I Heart Vampires

by Siona McCabre

  ****

  There was no way I would ever be able to purge the scene of Brandie’s death from my head, but I couldn’t let it control me. I had forever to try to deal with the resulting emotional trauma, but I only had one lifetime with Paige. I knew I’d been a colossal jerk, and I needed to fix it. She was my world, and I couldn’t push her away just because I could be with her for only a short amount of time. I couldn’t let all the hurt inside me destroy the good parts. I couldn’t give up on us just because sooner or later I would lose her.

  The rest of the school day passed agonizingly slowly. A guilty conscience had a way of slowing down time, almost as if to torture the guilty party further. Adding to my agony was the lingering question of my future. I now knew my maker, but I still had lots of questions, particularly about my father. All in all, I still pretty much wanted to crawl in a hole and die.

  I didn’t see Celia or Paige for the rest of the day, and I knew Malcolm was avoiding me, too. I’d never felt more alone than I did that day, surrounded by the swarming masses of oblivious students. I knew I had to make it up to Malcolm and Celia, too. Especially Malcolm. Considering he’d accepted me for what I was and what I’d done. I owed him a lot more than all this secrecy and misdirected anger.

  Celia? Well, she’d be fine with an apology and a hug. I could manage that. But first things first…When I got home, my mother was back from work and eating a cucumber and cream cheese sandwich. “Hey, honey!” she called out. “Hi, Mom.”

  “How was your day?”

  “I’ve had better.”

  She gave me a little pout.

  “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

  I set my schoolbag down and took a seat across from her at the table. “Stuff.”

  “What kind of stuff?” she asked between bites.

  “You know, that sandwich was gross way before I couldn’t stomach regular food,” I teased.

  “Well, I happen to like it!” she responded in a terrible mock British accent.

  We both chuckled. She really thought she was good at accents. It cracked me up.

  “How come you’re home so early?” I asked out of curiosity.

  “As you know, I’ve been putting in a lot of late hours and overtime lately. They didn’t like how much overtime.”

  “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay. We could use the money, but we’ll be fine. I’m sure they’ll get over it once the paperwork starts to pile up and things get backlogged again.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Plus, it gives me more time with my favorite person!”

  “Detective Stabler?”

  “Har-har, very funny.”

  “If you need me, I’ll be in my room.”

  “Thanks, sweetie.”

  Once I’d retreated to the relative peace of my bedroom, I dug deep in my closet for a box I knew was there, but that I hadn’t touched in years. Way in the back, beneath a pile of old Halloween costumes, was a simple navy shoebox. The corners were worn down. I took a breath, sat on the bed, and placed it on my lap. Removed the lid.

  One by one, I carefully removed the old newspaper clippings. I laid them out, along with my ancient scribbled notes. Once they were all on top of the bed, I looked at the patchwork quilt of paper. I’d gone over these articles a thousand times, and never had I found anything useful. I felt guilty because after all these years, and even with this new connection to Haley, I didn’t know whether my dad was dead, or whether he didn’t love us enough to stick around. And I still didn’t know which was worse.

  ****

  Even though I was going to live forever, there wasn’t a moment to lose. After two hours in my room, torturing myself with the contents of the old navy shoebox, I decided I wasn’t going to let the person I loved spend one more minute thinking I didn’t care about her. I sped past Mom, who was reading in the living room.

  “Honey, where are you going?”

  “Be—back—soon—love—you—bye!” I booked it over to Paige’s house and rang the doorbell.

  Her mother answered. “Hello Noah, how are you?” She asked brightly.

  “Hi, Mrs. Martin. Is Paige here?”

  “No dear, she went out for a run.”

  But she hated running. She only went for a run when she was really upset. “Do you know which way she went?” I implored.

  “I think she was heading over to McArthur Park. Oh!” She exclaimed, “Did you hear the good news about the University of Washington?”

  Did I ever. “Yeah, that’s amazing. I have to go now. Thanks!”

