Stage Fright (Bit Parts)

by Scott, Michelle

  I started to shout a warning about the dog, but the words froze in my mouth. Standing in front of me was a dead-eyed, slack-jawed man in a shredded t-shirt. He stank of rotting meat. My mind screamed zombie.

  Faster than light, the thing lunged. Instinctively, I shoved him away, but he held me fast. Teeth grazed my neck before a sudden flash of light drove him backwards. Spots danced before my eyes. The smell of scorched flesh made me gag.

  “Cassandra! Get in your car.”

  That smooth, deep voice was a balm to my shattered nerves. “Isaiah!” I didn’t know what on earth he was doing down at the Bleak Street on a Monday night, but I didn’t care. I knew salvation when I heard it.

  With shaking fingers, I tried to unlock the car door. When someone else came to my side, I shrieked again. “It’s just me,” Perry said. He turned on a penlight and shined it at his face. He looked ghoulish in the strange light, his grin a jack-o-lantern’s leer.

  “Isaiah?”

  “He’ll be okay. The guy’s pretty kickass.”

  Finally, I unlocked the car and dove inside. The slam of the heavy door had never sounded so good. I craned my neck for a peek at Isaiah, but saw nothing in the dark.

  Something heavy thudded on the roof of my car and rolled down the windshield. Turning on the headlights, I finally saw my rescuer. He dressed in a black leather coat and biker boots, standing as tall and proud as a warrior. A comic book artist could never had drawn a more impressive hero.

  Perry rapped on the passenger side window. I hit the button to unlock the door, and he scrambled into the passenger seat. “Drive.”

  “I can’t. I’m blocked in.”

  “Drive!”

  Another object hit the roof and rolled off. Startled, I cranked the ignition key, starting the engine with a roar. Something fell on the trunk. “What the hell?”

  “Get moving!” Perry shouted.

  I eased forward, wondering how I was going to get past Darryl’s car without scraping up my vehicle.

  “Damn it, woman! Drive!!” Perry stomped his foot on mine. The car shot forward with a spray of sparks, metal screeching against metal as it wedged its way between Darryl’s car and the brick wall of the adjacent building. We swung into the road, the back end of my car fishtailing, and then sped down the street, running the red light at the intersection. Only then did Perry let up on my foot.

  I immediately slowed down and pulled over. My body shook as the adrenaline ebbed. My mouth was cotton dry.

  Perry turned around in his seat, looking out of the back window. “Sorry about your car, but it had to be done.”

  “Darryl’s car…and his foot…his foot was, it was…I think he’s dead.” Forming coherent sentences was impossible. “What are those things?”

  Several dark shapes sped towards us. I shrieked and ducked. Two flew past while one ran right over the top of the car, shaking us as it raced overhead.

  “Shit!” Perry’s eyes were wide. “Get out of here, Cassie! Understand? Don’t stop driving until you get home.”

  Before I could argue, he’d left the car and was jogging down the street.

  With shaking hands, I started the car. I could drive home right now. I should drive home right now. Then I would lock the doors, bar the windows, and drain every bottle in my parents’ liquor cabinet in order to forget what I’d seen. Or I could go back and face that nightmare.

  I bit my lip, my palms itching to grab the steering wheel and head for safety. Then an inhuman screech split the night. Isaiah and Perry were trapped in the Bleak Street’s parking lot. I had to do something to help them. Even if it was only driving their getaway car.

  I hammered down on the gas pedal and yanked on the steering wheel, making an illegal U-turn. My tires squealed as if I were a stunt driver in an action movie.

  A figure loomed up in my headlights so suddenly that I had no time to swerve. I struck it head-on with a sickening crunch. The body slid up the hood of my car, its head lolling weirdly. I slammed on the brakes, and it rolled onto the street.

  Instinct and years of lectures from my father told me that I should never hit and run. However, zombies were running amok in the streets of Detroit, and that rule no longer applied. Did it? But what if hadn’t been a zombie? What if it was a human? Sick with dread, I stayed in my car, too afraid to get out, and too afraid to continue on.

  Isaiah appeared in the headlights. He hauled the thing I’d hit to its feet and disappeared back into the dark.

