Running In The Rain

Chapter 14

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Sat, 01 Oct 2011 01:47:00 +0000

It's Always Raining In My Head

Our conversation was pretty normal, all things considered. The banter went on the entire time he copied my notes and we swapped numbers just in case the urge to study in a situation that wasn't entirely solitary arose. I wasn't sure he'd call but it was the only normal contact I'd had in sometime. Rolling on that high, I didn't expect what I'd come home to.

"You're not an adult."

My uncle sat at the kitchen table with the day's paper spread before him. The crust of egg sandwich was on the chipped ceramic plate in front of him. He ran his hand down his mustache as he dispensed with any left over crumbs. A half consumed cup of coffee was on his left and the rest of the paper piled on the right, somewhat cockeyed and disordered.

"Your mom calls here and asks for you and I have to tell her that you're out. She knows you're not a morning person, Eva. Classes don't start that early and the library isn't open so she's going to be asking questions about where you are and what you're up to."

Patiently, he folded the paper and set it aside, staring up at me. He rested his forearm on the table and retained his hunched position despite the contention in his voice.

"What do you want me to say to her, Eva? Do you want me to tell her I don't know? If I do that they'll bust your ass home quicker than you can spit."

I had the near irrepressible urge to tell him I could spit pretty damn fast.

I repressed.

"I'm sorry."

The words few out of my mouth and I wondered if I meant them every time I said them or just sometimes, times like this.

"They sent you here for a reason, Eva. They wanted you to straighten yourself out and it was clear you weren't going to do that at home. It's on your shoulders now, what you do, what you don't. If you want to stay out all hours of the night and into the morning you won't be living here for long. I won't be responsible for you, for your bad decisions."

He didn't have to say the rest. I knew my bad decisions in the past had involved other people being dead. I was starting to wonder if my parent's didn't think it was my fault, if perhaps my uncle did, if everyone did.

"I. If I stay with a friend I'll leave you a note or call and let you know. I won't leave you hanging."

I couldn't promise not to go out, not when I'd given not one guy but two my number in the last forty-eight hours and one of them, for certain, was going to keep me out way past bed time. There would also be a body count involved if we were successful so I couldn't solemnly swear that I would not be up to no good either.

He sighed and stared at me, leaning back in his chair, grey hair askew. He must have just woken up which, his being on thirds, was never a good thing this early in the afternoon.

"I want to tell you no and demand you have your ass in bed by a respectable hour but we both know I can't keep tabs on you like that. I'm either sleeping or working or a goddamn zombie somewhere in between."

He eyed me carefully before continuing as if he expected a quip about his being a zombie.

For the record, that one was even harder to resist but I managed.

"If you're not going to be home when I leave for work or when I get off you leave me a note, that's fine. You don't leave me a note, you call. If you don't do either I will have you packed up and sent you back home so fast your head will spin."

Once again, I repressed the inner smart ass. I was almost getting good at this.

"I will. I don't want to go back."

The words came flying out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying, before I realized I meant it.

"I like it here."

He nodded his head, seeming satisfied for the first time since the awkward conversation started.

"Then lets not either of us screw this up. Your mother will have my head. I don't care how old I we are. She still thinks that since she's the eldest it means something."

He picked his paper back up and went back to sipping his coffee and reading it.

I had been dismissed.

I nodded my head though he wasn't really watching, not sure of what else to say. Instead I made my way to my room and let my book bag drop off my shoulder. The room I was in was decent sized. Instead of having one master bedroom in the house, my uncle's place had two rooms that were roughly the same size. One had a bathroom attached and well, he used that one. I had the other which was plenty big for me. It had enough room for my desk, a bookshelf for all of my texts and spiral books, my bed, a dresser, a closet and my tv stand and tv.

The walls were painted a sort of soft, powdery blue that looked white until the blue carpet had been put in with it's brown, black, and white specks. In anticipation of my arrival he'd redone the room for me. His last housemate had left the place in less than desirable condition so he'd said it needed to be done anyway.

The end result was a really cozy set up for my twin bed and I. Most dorm rooms were half the size and required an additional occupant. This room even had two sets of windows to let in more than enough light. Well, almost too much light but it was nice when I could keep them open in the evenings to let the wind in. You'd think I'd be paranoid about being out at night or open to attack through a window but it bothered me more to be locked up inside, away from fresh air. I was turning into a freak in more ways than one.

Rather than dwell on that disturbing train of thought I considered my option for the evening. I could wait for Ryan to call, go out hunting myself, study or wait for Justin to call.

All of a sudden I felt like I was sweet sixteen without a date.

Changing into my all black garb I decided that perhaps I'd go out on the hunt. When one considered the options it was about the only proactive thing I could do and frankly, I wasn't going to spend a Thursday night at home studying or watching tv. Must see tv was really never that impressive to start out with, not when you could get with the hacking and the slashing post haste.

Honestly, I just should have hit the books. Then perhaps I would have found a less painful way of learning.

Chapter 13

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Tue, 30 Aug 2011 16:30:00 +0000

Happens All The Time

I didn’t hear from Ryan for quite some time. I think he was still healing, resting up or something but either way it left me with a lot of free time. I didn’t want to go whacking psychos without him so I tried to fill my days and nights with school and work. Funny how quickly new hobbies can take over your life, isn’t it?

It was just as well that I had some downtime. School was heating up and I needed to study a bit harder for my classes. That’s how I wound up in the Student Union bent over a bag of Cheetos, a coke, and my psychology 110 book and lecture notes. It had been a frustrating day so far and failing a quiz in that very class hadn’t helped things. There were so many types of neurosis to memorize I was pretty sure I was contracting a new one all on my own. Oh well, at least I’d eventually be able to identify it. Really, all this information boggled the mind and I knew I’d wind up doing something cheesy and making flash cards with bright highlighted colors or something. The longer I attended classes the more I wound up doing things I’d once taunted in others.

I was a weird girl, to be sure, but I still had things I needed to do well. School had always been such a non-issue for me in my other life, the one where I was a normal misanthropic paragon of wasted youth. Passing classes had seemed so inconsequential as the future proved time and again to be just as disappointing as it was intangible. Nothing had really mattered at all and well, I made sure everyone knew it sparing no one from my crude display of discontent.

Now that I was a survivor it felt like I had something to prove, like I needed to earn my place. I couldn’t just waste space anymore. Alice, Chet and even John had wanted to do something with their lives. They had all had such grand plans for their futures. Chet had wanted to be a musician, Alice a writer, and John wanted to be a teacher. Each one had been in college prep classes and determined to escape our small town and do something, really do something. By contrast I’d been content with fucking around, getting drunk, and causing as much trouble for myself as possible.

Things were different, they had to be. After all, I was alive and they weren’t. Sure, I wanted bloody vengeance on the monsters that had changed everything for all of us but beyond that I wanted a future. I wanted a good future and school was about the only way to do that. Sure, I was in a community college now but I could always transfer to a larger and more developed university once my grades proved I could do it. Then well, then I’d figure out what I wanted to do with my life.

Desperately, I clinged to a Baz Lurhman song that told me that the most interesting people were in the same boat I was.

It was in the process of studying that he approached me and sat down at my table. At first I figured he was one of those Jesus freaks trying to convince me that their house church was the way to go and had I found Christ yet? My typical response of “No, but I haven’t checked under the couch lately.” usually got them to go away pretty fast but I resented the intrusion anyway. So, I looked up with my typical long suffering sigh and headed the question off at the pass.

“No.”

Crossing my arms over my book and notepad I looked up at the dude who thought he was going to stay seated at my table.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no. I’m not interested in God, Buddha, Yahweh, Mohamed, or even Satan. I don’t care what church or loosely affiliated religious organization you belong to. I don’t care and I have nothing nice to say. I’m way too old for imaginary friends or people who need them so please, take this opportunity to rethink this and leave.”

He blinked at me, shifting his shoulders in his Vans t-shirt and unzipped hoodie.

“Fair enough, I guess I’ll go offer some toddlers puppies and kittens out of the back of my van, then. Or do you think candy would be enough of a lure? I’ve never done it before so I’m open to suggestions.”

His voice was acidic and full of disdainful sarcasm that I previously thought only I possessed.

Blinking, I let my jaw drop and I sat back in the piss poor excuse for a plastic chair, almost falling over.

At my expression, he let loose a chuckle and rolled his eyes. “Never mind, I’m in psych for psychos with you and I wanted to know if you had the notes from class before last. I was too busy plotting my child abduction scam to go.”

“Yeah, I got the notes but really, child trafficking isn’t what it used to be. Black market organs are far more profitable and there is less drool, believe it or not.”

Finally my wit had caught up to me despite my dry mouth.

“I’m Jared.”

He nodded his head as he crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward.

“Eva.”

I replied as I shuffled through my notepad and tore out the pages he needed, pushing them at him.

“So, Eva, you take good notes or what?”

He asked as he flipped through the pages I’d handed to him, eyes scanning over them. His build was pretty lean and he was tall, taller than me by quite a bit. His kinky dark hair was cut short while his skin had that latte color I’d come to associate with people who had one parent darker skinned than the other.

“Well, if you were going to judge my grade in the class by the quality of my notes I’d say, yeah but since you can’t I’d say fifty-fifty.”

My response was much cooler and more casual than I felt, sort of confused why he was even talking to me.

“Fair enough, my own fault for missing class.” He shrugged a shoulder and the brown hoodie that also advertised for Vans slipped down his shoulder.

“Shit happens.”

I offered before blurting out my next socially awkward attempt at conversation.

“What made you ask me?”

He stared at me a moment before replying.

“Well, you seemed to be mostly paying attention during class but you’re not as intimidating as some of the other people in the lecture. I mean, it was you or the failed MENSA applicant girls and guys who think they’re too good for a community college, the gangsters, the pothead metal-dudes, and the majority that seem content to commute here for the sole reason of falling asleep and drooling on themselves.”

He shrugged that same shoulder and looked up at me with brown eyes from the notes he was copying.

“Given the option, who would you choose?”

His question was a simple one and I barely resisted the urge to sit back again in that chair, afraid I’d wind up hard on my ass and looking like more of an idiot. Honestly, I could hold off on hitting that level of dork for a while.

“Those are some tough options.”

I arched a brow and did my own shoulder shrug as I drummed my uneven nails on my notepad.

“I’m glad you can see my point.”

He smiled then, in a way I didn’t really expect him to.

The expression was with warmth, with a casual air I sort of missed from my friends. He had the same no bullshit attitude we’d all had and frankly, this was the closest I’d come to positively communicating with anyone. After all, he seemed totally normal; no giant knives, no arms store, had a pulse, and well, he wasn’t a monster. So really, out of everyone I’d encountered he was fairly attractive to sit with. After all, we’d been talking for a solid few minutes and he’d shown no inclination to run or straight up snub me. So far as I was concerned we were off to a good start.

I found myself returning it in that cockeyed manner my lips seemed to twist when I really meant to be subtle. Hey, it’s the best I could do on no notice. After all, I hadn’t expected anyone to be nice.

“So, what’s your major?”

He inquired after a moment of silence.

“General studies, what’s yours?”

I asked as I reached for my soda, taking a deep drink and hoping it would all go down the right pipe.

“Same, seems everyone is here for that. I take it you’re transferring after year two?”

His eyes flicked up at me as he went back to copying my notes in a left-handed scribble.

“Yup, Missouri State if I can swing it.”

I reached for a Cheeto only to realize I wasn’t really hungry and put it back.

“I’m looking to transfer somewhere further north, I dunno, maybe University of Illinois or something, get the hell out of St. Louis.”

He finished the sentence and then flexed his wrist, stretching it as he took a break from copying for a second to do so.

“What’s wrong with St. Louis?”

I asked as I watched him stretch.

“You’re not from here so don’t defend it.”

He shot me a warning look before continuing.

“Talking to you for about five minutes and I can tell that you’re from further North. You have that clipped way of speaking.”

He waved a hand at me dismissively.

“So? I mean, it’s still a valid question. If you’re gonna hate on a place you should have a reason.”

I responded as I leaned forward in my chair, with interest.

“The part I’m from is pretty rough and I’d rather get out of there sooner than later. The city is like, decaying on the inside and I don’t like it. I’m not a city person and I don’t want to deal with the fallout from that. People who do, or willing to, are just nuts. I mean, the suburbs are even worse. Everything looks the exact same. It’s all kind of sad so I’d sooner just not deal with it at all. If I move further north I can get the hell out of here for good, live further into the country or something.”

I was sort of stunned at his answer so it took me a moment to respond.

“You do realize that Missouri is just a different shaped Indiana or Illinois, right? I mean, there is little to no difference. It’s all still the Midwest. You guys have slightly different weather but I can tell you that yeah, go to Illinois you’ll find it just the same as here.”

I finished my response with another drink of a soda that had gone warm and flat. Making a face I put it down and got the cap back on it to throw it away.

“Where do you study?”

Chapter 12

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Sat, 30 Jul 2011 16:00:00 +0000

Give It Away Now

I woke up sort of all at once, my body coming back online with something akin to a headache and a taste in my mouth that indicated that at some point in time I had to have been chewing on my own heel before passing out entirely. When I was able to push myself out of bed I made it to the bathroom before my bladder ceased to care that I was a visitor in the house of a man with a very big knife. However, after releasing the deluge I stumbled out to discover that we had trashed his carpet last night. I wondered if he’d be upset or just accept it as an opportunity cost.

Ryan was still asleep or at least, the door to what I presumed was his bedroom was shut tight. Unwilling to investigate any further in that particular direction I headed to the rest of the house to see if I couldn’t find a phone. I needed to call a cab and get back to my car. It didn’t matter that the fare would cost me an arm and a leg, letting Ryan put together that I’d been the car he’d seen and thus the individual he almost got killed trying to save didn’t seem smart. Well, if he hadn’t put two and two together already. He hadn’t said anything and I was still alive so I presumed that he was still awash in blissful ignorance.

I found a phone in the kitchen, the old school cordless kind with an antenna. I wasn’t even aware that they made those anymore but this one worked so who was I to sneeze at his choice of technology? Once again, thoughts of mocking the man with the bright shiny knife precluded any and all unsafe action. When I finally found a cab company willing to take me, pickup assured within the next twenty minutes, I decided to check his place out. After all, last night’s activities had temporarily blown out my detection circuits. Now that they were back in action I could make it my business to snoop as much as possible before getting caught out.