  “You’re welcome!” she called out, as I jogged away.

  When I reached McArthur Park (in practically no time at all), there she was, running the circular dirt path at a steady clip. Each breath she exhaled lingered like a miniature cloud in the chilly evening air. I smiled secretly to myself at her outfit—she was running in shorts and a tank top, but because it was cold, she was also sporting mittens and a beanie, out of which dangled two braids. It was ridiculously cute. She hadn’t seen me yet. I steeled myself for the inevitable storm and said a silent prayer.

  I caught up with her, jogging alongside. She nearly jumped when she first saw me, but then she simply turned her focus back to the path in front of her and kept going.

  “Paige.”

  “Go away.”

  “Paige, please. We need to talk.”

  “I don’t want to talk to you.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not listening.”

  “I was such a jerk.”

  “No kidding.”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “I need you to leave me alone.”

  “Would you please hear me out for a second?”

  “Nope.”

  I wasn’t getting anywhere. Switch tactics. “Fine, then I’ll just run with you,” I said.

  She shot me an exasperated look.

  “Please don’t.”

  I shrugged, settling into a pace that for me was practically a crawl. “It’s a free country.”

  “Have it your way.” With that, she sped up, clearly thinking she could outpace me. Little did she know I didn’t even need to breathe. Paige was determined, though. I would catch up with her; she’d go a little bit faster. I would catch up again; she’d speed up again. I could tell she was starting to struggle, though. Her breathing was getting quick and shallow, and her cheeks burned bright pink. I, on the other hand, wasn’t the least bit fazed. I could tell I was wearing her down, and decided to make a push.

  “I could go like this all night. It’s pretty out, isn’t it? Good night for a jog.”

  She didn’t even look at me.

  I continued.

  “Yep, just you and me, running in circles around McArthur Park. All night. Running. For a long, long time.”

  Finally she gave in. She slowed to a stop and placed her hands on her knees, panting. I stopped right next to her and waited.

  “You, are, insufferable, sometimes,” she said between gasps.

  “I know,” I admitted.

  After a few minutes she finally caught her breath and straightened up. Her face was still pink but her expression was stern. “What do you want, Noah?”

  “You.”

  She scoffed and rolled her eyes. “After your nice little scene in the cafeteria today, fat chance.”

  “I was awful today. I was mean, and callous, and a total moron.”

  “And selfish,” she added.

  “And selfish.”

  “And a—”

  “Yes, I was all the bad names you can think of and more.”

  Paige crossed her arms.

  I sighed. “I am so tremendously sorry.”

  “That doesn’t make up for it.”

  “I know.”

  “You can’t just say ‘sorry’, and expect everything to go back to the way it was.”

  “I don’t want everything the way it was, because—”

  “You can’t just expect me to forget how
you treated me.”

  “Paige, just stop for a second!” I’d never raised my voice to her, and it shocked us both. I kept going. “I treated you badly and I wish you could understand how deep my regret is. When you hurt, I hurt, and the pain I feel for being the source of it is deeper than you’ll ever know. I don’t want things to go back to the way they were because, frankly, I can’t. Paige, I’ve never felt anything close to the way I feel about you. So when you announced your acceptance to the college of your dreams—I’m very proud of you, by the way—I immediately saw you slipping through my fingers. That’s not on you, though. I was stupid and selfish, and I took out my pain and fear on you, which wasn’t right. I’ll never do it again. But it made me realize that I can’t sit by idly and waste whatever time we might have. I want you, Paige. I’ve been waiting since fifth grade. I don’t want to spend another day without you.”

  We stared at each other for a solid minute. For the first time in my life, I’d taken a stand. Paige wasn’t sure how to react. I watched as she struggled to sort through a wide spectrum of thoughts. Once she regrouped, she spoke softly.

  “But this is what I’m talking about, Noah. One minute you’re this sweet, wonderful guy, someone I really like and feel like I can trust, and the next minute you’re distant and thoughtless. I don’t know which is the real you.”