  Someone tapped on the rear window. I screamed, nearly hammering down on the gas pedal once again. To my relief, it was Perry, who was panting heavily. I fumbled with the door locks and let him in. A moment later, I was unlocking the door for Isaiah who threw a baseball bat into the backseat and climbed in after it.

  “What the hell just happened?” I demanded. My hands shook so hard that I couldn’t hold onto the steering wheel. “What’s going on?!” I was winding up tighter and tighter. Either I’d snap or fly out of control. “And what about Darryl?” My voice was so shrill, it pinched. “Tell me!”

  “Tell her,” Perry said.

  “You know I can’t do that,” Isaiah said calmly.

  “You think you’re protecting her, but you’re not.”

  “Please!” I begged. “This has to do with the Cipher, doesn’t it?” When neither man responded, I nearly shrieked, “I need to remember!”

  Perry smiled. “Hear that? She just wants to remember. Helping her remember wouldn’t be the same thing as telling her. I mean, it’s not your fault if she recalls her own memories, right?”

  Isaiah nodded and thoughtfully tugged at his lower lip. “True.” He raised his eyes to meet mine in the review mirror. “Knowing what’s going on won’t make things any easier.”

  “I don’t care!” The blocked doorway in my mind, the one that kept my Cipher nightmare locked up tight groaned, demanding to be opened. I no longer had the energy to pretend that everything was okay. “I have to know. And I won’t leave you alone until you tell me!”

  In the rearview mirror, I saw Isaiah smile.

  Chapter Ten

  I dropped Perry off around the corner from the Bleak Street. Isaiah handed over the keys to his Jeep like it was part of a solemn, swearing-in ceremony. “You promise you’ll drive carefully?” he growled. “I don’t want my car to end up like Cassie’s.”

  “Sorry about that, Cassie,” Perry said.

  I sighed sadly. My poor, mutilated Focus looked like it had survived a demolition derby. Well, barely survived. The passenger’s side mirror dangled from a cable, and a deep gouge extended from the rear bumper to the front fender. Even the roof had been dented.

  Isaiah patted his Jeep affectionately. “If I find a scratch on my baby…”

  Perry huffed, irritated. “Relax! I’m an expert driver.”

  “Mario Cart doesn’t count,” Isaiah said. “Go check the Bleak Street, then meet me at my place in a couple of hours.”

  Perry muttered something about Shitty Personality Disorder as he grabbed the keys from Isaiah. When he got inside, he slammed the door unnecessarily hard, making Isaiah wince.

  “So we’re going to your place?” I asked after Perry had gunned the engine and raced off.

  “Is that all right with you?”

  Seeing that he’d rescued me three times now, there was no way I couldn’t trust him. “Let’s do it.”

  As I drove, Isaiah stared thoughtfully out of the window while I grew more and more tense. By the time we reached his apartment, I wasn’t sure if I could face whatever nightmare prowled in the dark spaces of my mind. Maybe I should just say ‘good night’ and speed off towards home.

  I jumped when he touched my shoulder. “Ready?” he asked.

  I reluctantly nodded. “Let’s get this over with.”

  Isaiah’s apartment was as blunt as his personality. The living room was furnished with only a couch, a TV, and a coffee table. The off-white walls were bare. The TV remote lined up with the armrest on the couch,
and the stack of comic books on the table had been perfectly squared. “Forget the SPD,” I said. “I think your problem is OCD.”

  His smile was tense. He took my coat and hung it the front closet. The baseball bat was placed in an umbrella stand near the door.

  I was about to ask about the bat when Isaiah took off his coat. Underneath, his shirt was ripped and bloody.

  My eyes widened. “Oh my God! What happened?”

  He unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a broad chest with beautifully defined pecs. He gently ran his fingers along a red cut running diagonally from his right collarbone to below his left nipple. “It’s not too bad.” He glanced at me. “You took a hit, too.”

  The skin on my collarbone was tender to the touch. “I think I got burned.”

  “I think you got damn lucky. That necklace you’re wearing probably saved your life.”