My cursory investigation revealed that he was a bit ocd. The house was an older one but he kept it up and there was somewhat fresh paint on the walls, though he’d chosen a shade of yellow I’d bet Martha Stewart couldn’t even find a use for. His movie collection was pretty extensive and involved mostly action, horror, and crime drama with a few tasteless comedies thrown in. I double checked to see if he didn’t have a copy of Little Women stashed somewhere, the version with Wynona Ryder. My efforts were ultimately fruitless and I contented myself with realizing that Ryan wasn’t exactly a reader unless books on automotives and police procedure counted.

I checked out the kitchen and it was pretty well stocked with booze and condiments along with a lovely selection of red meat. Narry a vegetable was to be found so I was pretty sure that Ryan was truly traditional American male without having to lift his Jockeys to do so. I’d actually been searching for evidence of Michelle, anywhere but I’d been unable to locate her impression upon the house. Either she just hadn’t had time to get cozy here or had also been a traditional American male. The latter part, the part I didn’t want to think about, was that her memory would have been overwhelming, incapacitating for Ryan if he’d have held on to her stuff.

It was while I was considering that, that I noticed that there wasn’t so much a third bedroom off to the side but more of a den or an office. The location was odd, as if it cut the living room almost in half. The door was mostly open so while I checked the clock to make sure I didn’t miss my cab, I peeked inside.

Forget seeing no evidence of Michelle she was in here, she was everywhere. All of the crime scene photos were tacked in black and white glossy on the walls. There were notes and maps and all kinds of information. I could see what had to be his handwriting all over the pictures and on the pieces of paper, the computer in the corner on and when I wiggled the mouse for the screen the picture that made up the background/desktop on his monitor was her, bright and smiling, laughing.

It was like a sucker punch to the gut.

I’d felt horrible when my friends had died and as much as I’d liked John, and maybe wanted to love him a little I hadn’t. If I had loved him this is what I would have done. I would have made him such a part of my life after his death it would be like he’d never gone. His memory would never fade and he’d be staring at someone else with balls enough to snoop in a house they’d been invited inside of. No, perfect strangers would know how much he’d meant to me and I felt sick. I felt sick that none of my friends had obviously meant this much.

Humbled, I backed out before I could intrude further. I felt humiliated and ashamed. Who was I to go all Nancy Drew on a guy who had been nice enough to reluctantly invite me into his home under duress after trying to kill me? Okay, well, put it like that and you might have a point, perhaps several but it didn’t make it right. Already I felt badly that I even chose this route. Rubbing my arms I exited the room, leaving everything just as I’d found it.

Less pleased with myself now than when I’d first woken up, I went and sat on his front steps, rubbing my arms in the morning chill. I’d missed classes already and if I didn’t get a move on I’d be late for work. Lost in these thoughts I barely heard the front door open. When I looked over my shoulder to see Ryan standing there, bare chest and his hair puffy from sleep, eyes and face having a certain bruised and swollen look about them. “Not a fan of ‘goodbye’?” He asked, doing that guy thing where they reach behind their heads and fluff their already unfortunately messed up hair.

If only I could get away with that. Resentful, who, me?

“I didn’t want to wake you up. I missed class and I have to get to work before noon.” I shrugged my shoulders as if I did this all the time. Yeah, I was a girl who knew how to take care of herself, up until the point that I didn’t.

“So, how do I get a hold of you?”

He leaned against the brick, arms crossed, not so much looking directly at me but more or less in my general direction. He could have been talking to the shrubbery but somehow I put it together he meant me.

“You want to get a hold of me?”

I must have looked as shocked as I felt because he laughed before continuing.

“Well, seems we’re doing the same thing so we may as well work together instead of well, screwing things up trying to work independently.”

I could tell that he’d been about to say something a hell of a lot less flattering but I let it slide.

“All right.”

I pushed myself up to my feet and followed him back inside.

He had a pad of paper and a pen on the kitchen table within a few moments and I wrote down my full name and contact information.

“What were you doing out there?” He asked as he studied me like I was a bug he wasn’t sure what to do about, sort of like encountering a daddy long legs in the shower. Sure, the spider is violating your private space but it’s the beneficial kind and squashing it would only lead to flies and bad karma.

“I called a cab to take me home.” I replied setting the pen down and putting my hands in on my hips. I didn’t have pockets, per se.

“So you were just going to steal my clothing?” He arched a brow, obviously quite amused at that particular concept.

“Just because you didn’t have a way to get in touch with me doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to find you.” I arched a brow, ever the smart ass as I gestured to his house.

He snorted and shook his head. “Fair enough,” He said letting me have the point.

Yes, I was smug enough to smirk. I was also that mature. Like you expected any different?

“So, what do you think?” He was studying me again.

I was going to have to ask him to cut that out.

“I think it’s a good idea.” If I’d had been thinking at all I’d have been the one to not only suggest it but follow up on it.

He wrote down his information and handed it to me which was awkward because, as previously mentioned, I had no pockets but I made the best of it and balled it up in my fingers.

“When, when did you want to start?” I asked.

“I’m pretty wrecked from last night, so probably in a few days. I’ll call you.” He offered as he sat down in one of the four kitchen chairs.

His eyes moved up and down my body and for a moment I wondered if he was going to hit on me. He was looking at me that intensely and he was a guy and I was a girl and sure his dead fiance’s picture was up on his wall like an ode to true love but what did I know of men’s needs?

“What?” I finally spit out, a blush crawling up my neck so much as I blushed anymore. Most people turned red and I was lucky if I hit anything dark enough to resemble peach or pink.

“You’re fine.” He gestured to my body, hand moving up and down in the air. “I didn’t realize it last night but you’re fine. You don’t have a scratch on you, at all.”

I looked myself over and paled, if possible, when I realized he was right. I opened my mouth to protest but the truth was he had me completely flat-footed. “I. I didn’t know I did that.” Putting my hands up to my face what had been indignation at his hitting on me quickly turned to awkwardness. “I really. It wasn’t on purpose.”

“Hey. Hey. I’m sorry.” He said.

I heard the chair move as he stood up and I stepped back, dropping my hands. I wasn’t crying, I had found the ability to pull that particular trick off had largely gone in the same direction as my ability to tan.

“It’s okay. I just. I didn’t know I could. I haven’t been hurt since well, I got hurt.” Fumbling for words I backed up with my hands out in front of me. “I don’t know why.”

“We both know why.” Ryan said, his face not revealing much of his thoughts at first. “It’s probably a good thing. It’ll give you an edge.” The way he said it, though, belayed that while he wouldn’t have minded the ability himself he found it completely strange that I had it.

Or I could have been projecting, who knows?

“Well, as long as you know I’m not doing it on purpose.” Wow, as if my intent to not be a freak of nature had anything to do with the facts.

Shaking his head he rubbed his face, “Your cab is here.” He commented as a horn blew in the driveway.

It was a good time to exit, as good as any. “Yeah, give me a call if you want to get with the hacking and the slashing. I’ll let you know if I’m free.” Wincing, I turned on my heel and made for the front door.

“Eva.” Ryan said my name clearly as he put a hand up to brace himself off of the wall.

“Yeah?” I looked at him over my shoulder, unwilling to forestall my escape lest I find another way of utterly humiliating myself.

“I will be calling you.” He nodded his head to the door, indicating I was good to leave, he’d said his piece.

With a jerking nod I made my way out the door, ruined Vans leading the way. I hadn’t even bothered to tie the shoelaces but I managed to not kill myself or take out a planter on my way down the stairs. Miracles aside I slid into the back of the cab and a man with skin darker than I’d ever know out of my own looked up at me through the mirror.

“Miss, where am I taking you?” He inquired, brow arched, obviously curious to know exactly where he was driving me.

“My car.” I responded, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. That was where I needed to go, my car.

“Where is that?” He seemed a little less smiling and far less hopeful that this would go well.

“I can give you directions.” I responded and he set the meter, backing out of Ryan’s driveway. I looked up to Ryan’s porch once more, wondering if he’d see me off but the front door was closed and there was no apparent movement from the inside. Sitting back in the cab I knew that I was embarking on something that would likely get one or both of us killed. It made it hard to swallow, hard to think.

It made it impossible to give good directions too, all right?

Chapter 11

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Fri, 01 Jul 2011 00:15:00 +0000

Like a G6

Sitting behind the wheel of the Ryan's car, elbows on my knees, wind riffling through my hair, I took a deep breath. Blood soaked clothing clung to my frame, and I knew I’d have to get out of here soon – it just didn't seem fair. Stiffening my back I leaned forward and took a deep shuddering breath. Blood. There had been so much blood – intellectually it seemed like there should be less. My fingers felt slick and sticky all at once as they gripped the wheel cover, rubber catching at my skin as I left bloody fingerprints all over it. That might piss Ryan off but hell, it wasn’t as if he’d be in better shape. Speaking of Ryan, my heart was pounding out the moments in shudder-step beats since leaving him in the fiery house. I shouldn’t have left him but I couldn’t drive forward, really, not with the path in such disarray. I would have to leave soon. I would have to leave him. Tears streamed down my face as I made my decision. They would be coming after me any moment and as I sat there waiting tendrils of fear seeped in between the chinks of my fragile armor and pulled it apart. I didn’t want to leave him. However, I moved one foot on the brake and commenced with popping the running car into reverse; I was ready to take off when the body landed on the hood.

Screaming, I hit the gas, backing out into the street, driving across the grassy field with no time to waste, the deserted road running next to the field offered no obstacles as I backed far onto the pavement before putting it into drive and lurching forward. I was trembling, having trouble focusing as I steered us towards our escape, afraid of what might be coming.

“Don't. Stop!” Ryan screamed at the top of his voice as he hit the windshield with a bloody fist, leaving streaks.

I hit the brakes and he fell off the hood. Well, it was more of a slip-and slide motion, really. If the situation had been different more than just a manic chuckle would have left my lips at the undignified motions. While I was tempted to hit the gas again I didn't. Panting for breath I hit the unlock button for the doors. He pulled the door open with the same sloppy motion I had just moments before and threw himself inside. “Drive. Drive. More are coming. I can feel it.”

“Shit. Can they. Can they feel you?” I whispered, my throat dry and scratchy with the effort. My wits were as dulled as the rest of me but the question bubbled forth anyway. At least it stopped the hysterical laughter than wanted to escape instead.

“No. I figure I read to them like you read to me or they can smell me. I can’t exactly ask so I don’t know which.” He panted in response, reaching for the seat belt as he righted himself.

“How is that?” I managed as I turned down the ramp to the interstate taking us back into the city proper and away from the country. That I was leaving my perfectly serviceable car behind didn’t even occur to me. I could only think about getting out of there.

“You come across to me like an empty spot, sort of like a black hole. You don’t seem to be like they are, though, not so hungry.” He ran his bloody hands down his jeans. “Shit. Holy fuck. What a mess.” He struggled to keep down the manic laughter as it attempted to claw it's way out of him. It was the same panicked laughter that had escaped me earlier. That we were having a perfectly calm conversation while I fishtailed and sped down the on ramp for the three lane highway struck me with a David Lynch sense of unreal.

“I seem to you like a black hole? You can commiserate with a few of my ex boyfriends then.” I chocked back my own shuddering burst of mania. There were no ex boyfriend but hell, if they were. No doubt they’d agree, really. Hell, John, John might have thought so. Wait, I had to dismiss that line of thought. What John might have considered couldn’t apply to me now. He was dead. “Black hole,” I repeated and then shut up, not sure of where to go from there.

“Look I,” He started to sputter in protest. What he was going to follow that up with I wasn't sure because he seemed to stop himself from speaking. Instead he put his head in his hands and seemed to try to get control of himself.

“Shut up. I'm driving.” I rolled down the windows, shivering. It was far too late in the season to be flying down the highway with the windows down but I had to do something to get the smell of blood and ichor from our bodies away from my nose. Shivering, goose pimples rising, teeth chattering with cold instead of fear I drove into the city.

“Where are you headed?” He asked as he watched me, letting my actions capture his attention, keeping insanity at bay. Ryan kept staring at me as if I would keep him grounded, a drowning man clinging to the life raft of sanity. If only it could have been a joke.

“I don't know. I'm trying to think of a place to get washed up. We have, we have to get this blood off of us. I can't go home looking like this. My uncle will freak out and I can’t. I can’t explain it to him.”

“How do you usually clean up after this?” He asked with an arched brow, now examining me like a bug. “I saw you in the alley that night. This isn’t your first time.”

“This is the first time that I had any success. I didn’t know it would be this messy or, or anything. I didn’t exactly think what to do after.” I replied, sighing deeply. If I was really going to do this I was going to have to start thinking things through better. It was just too bad that this wasn’t the first time I’d had that thought, or the last.

“You went after them with no idea as to how to clean up afterwards?” He shorted, rolling his eyes. “Christ, what the fuck is going on here?”

I shook her head, “I didn't plan it.” I let those words hang for a second as I struggled how to continue. What the hell was the protocol for this? “What about you? Where were you going to clean up?”

“My place.” He replied stiffly. “I was going to drive my car to my place and clean up there.”

“Give me directions.” I demanded, not willing to screw around. I was tired and sore and I needed to stop smelling like this. I hurt everywhere and it occurred to me that I’d started to head to O’Fallon on my own and I didn’t want him to think I knew even close to where he lived. This guy was a whole new level of paranoid and what was worse, I couldn’t blame him. I couldn’t blame him at all but hell, I wanted to get clean so badly.

“Why would I want you at my place? Are you going to invite me to yours?” He scoffed, disbelievingly and he was half way to a suspicious sneer.

When I saw an available exit I pulled into a parking lot she put the car into park and looked over at him. My long brown hair was soaked with blood, dripping it. My black turtleneck was saturated to a rusty color and what was left of my pants were stiffening on my legs as I sat there. Even my face felt waxy as the blood began to cool and dry upon my skin. “I just killed a dozen vampires with you and you don't trust me to shower at your place? Are you serious?” Ludicrous! It was ridiculous! “I kept a room of them at bay, from tearing their goddamn claws into you and all you can do is deny me some goddamn hot water and some soap?”

