No One Will Believe You

by Robert J. Crane

  Was there anything I could do? Or was I totally trapped now?

  He was so confident last night, almost like he thought my struggling was totally irrelevant. I just … didn’t understand. I couldn’t understand.

  I shivered, and not because the air conditioning was on too high.

  I didn’t even know what to think about the fact that he might actually be attracted to me. Should I be flattered? Terrified? Because I was definitely leaning toward terrified.

  He was good-looking, but what did that matter when he seemed to be playing a game of cat-and-mouse with me, and I was the mouse? When I looked at his face, I didn’t see handsome.

  I saw cruel, vicious, a predator on the hunt.

  I gingerly touched the spot on my cheek where he had kissed me the night before. Somehow it still felt cold.

  My phone buzzed on the counter, and I flinched. It was like a death rattle, a siren going off in my head.

  I was so strung out that any and every sound terrified me.

  I picked it up, and pressed the screen on.

  My heart sank when I realized that it wasn’t Xandra—just some random number that wasn’t in my contacts.

  I sighed and clicked the screen off, then put it back down.

  Was she ever going to get back to me? Maybe I should just try texting her again, her “Can’t talk now” messages be damned. Anyway, that was hours ago now—surely she must be free by now.

  I could hope it was as simple as that, at least. My anxieties were starting to really run away with me, my sleep-addled mind the only brake on coming up with crazy theories about how she was secretly in league with Byron or something.

  I shuddered again. If Xandra was in on this … I was really doomed. Because there wasn’t a soul in the world I could talk to about it if she was secretly on Byron’s side.

  I clicked the screen back on with the intent to bother Xandra again and glanced at the mysterious text. The number was one I didn’t know, but it was local to the Tampa area. I debated ignoring it, but knew I’d have to look at it eventually. I touched the tiny little envelope on the screen, and the message opened.

  I can help you.

  I stared. Just four simple words—and yet I could not fathom them.

  I can help you.

  Help me with what?

  Who the hell would text me that?

  The first, most obvious answer, was that it was Byron—and that this “offer of help” was just another of his games, trying to get under my skin … or lure me out.

  But what if it was a genuine message? What if someone out there knew what was going on—had maybe endured the same at Byron’s hands—and was reaching out to me so that I might evade him?

  If I were less exhausted, I probably would’ve shot down that explanation a lot faster. In my sleep-addled state, though, the allure of real help was electrifying.

  I can help you. What if it was a trick?

  What if … it wasn’t? My breathing was fast, but steady. I tried to slow it down, to think.

  It was just a text message. And yet it felt … strangely enough … like someone was throwing me a life preserver while I was drowning. Maybe they were going to yank it back just to mess with me, but … what if they didn’t?

  What if they were actually sincere? What if it was someone who could help me? I was so far out on a limb, all by myself, Xandra not answering text messages. Byron could break my door down at any moment, and the thought petrified me.

  What did I have to lose?

  Drawing another deep breath, trying to get my shaking hands under control, I picked up my phone and considered my reply.

  Chapter 14

  Who is this?

  I had never been so anxious to receive an answering text message—not even awaiting Xandra’s replies this morning.

  I scrolled through Twitter to satiate my intense need to fidget, glancing up at the notification bar every few seconds. A minute passed—and then the reply came.

  I am your best chance at beating him.

  My anxiety spiked. A second person had entered my life, in as many days, who knew more about me than I did about them. It was exhausting—strangers who’d been watching quietly from the shadows suddenly making their presence known.

  And yet this one could, maybe, be salvation.

  It was impossible for my breath not to hitch in my chest, to not be drawn in by their promise.

  How did you get this number? I sent back.

  It doesn’t matter, came the reply.

  If this was Byron—and it could well be; I was pretty sure he had my number already, seeing as he knew where I lived—I didn’t think he would hesitate to tell me. His flair for the dramatic would shine through.

  Even so, I had to check.

  Is this Byron? I texted back.

  Antsy, I awaited the reply, mind wandering its permutations. Why, yes, it’s me, darling. Why don’t we get together tonight so I can drink your blood and remove that pesky desire to sunbathe where I can’t easily get to you with my gross, cold stalker hands and lips. But the reply came quickly, just one word.

  No.

  Who are you?

  It took a few seconds longer for this one to come through.

  My back was so sore from all of the stress that I relocated to the couch in the living room. If I was going to be tense, I might as well be so in the most comfortable place. I sank into the sofa and lay back, putting my feet up as the soft, velvety covering caressed my cheek. It smelled like home, like our house in New York, and burying my face in it made me feel better for a moment … and then so much worse, because I wasn’t in New York.

  I was in Tampa—alone, with nothing but burning bridges and severed connections behind me, leaving me no one to turn to …

  And a vampire was stalking me.

  A reply: Like I said, I can help you beat him.

  I hesitated, fingers hovering over the touchscreen, weighing up whether I could trust them.

