by Hunter Blain
I strode over to my door, opening it to reveal my bedroom. With a few swift movements, the hydraulic bed was descending over my iron coffin with Locke resting comfortably on my pillow…that I was going to burn after this.
“Yyyyyuck” I said with a shiver before turning and making my way back to the front door where I opened it for the twins.
In a dramatic MC voice I said, “Welcome to the Fortress of Solitaire, apparently the hottest place around. Don’t forget to tip your waitress and leave a review on Yelp.”
Joey and Dawson smiled at this, Dawson exposing full teeth while Joey’s lips remained closed.
“Yeah we had a reservation for two. Heard you had some delicious meat,” Dawson said.
“That we do. Only the best for Depweg,” the last word stung as I said it, reminding me that no matter how hard I tried to be normal, he was still Ulric’s prisoner. That was only the best-case scenario. I shuttered as I thought about Ulric draining my best friend and gaining his immense energy. I only prey Ulric didn’t know that little party trick. He had never mentioned it at least.
“Please, help yourselves,” I said as I motioned to the kitchen.
The twins walked past me and I shut the door behind them. Dawson stopped at my locked, Battlefield Earth cabinet and asked, “What’s in here? Vampire stuff?”
“Um, yes. Yes, that is exactly what’s in there. Nothing of interest or use to you badass werewolves.”
“Werwolves,” Joey corrected, using the German term complete with pronouncing the first “w” as a “v.”
“You two really like Depweg, don’t you?” I asked with a touch of jealousy. He was my bestest good friend and I don’t like sharing.
“Yeah. Jealous?” Dawson asked as he opened the freezer and rummaged around, inspecting the contents.
“No.” Yes.
“It’s ok, man. I bet you have a fan club too. I mean, you’re old as shit, there has to be a Facebook or something about you,” Joey said.
“Pfft. There’s, like, entire Comicon’s dedicated to me. Johnicon’s they call them. I just didn’t want to embarrass you guys by bringing it up.”
A smile touched Joey’s eyes as he looked through my façade; but he was a good sport about it and let it go.
“Liar, liar coffin on fire,” Dawson said.
“Oh ya, coffins!” Joey said, “Can we see yours? I bet it’s badass.”
My mind shot to Locke’s burnt face drooling on my pillow and I immediately said, “No!” Dawson stopped searching in the freezer and looked at me suspiciously. “I try to not let anyone know where my coffin is,” I said, trying to come up with a half-truth to keep them off the scent. “You don’t live as long as I do without keeping secrets.” Score! That was an epic lie.
“Is it in there?” Dawson asked, pointing right at my Lilith damned room.
“No,” I said, mind panicking. “That’s the bathroom.”
“Oh sweet,” Joey said as he started walking towards it. His hand rested on the handle when I yelled out,
“Stop! What are you doing?”
Joey turned to look at me, confusion becoming a permanent fixture on his face. “I gotta pee, bro. That cool with you or should I just go right here on the floor.”
“If you do, I’ll rub your nose in it.”
Joey turned the knob and pushed open my door to reveal my room.
“Is it through here?” Joey asked pointing to my private bathroom.
I walked to the open door and looked in as if for the first time. It was just a normal room, complete with a normal bed. I never paid attention to the bed and basically forgot it was there, doing its job of hiding my true resting place.
“Yeah. Go ahead, man,” I said, relieved.
“What was that all about?” Dawson said, turning on two of the stove burners and setting pans down. On the counter next to the oven sat a large pile of assorted meats. “You a super private person or something?”
“I suppose that would explain things, wouldn’t it?”
“Sure, man, whatever you say. Don’t care either way,” Dawson said, organizing the meats into two pan sized portions. “Weirdo,” he muttered under his breath.
“Nice bathroom,” Joey said from behind me, startling me.
“Lilith Christ you are sneaky!” I said, pretending to grab my heart.
“All the better to stalk you with my dear,” Joey all but purred as he walked past me and into the kitchen.
