Thirst No. 1

by Christopher Pike

  “Yes.”

  He is getting desperate. “Tell me what’s happening here. Who are you?”

  I continue to stare in the mirror. I don’t want to ask the questions. Simply to ask is to be weak, and I am always strong. It is not as though I have any hope. Yet I ask anyway.

  “The young man near the truck . . . ,” I begin.

  “Your partner? The guy who was on fire?”

  “Yes.” I swallow. My throat is dry. “Was he thrown free?”

  Joel softens. “No.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “But is he dead?”

  Joel understands what I am saying. My partner was like me, not normal. Even severely injured, he could have healed. But Joel shakes his head, and I know Ray was blown to pieces.

  “He’s dead,” Joel says.

  “I understand.” I sit up and cough weakly. Joel brings me a glass of water. As I touch the rim of the glass to my lips, a drop of red stains the clear liquid. But the color does not come from my mouth or nose. It is a bloody tear. Seldom have I ever cried. This must be a special occasion.

  Joel hesitates. “Was he your boyfriend?”

  I nod.

  “I’m sorry.”

  The words really do not help me. “Did both tankers, at both ends of the warehouse, blow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you see anyone run out of the warehouse after the explosion?”

  “No. That would have been impossible. It was an inferno. The police are still going through the mess, picking out the charred bodies. They’ve cordoned off the whole area.” He pauses. “Did you set those tankers to blow?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “To kill those inside. They were your killers. But I don’t want to talk about that now. What about the other man? The one who was with my boyfriend and me? Did he get away?”

  “I don’t know where he went. He was just gone.”

  “Oh.” That means he got away.

  “Who was that man?” Joel asks.

  “I’m sure you can guess.”

  “Edward Fender?”

  I nod. “Eddie.”

  Joel sits back and stares at me. At this young woman whose body was crushed twelve hours ago, and who now appears completely well except for a few bloody tears. I note the dark sky through the cracked window, the glow of neon signaling the beginning of another long night. He wants me to tell him why. But I am asking myself the same question. Why did it take five thousand years to find someone to love again? Why was he then taken from me after only six weeks?

  Why time and space, Krishna? You erect these walls around us and then close us in. Especially when those we love leave us. Then the walls are too high, and no matter how hard we jump, we cannot see beyond them. Then all we have are walls falling in on us.

  I do not believe my dream. Life is not a song. Life is a curse, and no one’s life has been longer than mine.

  “How did you heal so fast?” Joel asks me.

  “I told you, I am not normal.”

  He trembles. “Are you a human being?”

  Wiping away my bloody tears, I chuckle bitterly. What was that in my dream? That part about me wanting to be different? How ironic—and foolish. It was as if I were a child going to sleep at night and asking my mother if I could please have a horrible nightmare.

  “Ordinarily I would say no,” I reply. “But since I’m crying, and that’s a thing humans often do, then maybe I should say yes.” I stare down at my red-stained hands and feel his eyes on them as well. “What do you think?”

  He takes my hands in his and studies them closer. He is still trying to convince himself that reality has not suddenly developed a pronounced rip.

  “You’re bleeding. You must still be injured.”

  I take my hand back and wave away his question. “I am this way. It is normal for me.” I have to wipe my cheeks again. These tears—I cannot stop them. “Everywhere I go, everything I touch . . . there is blood.”

  “Sita?”

  I sit up sharply. “Don’t call me that! I am not her, do you understand? She died a long time ago. I am this thing you see before you! This . . . this bloody thing!” Not minding my nakedness, I stand and walk to the window, stepping over my burnt clothes, lying on the floor in a pile. He must have peeled them off me; the material is sticky with charred flesh. Pulling the curtain farther aside, I stare out at a landscape that looks as foreign from the world of my dream as another galaxy. We cannot be far from the warehouse. We are still in the ghetto, still on the enemy’s turf. “I wonder what he’s doing right now,” I mutter.