He stared at me and swallowed. I knew what he was going to say before the words even left his lips but it didn’t help the sting of it any. “You're half one of them.”

I could feel my body seizing up again. “Right. Fine.” I used my slick-sticky stiffening fingers to open the door and shoved it with my shoulder, almost stumbling out once free of the seat belt. “Fuck you. Go to hell.” Suddenly my plan to team up with him to kill these things seemed not only out of mind but absolutely juvenile. What the fuck did I think we’d become? The goddamn Scoobie-gang?

“Wait. Wait. Shit!” He undid his own belt and exited the car, moving around the other side. "Come back.”

“Why? You don't trust me. Who cares what the fuck happens to me?” I gestured with my arm sharply causing the torn sleeve to slap back in the wind, casting a thick spray of slowly congealing liquids I’d rather not think too hard about.

“No. I just.” He raked his fingertips through his once blonde-brown hair. “Fuck. Get in the car. Just. Just get in the car and we'll go to my place.”

I stared at him for a long moment, working my jaw. I needed to set a few things straight with Captains Suspicious. “I’m not evil.” Swallowing hard, my throat rising and falling with the ache of the motion, I forced myself to speak. “I'm not. I hate them as much as you do for what they are and what they do.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You said. Look, it's been a rough night. Get in the car.” He gestured to the passenger side, sliding into the driver's side and getting comfortable, moving the seat back and brushing his face with his fingers. I wanted to tell him that it didn’t help any, just spread the goop around.

With a sigh, I made my way to the other side and slid in, drawing my aching knees up and securing the seat belt, locking the door and then pulling my long ropey hair back from my face with a free hand. “I like your car.” It was the only nice thing I could think of to say and I said to fill the silence as much as anything.

“Yeah, it's a good car.” He nodded his head, seemingly grateful to have something neutral to talk about. “She’s brand new. I haven't had her a year yet.” The tension left his shoulders slowly although he kept eying me wearily. A part of me didn’t blame him but the greater portion was sick of his constant paranoia.

“What's her name?” He’d given her a gender and it seemed only polite to ask. Polite, yes, I was worried about polite even though my body was shaking and I felt like I was going to throw up with the combination of the adrenaline crash and the stench that would not dissipate.

“Sydney.” He responded, rusty fingers riding the dash, caressing it. “I named her Sydney the day I bought her."

“That’s a good name for a car.” I replied as I eased back in the seat, my eyes falling to lids as exhaustion started to seep in. “How far is home?”

“Not far at all.” He looked over at me. “Close your eyes for the rest. I'll wake you up when we get there.”

I didn’t want to but I nodded my head. I wrapped my arms around myself and disbelievingly enough, I fell asleep. Really, it seemed the only decent thing to do. After all, how could I expect him to trust me if I didn’t even appear to trust him?

It was not far to his place. At the most I had dozed for fifteen to twenty minutes. The clock was only that much later when we pulled into the stunted driveway in front of the single floor ranch house in what appeared to be an okay neighborhood. “Come on, we're here.” He reached out to touch me, nudging my shoulder.

I lifted my head and blinked. Wincing, I untangled myself and followed him inside like some sort of zombie, blinking myself awake and rather wishing I were still asleep. It didn’t seem to matter to me anymore whether I could trust him or not. My body was going to crap out on me soon, my limbs back to feeling cold and my heart back to beating sluggishly.

He unlocked the front door and ushered me inside. “Bathroom is to your left. You can have it first. Use what you need.” He commented unnecessarily. “I'll use the garage to clean up.”

I paused and looked over my shoulder at him. “It's your house.” I almost added ‘and you don’t even like me’ but I, for once, showed good judgment and kept that to myself.

“I know, so what I say goes. Don't shower in a hurry either unless you want to see me naked.” He commented offhandedly as he made his way to the garage.

I couldn’t help but notice that the carpet would need a good shampooing as a direct result of all of this. My mind ran off the rails wondering if he kept one for just that purpose. Huh, maybe Bissell could clean everything up?

Walking into the bathroom, I began to strip out of the clothing that seemed glued to me. I shrugged it off, peeled it in other places and finding a spare trash bag in his bathroom I put it all in there to be burned. Once stripped naked I slid into his shower and after a couple of shivering, teeth chattering moments the hot water kicked in and then, ran red. It was amazing the amount of blood I had on me, almost as if I bathed in it. That let loose a hysterical giggle that left me pressing my face to the tile wall and shuddering with sobs. Closing my eyes I buried her fingers in my hair and slumped down, letting the hot water run on me. I knew this was not the time to have a nervous breakdown, not in a strange man's home using up all his hot water. Pushing myself up I cleaned myself with trembling fingers, finally getting all the blood out of my long black hair and using his generic shampoo and conditioner to do so. Even his shower gel was generic and isn't it strange the things one fixates in times like these? Once clean I wrapped myself in a towel and sat down on the toilet, using his comb to remove the tangles from my hair, taking my time. I didn’t want to risk running into him dressed like this or even worse, with Ryan wearing less. That would be the wrong foot to start off on, okay, well, worse.

“You need fresh clothing, don't you?” I heard his footsteps halt outside the bathroom door, voice carrying through the thick door that separated us. I knew he couldn’t see me so I put my hand on the stained wood, enjoying the feel of something solid beneath my fingers.

“Yes. Please.” Lifting my head, hair mostly detangled though there were a lot of casualties I stood up. I considered cutting it off. After all, there wouldn’t be much left after too many nights like these. In short order, I’d be tearing at it vainly with my fingers desperate for the idiocy and horror to stop. Then again, I might also let the nerves get to me and wind up twisting it off and eating clumps in public. For some reason, that seemed the short order of things, as ridiculous as it was.

The other side of the door was silent for a little while but I could hear his footsteps on the hard wood floor when he returned. “Open the door a crack.”

Hesitating a moment, I did so and clothing was stuffed through clumsily, his head was turned so to give me privacy. That rather warmed me over, a bit. He had gone from hostile to considerate in a pretty short amount of time and for that, I was grateful. I took the clothing, a pair of jeans too big and a shirt that hung down to my knees. I made the best of it, easing his socks on pruned out feet and stretching my toes. Hair braided back and tied back with a twist tie from the garbage sack I eased myself out of his bathroom making sure there was no trace of blood and hanging up my towels to dry.

He was in his own kitchen, an open bottle of brandy on the table. “Help yourself.” He didn't look at me for a moment but then finally relented. His dishwater blond hair stood up in spikes and I could tell that when his hair dried it would be soft and almost puffy.

“Thank you.” I sat down on the chair, harder than I meant to and drew my legs up underneath me, pouring the glass, the lip of the bottle clanking a bit against the rim of the cup. When I finished I set it down and picked up the glass, looking into it and then taking a sip. The brandy took my breath away, making me gasp. It had been a while since night spent drinking in the graveyard. I hadn’t had a drop since, hadn’t wanted it but I found myself almost craving it tonight.

“You get used to it.” He commented dryly.

“Oh. Yeah. Right.” I nodded my head and stared down into the cup, taking a sip. It was time I broached more difficult topics, before the liquor took away my consciousness along with my reservations. “You said you could sense what I am.”

“I can.” He looked up at me and took another drink. “I can sense all of them, all the time. I can't shut it off. It's like I can feel the void that they are around me, their hunger.” He shuddered and took another sip, teeth hitting the glass, causing him to wince. “I knew you were there. I couldn’t get it straight in my head at first but now I know. At first I thought you were one of them but then it became clear you weren’t.”

“So, I'm different.” For some reason I really needed to hear him say that. I looked up at him, making myself.

“How did you wind up like this?” He asked me, his eyes taking me in once more, as if attempting to reconcile the person he saw with the person he ‘sensed’.

I stared at the glass and I realized that I could give him a dozen false stories, false leads. I didn’t have to open up to him. In reality, I didn’t owe him anything. For the longest moment, I seriously considered lying.

“I have a right to know.” He interjected, leaning forward. “I do.”

Although I disagreed with his ‘rights’ in this matter, his earnestness made me ashamed I’d considered lying to him. That wasn’t the kind of person I wanted to be. “I was at a graveyard, with some friends. We were attacked by the monsters. They killed all my friends and almost killed me but I didn’t die right or something. There is this guy, Michael, he used to be my friend and I guess he got brought over as a smart one. I mean, he was him just without a pulse and no real sense of humanity. It’s like he got drawn into a cheap caricature of himself. He said that he was with a woman named Angela and that she’d wanted to make me one of the smart ones, not one of the monsters.” I paused then, pouring myself another half-cup before eyeing it and knocking it back. Once again, I gasped, my eyes watered and my stomach rolled with the strong liquor. “It didn’t work right, something happened and I came back half and half.” I shrugged my shoulder – not to make light of it but to dismiss my own dark thoughts – clouded by the events of this evening and now drenched in the alcohol.

“If you didn’t die like they wanted you to, the first time, what will happen when you die?” He asked me, his voice pitched low and thoughtful. His eyes didn’t come near me after he inquired. There was something akin to shame in his expression for asking but apparently he couldn’t prevent himself from asking the question.

“I don’t know, exactly. Michael said that I would but it’s hard to tell. He told so many lies. It's hard to figure the truth.” Actually, everything Michael had done had been misleading, not outright lies. I didn't want to think about that too hard, though. That line of inquiry was better left alone for the time being; tonight had been desperate enough.

There was a length of silence coming from him.

“I know that if I change you’ll kill me.” I shrugged my shoulder again and leaned back in the seat, closing my eyes. “It’s okay, I’ll want you to.”

The bottle found the glass once more and liquid splashed. “I didn’t know they were smart ones. I thought, I thought this is all that there was. I thought they were all just animals.”

“No, there are smart ones, at least two that I know of. Seems that if these things are here, they might be everywhere and there might be more smart ones. I don’t know. I have more questions than answers.” Opening my eyes slowly I finished off my glass and set it down. The world felt all smooth and soft, fuzzy around the edges but not in a bad way. Yeah, this is why I’d stopped drinking. It felt too good.

We sat in silence for a bit more before I got up the nerve to ask what I knew would lead us in the direction we would have to go. I decided to not tell him I’d done research on him, at least not yet. I was afraid of his response, especially given my fluid state of mind. “What about you? How did you wind up knowing what these things are and doing what you do with that really, really big knife?” I kept my eyes open and focused them on him.

His laugh was hollow. “They killed my fiancé. I bought this house with her. I was supposed to get married. They killed her. Our car broke down and they, they grabbed her while she was trying to call for help. I told her I could fix it, I could replace the tire but she said we invested in AAA for a reason. We were arguing. I was really angry and I think it was because I knew something was wrong. Something felt evil. I could sense them but I didn't know what they were. I ignored the feeling because I didn’t know what was going on.”

He poured yet another and finished that too. After licking his lips, he continued. “They dragged off Michelle and I, I panicked. I freaked. I set the cell to call 911, knowing that my help would come but it was too late. I couldn't find her in the darkness. We were in the middle of nowhere when it happened. We were right where I found you. There is a, a memorial marking her.” He took a deep, shuddering breath, as if it hurt to tell the story. “They never found her body, or evidence that I did it so they had to let me go. I kept going back, trying to find her but I couldn’t. She was gone. I keep looking for her but she’s gone.” He put his head in his hands and his shoulders shook.

I had known him for less than twelve hours and he was crying in front of me. Even before I was half-dead I lacked a lot of compassion. It just wasn’t my strong suit so I reached out to touch him but withdrew my fingers. They felt too cool to me. I figured they’d feel even cold to him so I didn’t touch him. Instead I sat in silence, waiting for him to gather himself.

“They thought you did it? You were supposed to be married.” I commented calmly, as he struggled. I needed him to think less like a victim and more like the aggressive role he’d chosen after her death. I wasn’t sure who to feel worse for: Ryan or Michelle so I set myself to feeling just as poorly for both.

He stared at me. “Yeah, you don't watch much crime drama do you? They always blame the boyfriend. It's the nearest and dearest that are likely to kill you. Yeah, that's on like every single cop show there is.” He scoffed at my perceived naivety. “I knew that before I even became a cop.”

At first it occurred to me that his scoffing at me was better than his crying. I was about to remark on something else entirely when I found myself blinking at him. A thought occurred to me and I started to shake, startling myself with my own laughter. I started to cough but the laughter was still most audible. I couldn’t get myself under control for the longest time; the thought was just too ridiculous.

“What's so funny?” He stared at me, for not the first time, like I was sick.

“I don't watch crime drama anymore. I can't stand the blood.” I let out a whooping laugh that made my chest hurt and my eyes water once more.

His low chuckle echoed from the other side of the kitchen table. “Oh shit, you got issues girl.”

I laughed even harder at that mild understatement and wrapped my arms around myself, leaning my head back against the chair. When I collected myself I managed to speak somewhat clearly. “Oh God I'm tired.” I let my eyes fall to lids.

“I can't drive you home. I'm wasted.” He pushed himself up from the table. “Come on, follow me.”

“I thought you didn't trust me.” I said as I stretched, my toes finding the floor and flexing as my arms reached for the sky, fingers extended.

“Fuck it. If you get me in my sleep just don't wake me up.” He pushed open the door to a second bedroom. “It might be a bit on the musty side. I wasn't expecting company.”

“I don’t think it matters.” I tried to smile, winding my arms around myself. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” He said as he stumbled to his own room, finding his bed and collapsing.

I shrugged out of his jeans and clad in Ryan’s t-shirt I crawled underneath the covers. Taking a deep breath I blew it out quickly, my head spinning and flying far ahead of the rest of me. My last thoughts were by far the most mundane of the night.

He was right, the bed was musty.

Chapter 10

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Tue, 31 May 2011 16:30:00 +0000

Firefly

Finding the place in which Michelle died wasn’t difficult. There was a cross on the road with flowers. ‘Beloved.’ That word caught my eye, along with her name and I wondered if anyone would ever refer to me in those terms. Eva, Beloved. Shaking my head I knew better. Looking at my thin pale fingers, reflecting on a heart that didn’t beat quite right, I knew I’d never be a man’s beloved. I was fairly sure that you needed to be more alive for that, more alive than I would ever be. As far as I could see, this train only went one way and that was down.

