by H. T. Night
I felt like I was being played for a fool, except for the fact that Felix had no idea who I was. I struck up a conversation with a pretty brunette while I waited, figuring Felix out was going to take a lot longer than I thought.
“Nice party,” I said. “I like pretzels. A party really isn’t a party until pretzels make an appearance. Am I right?” I said, knowing I was being ironic and hoping she got the joke.
“Was that a pick-up line?” she asked. “I couldn’t tell if you liked me or you’re really into pretzels.” She gave me a knowing look and said, “That’s me being ironic and in both cases, I don’t think either one of us used the word correctly in a sentence.”
I smiled. “Thank goodness the grammar police aren’t around. That would be extremely annoying, ya know,” I said with a smirk. I really didn’t care if she liked me. This wasn’t the kind of party I normally frequented, and this was definitely not the type of woman I’d hit on. Both were in the ‘out of reach’ zone. Just the party itself made me wonder why in my dreams Felix associated with scumbags, but in reality, he was a regular Gatsby.
I was horribly confused. Eventually, the brunette found a guy more up her alley and she bailed.
I sipped carbonated water, so I could keep my wits about me. And the problem was, this was a party that was out of my league and these were the type of drug addicts that pay a hundred grand to go to a clinic to get clean. On both accounts, I was of no use here. I made my way over to Felix and he was in the middle of a conversation with a cute blonde. I told him I was going to take off. He asked me if I needed a ride home. I told him I would be taking a cab. He gave me a funny look. A look more menacing than what I had seen him give to this point. But then he quickly cracked a smile. If I didn’t already suspect this guy of a being a psychopath, this very small interaction told me more than he possibly could know.
He was the guy in my dreams. I knew it. It sickened my gut when I realized it really was him. Just a look told me. It was like for a split second I saw the man in my dreams appear as the man in my dreams. He didn’t just come out and say, ‘Hey, I really killed all those people in your dreams’. But what I saw...was a person who was capable of doing anything.
A wild card.
Wild cards are a hard group to pin down. Now I knew what I was dealing with. Felix was a fucking Draw Four in my Uno deck.
Chapter Twenty-two
3:00 a.m. Monday Morning, Labor Day
I left the party and took out my cell so I could call a cab. I looked at the night and wondered if I was capable of flying. The concept that I could turn into a bird was strange enough, but now you add flight to it. Holy shit!
I got a sudden burst of energy and I had a large amount of excitement about the unknown. I had to give this a try.
I decided to walk away from the party a few blocks until I was in a completely different track altogether. I found a fairly vacant street. I looked up and it read, ‘Western.’ I knew where I was. Knott’s Berry Farm wasn’t very far away.
I stood in the middle of the street and looked around. Not a creature was stirring. Not even a mouse.
I decided to reenact what I did when I was able to turn in front of Steve. I thought what it would feel like to be a raven and I closed my eyes.
Again, when I opened them, the world was incredibly large. I needed to remain calm. My bird form was fully developed, so I just need to learn how to fly. I looked down at my bird feet and laughed to myself. It was a funny thing; birds can’t laugh the way human do. It sounded like a sarcastic squawk.
I decided to take off running on my tiny bird legs and just start flapping my wings like any normal person would do if they were in my situation. I laughed at the absurdity of that statement from all its angles.
Again, it sounded more like a sarcastic squawk.
I continued to flap my wings and I noticed that if I flapped them in a rhythm, I would began to get lift. It was learning that rhythm. It was hard to learn, and before I knew I was flying around like Mighty Mouse. More like Mighty Raven. Again, I did a sarcastic squawk.
I decided once I got used to the feeling of flight that I liked it. I’d had enough dreams that I could fly all my life and it was funny. The reality of flying, how it feels underneath you and the gliding in midair was exactly like the dreams I had.
I had flying dreams before I was a vampire.
A vampire?
What the hell am I saying? What the hell have I become? I continued flying home and I knew landing was going to be the tricky part. I had seen enough superhero movies where people fly, where the landing was always the bitch.
I saw my condo off of State College and Chapman, right by Cal State Fullerton. I could see the Kevin Costner paid, world-class baseball field. Everything was beautiful. I decided I would land across the street from the stadium. There was a church that had a large open parking lot as part of its property. And they had a large green field in the back of their church.
I debated landing in the parking lot, but it made far more safety sense to land in the field in the back. Grass versus gravel? Not a big decision. I flew down at the front of where the grass started, so it gave me the best chance of landing. I tried slowing my flight to almost a standstill. Then I just glided my way down to the grass. It was that easy. Once I hit the grass, I transitioned back to my human form.
I dusted myself off and checked my jean pockets; my wallet, keys, and cell phone made the journey back.
I walked across the street and made my way to my house.
I slept deeply and soundly. No dreams of Felix and his killing escapades. Thank God. I took a long shower and put on some clean clothes. I looked down at my phone and I had a text from Steve.
It read, ‘You still up for Monday Night Football at Ricardo’s?’
I texted him back that I would be there at the usual time.
I laughed. Why? Because only Steve could make me laugh under these circumstances.