  Joel stands at my back. “While you rested, I went out and bought you some clothes.” He gestures to a bag sitting on a chair in the corner. “I don’t know if they will fit.”

  “Thank you.” I go to the corner and put them on: blue jeans, a gray sweatshirt. They fit fine. There are no shoes, but I don’t need them. I notice my knife sitting on the chair beneath the bag. However, the leather strap that I used to secure it to my leg is not there. I put it in my back pocket instead. It sticks out a few inches. Joel follows my moves with fear in his eyes.

  “What are you going to do?” he asks.

  “Find him. Kill him.”

  Joel takes a step toward me. “You have to talk to me.”

  I shake my head. “I cannot. I tried to talk to you on the pier, and you still followed me. I suspect you will try to follow me again. But I understand that. You’re just trying to do your job. I’m just trying to do mine.” I turn toward the door. “It will be over soon enough, one way or the other.”

  He stops me as I reach for the knob. Even after all he has seen of me. He is a brave man. I do not shake his hand from my arm. Instead, I stare into his eyes, but without the intention of manipulation, the desire to control. I stare at him so that he can stare at me. Without Ray, for the first time in a long time, I feel so lonely. So human. He sees my pain.

  “What would you like me to call you?” he asks gently.

  I make a face. Without the mirror I don’t know if it is very pleasant. “You may call me Sita if you wish . . . Joel.”

  “I want to help you, Sita.”

  “You cannot help me. I’ve explained to you why, and now you’ve seen why.” I add, “I don’t want you to get killed.”

  He is anxious. It must mean he likes me, this bloody thing. “I don’t want you to get killed. I may not have your special attributes, but I am an experienced law enforcement officer. We should go after him together.”

  “A gun won’t stop him.”

  “I have more to offer than a gun.”

  I smile faintly and reach up to touch his cheek. Once again I think what a fine man he is. Consumed with doubts and questions, he still wants to do his duty. He still wants to be with me.

  “I can make you forget,” I say to him. “You saw how I affected the mother’s mind. I can do that kind of thing. But I don’t want to do it to you, even now. I want you just to get away from here, get away from me. And forget any of this ever happened.” I take my hand back. “That is the most human thing I can tell you, Joel.”

  He finally lets go of my arm. “Will I see you again?” he asks.

  I am sad. “I hope not. And I don’t mean that cruelly. Goodbye.”

  “Goodbye.”

  I walk out the door and close it behind me. The night is not as warm as I like it, nor is it cold, as I hate. It is cool and dark, a fine time for a vampire to go hunting. Later, I tell myself, I will grieve for Ray. Now there is too much to do.

  ELEVEN

  On foot I return to the vicinity of the warehouse. But as Joel said, the entire area is cordoned off by numerous police officers. From several blocks away I study the remains of the warehouse with my acute vision, perhaps subconsciously searching for the remains of Ray. The investigative crew, however, is working the ruins. Whatever was lying around outside has already been picked up and deposited into plastic bags with white labels
on them. With the many flashing red lights, the mounds of ash, and the ruined bodies, the scene depresses me. Still, I do not turn away from it. I am thinking.

  “But what he did do was tie Heather up in his bedroom closet, standing up and wearing his high school letter jacket—and nothing else—and force her to suck on Popsicles all night.”

  The night I met the newborn vampires, I heard an ice-cream truck in the vicinity, its repetitive jingle playing loudly. In the middle of December in the middle of the night. Then, when I visited Mrs. Fender, I learned she had a large freezer in her house. Finally, after parking my tanker outside the warehouse, I saw out of the corner of my eye an ice-cream truck. From where I stand now, I cannot see that same spot to tell if the truck is still there. But with the security in the area I think that it might be there, and I believe that it might be important.

  What kind of thing did Eddie have about Popsicles?

  What kind of fetish did he have about frozen corpses?

  Were the fetishes related?