“Look, you guys eat your fill. We are all going to need our strength to face Ulric,” I said as I sat on the couch and reached into my pocket for my phone. “He is a couple hundred years older than me which means he is the Thanos to my Hulk.”
“Sweet ref, dude. Love that movie,” Dawson said as the sound of sizzling meat filled the air.
“Thanks, but it’s also apropos,” I said as I texted Da, asking where he was.
“Apro what now?” Dawson asked.
“It means he’s for real about his power level being weaker than this Ulric dude,” Joey explained.
“Is your power level at least over 9,000?” Dawson asked.
“Is that a Dragon Ball Z reference? Oh yeah, Depweg is going to love you two nerds,” I said, rolling my eyes. My phone chimed and Da answered that he was on his way back after picking up some provisions. I returned with thumbs up emoji and a skull face. Then, giggling to myself, added an eggplant, water drops, and a dude’s face.
I took in a deep breath, allowing the smell of grilling flesh to enter my nostrils. Oddly enough, the blood cooking made me salivate a little. Exhaling, I stood up and said, “You two eat. I’m going to shower and change. I smell like fire and gun powder.”
“Bet,” said Dawson. I could hear his stupid smile as he spoke. He’ll get old one day. Then we’ll see who’s laughing.
I went into my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I took off my clothes and separated them into two piles; one for simple cleaning and the other for Da to repair. My poor beanie was split in half, creating a Pacman shaped disc when I laid it flat on the bed. I frowned as I let my fingers explore the damage. I loved that grey piece of cloth.
I walked to my dresser and pulled out fresh socks, underwear, and some 5.11 tactical pants. They breathed, stretched, were cut resistant, and had a shit ton of convenient pockets to keep all kinds of goodies. Plus, they made my butt look good.
I set the clothes on my bed and went to my closet where I grabbed a black cotton shirt and threw it atop the pile on my bed. It was times like this I wish I had a black turtleneck ala Archer. As I stepped into the bathroom and turned the shower faucet to hot, I quietly sang to myself, “Danger zone.”
The water cascaded down my head and across my body, dragging the dirt and grime of the night away with it as it disappeared down the black hole of the drain. I wasn’t ready for this, but I didn’t have a choice. Jonathan Depweg would do the same thing for me without a second thought. Not even a nanosecond of hesitation while simultaneously coming up with a military grade plan of attack worthy of any of the specialized branches.
I stared at the drain as water poured around my face and into my eyes, blurring my vision. Though my gaze focused on a singular point, my attention was inward.
From within the city of my mind, I made my way to the secured corporate building at the center of town. The revolving doors activated as I walked up and was greeted by a long, empty desk in the middle of the floor.
“Sup Tom, looking good man,” I did a quick nod at one of the empty chairs then turned to another. “Juli! Back already? How’s the baby doing?” No one returned an answer.
I stepped onto an escalator that carried me up to the second floor while Michael Bolton played on the overhead speakers. On the next level cushioned bench seats wrapped around dirt beds where trees grew, seeming to grow from the silver flaked white marble of the floor. There were empty businesses scattered along the perimeter of the main walkway. Expensive sugar-laden coffee wafted from the Starbucks, which was right next door to a litt
le, one chair hair and nail salon. Across the path, a Subway tempted non-existent passersby with a glass case filled with an assortment of fancy breads.
The end of the common area came into view and I was forced to take a left or a right. I chose the latter and walked right passed an empty Chic-Fil-A where I cursed out loud, “Damnit! It’s Sunday!”
After a few corridors and some sharp turns, I made my way to a bank of elevators along either side of a wall. I went through the middle to a loan set of doors that had a key card swiper that glowed a faint red next to the up button. My hand moved over it and a solid black, metal card coalesced into my palm. The scanner turned green and I pressed the button. After a moment, there was a pleasant chime and the silver doors opened to reveal a tight spaced elevator. I stepped inside, turned, and pressed penthouse, which was atop all the other buttons. The doors closed with a sealing hiss and then I was rocketed upwards. The numbers on the display went up ten floors every second. After ten seconds, I stepped out onto the third floor where I walked past an empty assistant desk and into my office.
