Someone Should Save Her

by Robert J. Crane

  Both Laura and Gregory visibly stiffened.

  The two of them exchanged glances, a silent conversation passing between them:

  Can we trust her?

  Laura bit down on her lip. “How … how did it turn out?”

  There was the admission of truth. There was no backing out now. She knew that I knew, and she had admitted it.

  How much better off she was already than I had been.

  “He … kidnapped my parents,” I said, getting right to the worst of it. There was no sense in mincing words with the poor girl. “And I kind of … staked him.”

  Laura’s eyes grew wide, and I heard Gregory exhale in admiration behind me.

  “Wow …” she said. “How?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “What do they want from me?” She was almost whispering now.

  “Hard to say for sure, but from my point of view it seems like they want you to join them in their YOLO lifestyle, dead or alive. Or undead. However that works.”

  She swallowed hard, drawing her arms in closer to herself. “They … keep taking pictures. Like, posing for selfies. It’s how I met them.”

  “Were you alone?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I was at the mall, looking for a prom dress. They were in Macy’s too, and just came right up to me, cell phones out and ready. The ring leader, the girl, was like, ‘You’re pretty. Bet you’d increase our follower count.’”

  “Did you … take photos with them?” I asked. I felt a perverse sense of déjà vu as I remembered opening the window for Byron the first time. As though letting them take a picture with you was tantamount to inviting them into your house. Laura shrugged, eyes glued to the tiled floor. “I didn’t see the harm in it. I mean, kids in school ask to take their picture with me all the time.”

  It took everything in me not to roll my eyes. She didn’t need that right now. I was being Emotional Support Cassie. To Laura Grayson. Argh.

  “They were … intense, and very awkward,” she continued.

  “I’m just gonna ask this,” I tossed out there, “because it’s bugging me. Why does their follower count matter?”

  Gregory pushed his glasses up his nose. “Why does the score matter in a video game?” Laura and I both gave him a pitying look, but he was not fazed, looking between us like we were the idiots.

  “Because it’s a metric you use to keep score in life,” he explained. “That’s their follower count. It’s their determination of if they’re winning.”

  “Winning what?” I asked. “Are there cash prizes for this? Did I miss something? Is this a viable living now, taking pictures of yourself on the internet?” I cleared my throat. “Of, the, uh … non-naughty variety?”

  “For some people, getting likes on their photos means everything to them,” Laura said. “One girl took eighty selfies before she posted one she liked. Eighty.”

  “That is really sad,” I said. “You die, and in your afterlife, you’re still stuck giving a damn if people like you. Instaphoto is like high school forever.” I shook my head. “It sounds a little like hell to me.”

  “It’s not that bad,” Laura replied. “I have an account.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Did I say hell? I meant of the, uhm … not … burning everything variety.”

  Her eyes lit up as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. “I mean, there are some great accounts to follow. Some cheerleading ones, those are totally critical. A daily meditation account that reminds me to be mindful, and they post from some of the most unbelievable places—”

  “You should find one that teaches you to kill vampire stalkers,” I said.

  She paused, suddenly thoughtful. “You know … I bet there’s one out there like that. I’ll see if I can find it.”

  I looked around at the now empty hallway. Homeroom was coming up fast, as evidenced by people running by.

  “What are you going to do?” Laura asked, eyes on the prize—or at least me.

  “Me?” I asked, and she nodded. “I’m probably going to consult with my source in the vampire world … and find out who these people are.”

  “Then what?” she asked, her eyes widening. “Have a nice chat over some warmed-over O negative non-fat lattes with nutmeg?”

  Gregory grinned. “That’s a good one.”

  I glared at him, but had to concede it was pretty good.

  I bit down on the inside of my lip and stared at a dent in Laura’s locker door.

  I had to make sure that Laura really understood the situation she was in. She was scared, yes, but I wasn’t really sure that she was aware that her life was on the line. Not really.

  “These vampires,” I began slowly. “They intend to kill you, Laura. And that means the only way to stop them is to either scare them off … which I don’t know if it’s possible in the long-term … or …”

  I had to take a deep breath and push the faces of both Byron and Theo out of my mind.

  “Or kill them,” I said.

  Chapter 9

  Friday nights were not eventful for me. I wasn’t about going to the mall to hang out with my friends or going to the movies when there was nothing but trash playing. Xandra was helping her mom in the ramen shop and couldn’t hang out.

  So I was stuck at home while Mom and Dad went out for a fancy date. I mean, good for them and everything, but oh so boring for me.

  I hadn’t been able to think of anything but Laura’s vampire posse the entire day. Somehow, it was easier to look at the situation objectively. Maybe it was because it wasn’t my life that was in danger.

  Regardless, I wanted to figure out who these vampires were and learn everything I could about them.

  It was like I was becoming a secret agent. Intel gathering, having stakeouts … Ha, stake outs. I laughed at my genius.

  I padded around the kitchen in fuzzy socks that were almost pointless in Florida, munching on leftovers. How does one go about acquiring intelligence on vampires? Well, you ask one.

  I pulled out my phone, setting my chicken and rice casserole down, and opened the conversation to Iona.