  “The one that cares about you more than anything in the world, that’s the real me. This other piece of it, this…screw-up…that I’ve been lately, that’s the part that is going through some messed up stuff and wants to keep you out of it. Again, I’m sorry for everything. This is the real me, standing in front of you, telling you that I want to be with you.”

  “How do I know you’re not going to hurt me?”

  “You have to take a chance.”

  “What if I can’t do that?”

  “I think you can.”

  “And if I say I can’t.”

  “Then at least let me take you on a date. Let me prove it to you.”

  Paige looked deep into my eyes. I had her considering it. Even if she said no, her deliberation was a step in the right direction, wasn’t it?

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Okay?”

  “Okay, you can take me on a date,” she clarified.

  I smiled at her. “Sunday night. Meet me at Il Trattoria, seven o’clock,” I said as I tried to mask my excitement.

  Unexpectedly, she smiled back. “Okay, see you there.”

  “Don’t be late,” I teased.

  “No promises,” she laughed.

  I’d done it. I’d broken down the first line of defense. The rest of the night was spent replaying the triumph in my mind’s eye. At one point I thought I heard my heart beat again.

  Chapter 18

  Moment of truth: I held two bags in my hands. One contained the blood of a perverted car salesman. The other, the blood of a killer. I didn’t know which was which.

  It was during yet another round of “What do you think happened to Esther Jones and Brandie Masterson?” at the lunch table that I realized what I needed to do.

  Malcolm was still avoiding me, but the girls had forgiven me.

  Celia theorized that Brandie had been abducted and taken to some creepster’s hideout in another state, that it had to be the same guy who took Esther. Paige guessed that Brandie was probably dead by now. When she said it, I instinctively reached out under the table to hold her hand. She let me.

  At home, I turned on the TV to find the local news consumed with Brandie’s disappearance and the presumed link to Esther Jones. A reporter even interviewed a couple of my classmates, all of whom tried to pretend they weren’t loving the attention and their fifteen minutes of quasi-fame—but the uncertainty in their eyes was easy to see.

  I didn’t know where to start, but I knew I had to stop him. I had to make sure he didn’t hurt anyone else. If I couldn’t solve my father’s disappearance, maybe at least I could find justice for Brandie. Was it within my power to do that? I had no idea. But I knew that I had to try.

  I pulled the two remaining bags of blood from my mini-fridge. A big part of me just wanted to move on, never think about the gruesome act again—not go down the rabbit hole. But if anyone else were to get hurt, I would drown in guilt.

  I decided to drink only a small amount from whichever bag I chose, in case I picked the wrong one. Left or right? They looked exactly the same. Taking a deep breath, I unsealed the bag in my left hand and took a sip.

  Before the vision could materialize, I swiftly secured the open bag and placed both bags back in the fridge. I hopped onto the bed and settled in, as my sight began fading out. A hum of white noise overtook my hearing.

  It was late afternoon. The sun was hanging low, bleeding through pinpricks in the heavy clouds. It took a minute to adjust, but when I did I realized I (er, he) was sitting in a car. He wasn’t going anywhere. The car was turned off, parked on a quiet, residential street. All I could do now was wait and see if it was the guy.

  A minute passed and I sensed that I had sipped from the correct pouch. I mean, who sits around in a car watching an empty street? Then, I was overcome with a creepy feeling. Seconds later, this guy perked up as a girl came bounding down the steps of her house in the distance. She was blond, petite. She looked familiar, but it took me a moment to recognize who she was.

  Classie.

  He was watching Clarissa Falke: classmate, pianist extraordinaire, and Malcolm’s prom date.

  She was carrying something—it looked like an old-fashioned cookie tin. Meanwhile, the creepster pulled out a nondigital camera and snapped a couple quick pictures. Completely oblivious, Classie hurried to her beat-up little VW bug, jumped in, and drove off. The light was fading fast, soft orange rays giving way to bruised purple. From a safe distance he followed her, never going too fast or too slow, never making a turn too hastily.