I picked around the area and as she’d gone missing months the rain washed away any evidence of her being dragged away and the crime scene tape had long since been removed. I had decided to dedicate an entire evening to poking around the area to see what I could find. I wanted to get a clear idea of what had happened here and maybe, just maybe track down my machete wielding maniac.

Following the article and the pictures I printed out I started to walk towards the wooded area. I flashed back to where my friends and I had been, in that graveyard down the gravel road off of 500N. We too had been surrounded by woods for cover. The trees hadn’t been super thick on either side as farmland flanked the graveyard but they had been dense enough you could be fooled into thinking otherwise. I picked my way into the shrubbery and realized that I should invest in some decent boots. This became especially obvious as my black Vans were sucked up by the mud. Fantastic, I'd have to go shoe shopping after this if I wanted to go to work or school in something more than just socks. I didn’t want to get lost so I tried to keep myself perpendicular to the road, and then parallel as I waded into the tree line.

Despite growing up in a largely rural environment, nature girl, I am not. There were years worth of disgruntled Girl Scout Troop leaders that would attest to this as well. On camping trips I’d specialized in ‘whining until we could go home’. If they could have seen me picking through the brush, they would most likely have been laughing hysterically and elbowing each other. As I made my way through the trees something didn’t feel right. It didn’t smell right either and the further I walked the darker it got. I don’t mean in just atmosphere. It physically got darker and I realized I’d been wandering around in the brush for hours. Full darkness was settling soon and as odd as it looked I was glad I had my own knife strapped to my thigh.

Missouri, I was discovering, was simply a different shaped Indiana with the same sort of reminders of lives spent farming. Driving on the outskirts, I’d seen flat land; fallow fields with broken down farm houses waiting to live again as subdivisions or business parks. Where I was walking now was much more of the same. Trees that had been purchased and lined up like wooded soldiers to stop wind erosion had given life to entire mini-wilderness areas with plans of their own having little to do with humanity.

As I worked my way through the brush, I noticed the evidence of collapsed buildings and rusted farm equipment. It was time to step wise and I thought I’d found the majority of the wreckage so when the house appeared in front of me I had to take a step back. The building was huge, two stories and had been an old school farm house at one point in time. The thing looked like a throwback to the antebellum south and for all I knew it could have been, my American history knowledge shady enough to be remiss in recognizing what side of the Mason-Dixon Missouri had fallen on or really, where the Mason-Dixon was in the first place.

Never the less, the place was huge and I could see activity coming in and out. There were at least a dozen of them, hanging about the building and I froze. Crouching down to peek around a tree I took I deep breath and eyed the area as best I could in the fading light. My initial head count had been right, so far as I could see. Thankful for all those years of Sesame Street, I moved on to watching them. They moved oddly, sort of hunched and without any real purpose, it seemed. Their communication was strange as well, in that they didn’t seem to communicate at all. My cheek scraping the bark of the tree, I held on to it with fingers that were turning to white knuckles. There seemed to be a lot of nodding but no real voices or noises. They way they moved reminded me of insects, ants more specifically with a sort of hive mind.

With a shudder I started to back up. In no shape or way was I prepared for this. There were far too many of them and Ryan was no were to be found. With a shallow breath full of the stench of rot, I figured that when I did stumble upon him, I would let him know that the ones who stole away his fiancé were most likely here. I wouldn’t have been shocked if pieces of her couldn’t be found inside. Okay, he may not have appreciated that part but at least there would be something to bury, right?

Those thoughts in mind, I decided that perhaps caution was the better part of valor and I had seen enough. I knew, I knew these things had once been human to start with but people like Angela and Michael had turned them into genderless, carnivorous, monsters. You couldn’t call them cannibals but whatever they were – they weren’t human anymore. Other than their vague shape there was nothing of the people they had once been about them. It was as if the lizard part of their brain was the only part that had survived and I wondered if this wasn’t where the concept of zombies and vampires hadn’t risen from – these things. There seemed to be multiple levels of this existence. There was the full on vamps like Michael and apparently, Angela and then there were these creatures (wasn’t sure what to call them other than monsters) and then myself, caught in the middle. I wondered, when I died, who I’d turn into.

Shivering, and noting that the area was almost completely dark I made my way to leave. I would have to find a different way of locating Ryan as this plan obviously had enough holes to fall through. I didn’t want to lose sight of my goals in self-reflection. After all, there was no profit in it as I couldn’t change things. What had happened happened. All I could do was keep it from happening to others in the future.

I honestly wasn't sure which would be worse.

Grim faced, I made my way to leave when I heard the rustle and then, the screaming. Turning my back, and looking over my shoulder I found him, Ryan that is, tumbling through the forest. He kept looking around, eyes wide and wild, and I realize that he probably patrolled the area often and he’d seen my car – abandoned on the road. Oh holy shit. I’d led him here while looking for him and now, now it was going to be a mess.

Turning on my heel I pushed off the tree that I’d been by and ran for him, kukri out. They were swarming him, as he cut through the swath of creatures with their blackened, shriveled skin and ragged clothing. I was on the mass in a heart beat, not letting my think of words like ‘run way’ or ‘fragile bowls’ or anything of the sort. I didn’t want to think at all. Witnessing his bloodlust, taking it into myself, all I wanted to do was help him. I wanted to save him.

I was an idiot.

I cut through the mass of individuals, hacking and slashing and trying not to think too hard about the thick ichor that covered not only my blade but me. I made it to him and I realized that my estimate had been a low ball consensus of their numbers but that was the least of my problems. The fire of hate, of anger was in his eyes and the next thing I knew, he was coming for me. With a scream, he charged me with his blade high and I ran the only place I could run, into the house.

That proved to be the worst idea of all.

The minute I went inside the stench was overpowering and that was where I saw all of the refuse that the monsters had left behind and it looked like something out of a horror movie. There were body parts everywhere, some gnawed on, some stashed for later and if there hadn’t been a maniac crazed with bloodlust chasing me I might have slowed down to throw up but as things were, the details barely had a chance to register as my feet carried me up the flight of stairs that approached me.

Taking them two at a time I hit the second floor, turned around and faced him because this area, if anything, was worse and there was at least six or seven of the monsters rushing me. I turned to face him and screamed ‘run’ as I faced the creatures, hacking my way through them as best I could. I was hacking and slashing and their long nails were cutting me, ribbons of blood falling from my arm. I cried out and before I knew it the world went white, over exposed and everything started to move slower than it should have. I felt like I was caught in a Guy Richie movie although over exposed and distorted as he’d never allow in order to meet ticket sales.

Throwing caution to the wind, as if I’d shown any in the first place, I began cutting and throwing myself into it. I wanted them dead more than I wanted to live, more than I wanted anything and I didn’t care how badly they got me in the process. Whatever survival instinct I had took a back seat and this was the result. My heart, which had been sluggish pounded in my chest double time – I could almost feel it trying to break through my chest and copious amounts of sweat followed.

I felt warm for the first time since I’d almost died. I also, I also felt dangerously full of glee. This felt right. It felt good. The more I cut them, decapitating them and watching them wither, dissolve into dust and sludge the more powerful I felt. It wasn’t a Highlander ‘there can be only one’ sort of strike of lightening power but there was something in this, something I couldn’t name. When I couldn’t see any more of them around I turned to face Ryan once more only to realize I’d backed myself into a corner in one of the bedrooms. I wasn’t sure how I got there but it wasn’t smart. No, nothing about this had been smart and when I looked up to see Ryan bearing down on me I felt the kukri, slick with blood, sweat, and other things I’d rather not think about tighten in my grip.

His face was splashed with ichor and I it occurred to me that he might have been handsome once but wasn’t like this. I put my blade up and glared at him. “You want to try to take me out? Fine. Try it.” The words came out in a rush. “We both know I’m not like them. I’m NOTHING like them. So fuck you for even thinking it. Fuck you.”

I don’t know if it was my choice of words or the Dirty Harry like delivery that caught his attention but he took a step back, eyeing me, murderous rage fading at least somewhat. “What are you?” His chest heaved with the effort and was stained with less than pleasant things.

“I, I got hurt by them. I got attacked and now I want them dead. I want them all dead. I don’t know what I am but I know I’m not them. I don’t fucking eat people like Doritos.” Once those words left my mouth I felt sick, like I was going to hurl all over the place. I’d never eat Doritos again, oh fucking-a. The hits just kept on coming. “I don’t do what they do. I kill them.”

He seemed to weigh me, weigh the options and was in the middle of that when a rush of footsteps flowed up the stairs and by the widening of his eyes, an action that most likely mirrored my own; I knew we were under siege again. “We have to get out of here.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak as I looked for anything to block the door shut. Well, that might have been a good idea if there had been a door in the first place. Instead we had a giant ‘come and get me’ sort of hole in the wall but there was a window. I turned around and did something I know I’d seen action heroes do in the past and I kicked the window frame where it looked the weakest.

That backfired.

My foot went through where the last plane of glass was and shattered it, leaving the frame intact and providing jagged shards that did a great job cutting up my leg. With a scream I pulled my leg out and looked down at my trashed jeans and rent flesh and I felt nothing but white hot pain. “Fucking idiot!” He screamed at me, shoving me out of the way and off to the side where I ingloriously landed flat on my ass. With effort he pushed the window open the old fashioned way.

Lucky for him, though, I was mostly on my feet when the wave of them hit the door, cramming themselves in, trying to get through and successfully bottlenecking. I missed my opportunity to swing at them before they cleared the door but I was on top of it when the first two managed to make their way through. Cutting them, slashing them really, I let them lay where they fell, thinking that if I got enough I’d stop up the door entirely.

“Run!” He screamed as he jerked the window all the way up, glass shards falling as he did so. Ryan motioned for the window but I couldn’t leave the door. If I did, we were fucked.

“You go! I got this!” I did NOT in any way or shape have this. Whatever adrenaline had initially fueled my system faded out as we’d stood talking and now I was starting to wear. I knew I’d get tired, get sloppier than I already was and that would be bad. That would be very bad but Ryan, for all his retarded approach to me, was human, fully human and alive and while I didn’t want to die here and now I wanted him to die less.

How goddamn noble. Too bad it didn’t work out.

“No!” Some part of Ryan must have still been mostly cop because despite of what he thought of me he wasn’t going to leave me to some noble act of self sacrifice.

“Then what?!” I screamed back at him, tired and frustrated and wondering if tonight was ever going to end. They were getting into the room, more of them and I couldn’t keep up. Sure, they were bottlenecking but not nearly enough and they didn’t give a shit about their companions. They smelled fresh meet and they wanted some.

“This.” He sneered, face twisting into a mask of disgust as he pulled out a flask of what had to be gasoline or something similar. With the sweaty palmed rushed movements of one hand he got the top off and laced the area, dousing it in whatever it was. He dropped the flask and pulled out a cheap Bic lighter.

My eyes widened even more and were probably dangerously close to falling out of my head when he did this. Oh dear god, this was going to be bad. I didn't have a clue as to what I was doing but I already knew it was going to be awful. It took me a moment, to realize that he’d managed to get me in his dousing of the room. I had little desire to be roasted with the house, with these creatures so when he rushed up to grab me and pull me from the door I screamed in protest. His machete long sheathed, though I didn’t see him do it, he shoved car keys into my pocket and screamed in my ear.

“Mustang, down the drive, close to the road, get it started and fucking wait for me!”

I was going to yell in protest but he already had me in hand and was chucking me through the window.

Yes, he threw me through the window and I realized not only had he opened it all the way but he’d removed the glass that had blocked the top and the front. Chucking me through it, I fell all the way down to the second floor and when I hit, I saw stars. I felt immediate pain but didn’t give into the urge to black out. Something snapped but I didn’t have time, couldn’t pay attention. I didn’t want to leave him there but when I heard the ‘whoosh’ and saw the room light up I knew if we were going to get out of this alive, the both of us, I had to listen.

So I ran.

I found the drive he spoke of in the moonlight, my eyes finding their way after adjusting to the dark and with the help of the happy fire he’d made out of the bedroom. My fingers found the keys he’d shoved in my pocket and I jammed them into the lock, opening the beast and then, sitting all the way up I started it, feeling the beast of an engine roar. Trembling, I shut the door and adjusted the seat up, waiting for him to come, my fingers working on the wheel.

Come on, Ryan. Come on.

Great Minds...

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Mon, 16 May 2011 21:41:00 +0000

Hello, folks:

I decided that instead of posting entries whenever they were done (written and edited to a degree) I need to hold myself to more of a schedule. Therefore, all entries of this story will be published the first day of every month. This will require me to keep to a deadline system and well, reward the reader for checking in on the first of the month. This will, of course, start as of June first in that the May offering is already up i.e. Chapter Nine: Teardrop.

I was a big fan of Kelly Armstrong's short story posts she used to do once a month on her web page. I'd be checking a full week before they were even due to be posted to see if I couldn't catch one early. I'm the same way with my webcomics now and other periodicals I read online. So, here I am offering you, dear reader, the same thing.

Here is to the hope that this can be sustained and that well, someone out there is reading?

May the Dude Forever Abide,

Jen

Chapter 9

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Fri, 13 May 2011 23:12:00 +0000

Teardrop

When I woke up the next afternoon I was resolute. I’d gotten a pretty good look at the guy in the alley and decided that action was better than inaction. Forcing myself out of bed and into the shower I made my breakfast but this time I did my own dishes, thank you. I headed out to the library. It was my day off and I didn’t have classes until later in the evening so I had all kinds of time to kill.

Really, one of these days I’ll learn to watch my turn of phrase.

Walking into the library I waved in greeting to my co-workers who were by now accustomed to the casual distance I maintained from them. There were two girls and one guy, all my age that worked in the various departments and while they’d initially invited me to hang out with them after work I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I’m sure it looked strange, the girl with the giant scar across her neck acting all anti-social but I couldn’t tell them the truth. I made sure I was polite, cordial and kept my head down in order not to make any waves but hanging out after work was something I was unwilling to do. It wasn’t that I’d sprouted a sudden dislike for people but came more from the fact that I had trouble relating and communicating. I was hardly in danger of going all Taxi Driver.