  If Eddie did get his hands on Yaksha’s remains and Yaksha was still alive, Eddie would have been forced to keep Yaksha in a weakened state to control him. There are two ways to do that—at least, only two that I know of. One is to keep Yaksha impaled with a number of sharp objects that his skin cannot heal around. The other is more subtle and deals with the nature of vampires themselves. Yaksha was the incarnation of a yakshini, a demonic serpent being. Snakes are cold-blooded and do not like the cold. In the same way vampires hate the cold, although we can withstand it. Yet ice thwarts us as much as the sun, slowing down our mental processes, hampering our ability to recover from serious wounds. Going by Eddie’s obvious strength and knowledge of my identity, I hypothesize that he has indeed gotten a hold of Yaksha alive and is keeping him in an extremely weak state while he continues to drink his blood. I suspect Eddie keeps him impaled and half frozen.

  But where?

  At home with Mom?

  Doubtful. Mom is crazy and Yaksha is a treasure too dangerous to leave lying around. Eddie would keep his blood supply close. He would even take it with him when he went out hunting at night.

  I find a phone booth nearby and call Sally Diedrich. Before leaving the coroner’s office, I had obtained her home and work number. I am not in the mood for idle gossip, so I come right to the point. Before going into the stiff business, did Eddie used to be an ice-cream man? As a matter of fact, yes, Sally replies. He and his mom owned a small ice-cream truck business in the Los Angeles area. That’s all I wanted to know.

  Next I call Pat McQueen, Ray’s old girlfriend.

  I don’t know why I do it. She is not someone I can share my grief with, and besides, I do not believe such a thing should be shared. Yet, on this darkest of all nights, I feel an affinity with her. I stole her love and now fate has stolen mine. Maybe it is justice. Dialing the number, I wonder if I call to apologize or to antagonize her. I remind myself that she thinks Ray perished six weeks ago. My call will not be welcome. I may just open wounds that have already begun to close. Still, I do not hang up when she answers after a couple of rings.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, Pat. This is Alisa. I’m sure you remember me?”

  She gasps, then falls into a wary silence. She hates me, I know, and wants to hang up. But she is curious. “What do you want?” she asks.

  “I don’t know. I stand here asking myself the same question. I guess I just wanted to talk to someone who knew Ray well.”

  There is a long silence. “I thought you were dead.”

  “So did I.”

  An even longer pause. I know what she will ask. “He is, isn’t he?”

  I bow my head. “Yes. But his death was not just an accident. He died bravely, by his own choice, trying to protect what he believed in.”

  She begins to weep. “Did he believe in you?” she asks bitterly.

  “Yes. I like to think so. He believed in you as well. His feelings for you went very deep. He did not leave you willingly. I forced him.”

  “Why? Why couldn’t you just leave us alone?”

  “I loved him.”

  “But you killed him! He would be alive now if you had never spoken to him!”

  I sigh. “I know that. But I did not know what would happen. Had I known, I would have done things completely different. Please believe me, Pat, I did not want to hurt you or him. It just worked out that way.”

  She continues to cry. “You’re a monster.”

  The pain in my chest is great. “Yes.”

  “I can’t forget him. I can’t forget this. I hate you.”

  “You can hate me. That’s all right. But you don’t need to forget him. You won’t be able to anyway. Nor will I be able to. Pat, maybe I do know why I called you. I think it was to tell you that his death does not necessarily mean the end of him. You see, I think I met Ray long ago, in another place, another dimension. And that day at school when we all introduced ourselves, it was like magic. He was gone, but he came back. He can come back again, I think, or at least we can go to him, to the stars.”

  She begins to quiet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I force a smile, for myself. “It doesn’t matter. We both loved him and he’s gone, and who knows if there is anything else? No one knows. Have a good night, Pat. Have sweet dreams. Dream about him. I know I will for a long time.”

  She hesitates. “Goodbye, Alisa.”

