires really did exist. As for the reasons how or why this was true, he neither knew nor cared. Neither did it concern him much that it sounded like the price of admission into the new life she was offering was to take one from someone else. The time for thinking was over, so he simply looked at her with as much sincerity as he could muster and said “Yes.”
Anna Marie returned his gaze and held it for an uncomfortably long time before making any reply. When she did, her words were direct and to the point. “There’s a human female inside the next room. She’s been sedated for quite some time but should be awake by now. Just inside the doorway is an axe. Bring me the woman’s head and I will make you one of us.”
“BRING YOU HER HEAD?!?!” Steven shouted. “Jesus Fucking Christ, you don’t ask for much, do you?” He shook his head back and forth, trying hard to clear away the cobwebs. Is this shit for real? Really for real? Let’s just hit the brakes on the Crazy Town Express for a minute and think about this. He looked at Anna Marie to see if she was listening in. If so, she wasn’t letting on. She seemed to be completely ignoring him, her head bent over her smart phone. So, just for the sake of argument, let’s say you’re just as nuts as Nutty Lady here and you decide go to ahead with what she is asking you to do. You get eternal life, an endless supply of dope, and other fabulous door prizes, but what about the poor sap in the next room? Can you really come up with one single reason that justifies your taking another human being’s life? If so, you might as well go ahead and become a vampire, because you’ve already lost your soul – if you ever had one to begin with.
“So what about this woman?” Steven asked Anna Marie. “If I do as you ask and kill her, will she become a vampire too?”
Anna Marie looked up from her phone and shook her head emphatically. “Absolutely not. There is a special process, a ritual, if you like, that must occur for someone to be transformed. You’ll see it for yourself if you decide to join us.”
All this was depressing, to say the least, but Steven realized he simply just didn’t care. He was fed up with his pathetic excuse for a life, which had devolved into a never-ending quest for dope, along with the plethora of lies, betrayals, and corruption that came with it. He raised a shaking hand to his forehead, wiped a river of clammy sweat from his brow, and took a deep breath.
Steven hadn’t realized it until now, but since he had started conversing with Anna Marie, his withdrawals had dissipated to the point that they were barely noticeable. It had to be well after midnight, and by all rights the pain should have incapacitated him. He guessed that she had used her powers to conjure up some kind of respite. But now the pain was back with a vengeance, and the agony took him to his knees once more, quicker than ever.
Steven considered all this for a few minutes more before speaking. “Okay,” he said, his voice dry and cracked. “I’ll do it.”
Anna Marie took the chain that held him to the wall and snapped the heavy iron links as easily as if she was breaking up kindling.
Steven tried to stand, but the cramps wouldn’t allow it, so he got back down on hands and knees and crawled forward across the filthy floor. He looked toward the room that held his victim. It couldn’t have been more than ten or twenty feet away, but seemed more like ten or twenty miles. His resolve began to crumble.
No way am I going to make it that far, he told himself. No fucking way. But just for shits and giggles, let’s say that somehow I do. I’ll be so weak from the journey that
I won’t be able to lift an axe, much less swing it. And then there’s the woman. I mean, even if she’s a ninety-year old granny lady, she’s not going to just sit still and let me chop off her head. She’s going to put up at least a semblance of a fight, and the way feel right now, I don’t know that I could fight back. Still, I have to try.
Steven persevered, and started forward one last time, ignoring the screaming agony that had taken complete possession of his consciousness, as every cell in his body cried out for some kind, any kind, of opiate. He persevered, and sixty minutes later, arrived at his destination. He steeled himself, and after a couple of tries found his legs and crossed the threshold of the doorway that opened into his destiny. Once inside, he very nearly passed out, not from pain, but from sheer terror.
The woman Steven had so nonchalantly decided to murder was sitting on a dirty cot, looking scared, disheveled, and alone.
It was his mom.
3
One of the major milestones along any junkie’s career development path is the Destruction of All Healthy Relationships. The manner of said destruction can vary widely. Lying to a spouse about where all the money went, alienating a child because getting high is more important than watching their school play, or even stealing a grandmother’s cancer meds are some of the forms it might take. No matter how it happens, however, relationships that were once filled with trust and affection are replaced in short order by suspicion and wariness, if not downright hate.
Despite this almost universal truth, things with Steven’s mom had always been different. While it was true that his mother despised his habit, she had never stopped caring for him. Her steadfast affection came in the same spirit of that moronic phrase Holy Rollers love to use: hate the sin, love the sinner. Steven’s mom employed this homily with a genuineness that hypocritical Christians never seem to be able to grasp, however, and no matter how terribly he treated her, she never failed to help him in any way she could.
If Steven stole from her, not only would she let it slide, but would also give him any cash she might have on hand. If he was in jail, she visited him anytime the doors were open. If he was in the ICU, attached to a ventilator and standing on hell’s doorstep, she would kneel beside his bed and pray until he somehow found his way back to the world of the living. Many would call such behavior enabling, but Steven’s mother knew it only as love.
Steven thought back to one rainy night when despite all his efforts, he simply couldn’t beg, borrow, or steal enough money for a fix, and was very strung-out. He had walked aimlessly in the downpour for hours before finally deciding that the most realistic option available was to go home again, Thomas Wolfe be damned. He must have looked just like the pitiful wretch he was when his mom opened the door and saw the drenched, bedraggled mess of a son that stood on her doorstep.
“Oh, Steven! What have you done to yourself?” she wailed, her cry more of an expression of grief than any sort of admonition of his behavior. Steven fell to his knees in equal parts relief and exhaustion, and somehow the tiny woman managed to pull him inside and lift him onto the couch.