  Remembering the flash of light that had driven off the zombie, I silently thanked Andrew for his necklace.

  “Have a seat. I’ll be right back.” Isaiah, noticeably limping, disappeared down the hall.

  Too restless to sit, I paced the room. On top of the TV sat a portrait of a young woman in a silver frame. I picked it up. The woman, who wore a graduation cap and gown, had skin the color of mocha, and long, tightly curled hair. Her hands were demurely folded in her lap, but the tilt of her head and her impish smile lent her an air of mischief.

  Isaiah, dressed in a clean shirt, came into the living room. Even in stocking feet, jeans, and a t-shirt, he cut an impressive figure.

  I put the picture back, embarrassed to be caught spying. “She’s beautiful,” I said.

  “She was my sister. I lost her two years ago.” The shadow of grief in his eyes grew darker. I suddenly realized why Elena had called him heartache wrapped up in a beautiful package. She didn’t mean that he would cause heartache, but that he was heartache personified.

  He motioned me to the couch. Squeezing some burn cream onto his finger, he reached for my neck. I drew back. “I don’t like anyone touching me there.”

  His eyes softened. “I promise to be careful.”

  It took a great deal of resolve to let him come near my throat. I tensed, squeezing my eyes shut. Very carefully, as if he knew exactly how much it hurt and how afraid I was, he rubbed cream into the burn.

  I sighed in relief. “That is better,” I admitted. “Thank you.”

  His mouth relaxed, but he didn’t smile. “Do you still want to know what’s going on?”

  He was giving me an out. If I left, I could go on pretending that there was nothing behind the locked door in my mind. Or, better yet, pretending that there was no locked door in my mind. Yet, something held me in that room. The truth. I had to know the truth.

  “Yes,” I said. “I need to remember.”

  He pulled me to my feet then moved behind me, standing so close that my shoulder blades pressed against his broad chest. “This may be intense, but I promise not to hurt you.” Putting his arm around my waist, he held me firmly but gently, as if we were about to dance. He wove his fingers into my hair. “Ready?”

  My heart beat as fast as a hummingbird’s, and my hands were clammy, but I managed a strangled, “Yes.”

  He lightly tugged on my hair, drawing my chin towards the ceiling. Then he put his mouth on my neck, touching my skin with his teeth.

  My body went into survival mode. I shot my elbow backwards into his chest and slammed my fist into his face. When he let go, I ran blindly, desperate for a place to hide. I raced into the bedroom. Falling to my knees, I tried to wedge underneath the bed, but the space was too narrow. I flung open the closet and dove into the farthest corner. I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from whimpering and squeezed my eyes shut.

  There was a click as the light switch flipped on. A moment later, Isaiah crouched on the floor next to me. “Cassie.” When he reached for me, I clawed at his face. He grabbed my wrists. My panic escalated, and I struggled harder.

  “Cassandra! It’s me. Isaiah.”

  Finally, his deep voice overrode the primal, animal part of my brain that had been shouting orders. I stopped fighting. He enclosed my cold hands with his warm ones, and I opened my eyes.

  “Your nose is bleeding,” I said.

  He smiled. “You know how to pack a punch.” He blotted his upper lip with the back of his hand. “Ever think of fighting professionally?”

  I gave a shaky smile in return. “Did you just make a joke?”

  “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain.”

  “Your secret’s safe with me,” I promised.

  I followed him out of the closet. “Well?” he asked. “Do you remember anything?”

  My mental door had been blown off its hinges. The dark truth was finally exposed. “Yes.” I started to cry. “I remember all of it.”

  Isaiah put his strong arms around me, and I pressed my head against his chest. “Can you tell me about it?” he murmured.

  “There were…” My voice hitched. “There were two of them.”

  The woman had gone first. Her arms had been steel bands. I’d never stood a chance of fighting her off. She had grabbed a hold of my hair and yanked my head back so forcefully that I’d thought she’d break my spine. She plunged her fangs into the soft, exposed skin beneath my jaw and drunk deeply. If she hadn’t been keeping me upright, the pain would have driven me to my knees. She’d been brutal, but quick, slaking her thirst in minutes. When she finished, she let me drop to the ground like a junkie tossing aside a used needle.