I had friends, goddamn it.

It wasn’t my fault they were dead.

Heading to the back area that held the computers along with what remained of the microfiche I started to help myself. The cool part about working in such a nerdy location as the local library, people tended to leave you alone for the most part. They just assumed if you worked there and went about your business you knew the rules, knew what you were doing, and those that were working could focus on everyone else. It was a good system and one I took advantage of, often. This was especially true as my uncle was hardly up on the latest technology and so any research I had to do online for my classes needed to be done at a library or computer lab of some sort.

While the computer booted I pulled out my notepad and pen from my messenger bag and prepared to get to work. Once I could access the network I started searching for articles involving death and dismemberment – more specifically events that happened locally. Our quaint suburb of St. Louis didn’t offer a ton of activity so I spread my search to the downtown area, where I had located the machete-man but once again, I got nothing other than the occasional mugging gone wrong, gang shootings, and the woman I’d seen murdered.

There was a black and white photo of her, the nurse I saw die and in it she was smiling. In the photo she looked in her late thirties or early forties and she had a gap between her first two teeth. Laura Menedez, wife and mother of two. I felt sick to my stomach and not a little bit sweaty as I realized she had crinkles around her eyes, just like my mom. Well, my mom called them crow’s feet and rubbed anti-aging serum on the area but it was the same thing. There was a kindness to her, something all good nurses had and I felt my gut churn with shame for not the first time. Tears leaked out of the corner of my eyes and I thought for not the first time that I should be done crying by now.

Quickly, I closed that particular window and brought up a new search, expanding it. I couldn’t focus on her – she was dead like my friends and I couldn’t fix her. I couldn’t bring her back but I could get the ones who got her. I could make sure there were two less monsters out there killing. With a shiver I reached up and brushed my hair out of my face and started to analyze the new information in front of me.

Like all things fairly obvious in nature, the information I needed snuck up on me and slapped me upside my head. In bold print, there was an article about a local cop by the name of Ryan Black who had lost his wife-to-be, Michelle Caldecott, under mysterious circumstances. As I scrolled down I saw the engagement photo of the happy couple and it stopped me short. There, about twenty pounds plushier, was the hatchet-man. Eager to feel like I was actually ‘doing’ something I printed out every bit of information I could find. I tracked down all the links I could and did a wider search of periodicals with his name and hers. I wasn’t able to find a wealth of information but what I did find would be helpful. I just knew it.

With the flush of excitement I approached the front desk to pay for my five cents a sheet on the printouts to find Nancy Cooper working the front desk. Her smile was brief, though it didn’t reflect in her eyes. She was one of the older women who manned the desk as a volunteer thing. Her husband was a doctor, or something so I guess it was something she did to pass the time and ‘help the community’. Her cheeks were sculpted and her smile was Botox perfect and her eyes were the too-bright color enhanced by contacts. I was pretty sure her boobs would melt if she got too close to a barbque but that was purely conjecture on my part.

“That’ll be three dollars.” She scanned in my library card that also served as my work identification. The nails that tipped the fingers pushing my card back to me on the desk were French polished, I knew that much. Since I was hardly into the state of fashion, my mother had once again lent me knowledge I hadn’t realized that I’d picked up.

While I was looking at her nails her eyes dropped down to the stack of papers in front of me. A blood splattered photo of the crime scene that had once been Michelle Caldecott stared right back at her. “That seems rather gristly.” The words seemed to leave her mouth without much permission from her brain and the only reason I could tell was the way that her glossy lips pursed after saying it.

“Yeah, it is. Life’s messy and sometimes Bissel can’t quite clean it up. Hell, I’m pretty sure the cops don’t even try Bissel. I mean, do you?” Speaking of words that came out of one’s mouth without a filter, those statements about capped it. So much for not making waves at the work place, later I’d congratulate myself with a swift smack to the head for blowing that one out of the water

“Are you always this way?” She narrowed those too-blue orbs at me and gestured down at my person. When she did that I could tell that she’d been going for the purple look that the world claimed Elizabeth Taylor only possessed. Well, so far as I could tell Liz maintained her claim to fame because this woman hadn’t even come close.

“Well, I usually shower and change my clothing to maintain societal standards but other than that, yeah, I’m always this way.” My plain, unaltered gaze stared right back at her. So far as I could tell, women like her made their bones by making others feel small. To me, her words made her seem petty and weak. After all that had happened to me in my life I had no tolerance for her or anyone like her.

She took a moment to look around, probably to make sure that no one else could hear what she was about ready to say to me. She even leaned over so her long hair brushed the counter that separated us and granted her a few extra inches she didn’t need. Her eyes were wide and her mouth was already twisting. Yup, this one was going to be a doozy.

“You don’t even try.” Those eyes narrowed even further. “You obviously don’t care. Why are you even here? You are aware that absolutely no one here likes you.” The words leaving her lips were bitter. I could tell that they’d tasted that way coming out; after all she’d pruned her lips up even more. Man, her collagen guy was going to be bitching.

Wow, she’d pulled out the favorite phrase of popular girls everywhere, ‘no one here likes you.’ That alone, earned a laugh from me that I had trouble keeping at a reasonable volume. I had to remind myself that even though I was dealing with the purveyor of popularity poll results I needed to keep my mocking at close to a whisper. After all, who was I to inflict this painful interaction on anyone else?

“I’m pretty sure I’ve run out of new and interesting ways of saying ‘I don’t give a shit’ so I guess I’ll stick to the classics. Frankly, I couldn’t care less what you or anyone else here thinks of who I am or how I dress. I realize that your life is both sad and pathetic but honestly, you’re going to have to wake up and realize that your opinion means absolutely nothing. Do you think that I or anyone else who works here cares what you think? You think no one likes me? You ought to hear them laugh at you behind your back. Is there any part of you that isn’t prefabricated? Do you ever worry about going out in the heat for fear your tits will melt off or your ass will deflate and fall to the floor?”

She crossed a line with me and in turn I was going to make sure I obliterated all of hers. Ego wise, I was going to wipe her off the face off the planet. I didn’t have time for people like her, so full of their own hate and insecurities the only way they could feel better was to inflict them on the people around them.

I watched as her face hardened and her lower lip trembled and I knew I had her. “You just think about that the next time you want to start shit with me or anyone else who works here. You think about how sad and pathetic you are and then realize you don’t have the right to be talking like that to anyone.”

I slapped my bills on the counter, grabbed my identification card, printouts and headed for the door. Life was too short to deal with people like her. After all, there was a world full of dead friends, dead nurses and dead fiancés out there. I was angry at her for picking at me and I should have been angry with myself for lowering to her level and playing her game back at her. However on second thought, nah, I was only mad at her.

Before I hit the full on sunlight I put my sunglasses back in place and tried to convince myself that the shuddering breath that would doubtless lead to a sob came from her and just maybe, maybe she’d have realized that what she’d done was wrong.
Not likely but a girl could do naught but dream.

After my confrontation with Ms Snark I retrieved a bag of Doritos and a Pepsi from the outdoor food cart and plopped myself down at one of the round concrete tables that didn’t have an umbrella yet, as the weather hadn’t turned enough. Using my bag to block the breeze, I started to flip through all the information. Machete man, oops, Ryan had lived in O’Fallon or at least he did at the time of Michelle’s untimely demise. I flipped through article after article and took notes in my spiral bound.

Basically, she’d been killed off of one of the side roads heading west out of town. It wasn’t a place I was familiar with so I’d have to do some digging before I went out. According to the report in the paper, she and her fiancé had blown a tire. While he’d gotten out to fix it she’d tried to use her phone to call AAA. When she walking, attempting to get better cell phone reception was when she was attacked. Apparently, Ryan hadn’t seen exactly what happened but reported knowing something was wrong. By the time he looked up she was gone and there was only blood with drag marks heading in the area of the woods that lined the highway. The place had been searched but none of her remains had been found. It seemed the whole situation was an unusual one and Ryan, a key suspect but there hadn’t been enough evidence to convict him. Although he’d escaped jail, his job with the County Sheriff’s department had been terminated. There was no reason listed as why but it was clear that at least the media was fairly sure that Ryan had killed Michelle.

Chewing on the end of my pen was only so productive as realizing that I didn’t care for the taste of ink. So, checking out that area would be my first goal. My second would obviously be attempting to hunt Ryan down on his home turf. Spitting out ink, I gathered my stuff and absently wondered if my tongue was blue.

So, I had a plan.

Now I just needed the balls to follow up on it.

Chapter 8

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Fri, 06 May 2011 01:02:00 +0000

Downfall

They say that eventually death comes for all of us. I’m not sure who ‘they’ are, exactly but the saying holds pretty true. Dressed in my ghoul-ie hunting gear I figured it was time I returned the favor. It wasn’t hard to find the place where the woman had been killed. Even now there was crime scene tape, so much so that I didn’t dare get that close. My logic was if they had hunted her here they’d be hunting nearby too, right?

Unfortunately, my logic proved flawed. In the darkness, half stumbling half tripping I went looking to deliver vengeance but that does require someone to deliver it to. They were gone, fled. I couldn’t sense them anywhere near me and frankly I wasn’t sure if I should be relieved or upset. After all, I had gone out and bought a brand new knife but I was also terrified out of my mind and that knife was doing a crazy staccato in my fingers against my leg from within the sheath.

I did learn one important fact: alleys stink. Alleys have the property of being wet even when it’s dry outside and oily, a certain level of greasy slime that was prevalent due to the loose garbage, dumpsters, or god knows what else. They’re also fairly dangerous and that danger comes of the mortal variety. I wasn’t even in a particularly bad part of town and I accidentally stumbled upon two blow jobs and at least a dozen shady deals not to mention a few fellows who’d decided to use the alley as their own personal toilet.

I’d spent most of the night retreating from things I could have gone my whole life without seeing. It was darkly ironic and frustrating.

This would happen the one night I’d set myself up to be the antagonist instead of the victim.
As I was ready to head home I heard footsteps, footsteps behind me and I turned. Standing just in the edge of the streetlight was a man with short blonde hair, a military cut left too long. He eyed me evenly and I tried to figure out if he was the guy who’d charged the two nasties that had killed the woman.

“Who are you?” His voice, it had a certain hollow quality that bounced off the walls and stuck to me.

“It’s none, none of your business.” If you’re going to be out killing things it’s best to get your Dirty Harry on.

“You seem like…” He leveled his eyes on me, a stark blue that stood out from what I could see of his pale face.

“Alley, I seem like alley.” Wincing, I corrected myself. “I smell like alley.” It was the guy. I wasn’t sure, of course. He’d been mid-charge when I’d witnessed him last and it wasn’t like I could ask him for a demonstration so I could get an affirmative identification.

“No. You don’t smell like alley. You ‘feel’ like them. Stay out of my way or else. If I catch you hurting anyone, that's the end of you.” He stepped forward, his oversized steak knife in hand. Okay, it was a machete. Correction: it was a very awful looking machete. It was probably the same machete that had done the two vampires to death and it was now headed for me.

“You’ll kill me, right? I’m not one of them. I’m not.” I took an obligatory step back and did the whole swallowing hard thing. I wanted to run but my feet seemed to work only in slow motion. "I came out here to hunt them too. I don't want them hurting anyone else. No one else needs to get hurt." I stressed this, after all, because I didn't want him killing me.

“You’re hollow. You’re hollow just like they are.” He stepped forward, changing grip on his knife, eyes intent and cold. The expression on his face was a grimace, almost as if he didn’t like it any better than I did, as if something were inherently wrong with this situation but he wasn’t about ready to admit it to either of us. “There is a darkness in you.” His fingers worked the hilt, the handle of his giant bladed instrument of gory death.

“I’m not! I’m not like them! Don’t cut me!” I finally turned and ran for it. It was a full on run and my feet had never moved so fast. I was whipping around, changing direction, not leading him back to my car per se but close enough so I could find it again in a hurry. I needed. I needed something. I looked over my shoulder and he was gone.

Going from a flat run to a jog to a stop I looked around wildly, my hair plastered to my face and my chest heaving. My fingers were still curled around the handle of my knife and I looked around, turning at the juncture in circles. I’d hit a main road and quickly placed myself in relative location to my car. I could easily get there from here but I wasn’t sure he wasn’t stalking me like something on the nature channel.

As quietly as possible I paced the area, walking in a large circle only to realize that wherever he was, he wasn’t here. He’d gone off on his merry massacring way and had left me behind which was just fine with me. However, the realization that I didn’t have just them to fear came as cold shock to me. Now I’d have to worry about him as well and the kicker was that I knew I’d never be able to kill him. It wasn’t that he was just so much better the knifer than me, which he was without a doubt. No, it was so much more that I couldn’t begin to take another human being off the map. Even if he was deranged enough to think that I was some psycho killing monster didn’t give me the right to nail him to the wall. Yeah, that left me cold and drenched in my own sweat. Damp and shaky I made my way back to my car and got inside, more than content to just go back home.

Upon arriving to my uncle’s place I came home to find the lights on. It took all of two seconds to realize that I needed to not alarm the man by bringing in my new shiny toy so I put it in the trunk underneath where the spare tire rested. Heading inside, I let myself in and pushed open the door with my hip, school bag over my arm.

“You should tell me when you’re going to be coming and going.” The voice came from the kitchen along with the sound of dishes being washed. “I should know where you are after what happened but I don’t have that kind of energy.” He was leaning against the countertop with the sink running in front of him, staring out the twin windows that faced him, looking out into the small chain link fenced back yard.

“I’ll leave a note. I had study group tonight.” Swallowing the lie I made my way down the hall to my bedroom by hanging the left.

“Leave it. I need to know what to say when your mom calls.” His voice was deep, but soft enough that the walls seemed to absorb it with their faded yellow wallpaper and dusty corners.

“Okay. That’s fair enough.” It was a good relationship we had of don’t ask, don’t tell. My uncle had never wanted children or been able to keep a wife for more than a year. The women who he took company with didn’t seem like they were much for sticking. In comparison to all the other people I could have wound up with he was definitely the most desirable of all parties.

“Do your dishes before you leave. I’m not your maid.” The water kicked on again and I knew our conversation was over. It was a relief to me. I wasn’t good at talking too much of anyone these days much less anyone related to me.