“Hold all my calls,” I said over my shoulder as my office doors closed behind me.
Walking to a wall of black metal file cabinets, I located and pulled the file that contained the battle between Ulric and myself. After getting what I sought, I turned and made my way back to my office doors, which opened onto the street. I casually walked down the avenue in my mind to my movie theater, trying to procrastinate as much as inhumanly possible. I didn’t want to do this. It would be the equivalent of watching your most embarrassing, helpless moment go viral on social media.
Walking by the empty box office, I opened a heavy glass door to reveal a huge concession area, complete with a gelato station. My nose wrinkled at the green pistachio treat and wondered why people ate what looked like Shrex’s loogy. Looking forward, I saw the IMAX Theater complete with huge cutouts of Ulric and me in a classic battle stance surrounding the door. Both of us had our fangs and claws out as we seemingly hissed at one another. I glanced at the marquee above the door and chuckled at my own subconscious pun humor: Yesferatu.
As I entered, I sat in the handicap row, which provided the most legroom and was right in the middle of the screen. I had a pang of PC guilt for sitting in a handicapped seat while inside my mind’s city, and willed the stick figures in wheelchairs to vanish. Only the red leather of the luxury recliners remained now, rendering me guilt free. Lilith, I wish I had never discovered Facebook as now I was worried about offending people for evening thinking about sitting in a seat that was meant for those less fortunate than me (which was every one by the way). I could see the headline now on Huffington Post, “Some vampire douche sits in handicapped row inside the metaphorical theater in his own sexist, misogynistic, white, male brain.”
PS sat down beside me, which was a surprise, and pointed to the screen.
“Right,” I said as much to him as myself, “no more stalling.”
PS nodded his approval and settled back in his seat, eyes on the screen.
“You know this is all happening in the real world in a fraction of a fraction of a second, right?”
PS responded by keeping his eyes on the screen and raising one hand to point forward before letting it fall back to our shared armrest. Damn it, he got there first.
I looked down at the VHS tape in my hands and lifted it up, regarding it at arm’s length. It dissolved as the lights of the theater dimmed. The THX intro sounded, really testing the speakers inside my mind. PS hit my shoulder and I got the point. Before he could put his arm back down, I quickly put my arm down, smiling to myself in victory. Unperturbed, PS let his arm sink between the armrest and his body.
The screen went blank for a moment and then Ulric was standing in front of us. We were watching from our own point of view, as we demanded to know if Ulric knew the date. I could still feel the confused anger as if it was happening in real time. There was no time degradation with vampires as with mortals, so memory was both reliable and unforgiving. Even though I was mortal when I watched as my mother was executed, I was immediately turned and so the memory is painstakingly crystal clear.
The experience happened just before the transition and my mortal brain hadn’t completely locked in the experience of what had happened. I seem to recall it taking me at least a day to process information, like when my sheepdog was trampled by two horses towing a cart. It didn’t feel real until the next morning when I woke up and he wasn’t in my bed next to me. It was a cold winter without him.
PS nudged me, freeing me from my prison of pain, and pointed at the screen. It was an extremely blurry image of what appeared to be a boy’s hands covering the camera lens. He was sobbing.
“Dude! I didn’t know I could change the channel just by thinking! I’ve been getting the videos like a philistine this whole time.”
PS stared at me and then pointed, aggressively, to the screen.
“Ah, right,” I concentrated and the ultra-mega, impossibly clear image came back on the movie screen. Since this place wasn’t real anyway, I manifested some popcorn and began throwing handfuls back while crunching loudly with an open mouth.
“Oh, I like this part,” I said to PS as I prodded his arm with my elbow.