  Hanging up, I stare at the ground. It is closer than the sky, and at least I know it is real. Clouds hang overhead anyway, and there are no stars tonight. I call my old friend Seymour. He answers quickly, and I tell him everything that has happened. He listens without interrupting. That’s what I like about him. In this world of gossip a good listener is rarer than a great orator. He is silent when I finish. He knows he cannot console me and he doesn’t really try. I respect that as well. But he does acknowledge the loss.

  “Too bad about Ray,” he says.

  “Yeah. Real bad.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.”

  His voice is firm. “Good. You have to stop this bastard. I agree with you—Yaksha is probably in that ice-cream truck. All the signs point in that direction. Why didn’t you wait until you checked it out before calling me?”

  “Because if he is in there, and I get him away from Eddie and the cops, I won’t be of a mind to make phone calls.”

  “Good. Get Yaksha. He’ll heal quickly and then the two of you go after Eddie.”

  “I don’t think it will be that easy.”

  Seymour pauses. “His legs won’t grow back?”

  “This might surprise you, but I don’t have a lot of experience in such matters. But I doubt it.”

  “That’s not good. You’ll have to face Eddie alone.”

  “And I didn’t do so well last time.”

  “You did well. You destroyed his partners. But you have to act fast or he will make more, and this time he will not allow them to gather in one place and be so easily wiped out.”

  “But I cannot beat him by force. I have proved that to myself already. He is just too fast, too strong. He’s also smart. But you’re smart, too. Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

  “I can only give you some hints. You have to place him in a situation where your advantages are magnified. He probably cannot see and hear as well as you. He is probably more sensitive to the sun.”

  “The sun didn’t slow him down much.”

  “Well, he may be more sensitive to cold than you. I suspect that he is and doesn’t know it. He certainly seems sensitive when it comes to his mother. He’s what? Thirty years old? And he’s a vampire and he’s still living at home? The guy can’t be that fearsome.”

  “I appreciate the humor. But give me something specific.”

  “Take her hostage. Threaten to kill her. He’ll come a-running.”

  “I have thought of that.”

  “Then do it. But get Yaksha away from him first. I
think it’s Yaksha who can give you the secret of how to stop him.”

  “You read and write too many books. Do you really think there is a magical secret?”

  “You are magic, Sita. You are full of secrets you don’t even know. Krishna let you live for a reason. You have to find that reason, and this situation will resolve itself automatically.”

  His words move me. I had not told him of my dream. Still, my doubts and my pain are too heavy for words alone to wash away.

  “Krishna is full of mischief,” I say. “Sometimes, so the stories went, he did things for no reason at all. Just because he wanted to.”

  “Then you be mischievous. Trick Eddie. The football players at our school are all bigger and stronger than I am. But they’re all a bunch of fools. I could whip their asses any day.”

  “If I survive this night, and tomorrow night, I will hold you to that proud boast. I might tell your football team exactly what you said about them.”

  “Fair enough.” He softens. “Ray was enough. Don’t die on me, Sita.”

  I am close to tears again. “I will call you the first chance I get.”

  “Promise?”

  “Cross my heart and hope to die.”

  He groans but he is frightened for me. “Take care.”

  “Sure,” I say.

  Sneaking into the secured area is not difficult. I simply leap from one rooftop to the next when no one is looking. But getting out with an ice-cream truck in tow will not be so easy. There are police cars parked crossways at every exit. Nevertheless, that is the least of my worries. Moving silently a hundred feet above the ground, I see that the ice-cream truck is still in place. A palpable aura of pain surrounds it like a swarm of black insects above a body that has lain unburied. Dread weighs heavily on me as I leap from my high perch and land on the concrete sidewalk beside the truck. I feel as if I have just jumped into a black well filled with squirming snakes. No one stands in the immediate vicinity, but the odor of venom is thick in the air. Even before I pull aside the locked door to the refrigerated compartment, I know that Yaksha is inside and in poor condition.