  Before long we were cruising through Arborville. What was Classie doing in Arborville? She parked in front of a nondescript one-story building. After checking that she’d rolled up her windows and locked all her doors, she briskly disappeared into the building. The man whose head I was in had parked a ways back. He didn’t attempt to follow her in. Instead, he grabbed a small black notebook and opened it to a dog-eared page:

  WEDNESDAY, 4:15 PM: LEAVES HOUSE WITH TIN, DRIVES TO 1141 WEST PARK ST. EMERGES 12 MINS LATER.

  WEDNESDAY, 5 PM: LEAVES WITH TIN. DRIVES TO ABOVE ADDRESS. EMERGES 5 MINS LATER

  WEDNESDAY, 3:47 PM: LEAVES WITH TIN FOR ABOVE ADDRESS. EMERGES 15 MINS LATER.

  *ALWAYS ALONE—QUIET AREA

  My vision suddenly darkened around the edges, like paper in a fire. I struggled as the black curled toward the center, enveloping everything I could see before me. Then a loud, painful hissing sound. Seconds later, I was back in my own body.

  I sat up, stunned by the information I’d just received. The killer had already picked another victim, and the new victim was Classie. Who knows how long he’d been watching her. If I was going to do something (and I had to do something), I needed to act soon.

  I couldn’t stop thinking about two questions: What was Classie doing in Arborville? And what was in that tin?

  ****

  At school the next day, I caught up with Malcolm. Fortunately for me, he was willing to hear me out. I presented him with a heartfelt apology and a comic book that I’d planned to give him as a birthday present. I also told him what happened with Paige.

  “Wow, she must really like you a lot,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his tone.

  “Are we okay?”

  Malcolm gave me a hard look. Two seconds later, he broke into laughter. “I’m sorry, I can’t take that sad puppy face seriously. It’s so ridiculous.”

  I chuckled.

  “You have to stop doing this, Noah. I love you, man, but you’re really starting to tick me off. I can tell when something’s weird with you, now more than ever for whatever reason. It’s not fun for me, either, so don’t be a
tool, okay?”

  “Okay. I get it, I do. Are we good now?”

  “Yeah, we’re good.”

  “Good, because I have something to tell you.”

  “Ooh! You’re going to buy me the entire Uncanny X-Men original comic book series? Thanks buddy! I knew you’d come through!” He punched my shoulder in jest.

  I leaned in close to him. “I met Doublehelix,” I whispered.

  Malcolm’s eyes went wide. “No way!”

  “Yes, way.” I spent the rest of the time before the bell, and most of homeroom, regaling him with every detail.

  After school Malcolm and I went shopping to find suitable tuxes for the prom. With mounting frustration, Malcolm leafed through the racks. “They all look the same to me,” he complained. “How am I supposed to know which one to get? I don’t even know my size.”

  “I think that’s what he’s for,” I said, indicating the store clerk.

  As I looked through more ensembles, I realized I couldn’t tell the difference either. How were we supposed to decide?

  But really, our tux dilemma couldn’t compare with the mystery of the serial killer. I wanted to warn Malcolm about what may be going on with Classie, but realized I had to be careful about telling him what I had seen.

  “So, Classie…” Malcolm did a double take of the baby blue tux he was holding. “You think?”

  he asked skeptically, indicating the puke-brown ensemble.

  The disgust on my face said it all. “No, no, no—I meant Clarissa. Classie.”

  “Ohhhhhhh! Yeah, that makes more sense.”

  “So?”

  “So, what?”

  “So, how’s it going?”

  “Good.” Malcolm continued to shift through the selection.

  I kept prodding. “Are you guys, like, boyfriend-girlfriend?”

  “Nah, we’ve only been out a couple times. I like her though.”

  “Nice.”

  “Yeah, she’s really cute and fun. So, who knows? I’m not going to analyze it.”

  “For sure. So, have you been to her house yet?”