“Ulric,” I started calmly but with a flat undertone, “why did not a single camp have a calendar? A dated scroll?” I looked at him after speaking, awaiting his response. My accent was British at the time, matching my surroundings.
Ulric sighed, then he did something I wasn’t expecting; he looked right at me with cold eyes and said in a tone of finality, “Because I removed them before you could figure out that the mortal commander was long since dead, you petulant child.”
That moment still stunned me, my hand freezing in mid-air with imaginary popcorn falling to my lap. I was vaguely aware of PS growling next to me.
I attacked, forcing all of my rage and fury into a mighty broadsword that belonged in an anime. As I soared through the air, Ulric blurred and slammed a fist into my stomach. I’m pretty sure he could have grabbed my spine at that moment.
My eye twitched and I willed the scene to replay in slow motion. In one instance, Ulric is standing a few yards ahead of me, the next; he was right in front of me.
My eye twitched again and the scene rewound itself. I played it again, even slower this time. Ulric was standing, and then he cut the distance between us in half, culminating with a fist rocketing towards my gut.
Another twitch and I was watching the events play out at a fraction of the first viewing.
Ulric is standing, a frown of concentration appearing on his face, and he begins to rush forward, his eyes turning from purple to red like the sunrise over a cloudy morning.
“Ok,” I said to PS, “Now we have an idea of speed. Let’s watch it again at normal speed.”
PS and I leaned forward in our seats, watching the scene. Ulric is standing and begins to run toward where we were. It took all our concentration just to keep up with his movements.
“Lilith, he is fast. There’s no way we can match that speed. He’s hundreds of years older than us!” I said to PS without taking my eyes off the screen.
Predatory Self made a movement in the corner of my eye and I turned to see him pointing at his head, and then back to the screen.
Almost defeated, we used our brilliant mind and single-handedly defeated Ulric…by luck. The dude had been caught monologuing and gave us the opportunity to fry him…aaaaaannd most of London at that time, but we don’t talk about that.
“Ok, you’re right. We can’t match his speed or strength so we need to set up a trap. The only problem is, we have to go to him, right? Any moment we will get a call or a knife on the door pinning a letter about where to meet. Then, he will kill both Depweg and us.”
PS nodded in agreement while his eyes shifted to the ground, his gaze becoming heavy.
“We’ll figure it out, man! Don’t worry! I mean, we have Dawson and Joey now and there’s no way he’ll see
that coming.”
PS looked at me, warily. Then he slowly let a blood rope come out of his palm and slither around his own neck. He pretended to choke and stuck his tongue out.
“Right, we cowed them easily. BUT, they weren’t changed! They still had their man suits on!” I said with hopeful enthusiasm.
PS thought about this as he let his rope slide back into his palm, and then nodded once in acceptance.
There was a sudden Danny Elfman score that burst through the speakers of the theater and I was snapped out of my city and back behind my eyeballs where I still stared into the drain. My cell phone was ringing with the Beetlejuice theme song. I knew who it was before I even turned the water off, grabbed a towel, and stepped to the sink where my phone lay.
“Unknown” showed on the screen. I picked it up.
“Hello, Ulric,” I said, somberly.
“Please do not hang up, this is not a sales call,” a robotic woman’s voice proclaimed, “Visa-Mastercard has let us know that…” click.
Lilith, I HATE those calls. I think I could add people who program these calls as part of my meal requirements and Heaven wouldn’t even bat an eye.
My phone rang again, displaying a local Houston number.
“Remove me from your fucking list before I come down there and fist you like a Muppet!” I yelled into the phone.
“Hello?” A familiar voice asked, unsure about my greeting. “Do I have the right number?”
“Ulric?”
“Yes. Is this John?”
“Yes. I’ve been expecting you,” I said, sighing into the phone as my rage from the spam calls melted into the reality that was despair.
Ulric’s voice grew serious, “Good, boy. It’s been a long time, and I’ve been undying to see you.”
