by Hunter Blain
“Dick,” Dawson said.
“Seriously, dude. Can’t you just use your words?” Joey added as they both rubbed their necks.
“Apparently not,” I said. “Now then, I invite you both back to my supersecret lair. You must swear to the utmost secrecy before I let you see where it is.”
“You mean the train cars buried in the graveyard? Pretty sure everyone knows about that,” Joey said.
My mouth dropped to the floor.
“Ev…everyone?” I asked, deflated.
“Pretty much, dude. I can basically smell the iron from here,” Dawson said, pointing to his nose.
“Great. That’s great. Just, super,” I said, annoyed. I nodded to Valenta and turned to walk out the back door, the twins in tow.
“Shipping containers,” I said.
“Huh?” Dawson asked. Joey let the questioning look speak for him.
“Not train cars. Shipping containers,” I corrected.
“What’s the difference?” Joey asked.
“I don’t know. It’s just what the ad said.”
The night was humid and had the distinct smell of salt from the nearby gulf. Dark clouds rolled overhead, unsure whether to drop their payload over the city or not.
After a few blocks of silence and the were-twins walking just behind me, I broke the tension and asked, “You boys hungry? Got some fresh meat back at the crib,” I said the last word with an emphasis of coolness. Or was it lit? To my surprise, the boys didn’t snicker this time. Instead, they perked up at the mention of meat.
“Oh man, I’m so hungry I could eat another horse,” Joey said.
“Yeah, that first one didn’t fill us up,” Dawson agreed. The twins were walking on either side of me now.
“I had a pretty big meal tonight and I’m stuffed to the rafters,” I said, adding nothing to the weird conversation. A thought hit me as if I were a drunk standing in front of a dartboard. “Hey, what happens if you bite a dog?”
“No idea,” Joey replied.
“Yeah, we like dogs,” Dawson added.
“But not horses, got it,” I said. “What if you bit me?”
“Probably nothing,” Joey responded.
“Maybe some Underworld shit? Remember that old movie?” Dawson asked.
A puff of air shot out of my mouth in reflex, “Pfft, old? Old movie! How old are you two?”
“Twenty,” they said in unison. “What about you, old man?” Joey asked.
“I don’t really know. I’m bad at time. But let’s see, Ulric turned me in 1480 when I was already a man.”
“An old man,” Dawson said.
“Dude, I was like in my early twenties.”
“Must have been a tough twenty years,” Joey added, burning me further.
“Times were tough back then, kids,” I said, and then added, “How old do I look?”
“Early to late midthirties, at least,” Dawson said, cracking a smile.
“Well, gee, guys. Just five minutes ago I was thinking to myself, ‘Self, we just aren’t self-conscious enough.’ Thanks for fixing that for me.”
“Maybe if you shaved the beard and got a haircut? You look kinda like a metalhead.”
“Good!” I said. “I love metal. Plus, I can’t shave. It’ll grow right back. I’m just super glad beards are in right now. The fifties were especially hard.”
“So you can never change how you look?” Joey asked.
“If I really needed to, I could will mortals’ minds to see something else.”
“You mean like a glamour?” Dawson asked.
“No. Ugh, I hate that word. Sounds all…Twilighty. I prefer, mindfuck.”
“So you don’t sparkle in the sunlight?” Joey asked.
“I basically melt in the sunlight. Or maybe it just burns the preternatural essence that is entwined with my human DNA—and if that burns, the rest of me burns too. I’m mostly just spit-balling ideas right now ’cause I have no idea what the fuck actually happens.” My mind flashed with the memory of being consumed by sunlight after I had first been made. I had buried my head in the dirt, but the rest of me had burned and smoldered—quite painfully, I might add. Ulric was always one to teach the hard lessons.
“Um, you alright?” Joey asked, worry in his voice.
Returning to reality, I responded with, “Huh? What do you mean?”
“You, uh, zoned out pretty hardcore for a moment,” Joey told me.
“Yeah, dude. You were making weird faces and shit. The hell, dude?” Dawson added tactfully.