I decided to have some of my delicious new favorite, bloody tea, with my scrumptious human blood, donated to me to save my life. Whoever donated it wasn’t aware they were saving a vampire’s life. But I had come to terms that if I had to lift a few bags here and there and it kept me alive, I was going to do it and not feel guilty. I was going through the bags too fast. I really enjoyed human blood. I had a bag and a half left. I knew I would need to make a stop before I got home.
Chapter Twenty-three
5:30 p.m. Monday Evening, Labor Day
I walked into Ricardo’s bar and I spotted Steve in the corner right in front of the Monday night game between New England and Cleveland. We both bet New England to cover and we expected a blow-out.
I sat down across from Steve and looked at his plate. He was about six wings into a twenty-five count. Steve liked his wings.
“Damn, those look good,” I said.
“Order a 24-sizer. It’s like ten bucks,” Steve said, jolly and very, very lit. He also liked his beer.
“I’ll never eat another wing again,” I said. “It’s weird knowing I have zero appetite. They look good, but I’m not interested.”
“That what I’m thinking about the women in this place,” Steve said to me. “Couple city. Where are the single ladies at?” Steve was obviously not going to let me mention vampire talk at all. “Our age? Single women are a scary deal.”
“I guess there is a reason why they are single,” I said, knowing I was also thirty-something and very single. But what about Donna? What did we call what we were? What were we?
“Not married. Not in any type of relationship,” Steve said. “Just sort of dating. I think that’s what the world is slowly turning into.”
“At least you hope so.”
“Does Hunter still believe in fairy tales?”
“Not fairy tales,” I said. “Just love.”
“Wait. Wait. Wait. What the hell is going on? I know when my boy is smitten by the opposite sex.”
“Oh, you do?” I said, laughing.
Ste
ve grinned and said, “Yes, I do. It’s very different when I know you’re smitten by the same sex.”
“Must you?” I said. “I need to get some help here, Steve. I can’t go out in the sunlight. So how do I ever return to work again? If I can’t return to work, how do I make an income to live as humanly as possible?”
“Don’t avoid my love question. I know you have some crazy shit going on in your life. Is one of them true love?”
“Look, Donna and I might have turned a corner.”
“Donna? Donna Schwartz? From high school Donna? ‘Crackhead’, ‘given blow jobs to homeless guys’ Donna?”
“Fuck you, dude. She has never done that. And if you have heard that...it’s bullshit.”
“Okay, that last one was a test to see if you really were serious? Holy fuck, you are. When did this happen?”
“It just did. We have always been close.”
“I never understood it, but now, it all makes a little bit of sense.”
“You think?” I said, surprised Steve was being so open-minded about it.
“No, it doesn’t, numb nuts,” Steve said. “Right now in your situation, a crack-addicted female is the last thing you need to be dealing with. You can barely take care of yourself these days.”
“How do you know? How do you know anything? I’m being serious. You’re now scared shitless of me. You won’t talk to me about what is really important. ”
“Look, man. When we first talked about it, I’ll admit, I was freaked out. But...”
“Now you’re not?” I said. “What has changed?”
“I just figured I needed to be a better friend and have a bigger set of balls.”
I looked at Steve, and that was exactly what I wanted him to say. And that was why we were best friends. “I can’t stay long,” I said. “I have to rob a blood bank for dinner.”
Steve chuckled.
“Laugh it up, man,” I said, shaking my head.
“Hey, I’m just glad that you haven’t tried to have me for lunch.” Steve smiled at me and said, “So what have you been doing with yourself these days?”
“Actually I have been hanging out with that guy from my dreams.”
“What dreams?” Steve asked.
“My seizure-dream deal. Ever since I...well...you know. I have been having these insanely clear dreams.”
“What is happening in these dreams?”
“I’m watching a serial killer,” I said.
Steve looked at me, confused.
“Look, Steve. Ever since the attack, my sleep paralysis has turned into a detailed nightmare extravaganza. I see this guy killing people, and then I ran into him in real life and he has the same name as he does as the guy in my dream.”
“And in your dream?”
“Nightmare.”
“In your nightmare, you see a guy killing people and then you met the same dude in real life?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“You said you ran into him by accident. Have you seen him since?”
“Yes,” I said. “Last night.”
“What the hell, Hunter? Do you think that’s wise?”
“We went out a few times, and the strangest thing is that he seems completely normal.”
“That’s not strange at all. Psychopaths are master actors. Every time a serial killer is caught, you see some little old lady on the news telling everyone how he seemed like such a nice boy. Hanging out with that guy is bad news. He’s dangerous, and you don’t want to get caught up in his murder spree. Not to mention, the guy is in your dreams in a paranormal way; it’s unnatural for you to be visiting with him. Stay the hell away, man.”
“You don’t understand,” I said.
“No, Hunter, you’re wrong. I do. Stay away from that guy. Let’s catch him the old-fashioned way.”
I got up and downed a beer. “I have to go; I’m starving.”
“Shut your ass up. I’ll buy you a shot of tequila. That will have to take the edge off.”