  I had little choice. I had few people available to me who I could trust. Xandra formed one of the three, and she was indisposed. My parents, on the other hand, thought—no, knew—me to be a serial liar. And anyway—Byron had threatened them with death if I stuck a toe out of line—a threat I most certainly believed.

  I had no one else.

  Stomach twisting nauseatingly, sickness spiked through my throat. So I had to trust the person on the other end of the phone.

  I replied:

  But I don’t know who you are. How can I trust you?

  I know who and what Byron is. I also know what he’s planning for you.

  How?

  The answer came seconds later. Byron is predictable. He always makes the same mistakes. I know what they are. I can help you.

  I groaned. This was too cryptic. Why couldn’t this person just … I dunno, save me? Just tell me what I was dealing with, maybe even use small words, because I was tired—physically, and mentally, thinking and overthinking everything I was seeing and feeling right now.

  Although … I wasn’t too tired to see the irony in a serial liar struggling with who she could trust.

  Another message came in:

  Are you safe?

  I made to respond, but another text arrived.

  Is Byron there?

  No, I answered quickly. Though I think he’s next door, watching.

  Admitting that felt strangely liberating. I didn’t have much to go on, but this person seemed to be on the opposing side of Byron, and that was the side I wanted to be on.

  He will always have eyes on you. You don’t have to be alone in this.

  I typed back quickly, realizing I was typing the same thing over and over—but I didn’t care. I needed the answers.

  Who are you exactly? How do I know I can trust you?

  Again, they sidestepped it.

  If you want out of this, you don’t have a choice.

  Why did it feel like my entire life was full of non-choices now? Everyone else seemed to be governing it rat
her than me—and that was nothing if not infuriating.

  But however I felt about it, this person, whoever they were, knew who Byron was, and said they were willing to help me. It was the first glimmer of hope I had seen since Byron had crashed into my life, chasing me and Xandra down and trapping us overnight in the bunker.

  Since then, I had been penned in, like an animal—even more so, after Byron’s little visit last night.

  Now, though, I had … something. Maybe not options per se, but there was an offer now of help, the chance to do something other than wait around for Byron to sink his teeth in my neck—or wherever he wanted to bite me.

  That thought—Byron’s teeth sinking into my skin—sent another shudder up my spine, another wave of gooseflesh rolling over my skin.

  Of course, it was entirely possible that I was stepping into an even bigger trap by choosing to trust this person … but they knew about him, which was something.

  And I got the vaguest hint that this person had an axe to grind.

  Ok. Tell me what I have to do.

  Tonight there is going to be a sort of get-together. You should be there.

  Tonight? But of course. I was already way deep in trouble with my parents—so trust my one shot at evading Byron’s clutches to be on a night when I had expressly promised I would stay in.

  What sort of get-together? I replied.

  You’ll meet a lot of likeminded people there—people who don’t like Byron. Think of it as an introduction to your escape plan.

  People who didn’t like Byron, huh? Sounded like my sort of place. Though, how many people knew about him exactly?

  You’ll have to play it cool when you do come, came another text.

  Not if. It was when.

  Why? I asked.

  No answer.

  Well, how very nice. I didn’t entirely trust that they wouldn’t get me eaten by my crazed vampire stalker, and they didn’t feel the need to answer me honestly. This was going to be a great relationship, I could tell.

  If you want to beat Byron, you need to understand the world he comes from, finally came through.

  My fingers froze, poised over the keyboard. His world? But that meant …

  Is this a vampire party?!

  It was probably a measure of how worked up I was that I a) texted the word “vampire” and b) added the ?! at the end in order to make known to this person that I was not feeling calm about going into a room filled with vampires when I was already having enough trouble with just one of them. There was a long silence. At first, I chalked that up to the texter issuing a long reply. But the more seconds went by, the harder it was not to twitch as thoughts spiraled and fears seeded, took root. Had I stumbled upon the truth? Had I blown the texter’s cover, shown them up to be working with Byron after all, luring me in to use me like a bloodbank? Or had I maybe blown the cover of someone altruistic to me by being overt about the vampire threat, when they’d been so veiled all this time?

  Every thought spun in a sickening lurch. Finally, an answer came. One word—and it caught my breath in my chest, made my heart skip a beat.

  Yes.

  So there were more of them.

  It shouldn’t have surprised me. Why would I ever have thought he was the only one like that?

  But the idea of an entire subculture or society, hidden right under my nose, was a little mind-boggling. How big was it? Where did it exist?

  In the night, obviously. When the rest of the world slept.

  Be at the construction site beside Amalie Arena at midnight. The one on the north corner across the street.

  Amalie Arena? That was down near the bay. There was no way I could walk there.

  How will I recognize you? I replied quickly.

  I won’t be there.

  Then why—

  The reply came before I had a chance to fully form my thought. I’ll be in touch soon. Watch your back. The conversation was terminated—and whatever reply I might’ve had died on my fingertips. Not that any would particularly suffice right now. My world had been shaken once again—and I was seriously losing track of how many times it had happened. Wearily, I sank into the couch, pressing my head into the stuffing as I closed my eyes and pushed a sweaty hand over them.