  The next one had taken the time to enjoy my suffering. He’d stroked my neck and whispered into my ear, building my terror until I thought my pounding heart would explode. He mocked me, saying how sweet I was, and how much I would like what he was about to do. “Let me hear you say it,” he crooned. “Tell me you love it.”

  When I didn’t say anything, he hauled me off my feet by my hair. Then he hissed at me like the monster he was. “If you want to live to see the morning, you’d better tell me that you love it!”

  When I couldn’t form the words, he slapped me over and over until I choked out, “I love it.”

  “I knew you would,” he told me. Slowly – lovingly – he sank his fangs into my neck. He drew out my torture for what seemed like hours, making soft, grunting noises and caressing my cheek while I cried and begged and writhed. Before he’d finished with me, I’d passed out.

  I was crying so hard that I could hardly finish my story. Isaiah held me tighter, and I clung to him, drinking in his warmth and the smell of his clean shirt and the antiseptic he’d used on his cut. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “You’re safe now.”

  I believed him, but even with those strong arms around me, I couldn’t stop shaking. It was like I’d lived through the horror all over again. I buried my face into his chest. “You were right. I shouldn’t have tried to remember.”

  “No, I was wrong,” he said. “You’re brave enough to handle the truth.”

  “I don’t feel brave.” I actually felt dizzy and sick. Not much different from when I’d woken up in the Cipher’s greenroom.

  “You acted brave.”

  My laugh sounded unhinged. “Are you serious? I ran away and hid!”

  “First, you faced your fears, and then you fought back and escaped. Being brave doesn’t mean being stupid.”

  I realized that I was clinging to him like a terrified child, but I didn’t care. In his arms, I felt safe. Really, truly safe.

  “Vampires! I should have known.” The signs had been there all along: my weird neck phobia, the way Luquin’s bloody mosaic had freaked me out, even the fact that Geoffrey didn’t want garlic on Elena’s food. “I’m such an idiot!”

  I sat at Isaiah’s kitchen table eating the pizza he had insisted on ordering after my stomach had made an especially embarrassing growl. The pizza was split in two: half feta cheese, banana peppers, and black olives for me, and half meat lovers for him. I picked the olives from a slice of pizza
and ate them one by one. “The Bleak Street should post it on the marquee: Here There Be Vampires!”

  Isaiah sat across from me, a baggie of ice on his swollen nose. “Don’t beat yourself up. Vampires hide in plain sight because they usually glamour their prey into forgetting.”

  “I didn’t quite forget,” I said. “I mean, I didn’t remember the details, but I knew something was seriously wrong. I could hardly function.”

  “Your attack was especially brutal. I’m guessing those two vamps drained your shine to almost nothing. Most victims aren’t tapped that low. People notice its loss, but they’ll attribute the nightmares, depression, and panic attacks to job-related stress. Then they take some medication and carry on.”

  “Aren’t I the lucky one,” I muttered.

  “You’re lucky that those two stopped drinking when they did.” Isaiah regarded me so intently that a shiver traveled down my spine. “You’re also lucky to have a strong spirit. Returning to the theater shows you have mettle.” His eyes softened. “You should be proud of yourself. Someone else in your position might have given up on life completely.”

  My cheeks grew warm. “Don’t give me too much credit. I was a complete wreck the whole time. I had panic attacks all the time. I slept with all the lights on. I cried on the phone to Andrew every day.”

  “I didn’t do much better. Neither did Perry.”

  My eyes popped wide. “You were both attacked?”

  “In different places at different times, but yes. We were both struggling.” He began rubbing his leg, the one that made him limp.

  “Did the vampire do that as well?”

  He pressed his lips together in a hard line. “It wanted to hurt me as much as possible.”

  “And that’s why you don’t play baseball anymore?”

  “Yes.”

  Being forced out of baseball must have hurt him as badly as losing a career onstage had hurt me. A sympathetic ache filled my chest. Unfortunately, those kinds of dreams don’t die; they can be crushed, shattered, and buried, but they never die. “I’m sorry.”