“Oh, I was thinking about the ending to Dexter. Yeah, I’m still pretty pissed that the writers turned him into a fucking lumberjack,” I made up—but not really. That was a bullshit ending.
“Ah. Cool. As long as you’re alright, bro,” Joey said.
We arrived at the Fortress of Solitaire and I led the twins downstairs. As I was about to open the door, something struck me.
“Wait here a sec,” I said as I motioned for them to stop just before I opened the door and went inside. “Gotta make sure the place is, you know, um…clean! Yes, clean.” A look of annoyance crossed Joey’s face while Dawson’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. I made my way inside and shut the door.
Locke sat on the couch, still fastened to his mannequin body, and was watching something on Netflix about serial killers. I ran over to him and grabbed his head while putting one hand over his mouth. He tried mumbling, but I motioned for him to be quiet with my index finger over my mouth. Then I used my thumb and pointed at the door, signaling our guests who might not understand why the head (see what I did there?) of the regional supernatural gang affiliated with Satan was sitting on my couch. Oh yeah, and he was my archnemesis.
I strode over to my door, opening it to reveal my bedroom. With a few swift movements, the hydraulic bed was descending once again over my iron coffin, with Locke resting comfortably on my pillow…that I was going to burn after this.
“Yyyyyuck,” I said with a shiver before turning and making my way back to the front door, opening it for the twins.
In a dramatic MC voice I said, “Welcome to the Fortress of Solitaire, apparently the hottest place around. Don’t forget to tip your waitress and leave a review on Yelp.”
Joey and Dawson smiled at this, Dawson exposing full teeth while Joey’s lips remained closed.
“Yeah, we have a reservation for two. Heard you had some delicious meat,” Dawson said.
“That we do. Only the best for Depweg.” The last word stung as I said it, reminding me that no matter how hard I tried to be normal, he was still Ulric’s prisoner. And that was only the best-case scenario. I shuttered as I thought about Ulric draining my best friend and gaining his immense energy. I only prayed Ulric didn’t know about that little party trick. He had never mentioned it, at least.
“Please, help yourselves,” I said as I motioned to the kitchen.
The twins walked past me and I shut the door behind them. Dawson stopped at my locked Battlefield Earth cabinet and asked, “What’s in here? Vampire stuff?”
“Um, yes. Yes, that is exactly what’s in there. Nothing of interest or use to you badass werewolves.”
“Werwolves,” Joey corrected, using the German term complete with pronouncing the first “W” as a “V.”
“You two really like Depweg, don’t you?” I asked with a touch of jealousy. He was my bestest good friend and I didn’t like sharing.
“Yeah. Jealous?” Dawson asked as he opened the freezer and rummaged around, inspecting the contents.
“No.” Yes.
“It’s okay, man. I bet you have a fan club too. I mean, you’re old as shit. There has to be a Facebook page or something about you,” Joey said.
“Pfft. There’s, like, entire Comic-Cons dedicated to me. JohniCons, they call them. I just didn’t want to embarrass you guys by bringing them up.”
A smile touched Joey’s eyes as he looked through my facade, but he was a good sport about it and let it go.
“
Liar, liar, coffin on fire,” Dawson said.
“Oh ya, coffins!” Joey exclaimed. “Can we see yours? I bet it’s badass.”
My mind shot to Locke’s burnt face drooling on my pillow and I immediately said, “No!” Dawson stopped searching in the freezer and looked at me suspiciously. “I try to not let anyone know where my coffin is,” I said, trying to come up with a half truth to keep them off the scent. “You don’t live as long as I do without keeping secrets.” Score! That was an epic lie.
“Is it in there?” Dawson asked, pointing right at my Lilith-damned room.
“No,” I denied, mind panicking. “That’s the bathroom.”
“Oh, sweet,” Joey said as he started walking toward it. His hand was resting on the handle when I yelled out,
“Stop! What are you doing?”
Joey turned to look at me, confusion becoming a permanent fixture on his face. “I gotta pee, bro. That cool with you or should I just go right here on the floor.”
“If you do, I’ll rub your nose in it.”