Chapter Seven

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Fri, 06 May 2011 00:51:00 +0000

Big Empty

I would like to say that the decision I made lead to immediate and decisive action but given the constraints of my then reality and quasi-human limits I found myself stumped. How do I fight? The guy had a giant knife of some sort and really knew how to use it. I had a few steak knives and as my uncle was pretty mild mannered there were no weapons in the house so I was temporarily stumped.

In every major city there is always at least a few more than questionable specialty shops for the paramilitary commando in all of us. After a few phone calls and hesitant conversations I found what I was looking for in a less than desirable part of town. Getting there was no problem but parking and convincing myself to go inside was another animal entirely. Fists to palms to eyes I made myself remember what that woman looked like, the one in the alley. All horrors eventually fade but I couldn’t afford to let that image go. She’d been so helpless. We’d all been so helpless. Rage fueled I forced myself out of the car, nearly locking the keys inside, and across the street to the olive green brick building.

Either because of the dodgy side of town it was located in or because of what the shop held inside there was wire grating over the windows and the door had one of those funky metal gates. There was a camera posted outside and one had to be buzzed in. I pushed the button and waited, trying not to shift my weight, trying not to look nervous. Almost leaping out of my skin when the buzzer hit, I opened the suddenly unlocked door and entered. The door itself felt like it weighed a million pounds and I wondered if that was some sort of test. If you can’t open the door you can’t get in? I cheated and rocked my body backwards to keep it open while I slipped inside, hearing it click with uncomfortable finality. It was a solid steel affair.

I decided not to think about that too much.

Instead I let my eyes roam the interior, finding the naked florescent bulbs insulting to my vision, causing me to wipe what were probably already red eyes from before. The walls were an ugly gray concrete brick and there wasn’t a whole lot of room to move. Most of the shop was behind the same sort of glass that fronted the building. There was a window of sorts to go to in order, to purchase and as I knew that I’d lose my nerve if I waited any longer I forced myself the few feet necessary and faced the man behind the counter.

To say he was huge would have been an overstatement but not by much. His head was bald, the sort of bald you only get with a straight razor. He was burly and had no facial hair or really any markings of any kind though he was more tan than I would expect someone who was holed up here to be but then again, I didn’t know what the man did with his free time.

“What do you need?” His voice was clear, calm, level. There was no abundance of machismo nor did he spit ashes when he spoke. It was almost a disappointment.

“I need a really big knife.” It came out more than a squeak than I would have liked and I found myself almost choking back the next words before I said them. “I mean, really big.” My hands were balled into nervous little fists inside the pockets of the oversized jacket I’d acquired from my uncle’s closet. The night was brisk and well, it was baggy enough to hopefully disguise my frame. Maybe I’d come off bigger than I was.

“What the hell you need with a ‘really big knife’?” The guy scoffed as he looked me up and down, arching a brow. “Boyfriend trouble?”

“No. He’s dead.” I replied more calm than I felt. My heartbeat, which had always seemed sluggish til now, hammered in my chest. All of a sudden I was really regretting the jacket. For a person that was always cold, I was really feeling heat.

“Dead. Huh? You goin’ after who did it?” He crossed his arms and leaned forward on the counter top, open air between us.

“Do people normally discuss the intentions that they have for your products with you before buying them?” Wow. That had come out cockier than I meant it to.

He leaned back and studied me for a moment. “I don’t usually get people like you in here unless they’re about ready to do something stupid.” Crossing his arms he looked me over. I could tell he was eyeing my messed up neck, the web of scars there pale on pale.

“In this case, I would say not doing something would be the stupid move.” I tried to bully up, rocking my shoulder back a bit and putting my hands in my pants pockets again. “Are you going to sell me something or just question me?”

“I’ll sell when I’ve satisfied my curiosity.” He kept his dark eyes upon me and I realized in that moment that they weren’t hard. They weren’t kind or pitying either. I’d have left if that had been the case but they weren’t hard. No, it was like I was genuinely the most interesting thing that had happened to him all day. That was both sort of reassuring and troubling all at once.

“Okay. What do you want to know?” I tried to stare back at him, meet his eyes. Even before the… incidents I’d not been good at meeting people’s eyes. Being a consummate trouble maker and insecure about it I had reason not to meet people’s gaze. One can only handle just so much disappointment.

“Who killed your boyfriend?” His voice, slow pronunciation, almost made me want to give it all up but I knew better.

“They never caught the guy.” That was true enough. I had a feeling this guy could see through lies and well, I’d always been a fairly crappy liar. I didn’t want to give him any reason to reject sale to me. I didn’t think I could walk into another store like this and do it again.

“So, you out for revenge?” The brown brow was cocked, a half smile on his face. I wondered, briefly, how many people he’d met like me or who he thought were like me.

“No. This is self-defense. If I’m attacked I want to be prepared.” I shrugged as if I felt like I might know what I was doing, which was sort of true. I’d at least seen it in action, the use of the sort of things he had hanging behind him.

“Why not get a gun? There is a reliable gun shop just down the street. They’d sell you anything you needed.” He kept eyeing me, sizing me up, trying to figure me out.

“I don’t know how to use a gun. It wouldn’t suit my purposes. What you have does.” I explained. I really wanted to leave but there was no going without what I’d come for.

“Do you know how to use one of these?” He gestured to the swords that hung to the left of him.

I licked my lips, imagining the damage they’d do. Maybe my eyes lit up a bit because he looked almost amused. “No. I want something like a machete.” I forced myself to stick to what was probable, possible. I was no samurai.

“I see.” He nodded his head and reached behind him and levied something curved off of the wall. He held it in front of me. “This is a kukri. It’s not a machete but it’s the same idea. If you want to slash and stab at something this is the better bet. This is actually made for killing rather than something that’s designed mostly to clear the brush.”

“Oh.” I slowly reached out my hand and unfurled my fingers to take it. He let me have it and it was heavier than I thought I’d be. I moved it in the air slowly, no sharp or aggressive moves and realized I liked it. I could hide it, easily and well, it was far more practical than the highlander getup.

“Now, the thing is, you’re going to get close. I mean. This is no sword so this is a bit more… personal than the stuff in the movies.” He watched me, watched me carefully.

“That’s okay.” In reality, what I had to do was a bit more personal than the stuff in the movies. “How much?” I looked at him over the blade and realized in that moment he could name even an audacious dollar amount and I’d buy it. I’d take it.

“It’ll be a hundred. I’ll throw in the sheath, oil, and a cleaning cloth.” He bent down and got it all together, putting it into an unlabeled handled bag. “You’re not taking this on the bus, are you?”

“No. No busses.” I set the knife down and let him wrap the whole business up while I pulled out five twenties from my pocket, careful to hide the wad. I’d brought cash, innately understanding things would go better if I paid that way.

“Do you have any questions?” He arched that dark brow again as he slid the whole business over to me. It took him a few minutes to write out the bill of sale and hand it over as well.

“No.” I looked up at him and shook my head, resting my hand on the bag and then pulling it to me, stepping away from the counter. My throat had kind of started to close up on me for a moment while I accepted the package. It wasn’t like I’d ever actually become at ease in his presence but the anxiety had lessened at least somewhat.

“Be careful.” He continued to watch me. “My name is Rich. You come back if you need anything else.” It wasn’t said in a patrician sort of way or even like a businessman. No, it was said with some genuine curiosity. Weather he was curious about me or the fate of the knife, at that moment, I was unsure but I knew I’d come back if and when I needed another or something else.

“Okay.” I didn’t tell him my name. I didn’t want him knowing that about me, not along with everything else. He buzzed me out with little fanfare and I found myself on the street, shaking a bit. The package rattled against my leg and I didn’t pay as much attention as I should have crossing the street, evident by the honking horns as I made my way to my car.

Once I got inside I sat with the package on the seat next to me and swallowed hard, forehead pressed against the steering wheel but not quite trusting myself to drive just yet. I knew I needed to go out, go out tonight and start before I lost my nerve. Once I lost my nerve this would mean nothing and hell...

I was on a roll.

Chapter Six

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Fri, 06 May 2011 00:45:00 +0000

Fine Again

Life got strangely normal after that. I moved in with my uncle and finished high school through the mail, getting my diploma with little fanfare. My uncle was and always has been a sort of quiet guy. He never married and just sort of kept to himself working as a corporate janitor. He worked thirds and I was up during the day and so I got the impression that as long as I didn’t complicate his life he wouldn’t complicate mine. I was okay with that.

There is a saying that once you know something you can’t hide behind ignorance and that held true for me. While I was working for my diploma and finally starting classes at the local community college, an extension of Missouri Tech, I could feel them around me. It wasn’t during the day, ever, or constant at night but every now and again I’d smell grave and get a bit of a shiver. I couldn’t tell if they were aware of me too since neither of us made any hostile moves.

If you want to know if I felt guilty for letting them exist and just wander around let me tell you I didn’t. As things in the rearview mirror often look distorted all I can say is that it all still felt too close, even months later. I hadn’t stopped mourning even though I’d stopped crying a while back. I didn’t make any new friends despite all the friendly people at the library where I found a part time job shelving books. I didn’t talk to my parents much either, just a brief weekly phone call to check in and do a status-update.

Life had started to find its own pattern despite them, their being out there. I eventually even stopped being so scared. From what I understand human beings can only exist in a heightened state for so long. As human as I still was I’d hit mine. I couldn’t cry, couldn’t panic, and had to function. There you have it. There is my formal excuse for what happened next.

It wasn’t raining or anything dramatic. The weather was balmy if a bit cold and the sweater I’d donned in haste did little to keep it out. I was walking home from work when I heard the scream. It was muffled and at first I wasn’t sure what it was. Even on the north side of the city, at night, you hear a lot of noises best not followed up on.

This cry, though, there was something strange, something strangled about it and when I turned my head in reaction I smelled them. The stench was horrible. Now on the alert I crept down the side street clutching my car keys like they show you to do in self-defense class. Dull and silvery the jagged edge poked from between my knuckles as I stepped carefully forward. It was then that I saw them, hunched over a woman who at first glance didn’t look much different than me. They were pale, horribly so, features shrunken as if the life had been sucked out of them and maybe it had. They were hunched but otherwise looked normal, looked homeless but human. Their clothing was in rags and their fingers were as wet as their mouths with bright blood. I couldn’t make out if they were male or female – they both looked haggard and unkempt and bloody, so sticky and bloody.

She, she however, was Caucasian, dark hair, and sensible shoes. They had her by the throat while one gripped her arm, bending it in an unnatural angle while it fed. The woman had passed out, possibly due to the horror as well as the pain, her body suspended above the ground. “Shit.” I swore, taking that deep shuddering breath that gave me away.

They looked up, froze, caught in the act and I stood still as well, unsure of what to do. I hadn’t wanted them to see me. I didn’t know what to do now that they had. Oh. Shit. Mom always said that swearing like that would get me into trouble. As it turned out, it did the woman one worse. There was a sickening crack, her neck most likely, as they dropped her. They just dropped her and backed away from me, crouching low.

“Where the fuck are you going? Where the hell did you come from? You killed her!” I started to raise my voice in horror, in terror, trying not to pee myself in their presence again. I started forward, knowing that something had to happen, something had to be done. I was three steps in when I heard the outraged scream coming from a connecting ally and looked down it.
“You’re dead!” He came up on them with something that looked like a long knife, maybe a machete? He was on them in moments hacking and slashing his way between them like a demon possessed. He removed the hand of one sending it screaming into the darkness while the other tried to fight him, scoring a few hits but otherwise leaving him unmolested as the man slashed it again and again.

I, however, just stood there.

He knocked it down and didn’t wait a second before going after the other, paying me little to no attention. It was like he didn’t see me, not really. I was just another bit of blackness ill met by moonlight. He charged off after the one that had run and I knew I should follow him. I knew I should charge after and lend a hand. I should do anything but just stand there.
I stood there for a long time.

Eventually my senses caught up to me and I backed away from the scene and stumbled home. Once there I stripped down and showered, realizing mid-way through I was still crying. I wasn’t sure if I was crying for the sad, pitiful end of that woman or for my own cowardice. I did figure out that I wasn’t going to let it happen again. I would not stand by and do nothing. It was obvious that they could be killed by the work this guy did. They could go down and I would figure out how to do it myself.

I would not be a victim. I’d get my own goddamn knife. I’d get a plan.

Buffy, eat your heart out.

Chapter Five

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Fri, 06 May 2011 00:40:00 +0000

Mother

My mother’s hair hadn’t turned completely grey, not yet and I couldn’t help but notice this very thing as she sat on the back porch swing. It was still underneath her and she was dressed for bed but with a house coat over the whole affair to warm her. I hadn’t noticed the chill. My mother looked cold and tired. I’m not sure what impact I thought this situation should make upon her constitution but whatever it was, it wasn’t the stoic face before me. I could see the lines around her mouth, the crows’ feet at her eyes, and within those eyes the stern look of utter disappointment. “I had thought,” She began. “You would have lost your taste for sneaking out into the darkness alone.”

“I, I had something I had to do.” I replied, barely a whisper, my throat was tight and the rest of me sore. I was more than ready for bed but this situation didn’t look promising. Not with the heavy glare from my mother’s eyes. Once again I’d failed to measure up. I’d gone so far from meeting her expectations it was like I’d been actively running in the opposite direction.

“I hope it was important.” She took a sip from her mug but her eyes never left me. It wasn’t until she’d let it rest in her lap once more that she began to speak again. “There has been a change in plans. We’re sending you to your Uncle Randall’s house. He’ll be here to pick you up tomorrow. I know you’d set your sights on attending the other funerals but we’ve received some phone calls. She straightened up a bit and wiped at the corner of her eye. “Your father and I don’t think that it’s wise for you to remain here. I’ve taken the liberty of packing a few of your things, just the necessities. We’ll bring the rest to you later. However I am sure you’ll adapt.”

“St. Louis. You’re sending me all the way to St. Louis?” I couldn’t keep the shock and bewilderment from my voice, the hurt. I was almost killed and my family was sending me away? “I can’t just pack up and go. I can’t just leave. I.” My face screwed up and I could feel the tears coming despite the drought I had suspected. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” It came out all strangled and choked.

