by Amy Cross
Twomoney
Many years ago.
In the early morning sun, the boy is doing his chores. He has a bad leg, so he limps everywhere he goes and he's slow, but his parents still put him to work. First, he has to put all the clothes in a barrel with some soap and scrub them, then he has to leave them to soak for a while, then he has to scrub them a second time and finally he has to hang them up to dry. Then he has to carry a large bucket out to the river beyond the edge of town, and it's while he's going to the river that I'll surprise him.
He walks along the path that leads from the village out to the well. I stay alongside him, but I move silently through the forest. I've known the boy in passing for a few years, but I'm fifteen years old and he's only eight or nine, so we don't really have much in common. I neither like or dislike him; he's just this kid I see around. But he's the perfect specimen for a little experiment, and I have to test out my new powers on someone. Just in case things don't work as planned, I have to target someone who's weak. Someone who can't run very fast.
Finally, as he reaches the river, I step out of the bushes and allow my presence to be felt. He turns to me, but he doesn't seem very impressed that I'm here.
"What do you want, Twomoney?" he asks, sounding tired of me already.
"I came to help you," I say, keeping a little distance between us.
"I don't need help," he says, attaching the bucket to a rope. "It's my leg that's crippled, not my arms."
"I know," I say, glancing at the deformed stump that passes as his left leg. "I just thought maybe you'd like some company, that's all."
"Make your mind up," the boy says. "Are you here to help me, or to keep me company?" He glances at me sourly. "Either way, I don't need it. Go away."
"That's not very friendly. Are you always so rude?"
"What do you want?" he asks, dangling the bucket into the river. "Nobody likes you, Twomoney."
"That's mean," I say.
"It's true," he says as the bucket hits the water. "Everybody thinks you're an idiot. You're no use. You just cause trouble, and you're ugly. No-one's ever going to marry you."
"I'm not ugly," I say, starting to feel angry. I don't mind being called a lot of things, but I know damn well that I'm not ugly. "You're ugly," I tell him.
"I'm not," he says. "You are."
"No I'm not," I reply. "One day -" I pause. I was about to say that one day I'll have a husband and children, but I'm not sure if I really want that kind of life. I mean, I could get it if I wanted, but I'd prefer to get out of town and explore. I don't want to be tied down by a family. "If I want a husband, I'll get a husband," I say eventually. "I'm too young to worry about it right now. I'm young and beautiful and -"
The boy laughs.
"What are you laughing at?" I ask, stepping closer to him.
"You're stupid," he says snidely.
"I'm not," I reply.
"Yes you are," he says, pulling the bucket back up. "Everyone talks about it. Everyone knows that you're the most stupid girl in the village."
"That's a lie," I say.
"Everybody says it," the boy replies, staring at me.
I pause. "What's your name?" I ask him.
"None of your business."
"Yes it is," I say. "What's your name? I've always wondered."
"You'll have to give me something in return," he says.
I smile. "I'm ugly, remember? And stupid. What could I possibly give you that you'd ever want?"
He shrugs. "Then I won't tell you my name."
"How about eternal life?" I ask.
He stares at me.
"I could give you eternal life," I continue. "And a kind of power that you've never dreamed you could feel." I step closer to him. I could reach out and touch him now, if I wanted.
He narrows his eyes as he looks at my neck. "What are those marks?" he asks.
I touch the side of my neck, where the two little cuts have been made. "None of your business," I say. "But do you want to see something really, really strange?"
I can see the concern in his eyes now. He thought he had me under control, but now he's wondering who and what I really am.
"Come over here," I say, walking to a little spot on the ground. He follows and watches as I sit on the grass. I pull a small knife from my pocket and hold it against the skin on one of my arms.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
I smile as I put the blade to the flesh.
"Stop!" he shouts, but it's too late and I cut. Black blood oozes from the small wound. "What's that?" he asks, his voice filled with fear.
"Blood," I say, looking up at him. "I have black blood now."
