Lewis Aleman - The Anti-Vampire

So hard to justify helping her.

So easy to do nothing and let things happen.

Let the beast kill the princess and have a chance at Simon—save the girl and finally have said something significant.

Know he’s coming any second. He is lies, and lies are him—impossible to separate the two. He can take a tiny bit of truth and weave it through miles of lies—hooking you with the lure of the one small fact—snaring you—trapping you—then dragging you down his long path of deceit.

Still…I believe his promise of injecting me with that sickness.

My veins feel tense and irritated just from the fear of it. It made Simon so sick—Simon whose immune system is nearly indestructible—did all that to him—would destroy me in no time. No chance.

Poor Simon. My sweet, strong Simon. God, I hope he’s healed.

Despite what Roderick’s said, he must believe Simon’s recovered. If not, he’d be out there now hunting Ambrosia down. Instead he waits here, confident Simon will bring him Ambrosia to free me. Working so hard to use me against them—messing with my mind. Not sure what he wants from me—hasn’t made that clear, but he’s definitely been working me over—trying to turn me against Ambrosia, trying to make me think Simon can’t save me. Maybe it’s so ingrained in his personality that it’s just what he does—toying with people’s psyches—sending passive-aggressive half-truths out all the time. Maybe it’s just how he keeps order—keeping everyone around him insecure and dependent on him.

Hard to fight. I know what he’s up to—not what his goal is, but know that he’s messing with my head—feeding me lies to get to me. I know it, and it’s still working. So hard to fend off.

A loud thud booms from the hallway. Followed by groaning. Another heavy thud. Heart races.

Heart races almost as fast as the car. Needle buried on the speedometer—only goes up to 145—good old Danny put in an add-on gear to overdrive the overdrive. I’d wonder if he’s ever gone this fast in his own car, but I know him too well to doubt it.

Cars we pass look like they’re standing still—like specks of dust motionless in the sky getting blown past by a speeding, fiery meteor—a blazing superbolide.

Long-fanged junkie, Edgar, sits in the passenger seat beside me. He runs his tongue over the sharp edges of his fingernails one at a time. Not sure if he’s playing a masochistic little game, seeing how hard he can press—how close he can come without slicing into his tongue, or if he’s trying to get another taste of whatever they were into last.

Crazed cat lady who’s lost everything she loves in the world—desperate and enraged—sits directly behind me. Eccentric and unpredictable. Sanity was questionable before her furry ones were slaughtered.

Ambrosia sits behind Edgar and holds her head in her hands, elbows on her legs, eyes covered. As wild as she is, she hasn’t handled the speed well.

Set them up this way on purpose. Katrianna behind me to still Edgar if he tries anything stupid while I’m driving. She can lean forward and get right between the two front bucket seats. Also wanted Edgar where I could see him. Having his nasty fangs and nails behind me is not something I wanted on my mind while testing the top speed integrity of these tires. Not thrilled about having Ambrosia next to Katrianna. Had Roderick not been looking for Ambrosia, I would’ve never been to Katrianna’s house and neither would have Roderick. Her cats would still be alive if Ambrosia never existed.

“You know they’re going to kill you as soon as they see the girl’s with you,” Edgar grumbles between sliding his tongue over one nail and moving to the next.

“They can try.”

“Simon, get real. There’re many of them, and then there’s just you. You don’t stand a chance.”

A long-fingernail-ed hand reaches from the back seat to his shoulder, “He’s not alone, Edgar.”

“Won’t make a difference, old woman. You’ve already seen what they can do—what they did to your cats. Two of you won’t matter.”

Her nails dig into his shoulder. He doesn’t move.

I say, “Katrianna, please let him go. My friend’s very particular about this car. I’m gonna owe him a lot to fix what we’ve already stained in here. Don’t make it worse.”

She doesn’t let up, digging in deeper. Edgar’s face starts to grow angry, revealing the tips of his fangs. Ambrosia looks up, gasps, and buries her head back down in her hands.

“Katrianna, we’re also going way past 150 miles per hour here. Having a melee in the car right now wouldn’t be the smartest idea.”

Grip the wheel tighter with my left hand. Brace my left foot hard against the floorboard—my right still presses the gas pedal to the floor. Bring my right hand to her wrist on his shoulder.

“If you ever want to get at the people who killed—who did this to your cats, you better let him lead us to them.”

Her face stays angry.

Edgar’s expression grows angrier, lips sliding back, fangs fully out.

Ambrosia squeals from behind her hands.

Brace myself for high-speed warfare.

Slowly, Katrianna slides her nails out of him. Could swear I hear her hiss as she eases back in her seat.

A little spit flies out Edgar’s mouth and lands on the dash as he brings his lips back down, eclipsing his fangs.

“You better wipe that up, junkie—my friend’s very particular about this car. Very particular.”

Blonde hair in ponytail walks through the doorway. Fingers grasp something in its right hand—looks like the top of someone’s head—brown hair ripped completely off them. Poor soul.

My shoulder blades are pressed flat against the wall, standing on top the ancient, dusty dresser next to the door. Hold my breath—strain at my knees trying to stay still to keep the old, aged furniture from creaking beneath me and sealing my death. Blonde head moves deeper into the room just ahead of the dresser. I jump, swinging the sharpened stake like a club.

It cracks the back of the golden-haired head with a thud. Sways. Drops to a knee. Then topples to the cruddy hardwood floor.

Black corset strings dangling—makeup showing through the spaces between the hair covering her face. Not Roderick. Not man at all. It’s Maxine.

Quick look to the hallway through the opened door. Carvelli and Quint lie on the floor. Not moving.

“Been waiting to do that a long time, have you, Ruby?”

Her voice is the only I’ve ever heard to sound so soothing and cryptic at the same time, like a poisoned breeze. She’s already rolled to her side on the floor, hand to the back of her head, the pain visible on her brow, but her smile as unaffected as ever. Her corset is unlaced and hanging loosely on her chest.

“Wha—what—Oh my God!—What are you doing here, Maxine?”

“Shut up, and get naked.”

“Turn here,” says Edgar pointing as the next exit on the interstate grows near.

“If—” starts Ambrosia from the backseat, her first words since cowering her head down when we reached 100 miles per hour, possibly the longest she’s stayed quiet in her life, “If they have to keep Ruby alive as long as they don’t have me, then why are you bringing me? Why not leave me off somewhere, so they can’t get me and keep Ruby safe?”