“You are still a minor and you’ll do as you’re told despite your belief in your own infinite wisdom.” My mother drew herself up and sat straighter. That last part stung, delivered by her dry and pale lips as they twisted the creases about her mouth into an ugly snarl. “There is nothing else for you to do here, Eva. We can’t send you back to high school here. After your behavior the school wants to conduct a psychiatric evaluation, one you will not pass no matter how you answer.” My mother, ever proper, even enraged her speech never wavered. “Even if they were to let you back in I don’t think you’re aware of the adversity you would face.” She waved a hand in the air with a sharp, cutting motion. “It was bad enough when you were kicked out for fights before all this happened. Your grades are less than a good example and the few friends you had…” She put that very hand to her mouth as if she’d said too much. I saw her swallow hard and tears spring up in the corners of her eyes. “Your father and I thought it would be better and easier if you were to have a change in scenery. Staying here would not be healthy and while we will miss you this is in your best interest. I can only hope that you will come to see that, in time.” She shook her head and swallowed hard the tears coming down her face now, more quickly than I would have thought possible, casting her face in a flush. “This is a chance to start over. This is the best we can offer you.” She stood, her façade cracked. Even so her shoulders were set and with that mugged cupped so tightly in her hands I knew that this was an immovable front. There would be no begging, no pleading, no anything that would make her change her mind.

My arms fell at my sides from their crossed position and despite the pain in my neck, or perhaps because of that reminder of how close I’d come to death, I walked up the stairs to my mother and wrapped my arms around her, holding her close. At first my mom was stiff in my arms but when I whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” she relented and leaned against me. When she started to cry it was silent and if it hadn’t been for the shuddering of her shoulders and the foreign dampness on my cheeks I’d have had no clue.

We were not a family that shared emotions much, if at all. I was a late in life child born to parents who had gotten so used to being with only one another I was an awkward intrusion. As a direct result we did not share emotions freely as so many other families did. It was rare that a voice be raised and if it was, well, it was me. I knew I caused them a lot of trouble, a lot of worry, but they loved me anyway which is something that I’d glossed over until now. Now, it was abundantly clear that they loved me so much that after having almost lost me, they were willing to send me away for my own good.

I knew then, as I’d never recognized in my life, that I would have to work hard to repay them. All of a sudden this debt seemed almost insurmountable but after my conversation with Michael, hearing his condemnation and now this outpouring of emotion from my mother, the death of my friends I knew I had to change the way I did almost everything. There was a certain gravitas that surrounded me making me realize that tomorrow would literally be the first day of the rest of my life. Having found new worth, new value in that, I had a responsibility to do the right thing and make the most of it. My parents had been trying all my life. Now it was my turn.

Chapter Four

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Fri, 06 May 2011 00:38:00 +0000

After All

No one had thought to fix the limb that had allowed me to escape so many times out into the night. Though dizziness plagued me I made my way down to the tree and into the night, stepping as lightly as possible in my boots. To add to the effect I dressed once more in that black shirt from the funeral and put on my black jeans. It was an outfit similar enough to those I’d worn sneaking out more times than I could count. Remembering where to step to avoid setting off the security lights, I made my way to the woods that surrounded the side and back of our house. It took me not too long to make my way down to the well worn trail. I found the narrow dirt path to the stream bed that continues to feed a major tributary of the Kankakee River. I had to stop on the way more than I liked as I made my way to the bank of that river. Tucking my hands up underneath my armpits, wincing at the pain of the scratches, I looked across the water to the field and old cemetery beyond. How many times had I escaped in this very manner to this location? It took me about thirty minutes to make the trip one way, twenty or so if I felt like jogging. It wasn’t ever in my best interest to run; there were too many things to trip me up.

No, I stared at that old cemetery realizing I’d never venture there voluntarily again. My thoughts were a jumble as I eventually pushed off the tree I’d come to rest against. Following the river bed further down I tried to avoid thinking entirely. In essence I had all night though it didn’t feel that way. I made my way as quickly as my body would allow me to, cutting across the stream and then moving across the lot of the old co-op. It was then that I saw the new cemetery on the rise, John’s new home. Neither of the others had been buried yet and I still had those funerals to look forward to.

All in all it took me less time than I thought it would to make it, all in all about two hours with all the stops I had to make to rest, to calm myself, to decide not to turn back. Out of the backpack I’d prepared in stolen moments alone I snagged a small bottled water and some crackers so I could take half of the pain pill I’d stashed. I couldn’t dope myself up too much as I still needed to deal with this and then make it home. As it was, I’d let momentum and sheer determination carry me to the gravesite. Once there I stared down at it a moment, swallowing hard before I knelt down slowly near the freshly turned earth. His headstone wasn’t in place yet so I made do with kneeling in its place, at the head so I could look down upon it.

“John.” I reached out and touched the soft earth around his grave. “Stay dead. Just. Stay Dead.” I took a fist full of earth as tears I didn’t realize I had left trickled down my face. Frankly, I’d thought I’d used them all up already. I let the dirt fall, sprinkling from my fingers as I sat back on my heels and reached into my pack with my clean hand pulling out a rudimentary stake I’d made from some fall in the forest. It was a hack job to be sure, I hadn’t had time to make a good one but I hoped it would get the job done.

“He’s not going to come back.”

I heard a voice off to my side and I fell back awkwardly, stiff as I pushed myself back up. “Get out of here. Just fucking get out of here, Michael. The police are looking for you…” Michael stood a few feet away from me, hands in his pockets, looking casual as if a bunch of his ‘friends’ hadn’t just killed a bunch of mine.

“I heard they were. I’m actually on my way out of town. I just came by here to pay my last respects and well, to see you.” There was humor in his face, something alien to what I’d ever witnessed from him before. Those lips were thin now, twisted, almost a slash across his face. Even his movements were off, staged, as if he were rocking on his heels as if he felt he was supposed to in this moment but not because the motion came naturally. So pale, even I could see the distant moonlight play off of his skin in a way that it did not my own. I knew then that the conclusions I’d jumped to had been the right ones.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! I mean, besides being a murdering bastard!” Now fully on my feet, I felt like I could confront him directly. “He’s dead; they’re all dead and it’s your fault! You should be begging for his forgiveness, kneeling here and crying your heart out. You killed him! He was your friend and you killed him! You killed all of them!” I was out of breath, gasping, my world narrowing as the pain set in despite the half pill I’d swallowed.

“I didn’t kill anyone.” He sort of waved his hand in an absent fashion. “Angela and the others did. They got a bit excited.” The smile was still there and he looked so very amused.

“Fuck you.” I said the words with more venom than I’d ever said anything in my life up to that point and perhaps ever since. “Fuck you. I should kill you. I should just fucking shove this stake in your chest and get it over with.” I tried to walk forward but I forgot John was between us and my foot sunk down into the loose earth so I stepped back and swallowed hard, full of bravado. “I should make sure you can’t walk around. I should make sure you can’t do this again. Oh. Fuck. You should be dead!” It blew my mind to see Michael here especially so glib and distant. I guess a part of me was expecting remorse and well, that part would go home disappointed. The rest of me just wanted him to bleed.

“You may not want to.” He took a step back with his hands up in a gesture that looked more like he meant it. “I have something to tell you. Now, you definitely don’t want me to die before I do that.” His face became serious and he looked around himself as if he’d already spent more time than he’d intended.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I didn‘t want to care about what he had to say but I didn’t start for him again. I didn’t try to find a good and less disrespectful way across John’s grave but I also didn’t want to feel the confusion flooding my system.

“Eva. Eva. I could tell you always wondered why you don’t have more friends. With a mouth like that…” He clucked his tongue and took a step back from me, from the mound between us. “Look, what I need to tell you is this.” He stared at me and I could, for perhaps the first time, recognize the dead look in his eyes. “You’re almost one of us.” He shrugged almost uncomfortably in his black jacket. “Before the police came, before the paramedics, Angela fed you a bit of herself. She was fairly sure you’d be damaged enough that you would die. She has had her eye on you for some time, maybe as long as me, and she wanted you to come back as one of us. However, apparently the others did not do as much damage as she needed or perhaps her blood healed you before death was on its way because well, now you’re half and half.” He ran his hand through his hair, his dark jacket sliding down his arm to reveal red, raw looking flesh before disappearing. Hissing in what I assumed was pain he continued, “Frankly, even she’s not sure what to do with you now.”

“I will never be one of you.” I wanted to scream, I tried to but it just came out an odd croak and I wound up putting my hand to my throat. The skin there felt stretched tight with pain and my eyes watered, blurring the image of my once friend. “I won’t.” I forced out despite the pain, swallowing hard, my teeth gritting in determination.

“Oh. You probably will when you die. You just aren’t dead yet.” He shrugged his shoulders as if it didn’t matter. “Her blood is in you, in your system. All you have to do is die, I think. Then we’ll see if you become one of us or one of them.” His flat gaze addressed me, lips twitching as he shook his head.

“Oh fuck you both.” I was scared. I was well and truly scared, so much so that I took a step back, moving away from the disturbed earth of John’s grave. I looked behind me for just a moment, hearing a noise, a second later forcing myself to stare dead ahead afraid he would disappear if I let him out of my sight. I wanted him gone but I needed him to stay – life such a bitch that way.

“Well, while she swings your way I have to admit that you were never my type.” Michael shrugged again and took his own step back. “It is what it is, Eva. You have one sharpened stake and I bet you weren’t even sure if you’d find vampires or zombies or what. You’re not prepared for this in any way shape or form.” Several steps back and his voice was still clear enough he could have been standing next to me. “There are so many of them. You have no idea the numbers we can call upon. Granted, they are mindless, soulless killers as the thirst can drive a body insane. However, some of us have a finer control, more of a mind to master our desires and master them through theirs. Yes, Angela and I are different and because of this I’m going to need you to pay attention, careful attention to what I am about to tell you because I won’t repeat it.

“There is nothing you can do to save yourself now, Eva. There is nothing at all that you can do. Say your prayers, kiss your parents goodbye, and accept what you are going to become. All of your friends are dead so you may as well join me, us. It isn’t as if your life has absolutely any point anymore. Because of the tantrums you threw everyone believes that you’re insane. You didn’t even know what you were really screaming about for sure: vampires? Even you didn’t believe you then. They most likely figure you’re delusional, trauma driving you out of your mind. Hell, maybe you saw too many Buffy the Vampire Slayer re-runs and need a way to contextualize your experience. If you keep it up they will lock you up and make sure that you don’t harm yourself but I can tell you that in the mean time Angela will find you and kill you. Nothing can stop her from getting to you once she’s made up her mind. As of right now you’re a total freak, a one off. You are an aberration. Your existence cannot be tolerated for long. You can commit suicide or wait in terror for her, for us. Either way you can look forward to many sleepless nights and harsh days. There are so many nights, limitless really, and at any point in time death could come for you.”

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, and couldn’t absorb all that had been laid in front of me. It was too much, too stunning and yet all of it rang of pure, unadulterated truth. My fingers found my temples and I dropped the stake. I wanted to vomit, sit down, and pass out all at once. I took an unsteady step forward only to step on John again. A harsh laugh left my lips at the faux pas but I couldn’t stifle it fast enough. John. I could not step on John.

“This is the best part.” There was the gleam of his teeth as he canted his head in that so very unnatural motion. “The best part is that I can smell us in you. I wonder, realizing that I’m handing you a much more effective weapon than the stake in your hand, if you can smell us too. Can you? Can you smell me?”

I took a deep breath to clear my head but that backfired. I’d mistaken his sent for that of grave dirt. No, it was the way that Michael smelled and I recognized it from that night it all happened. I swallowed hard, almost choking on the too-sweet smell of rot and desiccation. “You won’t win.” I coughed and that hurt too. I hurt all over. “You won’t get away with this, any of it. I’ll see you both dead. I’ll see you both completely, totally, and finally dead.”

There was a harsh laugh, something that happened instead of a chuckle coming from his slash of a mouth. “We’ll see about that. In the mean time I’m hungry and frankly, you don’t smell appetizing at all.” He twisted that mouth as he stepped back, pulling more of a face. “Really. You smell terrible.”

I found myself backing up too and after a few steps from each of us he disappeared into the darkness and I found myself against someone else’s headstone. Instead of jumping away I rest against it for just a moment. Eventually, I shook the dirt from John’s grave from my shoes, or at least tried. I put a hand to my chest and the other wrapped around me, the breeze brushed past me and a shiver later I realized I pissed my pants. My panties, they were beyond damp and the goose bumps, no matter how I rubbed them they would not go away. I stumbled away from John, from the direction Michael had gone in, from the truth and headed home. I don’t remember the walk home very well, the shock insulating me from pain and fatigue but it couldn’t keep me from the image she made sitting on our porch swing.

Chapter Three

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Fri, 06 May 2011 00:34:00 +0000

Blackened

As I stood in front of John’s grave in my best black, Mary Janes rightly buckled and my feet together I contemplated many things. My long hair as it fell about my face failed to hide the thick white bandages that swathed me from chin to collar. The turtleneck that my mother and I had initially selected wouldn’t fit over the bandages and so I’d wound up with a scooped necked affair that seemed to draw more attention to my wounds than anything else. My sleeves were long, however and they managed to cover the rest of my bandages as did the long skirt that flowed long past my knees. It hurt to stand, hurt to move, hurt to breathe and at night, it hurt to lie down. It wasn’t as if I slept, could ever really sleep without the aid of drugs anymore.

“Eva.” There was a hand on my arm, reminding me to drop the flower on the wooden casket, to move on. It was my mother’s touch, gentle but insistent.

I couldn’t even cry. That was the worst part. All the screaming, the crying, the ranting, the raving: it had all been done what seemed like ages ago. It hadn’t changed anything. John was still just as dead, they all were, all but Michael and if I ever saw Michael again. Well. I’d never see Michael again. I’d never see any of them again. My stiff fingers straightened enough to drop the rose and I allowed myself to be led on by my mother, my head craning despite the pain to look down at the casket I was leaving behind, not a casket, John. No. Not John. It was just his body. Hadn’t the priest said that John would always be with me? I could only feel sorrier for John, to be both dead and resigned to such a fate as eternally shadowing me.