"That's impossible," he says. "Blood's red."
"Yours is," I say, fixing him with a deadly stare. "Mine isn't. Not anymore. It used to be, but things changed."
"You're weird," he says, stepping away from me. "Everyone says you're weird, and it's true. There's something wrong with you."
"There is," I say, getting up and walking after him.
"I'm going to tell everyone that you're weird," he says, turning and running over to grab his bucket before heading back to the path that leads to the village.
"Are you?" I ask, following him. "Are you really?"
"Leave me alone," he says, looking straight ahead as we walk.
"Or what? If I don't do what you want, what exactly are you going to do?"
"I'll tell everyone," he says.
"Lot of good that'll do you," I reply. "What if I kill you right now? How's telling anyone going to help?"
"Get away from me," he says, starting to walk faster.
"Are you going to cry?" I ask. "Are you going to soil yourself? Or maybe you'll faint out of pure fear? Or -"
"Leave me alone!" he shouts, suddenly throwing the bucket of water at me. I have to admit, it's an unexpected move and it catches me off guard. As the bucket falls to the ground, its contents spilling all over my bare feet, I watch the boy run away from me along the path.
I smile.
I wait until the boy is far enough ahead, and then I run after him. I catch him with ease, moving ahead of him and shoving him to the ground.
"That wasn't very nice," I say, looking down at him.
He tries to get up, but he shouts out in pain as soon as he tries to put any weight on his ankle. Tears form in his eyes. The poor little boy was acting so tough, but now he realizes he's met his match.
"Go away!" he shouts at me.
I kneel in front of him. "Or what?" I ask.
"Or I'll kill you!" he says, grabbing a rock from the side of the path.
I hiss at him, baring my fangs. It's an instinctive thing, something that comes from the rage that runs through my veins. My black blood makes me angry, and I want to show him my strength. This is the first time I've ever bared my fangs in anger at anyone, and it feels good.
"What are you?" the boy shouts, tears rolling down his cheeks as he tries to crawl away from me.
"What do you think I am?" I ask, crawling after him. "Do you think I'm an idiot now?" I pause. "Do you think I'm ugly?"
"You're a monster," he says, his eyes wide as saucers as he stares at me.
"Maybe," I say. "But am I a pretty monster?" I bare my fangs again.
"You're not human," he says. "Help!" he shouts. "Someone help me!"
"No-one's going to hear you," I say. "The only way you're going to survive is if I decide to let you live. And guess what?" I pause. "I decided to kill you ages ago."
He stares at me for a moment, and then he bursts into tears. He turns and tries to get to his feet, fighting the pain of his damaged ankle, but I reach up and pull him back down to the ground, climbing on top of him and leaning into his face, baring my fangs again.
"Help!" he shouts, his voice filled with anguish.
"Any last words?" I say, smiling down at him. "When people ask me the last thing you said, I'd hate to have to tell them you just begged for your life like a common animal."
&nb
sp; "Help!" he screams.
"Fine," I say. "Don't say I didn't -"
"Stop!" shouts a voice from behind me. I turn to see four men rushing toward us. They're from the village. I recognize them, and one of them is my own father. I instinctively hiss at them, and they all stop in their tracks. Staring at me, they all have expressions of shock on their faces.
"Help!" the boy shouts.
"Twomoney?" my father asks.
"Go away!" I shout at him.
One of the other men steps forward, raising an ax "Get away from him!" he snarls at me.
"Or what?" I ask.
He comes closer, raising the ax "Get away from him!" he says again.
"You can't hurt me," I reply.
He swings the ax down at me, but I duck out of the way and grab his arm, ripping it from his body at the shoulder. Blood pours out of the wound as he staggers back. I grab the severed arm, with the ax still clutched in the hand, and I quickly drink some of the blood.
"Twomoney..." my father says, as he and the other men stand and stare at me. The fourth man is writhing in agony on the floor, clutching the stump where his arm used to be.