Joey turned the knob and pushed open my door to reveal my room.
“Is it through here?” Joey asked, pointing to my private bathroom.
I walked to the open door and looked in as if for the first time. It was just a normal room, complete with a normal bed. I never paid attention to the bed and basically forgot it was there, doing its job of hiding my true resting place.
“Yeah. Go ahead, man,” I said, relieved.
“What was that all about?” Dawson asked, turning on two of the stove burners and setting pans down. On the counter next to the oven sat a large pile of assorted meats. “You a super private person or something?”
“I suppose that would explain things, wouldn’t it?”
“Sure, man, whatever you say. Don’t care either way,” Dawson said, organizing the meats into two pan-sized portions. “Weirdo,” he muttered under his breath.
“Nice bathroom,” Joey spoke from behind me, startling me.
“Lilith Christ, you are sneaky!” I pretended to grab my heart.
“All the better to stalk you with, my dear,” Joey all but purred as he walked past me and into the kitchen.
“Look, you guys eat your fill. We are all going to need our strength to face Ulric,” I said as I sat on the couch and reached into my pocket for my phone. “He is a couple hundred years older than me, which means he is the Thanos to my Hulk.”
“Sweet ref, dude. Love that movie,” Dawson said as the sound of sizzling meat filled the air.
“Thanks, but it’s also apropos,” I told him as I texted Da, asking where he was.
“Apro-what now?” Dawson asked.
“It means he’s for real about his power level being weaker than this Ulric dude,” Joey explained.
“Is your power level at least over 9,000?” Dawson asked.
“Is that a Dragon Ball Z reference? Oh yeah, Depweg is going to love you two nerds,” I said, rolling my eyes. My phone chimed and Da answered that he was on his way back after picking up some provisions. I responded with a thumbs-up emoji and a skull face. Then, giggling to myself, added an eggplant, water drops, and a dude’s face.
I took in a deep breath, allowing the smell of grilling flesh to enter my nostrils. Oddly enough, the blood cooking made me salivate a little. Exhaling, I stood up and said, “You two eat. I’m going to shower and change. I smell like fire and gunpowder.”
“Bet,” said Dawson. I could hear his stupid smile as he spoke. He’d get old one day. Then we’d see who’s laughing.
I went into my bedroom and closed the door behind me. I took off my clothes and separated them into two piles; one for simple cleaning and the other for Da to repair. My poor beanie was split in half, creating a Pacman-shaped disc when I laid it flat on the bed. I frowned as I let my fingers explore the damage. I loved that gray piece of cloth.
I walked to my dresser and pulled out fresh socks, underwear, and some 5.11 Tactical pants. They breathed, stretched, were cut-resistant, and had a shit ton of convenient pockets to keep all kinds of goodies. Plus, they made my butt look good.
I set the clothes on my bed and went to my closet where I grabbed a black cotton shirt and threw it atop the pile on my bed. It was times like this I wished I had a black turtleneck à la Archer. As I stepped into the bathroom and turned the shower faucet to hot, I quietly sang to myself, “Danger zone.”
The water cascaded down my head and across my body, dragging the dirt and grime of the night away with it as it disappeared down the black hole of the drain. I wasn’t ready for this, but I didn’t have a choice. Jonathan Depweg would do the same thing for me without a second thought—not even a nanosecond of hesitation—while simultaneously coming up with a military-grade plan of attack worthy of any of the specialized branches.
I stared at the drain as water poured around my face and into my eyes, blurring my vision. Though my gaze was focused on a singular point, my attention was inward.
From within the city of my mind, I made my way to the secured corporate building at the center of town. The automatic doors activated as I walked up, and I was greeted by a long empty desk in the middle of the floor.
“Sup Tom, looking good, man.” I gave a quick nod to one of the empty chairs then turned to another. “Juli! Back already? How’s the baby doing?” No one gave an answer.