  So, I kinda got involved in helping that girl with her vampire problem.

  Hit send.

  I stood over my phone, shoveling spoonful after spoonful of dinner into my mouth as I waited.

  A few minutes passed, and no reply.

  I groaned. Iona was predictable in this way, at least. Never around when I needed her.

  I opened the message again and added another text. She was going to get them eventually, so why shouldn’t I tell her what’s going on while I wait?

  I’m trying to figure out how to find these vampires on Instaphoto so I can get a little better idea of who we’re dealing with. Any hints from a pro vamp to a rookie non-vamp?

  I waited a few more minutes. No reply.

  “Iona, come on. That was good. What are you doing, sleeping?”

  I laughed again. She probably was.

  I washed my dinner dishes, cleaned up the kitchen, and went to vacuum the living room and my bedroom like Mom had asked me to do. And came back, once again, to no reply.

  Kinda feeling like you’re ignoring me, I texted her. I can see that you’ve viewed these texts. It’s right there at the bottom of the message.

  Seen, 5:49 P.M. Come on, Iona.

  My favorite cooking show was on, so I watched the chef make cinnamon rolls, a power food smoothie, and a death-by-chocolate cake, all the while my internal temperature rising to a gentle simmer as Iona continued to ignore me. When the show had finished—yep, you guessed it—still no message back from Iona.

  I let my head fall back against the couch. “Ugh,” I groaned.

  Well, that was a dead end.

  She was probably pissed that I’d decided to get involved against her advice. Which was fair enough, but I was surprised that she was choosing to ignore me instead of scold me or something.

  She had been pretty clear since Byron had been killed that I needed to butt out of the vampi
re world. And I agreed with her, completely. But didn’t she understand that I was the only one who could help this poor girl? Would she rather Laura get killed? Would she even care?

  That made me angry.

  Which then made me wonder why in the world I did care..

  “Don’t be an idiot,” I muttered. “You aren’t so heartless that you’d leave someone to suffer like you did.”

  I got to my feet and pulled my phone back out of my pocket. It was time to take matters into my own hands.

  After giving them all of my personal information, including my date of birth, my favorite foods, what I had for breakfast, and the triglyceride level on my most recent blood test, Instaphoto finally let me create an account.

  So long, privacy; hello, corporate spam. I guess it was a good thing that I signed up in my mom’s name and with an email address I don’t really use.

  Sign-up process done, I had no idea what I was doing.

  I started breezing through the How-To pages, which I barely read, and came to a “Suggested Followers” page, with a long list of names of celebrities, important business accounts, and some restaurants. Also, someone named Pauly Shore, whoever that was.

  And I quickly realized my problem; I had literally no idea how to find the vampires, or their accounts. Searching for “vampire” definitely wasn’t the way to it. I should know, because immediately after writing off that as a pointless idea, I tried it. No sign of Laura’s stalkers anywhere—but there was plenty of vampire cosplay, themed parties, not to mention too many total weirdoes who thought they were actual vampires, drinking fake blood mocktails and showing off teeth filed down to points. The height of coolness, in their eyes; pure, distilled cringe to the rest of the world.

  I drummed my fingers on the side of my phone, wondering what else I could look for.

  An idea popped up, and I hesitated.

  He wouldn’t be that easy to find, would he?

  I decided to try and typed in one word.

  Draven.

  And boom, there he was, right out there in the open for the world to see. I clicked on his profile picture, which was his pale face grinning at the camera, the skyline of Tampa stretched out behind him, reminding me of a king in his castle.

  There were a lot of sinister pictures on his page. Most of them were of him at parties, with vampire women hanging off of his arms. Ballsy, being so blatant, but then there was nothing in any of his photos that screamed “undead.” Someone who didn’t know they were vampires would think that the red liquid in the glasses was wine.

  I scrolled right past those pictures without looking too closely.

  I stopped when a face in one of the photos was one I recognized.

  “Well, well, well,” I said.

  The surly face of Mill stared up at the camera. He didn’t look the least bit thrilled to be in the photo.

  Bingo—he was tagged.

  I clicked on his face.

  Wait—footballguy28? Seriously?

  Maybe “28” was the year he was born. Mill had posted only three pictures, the last of which was three years old. But that didn’t matter; there was a DM feature.

  Nervousness flared in me, but I hit the button to message him anyways.

  Hey, we met at Draven’s party a few weeks ago. Things got pretty intense and you had to help me to my limo. Remember me?

  I went to browse through his three lonely pics when I saw he had messaged me back, almost instantly.

  I remember. How are you?

  Still breathing, thanks to you, I replied.

  It was no trouble at all, really.

  So formal, and so nice. Was it customary for vampires to make small talk? In person, he hadn’t seemed like the kind of guy who talked very much in general. More of the grunting type. Matched his Cro-Magnon forehead.

  That’s good. So … I had a question for you. Do you know anything about a bunch of vampires on Instaphoto? Like a gang of them? Causing trouble here in the Tampa area?

  I watched the little ellipsis on the bottom of our conversation as he replied.

  It’s not smart to talk over Instaphoto like this. A certain person whose party you crashed owns a large share of the company and may be able to monitor conversations.