"Father," I say, but I know that there's nothing left for me to do here. I was hoping to keep my secret a little longer, but matters have clearly tumbled out of my control. As I stare at him, however, I feel a sudden sense of realization wash over my body. "You're not my father," I say after a moment. "Not really."
"Kill her," says one of the other men.
As they step toward me, I consider fighting them. Despite my obvious strength, however, I'm not entirely confident about taking on three men at once, so I turn and run. At least I know they can't keep up with me. I run as fast as I can through the forest, and eventually I stop and turn to find that there's no-one behind me. Not even slightly out of breath, I start walking and eventually I reach the river, where I stop to watch the water for a moment before howling with frustration. I should have killed that boy immediately, and I should have taken those men on. I could have handled them, but I doubted myself. I should have killed them all, even my father. Now they'll be running back to the village, gossiping about me, talking about what a weird creature I've become. They'll probably come and try to kill me, and I should make sure I'm not here, but part of me wants to stand and fight, to show them that I can't be beaten. Part of me wants to go back to the village and slaughter everyone. Part of me wants to just die right here.
Suddenly I sense him.
I look up, and I see Patrick standing nearby. He's just staring at me, the way he always does.
"What do you want me to do?" I ask, with tears in my eyes.
He just stares, but there's a look of great sadness in his eyes.
"What did I do wrong?" I ask, and suddenly I feel nauseous. Before I can say anything else, I drop to my knees and vomit up a huge amount of black blood, spraying the forest floor. Wiping my mouth, and with my whole body cold and shivering, I look up at Patrick. "What's wrong with me?" I ask as tears roll down my face. "What's happening?"
Sophie
For a moment, everything's white. Blindingly, horribly white. And then the white fades away and everything's black. Opening my eyes, I stare straight ahead and realize I'm flat on my back, my clothes wet from the cold stone floor, and there's nothing around me but silence.
"Twomoney?" I say tentatively, wondering if she's still around.
"Yes?" she asks from a distance.
"Nothing," I say. "I just wandered if you were there."
"Where else would I be?"
"True," I say. I start to sit up, but a shattering pain rips through my shoulder and I collapse back down onto the ground. "What the fuck's wrong with me?" I blurt out.
"I think you broke your shoulder," Twomoney says, sounding pretty calm. "It was a nasty fall. You're lucky you didn't hit your head, or worse. You could be dead."
Once again, I try to get up, but the pain is still too great. "Fuck," I say, "this really hurts."
"There's nothing to do but wait for it to heal," she says. "That's what I did every time I fell."
"I can't wait," I say. "I have to find a way out of here." I try to sit up again, and this time I focus on keeping my shoulder as still as possible. It works and, although I'm in a lot of pain, I manage to get to my feet. "I'm not going to just sit around down here, waiting to see if Patrick ever comes back. I'm sick of playing his stupid games."
"It's not a game," Twomoney replies. "Is it?"
"No," I say. It's not a game from my point of view, and it's certainly not a game from Patrick's; all he wants is to be able to control Abigail, to do whatever he wants with her. I don't really know what his plans are, but I believe Nimrod when he says that Patrick needs to be stopped. "It doesn't matter what it is," I say, sighing, "or what it's meant to be. What matters is that we get out of here and take control."
"Can't be done," Twomoney says. "We're prisoners of the last vampire, just like the prophecy says."
"Screw the prophecy," I say. "I don't care about some stupid prophecy. Prophecies are just stories."
"Prophecies come true," she replies.
"No," I say firmly. "Nimrod says they can be stopped."
"Have a rat," Twomoney says. "Take this one. I caught it just for you."
"No thanks," I say.
"It's only been dead a few minutes," she continues, as if that somehow makes it more appetizing. "I had one for myself, and then I caught one especially for you." She pauses. "Because you're my friend."
"I'm not your friend," I say, but then I realize how harsh that sounds. "I didn't mean that," I add. "I'm sorry, my shoulder just hurts and I'm trying to think of a way for us to get out of here."