Steven opened his mouth to beg for money, but his mom placed a hand over his mouth and pointed towards the other side of the house. Steven understood, but it was too little, too late. Seconds later his dad burst into the living room, looking as officious as ever in his three-piece office wear. He glowered first at Steven, and then at his wife. “Oh boy! Here we go again! Janie get your gun and hide the fucking silverware!” He pointed at Steven accusingly, like a detective in an Agatha Christie novel revealing the murderer. “Didn’t I tell you that I never wanted to see this, this junkie in our house again?” Without waiting for a reply he continued. “I want him out of here, do you hear me? Out!”
Steven’s mom, who normally complied with her husband’s wishes without question, glowered back. “No! I will not turn our son away in his time of need. If you don’t like it, go back to your precious office!” Steven’s dad tried to stare his wife into submission, but she held firm, so he opened the door and cast one final disgusted look at Steven. “What’s the use? To hell with the both of you,” he said and slammed the door behind him as he stormed out.
Steven’s mom turned her attention back to her son. “Now, let’s see what we can do about getting you well.” She spent the next hour giving him a sponge bath, feeding him chicken soup (which he promptly threw up), and wiping the endless stream of sweat off his shaking body. When the first wave of convulsions arrived, she cradled his head in her hands and prayed for help. Thirty minutes later she realized no heavenly assistance was forthcoming, and finally relented.
As much as she must have despised herself for doing so, she went to her purse, took out two fifty dollar bills, and handed them to Steven. His relief at the sight of the money was palpable to say the least, but he was still too weak to stand, so he barked at her to bring me the goddamned phone! If you hadn’t waited so long to get off your high horse and give me the money I wouldn’t be half as sick as I am!
Not much later, a walking piece of shit made the delivery and Steven was well and happy again, at least until the next time. He stayed with his mom only long enough to wheedle another hundred bucks from her before leaving without even saying goodbye, much less thank you.
The memory faded and Steven returned to the present, and the terrible decision he faced.
Is this really happening?
Somewhere deep inside he knew that it was.
Then what in the hell am I going to do?
Steven tried to think, but a throbbing pain beat against his skull in a painful syncopation that simply wouldn’t allow rational thought. The pull of the cramps in his stomach and the terrified beating of his heart added to his pain.
What in the hell am I going to do?
When Steven’s mother recognized him, she rushed forward, but was stopped by the chain that held her to the bed. She was wearing her red jogging shorts, along with her UCF Alumni t-shirt, so Steven knew the bastards had taken her during her nightly run. Mascara mixed with her dried tears and formed black smudges that crept down her face. Steven and his dad had always made fun of her for wearing so much of the stuff, but she took their comments in stride and laughingly called it her Smoky Chic look. There was nothing chic about her now. She looked like nothing more than a sad, frightened woman who had no idea of the death that awaited her should her son decide to continue.
Steven stumbled back to the adjoining room. “You Fucking BITCH! This woman is my Mom! She’s my Mom.” No response. The room was empty, and he realized that moral support was not an option. If he murdered his mother, he would have to do it alone.
A fresh wave of pain assaulted Steven and he struggled to make it back to where his mother was being held prisoner. Along with the pain came the rationalizations that make up so much of the junkie’s daily bread. Quickly they began their assault upon any decency he might have had left.
You know she hasn’t been really happy in years…
She isn’t in love with your dad anymore…
You’d actually be doing her a favor…
The voices inside Steven’s head were sweet, seductive, and told him exactly what he wanted to hear. Soon they stopped with the preliminaries and got right to the heart of the matter.
Don’t you remember what Anna Marie said?
I can make it so that you can use as much dope as you like, whenever you like, without any fear of an overdose or ever going through withdrawals again…
You can live forever…
Never be sick again…
No more consequences…
Steven walked toward his mother. “Steven, what’s going on?” she asked. “What am I doing in this place? Have you come to take me home?”
No, Mom, I’ve come to kill you, Steven thought bitterly.
“Do you owe people money? If you do, just tell them that all I have to do is call your father and we’ll get them their money. Please take me home, Steven. I’m scared.” Her empty, hollow e
yes testified this to be true.
Steven looked to his right. Sure enough, a long-handled axe with a severe-looking blade stood propped up against the wall. He walked forward, paused for only a second, and picked it up. As soon as his hands touched the handle, a fresh wave of nausea struck, and he collapsed to his knees once more. It was as if the pain was giving him one last reminder of the power it could wield if it so desired.
And how easy it would be to make it disappear forever.
With a burning anguish, Steven forced himself back to a standing position and slowly walked toward the woman who had brought him into the world, the one who loved him more than any other. She looked momentarily confused, but after a short while the bewilderment in her eyes gave way to a shocked realization. She looked at him with frightened, desperate eyes.
“Steven, honey, put the axe down. No…NO!” The second no was more emphatic, as if he was a toddler again and she was ordering him to stay away from the cabinets under the kitchen sink. “Why are you doing this? Did they promise you drugs? Steven, I’ll give you enough money to buy all the drugs you want, but please don’t kill me.”
Steven kept moving forward, but was now sobbing openly as he did so. Bitter wails of regret at the life he had chosen came forth from somewhere deep inside him.
“Mommmmy…Mommmmy,” Steven cried. “I’m so sorry.”
Steven’s mom cast one more pleading look at her son, but he didn’t stop so she wiped her eyes, and steeled herself. “I don’t understand why you’re doing this,” she said, “but if you need me to die for you I will.” The fear in her voice had been replaced with a steady resolve. “If it will ease your pain and bring you the peace that I’ve wanted for you for so long, I will gladly give my life for yours.” She stood and took him in her arms. “Your own happiness has always been more important to me than even my own life, so be happy, my baby boy.” She released him and stood back at arm’s length to look at him one last time. “All I ask is that you make it quick.”