I stepped onto an escalator that carried me up to the second floor while Michael Bolton played on the overhead speakers. On the next level, cushioned bench seats wrapped around garden beds where trees grew, seeming to come out from the silver-flaked white marble of the floor. There were empty businesses scattered along the perimeter of the main walkway. Expensive sugar-laden coffee wafted from the Starbucks, which was right next door to a little one-chair hair and nail salon. Across the path, a Subway tempted nonexistent passersby with a glass case filled with an assortment of fancy breads.
The end of the common area came into view, and I was forced to take a left or a right. I chose the latter and walked right past an empty Chick-fil-A, where I cursed out loud, “Damn it! It’s Sunday!”
After a few corridors and some sharp turns, I made my way to a bank of elevators sitting along either side of a hall. I kept walking down the hall to a lone set of doors with a key card–swiper that glowed a faint red next to the Up button. My hand moved over it, and a solid black metal card coalesced into my palm. The scanner turned green, and I pressed the button. After a moment there was a pleasant chime, and the silver doors opened to reveal a tightly spaced elevator. I stepped inside, turned, and pressed Penthouse, which was atop all the other buttons. The doors closed with a sealing hiss, and then I was rocketed upward. The numbers on the display went up ten floors every second. After ten seconds, I stepped out onto the third floor, where I walked past an empty desk and into my office.
“Hold all my calls,” I said over my shoulder as my office doors closed behind me.
Walking to a wall of black metal file cabinets, I located and pulled the file that contained the battle between Ulric and myself. After getting what I sought, I turned and made my way back to my office doors, which opened onto the street. I casually walked down the avenue in my mind to my movie theater, trying to procrastinate as much as inhumanly possible. I didn’t want to do this. It would be the equivalent of watching your most embarrassing, helpless moment go viral on social media.
Walking by the empty box office, I opened a heavy glass door to reveal a huge concession area, complete with a gelato station. My nose wrinkled at the green pistachio treat and wondered why people ate what looked like Shrek’s loogy. Looking forward, I saw the IMAX Theater complete with huge cutouts of Ulric and me in a classic battle stance surrounding the door. Both of us had our fangs and claws out as we seemingly hissed at one another. I glanced at the marquee above the door and chuckled at my own subconscious pun humor: Yesferatu.
As I entered, I sat in the handicap row, which provided the most legroom and was right in the middle of the screen. I had a
pang of PC guilt for sitting in a handicapped seat while inside my own mind’s city, and willed the stick figures in wheelchairs to vanish. Only the red leather of the luxury recliners remained now, rendering me guilt-free. Lilith, I wish I had never discovered Facebook, as now I was worried about offending people for even thinking about sitting in a seat that was meant for those less fortunate than me (which was everyone, by the way). I could see the headline now on Huffington Post, “Some vampire douche sits in the handicap row inside the metaphorical theater in his own sexist, misogynistic, white, male brain.”
PS sat down beside me, which was a surprise, and pointed to the screen.
“Right,” I said as much to him as to myself, “no more stalling.”
PS nodded his approval and settled back in his seat, eyes on the screen.
“You know in the real world this is all happening in a fraction of a fraction of a second, right?”
PS responded by keeping his eyes on the screen and raising one hand to point forward before letting it fall back to our shared armrest. Damn it, he got there first.
I looked down at the VHS tape in my hands and lifted it up, regarding it at arm’s length. It dissolved as the lights of the theater dimmed. The THX intro sounded, really testing the speakers inside my mind. PS hit my shoulder and I got the point. Before he could put his arm back down, I quickly claimed the armrest, smiling to myself in victory. Unperturbed, PS let his arm sink between the armrest and his body.
The screen went blank for a moment and then Ulric was standing in front of us. We were watching from our own point of view as we demanded to know if Ulric knew the date. I could still feel the confused anger as if it were happening in real time. There was no time degradation with vampires as with mortals, so memory was both reliable and unforgiving. Even though I had been mortal when I’d watched as my mother was executed, I’d been immediately turned, and so the memory was painstakingly crystal clear.
PS nudged me, freeing me from my prison of pain, and pointed at the screen. It showed a dark dungeon where I was just waking up to the sound of Ulric’s voice.