  I was going to a vampire party tonight.

  I clicked my teeth together, trying not to bite my fingernails down to the nib.

  More vampires out there. More like Byron.

  These ones did not like him, though.

  That should’ve alleviated my anxiety some. But it did not. Not liking him was not the same as not being like him.

  That promise dangled before my nose again: deliverance from Byron. All I had to do to accept it was go to this vampire party.

  Two problems with that:

  One, I had promised my parents not to leave the house. And there was no way they would let me leave at night, let alone for a party at midnight in downtown Tampa.

  Second, and really what should have been my primary concern if only I had my priorities straight: I would be a human walking into a party full of vampires. Restlessness building yet again, I stood up and padded across the carpet, back and forth, back and forth, mind whirling.

  This was all just crazy. Why in the world would I even consider going to a vampire party that some person I don’t even know told me about?

  I sighed heavily and knotted my fingers in my hair.

  It was the only lead I had. What were my other options? Sit around my house as night fell and hope that the stalker who barged into my room uninvited last night didn’t come back again tonight and help himself to a refreshing bite from my neck? Hell, he was strong enough he could have bitten me just about anywhere he wanted. Picturing his teeth sinking slowly into my skin, the hard points driving into my flesh made me gasp and flinch, twisted my stomach with nausea. There was no other direction I could turn—and this party, and whoever was attending, was my only real option.

  They don’t like Byron, I kept reasoning to myself—trying to talk myself into snatching at the carrot on a stick swinging in front of my nose.

  On the other hand, the attendees were vampires too. I had no idea what kind of control they might have … and the one person who could possibly answer, Xandra, was … well, not answering.

  However long I thought, whatever avenues my mind went down, I always circled back to the same thing: Byron had penned me in, and this get-together offered me a route to freedom.

  Which meant I needed to go.

  Numbly, I walked upstairs, the air conditioner running in a dull hum like the fog that enfolded my senses in this exhausted state. Into my bedroom—then the wardrobe.

  Distantly, as though my body was very far away, I dug through clothes, like a teenager trying to find her best party clothes—like the teenager I should be.

  I finally decided on a pair of black skinny jeans with a white and blue sequined top. Then I rummaged through my jewelry, and decided on some knuckle rings, a long silver chain with a clear crystal charm, and some diamond stud earrings.

  I had no idea if this is what someone wore to a party, but at least I knew I’d be able to run if I had to. They were deceptively stretchy pants. Thank goodness for the yoga pants revolution, wherein we discovered that more stretch was better.

  I found my black Converse at the back of my closet, still in a box, and I set them down next to the clothes I had laid across the chair at my desk.

  Then I hurried downstairs, trying to clean up and finish my chores as fast as I could. I wanted there to be no issue from my parents when they got home after their dinner out—path of least resistance, and all that. Scrubbing pans in the sink, I wondered how I was going to get all the way across Tampa in the middle of the night.

  If only Xandra had texted me back, maybe we could have made a plan together.

  Dishwashing was more protracted than it needed to be. I kept pausing to dry my hands on the rough dish towel so I could check my phone—just in case somehow I’d missed the buzz of an i
ncoming text. Nothing, of course, and I knew that—but I couldn’t help hoping.

  I sent Xandra another text. She didn’t reply.

  I was going to have to take an Uber into the city. It would easily drain half of my measly bank account, but what good was money when you were dead? Or undead, depending on how things went with Byron.

  I kept asking myself why in the world I was doing this, why I was so determined to go to this party.

  The only reasonable explanation that I could come up with is that I had no place else to turn. It was either stay in my own room that night and wait for Byron to appear and find myself at his mercy … or head to this mysterious party to try and find out a way to get him off my back.

  It was no choice at all. He’d already proven that I was no match for him in strength.

  I sighed and sank my hands in the hot dishwater again, feeling that this choice to go was no more of a choice than doing my chores—I had to do this, just like I had to do everything else in my life. I resigned myself to it with even less enthusiasm than I had for my mother’s list, wishing that I could find any other way but the one I saw.

  Chapter 15

  The Uber I ordered was waiting on the street corner like I had requested just after dark. Mom had texted me just before she and Dad had left their respective workplaces for dinner, and I’d lied (big surprise) and told her I was feeling poorly and was going to bed early. Just to throw them off the scent, I’d made the bed before I left, creating a lumpy pillow Cassie in my place—sufficient if they stuck their head into my darkened room, although if they did much more than that, the game would be up. Sneaking back in late tonight presented another hurdle, but if I was careful I could dodge the consequences of the serious rule-breaking I was undertaking.

  The drive was quick, since there was hardly any traffic going into the city. The driver, an eccentric woman in her sixties, told me stories about the way the world was thirty years ago.

  I just tried to look like I cared, or that I was even listening, while I tuned her out and thought about the state of my world right now.

  She dropped me off, giving me a strange look as I thanked her.