“I doubt it,” I said.
“Then have four or five until you don’t give a fuck anymore about the blood.”
So that was what I did. I took my old friend’s advice. I got drunk off my ass. You know what, I quit craving blood. I could see how it would be easy for vampires to be alcoholics if that was the only way to fight blood cravings.
Steve and I just talked football and any other sport that snuck into our conversation for the rest of the game. I drank a lot, and there was no way I was driving or flying home.
That wasn’t the biggest drama in my life that night. I lost a big bet two weeks in a row. Steve lost too, so he wasn’t exactly rubbing it in like he was last week.
I looked to the sky, drunk, and laughed, “Don’t drink and fly.”
I called a cab for myself. Plus, I had an errand I had to run.
Chapter Twenty-four
11:00 p.m. Monday Evening, Labor Day
I hit up the blood bank to get a real drink. I had lifted a key to the storage area when I had volunteered, and now it was time to see if I could get in and out undetected. If I could—holy shit, I just hit the lottery for vampires.
I got to the bank, and there was no one there except for a security guard who was at the front of the bank, half asleep. He struck me as a graveyard security guard who fell asleep a lot. So I knew that if I was extra quiet, that should be enough not to wake him.
I had a cab drop me off in another parking lot and told him to just take off, and I would walk home from here. I figured I would make a second call to a cab or call Steve once I had the blood.
I jumped the fence to the blood bank and went to the back, where my key was able to open the backdoor. I opened the door slowly and quietly. I was glad to see no alarms or sirens went off. I have found that if a place pays for a security guard, the likelihood that they would have surveillance was highly unlikely. I looked around for cameras, and there were none. I didn’t remember them being there last time either.
I went to the refrigeration system that the blood bank kept the blood donations in. I grabbed five bags from the back and thought I would try to be thriftier this time, so it looked less suspicious. No one would ever miss five. Five was a good number. Five could last me a week if I was careful about it. Plus, I had a key and could come back anytime. I went to the janitorial closet and found a nice large black trash bag. I put the five bags of blood in the bag. I quietly headed out the back and I hopped the fence again to the original parking lot where I was dropped off. I called a second cab to come pick me up. I had them pick me up about half a mile up the road at an Arco. I walked to the Arco in the early morning light, holding a trash bag with a weeks’ worth of blood in it for your everyday vampire. My life was so weird at the present moment.
I was dying for a drink. I decided to go behind a chiropractor’s office building and take a swig out of one of the bags. My cravings were off the charts.
I got to the back of the chiropractor’s office and was away from the main road. There was a trash can near the office’s backdoor. I walked up to the trash can and placed my bag on the side of the top left of the trash can so it wouldn’t fall into the trash. There wasn’t anyone anywhere. I took one bag out and made a tiny slurping hole so I could drink straight from the bag. I didn’t want to make the hole too big because I was to clog it up when I was done drinking.
I lifted the bag to my mouth and I made a tiny puncture no bigger than the size of a Tic-Tac. Suddenly, blood poured down my neck and I felt a rush and a satisfaction unlike anything I had ever experienced. It was like having your munchies satisfied, times a thousand. My drink was intoxicating, and it didn’t matter how big of a hole I made. I ended up drinking the entire bag, every last drop. I was tempted to open a second bag, but I refused. I needed to get this under control. I had worked with enough addicts to know I could beat this.
I had the cab driver drive me over to Donna’s. I couldn’t fly because I had this large ass bag with me full of bl
ood. My money was running low taking all these cab rides, but I had enough to pay the guy.
I hoped she would be home and sober. I hadn’t spoken to her since the night of the pizza. We connected so well that I had to see her again.
She answered the door, and by the look on her face, she wasn’t surprised at all to find me there.
“I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Nope,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep and I was about to call you. I was actually thinking it was way too late to call; now here you are, on my doorstep.”
“What time is it?” I asked.
“Five in the morning,” Donna answered. “Come in, I’ll make us a cup of coffee.”
“How have you been doing, Donna?”
“Am I clean? Is that your question?”
“No, the first question is a sincere ‘how are you doing?’ My second question would be, ‘Are you using?’”
Donna smiled. “I guess you’re right; you’re a straight shooter in that way. And to answer both questions I’ll say, I’m better now that you’re here, and no, I haven’t used since that day with my brother.”
“Good,” I said. “I’m proud of you.”
“You always are, Hunter. You have truly been the most loyal friend I have had over the years. You know what that kind of makes you.”
“What is that?” I asked.
“It makes you my best friend. I know I will never have Steve beat as your best friend, but in my heart of hearts, I know that you’re my best friend.”
I looked at Donna and she had good color in her face. She seemed like she hadn’t slept, but she was acting clean. My heart was beating really fast while I was in Donna’s presence. Donna moved me in a way that most women couldn’t even if they tried. It was just her way. The way she does things. The way she says things.
“What is going on, Hunter? What’s going on in that mind of yours? I feel a heaviness coming from you. Does it have anything to do with why you showed up at my house at five in the morning with a large, black plastic trash bag?”