  My cheeks burned. Draven could be listening?

  Oh, I was so not going to type his name into the search bar again.

  Can we meet? Tonight?

  The reply came back as I was still processing that last revelation. Vampire investors. I guess they had to pay for their pricey condos somehow.

  I squinted at the reply. Surely I had read it wrong.

  Nope. He was definitely asking if we could meet. Eager much?

  But wasn’t this exactly what I was hoping for? At least, in a way? I still needed help, and if talking over Instaphoto was going to be an issue …

  Sure. What were you thinking?

  I didn’t have to wait long.

  The Half Caff. 8:00. See you then.

  Chapter 10

  The issue of how I would get a ride to the café was solved without much hassle. Xandra, who was finished at her mom’s ramen shop for the night, texted me and asked me to hang out.

  Perfect. I gave her the quick rundown of my current life situation. She was at my house in ten minutes, driving her dad’s car.

  The café was in North Tampa, the last shop inside of a strip mall. Not much to look at on the outside, but there was a nice water retention pond beside it. Even miles from the Bay, I could still smell the salt from the water.

  “Never been here before,” Xandra said, brushing hair from her face. A warm breeze swept through the night—spring had indeed arrived. Even the wussy Floridians couldn’t complain about this.

  A seagull cried overhead.

  “It’s odd to me that a …” I caught myself. “That Mill suggested a place like this, don’t you think?”

  We stepped inside.

  Cafés always smelled comforting to me. The intense, bitter coffee with the warm cinnamon and vanilla notes lifted my spirits.

  “Oh, they have scones!” Xandra said excitedly, pointing to the bakery case beside the counter. Ample couches, wingback chairs and bistro tables were occupied with people. I scoured their faces.

  “He’s not here yet,” I said.

  Xandra’s nose was nearly pressed against the glass display, the glossy pastries seemingly taunting her.

  The rumble of a car engine nearly shook the windows. Almost everyone in the café turned to look.

  In the brightness from the parking lot lights, a red 70s Mustang pulled into a parking spot right out in front of the café. It was gleaming, as if it had been polished that very day, with all the chrome finishes as clear as a mirror. The engine growled like a hungry tiger.

  I may not know much about cars, but I knew that one was really cool.

  And my mouth fell open as Mill stepped out of it.

  He was dressed like a human, with a sleek leather jacket, blue jeans, and boots. And it worked on him. He might be dressed like the Fonz, but he sure didn’t look like him.

  The bell behind the door dinged as he stepped inside. He was so tall.

  “He’s cute,” Xandra whispered. “You didn’t tell me he was cute!”

  “No …” I mumbled in response.

  I had to admit, he did look good. Really good.

  But he’s a vampire, he can’t be cute! He’s not even alive!

  That doesn’t mean he can’t be kind of attractive, though. At least a little bit.

  So went my inner dialogue.

  He saw me standing there like an idiot in the middle of the café and started over to us.

  No, he wasn’t cute. That Cro-Magnon brow ruined his look. He was too surly.

  Okay, maybe I can see it a little. Maybe.

  “Hey,” Mill said as he reached us. His voice was low, clear.

  Somewhere deep down, I was pleased to hear it again.

  “Hi,” I said lamely.

  He glanced at Xandra, wh
o pressed herself up against my arm.

  “This is my friend Xandra,” I said, gesturing to her. “Xandra, this is Mill.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Xandra said in the girliest voice I had ever heard her use. She held out her hand, and he reluctantly took it.

  I watched her eyes grow wide as her warm flesh touched his icy skin.

  “Let’s find a seat,” I said, and turned toward the only corner that was unoccupied, out of earshot.

  After we all slid into some barstools, I realized just how awkward this whole thing was. Why had I thought this was a good idea? I tried not to look at Mill, who was staring at me.

  “So,” Xandra said, drumming her fingers on the tabletop. “Vampires. Instaphoto. Who knew?”

  Mill spared her a brief glance before he asked, “How did you find these people?”

  “They found me, I guess,” I said. I shrugged. “My neighbor, actually. She goes to my school. They seem to have a thing for her.” I told him about the night before.

  “Your neighbor?” Mill questioned, his dark brows wrinkling together. Where was the cute I saw a few minutes before? “How did you get involved?”

  “My neighbor—”

  “Your neighbor is not you. Why not stay out of it?” His gaze was hard, but it was easy to see he was concerned.

  He was right. I mean, hadn’t I been asking myself this same question for the last few days? I chewed on my lip as I formed an answer.

  “Because …” I started, and then sighed heavily. “Because it really sucks to have vampires rip apart your life and feel completely powerless to do anything about it. Or even be able to understand the problem.”

  “Oh, wow,” Xandra said, putting a supportive hand on my shoulder. “I totally didn’t even think about that.” Hamming it up for Mill, I guessed, because that was so not a Xandra way of saying things.

  Mill pursed his lips. Nevertheless: “Fair point,” he admitted. “But still, you’re up against four vampires. You really want to dive into those odds? Last time we crossed paths you were almost killed by one.”

  “Well, and Byron,” I said, off-handedly.