There's a pause. "Sorry," she says. "I thought we were friends."
"We are," I say. "I didn't mean to put it like that. I just want to get us out of here, and then we can be friends properly, do you understand?"
"Yes," she says, but her voice has gone quiet and she sounds upset.
"Please, Twomoney," I say, "can we not argue? We have to work together and find a way out of this."
"Yes," she says, her voice becoming even fainter. Suddenly I see a little light appear.
"What's that?" I ask.
"Nothing," she snaps back, and the light disappears, as if she's covered it.
"Is that my phone?" I ask.
"I found it," she says. "It's mine now."
I pause. The phone must have fallen with me. Even though it's useless down here, I want it back. "Can I have it?" I ask. "It's mine."
"You dropped it," she says. "Finders keepers."
"That's not how it works," I say. "Listen, maybe I can still use it to get us out of here. Maybe there's something I can do."
"Like what?" she asks.
"I don't know," I reply. "Something. Anything."
There's a pause. "Here," she says suddenly. "Take it." I see the light of the phone screen again as she holds it out to me. I take it and check, but there's still no signal.
"I want you to do something for me," Twomoney says suddenly.
"I'll get us out of here," I say.
"Not that," she says. "I want you to do me a favor."
I pause. "Shoot," I say.
"I want you to look at me."
"Look at you?" I stare into the darkness. "What do you mean?"
"The light on that phone," she says slowly, "is the only light I've seen down here in the well for many, many years." She pauses. "I used to be so beautiful, but I've been down here so long. I feel the rats biting my face sometimes. Even now, when I know there are no rats there, it's as if I can feel their ghosts still gnawing away at me. I want you to use the light to look at my face and tell me what I look like."
Because it's been pitch black since I entered the well, I still haven't seen Twomoney's face, and now that the opportunity has arisen I find that I'm slightly worried. "Okay," I say, figuring that I don't have an option of turning her request down.
"Let me see you first," s
he says.
I hold the phone up to my face, allowing the light from the screen to reveal my face.
There's silence for a moment. "You're beautiful," she says eventually. "Not as beautiful as me, but still very, very pretty."
"I'm not really," I say, smiling. "I'm pretty plain."
"No," Twomoney says, "you're not plain. You're pretty. Trust me, I'm beautiful, and I know beauty when I see it. I like looking at your face." She pauses for a moment. "Now you have to look at me."
I turn the phone, trying to find her face in the darkness.
"No!" she says suddenly.
I pause. "You don't want me to look at you?"
"No," she says. "I might... I've always been beautiful, but I've been down here so long."
"I'm sure you're still beautiful," I say.
There's a pause. "Okay," she says. "But you must be honest with me."
"I'll be honest," I say. I hold the phone up again, searching in the darkness to find her. "Lean into the light," I say.
For a moment, nothing happens. But slowly, I see a face start to move closer to the phone. The first thing I notice are the eyes: they're large and wide and truly beautiful. She has the most intelligent eyes I've ever seen, almost bursting with vitality and exuberance. But as I tilt the phone to see the rest of her face, I see that any beauty she might have had has now long since faded. She's covered in small cuts and scars, some of them looking old and some of them looking very new, with chunks of flesh having been pulled away. I guess those are the rat bites from all the years she's been down here. Literally every part of her face looks like it's been chewed at some point.
"What do I look like?" she asks. It's kind of shocking and surprising to be able to see her face for the first time. "Am I still beautiful?"
I focus on her eyes. "Yeah," I say. "You are. I had no idea."
She smiles; a big, happy grin breaks across her face and I can see that she's genuinely pleased. After a moment, a tear rolls down her cheek. "I knew it," she says, her voice cracking with emotion. "I knew I was still beautiful. I could just feel it. Are the rat bites not too bad?"
"I can barely see them," I say, which is a total lie but I figure there's no way she's ever going to find out the truth. Not at this rate, anyway.