We had decided, as a family, to attend the funeral and interment but not the reception. That might be seen as tacky as the families of the teenagers slaughtered gathered again they’d only be reminded that I’d lived. My mother and father had made case in point and while I at least somewhat disagreed I could easily see where they’d hate me. After all, what sick twist of fate had saved me and condemned their children? At least they’d chosen a different cemetery than the one that we’d been attacked in. I’m not entirely sure that I could have gone back there. This one was prettier, newer, the headstones small and evenly placed – practically identical, practically practical. Other than the name on his headstone when it arrived, there would be nothing to differentiate John’s body from any of the others. I couldn’t help but admire the efficiency of the whole thing while I was mildly insulted at this machine we’d built for dealing with the recently departed. It was all so ridiculously inadequate when sometimes the dead didn’t stay dead at all.

My mother never addressed this. No, all that was said was that perhaps it would be in good taste to pay respects for those who had passed on and then make a respectful exit. I found it hard to argue with her. I didn’t have the strength. I hadn’t seen anything outside the inside of a hospital, the police station, or my parent’s house. Having had time to at least somewhat acclimate myself to John’s death I found it within myself to appreciate this brief period outside of my now cloistered experience. While I took a stunted breath of my surroundings I pushed away thoughts of my questionable future and hung on to the freshness of the air and the wide openness of the here and now. Mom and Dad said that I could spend more time outside if things went well.

Yes, all of this could be mine if I could stay sane, stop taking about being attacked by things that moved faster than they should have and did horrible, horrible things. I just had to sign a statement saying that some serial killer with a pack of dogs had killed my friends. He and the dogs had ripped their throats out, gutted them and dismembered them when they were done. All I had to do was attest to what had happened and that I had no idea regarding the whereabouts of Michael Fiest whose car tracks were found at the scene. Whenever I considered these lies my head would start to buzz, just as it did in that moment, causing the world to go slightly out of focus. I couldn’t lie. They were all dead and I couldn’t lie. John. Alice. Chet. How could I lie? There was a danger out there, so dark and insidious that it had to be addressed. How many others had to die because people refused to see what was in front of them? Something had happened that night. I wasn’t sure what but it wasn’t a psycho with a pack of dogs. No, it had been a psycho with people, animals, things like I had never seen.

I turned my head up to the sky and tried to blink away the tears that gathered in my eyes: frustration, grief, pain. I looked up at the canopy of trees, leaves brightly green, the wind brushing them backwards and forwards, setting some free to drift slowly to the ground. For the funeral it was a remarkably clear day. If it had been up to me I would have made it rain cats and dogs damn the impracticality, the mud, the increase in misery. No clear weather was, once again, so much more practical, practically practical.

My smartly polished Mary Janes crunched the twigs ruthlessly underfoot, making my steps louder than I would have liked. I was ushered gently into the car, departing without a word said. It was better that way. Though I could feel eyes upon me I had been asked to remain quiet. Since the eruption at the hospital, at the police station, at home we’d barely spoken. It was as if my parents had determined me to be a changeling and were waiting for their real daughter to come home. Doubtless my mother would leave me in a sacred grove next to a holy relic if only I could be trusted just to stay still. I knew they were glad that I hadn’t been as hurt as they’d initially thought; that my body hadn’t taken nearly the beating that they’d assumed when they recovered me from the scene. There had been so much blood and apparently it had confused things. I had been considered near death when they’d loaded me into the ambulance but the EMTs had grossly overestimated the damage. I was released from the hospital into my parents care a surprising just a few days later.

As I mused on this the silence followed us all the way home and as night came I was fed my sleeping pill along with my pain pill. I tongued them and after swallowing down my water with a tired nod and easing into bed, waiting for the lights to be turned on and the door to be closed. Once I heard the footsteps down the hall I spit them both into a gum wrapper that had collected dust on my end table. It took me less time than I thought it would to get dressed again and sneak out of my room.

Chapter Two

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Fri, 06 May 2011 00:32:00 +0000

Angry Again

I was angry that night. Back in those days I was almost always angry, a directionless rage that adolescence had uncovered under a wreckage of my average mid-western childhood. No, there was always something to be pissed off about and I did a damn good job doing just that. It was aimless, hurtful and even worse the people around me were so used to it that it didn’t even register with them anymore. It hadn’t mattered that I’d been sulking, annoyed in the back of John’s van. I can’t tell you what it was that had set me off that night but doubtless it was just as mundane as that which had set me off the night before. There were four of us, Alice and Chet disorderly and bordering on bored in the van on the trip to the graveyard.

There was no funeral at the time, no, just friends gathering to drink and blow off some steam. I was there for both, conscious desire for one and a deep seated need for the other. It was a good night for it too, the day had been hot and so the resulting cool of the night was more than welcome. In deep summer the trees were a particularly luscious green and the grass vibrant. Getting out of the van onto the paved road and crossing down to where they had the tombs was inconsequential but there was something special about breathing in the dark. Back in those days I loved the night. It had never occurred to me that there was something to fear in the darkness. It had felt like my friend, the only consistent thing in my life.

“Eva, what’s your problem?” Chet asked as we made our way to where the stone angels held court.

“Nothing. Everything.” I remember replying as we made our way to the sort of grave site you normally found in the deep south or somewhere on the aged East Coast. The old timers had built it and it was a thing of beauty. In the oldest cemetery in our small Indiana community the rich had come to die and their family had built them mortal sized stone icons to the heavenly gates. Sparing no expense it was done in marble that had weathered in the century since being planted. It was an oddity for our time and place, to be assured which is why it caused us to gather and stay.

In these days there were no baggy panted tattooed little gothlings running about like demented jawa huddling around the icons of decay. No one in our town had really heard of the Smiths or the Cure and so we remained untouched by the graveyard poets and their ilk save for a few with family in the city. Even then, they were regarded as so strange it was laughable. Who could take folks who wore all black and looked depressed seriously? I think had we met any, we’d have told them to commit suicide already. We would have said, “Here, let me crack open that Bic for you and clear a corner so you can whittle your wrist uninterrupted.” Coldness and cruelty; they were the trademarks of our youth.

The hypocrisy of our favorite hanging spot went unrealized as we gathered around the lowest of the tombs and took our places. The flask top was unscrewed as Chet passed it about, giving us all a chance to taste the vodka. He only ever took from his father what could be replaced with water and so our choices were limited. Vodka was very often the answer to the question of how to get almost lit. Well, for some of us faster than others. I had always been a light weight and so my head was always sent swimming first it seemed.

“She’s failing French.” John broke the silence that had started to surround us while we got situated on the hard stone. Somehow, despite the fact that it had been in the beating sun all day, it seemed cold to the touch.

“Again?” Chet chuckled and shook his head, long-ish blonde hair falling against his face.

“Shit. Keep that up and you won’t have to worry about college at all. You won’t ever be leaving high school.”

“Shut. The. Fuck. Up.” It was all I stammered out, face red with embarrassment. “It’s only summer school. I don’t have to pass til fall. Who cares anyway? French blows.” I’d always been an astute conversationalist and that had been a landmark moment.

I could tell that Alice was going to jump on the conversation saying something clever in French but Michael saved me the further humiliation.

“Hey guys.” His hands were in the pockets of his jeans as he approached; his stance casual. “Save some of that for me?” He nodded his dark head to the flask in Chet’s hand as he came closer. I remember, even in that moment, that something somehow felt off. It wasn’t premonition. I don’t think I believe in that but I do know that something had set my skin to chill that had nothing to do with the marble I was leaning against.

“Didn’t hear you pull up.” John commented as he sat up all the way to look around and as he did Michael distracted him.

“I pulled up a way back. I wanted to walk. It’s a nice night, don’t you think?” His voice sounded like he was laughing but I couldn’t tell what the joke was.

“Yeah. Well. Glad you could join us. Figured you’d blow us off for another week or so.” I snorted almost pleased I finally had a reason to be pissed. After graduating a year ahead of the rest of us Michael had done a neat disappearing act for the past few weeks since graduation. I had never been one to take a slight lightly, imagined or not.

“Let’s just say I’ve been busy. I met some new friends.” He reached out for the flask but Chet hesitated before giving it to him. Apparently Chet’s Spidey sense had been set off as well because he looked around as if something wasn’t quite right but he was also reluctant to let his eyes leave Michael for any period of time longer than a glance.

“Whatever.” Alice rolled her eyes, crossing her legs and looking bored. “Can’t be nearly as cool as us.” Her smirk was nearly a sneer as she looked at him, apparently rather piqued as well that he’d fallen off the face of the planet.

“Oh. I can promise they are. Do you want to meet them?” He jerked his head in the direction of the forest that lined one side of the graveyard.

“No.” John shook his head, picking up on the same something that had bothered both Chet and I. He sat up straight as well, watching Michael with his dark eyes, running a hand through short, auburn curls. “We don’t.” After a moment he started to stand and it was then that Michael gave the signal of some sort.

They were on us.

My memory of this moment is sort of jumbled. I can’t quite make sense of what happened but I felt them coming and they came all at once. I could smell the rot and then hands were on me, grabbing me, pulling and pushing me and something stabbed into my arm. If it had been an action movie I would have done something brave, something heroic. I would have done something amazing but instead all I heard was hungry howls and my friends screaming. They didn’t even make words. There were no solid statements just sickening screams and then wet, meaty sounds like silk tearing as they stopped.

I focused so heavily upon the sounds because I couldn’t see, something, someone was blocking my vision and while I fought to get up, heart hammering in my chest, desperate to get free I couldn’t see anything. Even if I could I doubt I would have wanted to. Even with a solid stomach built hard by hours of horror movies and Faces of Death films there was no way I could have handled what was no doubt happening behind me.

I couldn’t even handle what was happening. I kept trying to scramble to my feet but I couldn’t feel them and my throat felt horrible, like someone had punched me there or done something else. My back was pinned against that cold marble and I felt something rip deep inside of me and then I just let go. I felt wetness beneath me and then the blackness didn’t matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore. I thought, in that brief moment, that nothing ever would.

Chapter One

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Fri, 06 May 2011 00:28:00 +0000

These Precious Things

I walked along the road in which the incident had occurred having parked about a mile or so back. The place called to me in an odd way and I stopped walking just short of the small cross I wouldn’t notice until exploring the area further. Kneeling down, I realized that the gravel along the road was coarse and the road itself freshly paved for something this far outside the city limits. On either side stood cornfields with tree line buffers and then, on the north side, the forest that they most likely had dragged her to in order to kill her.

The cross itself read “Michelle, beloved” and I rubbed the dirt off of it, staring down. Ryan hadn’t placed that here, I knew from just the small amount of time we’d spent together that he was the sort of man to grieve privately and quietly. No, a family member or friend had placed this here in order to mark the place in which she’d left the world in spirit if not body. They had yet to find the body and as I knew all too well, they never would. There just wouldn’t be enough left of it.

As I steadily become more vertical I started to question what I was doing out here in the first place. After all, she was his dead love, not mine and I certainly didn’t love him. So, what was any of this to me? What had dragged me out of bed on a school night at two a.m. to a crime scene eight months old? Was it the need to confirm his story, the injustice done to him, to them? Perhaps it was some morbid desire to walk the steps of the incident, of the crime, of his loss? I found it easier and easier to question my own motivations as this wore on, hugging my arms close to my chest.

Fall was a bit away from giving in to winter though there was a distinct nip to the air. As I looked around I realized it would rain soon, the questionable gift of my improved senses able to pick up the storm clouds though I could not see them directly. There was simply the hint of a void upon the horizon while the majority of the sky twinkled and shone cold light down upon this place. Morbidly, I imagined just how cold that light must have been as they pulled her from the car, kicking and screaming with her heels dragging until they lifted her entirely and carried her off. There would have been at least two if not three as they loved to hunt in packs. Ultimately they would drag their victim back to the den of five or more. There was a holding somewhere nearby, that much was clear but where?

I could spend all night looking for it and never find it. No, I wouldn’t waste that kind of time or expend that sort of energy. What I needed to do was head home and go to bed, get some sleep, wake up early and prepare for class. I had chapters to read and a paper to outline amongst other things but none of it held any attractiveness or weight tonight. Instead I found my feet walking closer to the tree line to which they must have dragged her. Upon reaching that line I held myself still and put my cold hand against the bark of some arboreal giant. Even before my unfortunate situation I’d had a fondness for trees, their canopy, their texture, their smell and even the darkness of shade. Now I found that love expanded and I rubbed my cheek against the coarse surface of the magnificent, living thing finding an odd sort of comfort that it would be standing long after I was gone, long after we were all gone.

In proper awe I forced myself back, to turn around and head to the car with my hands in my pockets. I would come back soon and find those that did this, that had killed her and maimed Ryan in ways he probably wasn’t even feeling quite yet. Before I did any of that I’d have to decide whether or not to bring him with and if I chose not to, what I’d tell him when the bloody work was done. Glancing once more into the night sky I realized that the night was still very young but I felt indescribably old.

Exciting News! [sort of!]

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Thu, 05 May 2011 23:35:00 +0000

I can safely say that new chapters on this work are on their way. They are written and need to be edited before they see the actual light of day so hopefully, within the next week they will be posted.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch...

Did anyone else see Amanda Palmer naked, repeatedly today? Or was it just me?

- Jen. Out.

New Chapters

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Sat, 16 Apr 2011 01:25:00 +0000

Okay, so the muse on this project sort of got up and went. For those of you just tuning in I'm now writing full time, minus one appendix and I've moved five times and frankly, it's been a long strange trip. However, I plan on revitalizing this project as a part of my weekly writing routine.

So there it is. Sorry I left you good folks hanging but more is on the horizon, I promise.

Cheers,

Jen

First Blog?

noreply@blogger.com (J. Tepavcevich) — Tue, 07 Apr 2009 00:29:00 +0000

Okay. So this is my initial go at blogging. I don't plan on using this for personal use much but rather to expose the wider world to my writing. Eventually this will phase out my MySpace account but I'm definitely okay with that. I hardly use the thing as it is. I can only hope that by creating a more formal outlet for my creative pursuits it will cause me to stick to a schedule.

Much love to all of you,

Jen