John Steakley - Vampire$

Felix had looked at him and not really known. So he had just shrugged. Nothing more. Because he wasn’t sure, thinking back, if he had managed to do anything right.

So weird.

Every time he thought about what he’d done — going up to that bloody terrace — he got the willies. The hair and the goose pimples went up on his arms and he… got scared!

But then, every time he thought of that little god’s smug smile…

Then he got angry. And the desire to kick some ass was so strong!

But mostly, he was afraid. Deathly afraid.

Because they were still out there. Still wanting them. Still knowing who they were and still hunting them down. He knew this. He could feel this.

And so could the other two. He could see it in their eyes and in their posture and in the way they jumped whenever the elevator bell rang outside the suite’s door.

Felix finally had them moved to the end of the hail after that first night. That helped some. But that didn’t really solve it. They could still be found. Felix could still get to die. Or he could still get to kick ass.

You’re a mess, he thought to himself.

And then there was the matter of Davette. And the showers.

Cat hadn’t said a word all the way from the Adolphus to their hotel. When he had gotten to their suite he had gone straight to the little minibar there in the corner and tried to drink it dry and damn near succeeded. He was all but comatose within the hour and Davette had helped Felix pour him into one of the suite’s two bedrooms.

And after Felix had stood over him a few dark moments, watching him fit and start and twitch in his horrors.

“Sorry about your family, buddy,” Felix whispered at last.

Davette was waiting for him on the couch in the living room. She patted the seat beside her and said, “Tell me.”

Only then did he realize she didn’t actually know what had happened.

Good girl, he thought.

Then he thought, I could never have been that patient.

He sat down beside her on the couch, next to the fresh drink she had made for him, and told her.

It seemed to take such a long time, somehow. Because it was so sad and awful and because he didn’t know how much to tell her about his madness and he didn’t much want to think about it himself.

And because he was suddenly so goddamned tired. He never looked at her once as he spoke.

She moved closer to him as he told it. Not clinging. Just the warmth. He heard her weep toward the end. Felt it. He got up to get another drink for himself. Maybe he sat down a little closer when he returned.

When he had finished, it was so very quiet. Just the three of them left and just the two of them awake and alone and the night out there haunting. There was a large television in the room with its cabinet doors open and a remote control beside his hand and it was so very quiet — he reached down and flipped it on.

Some movie channel. Some silly comedy. Slapstick and pratfalls and nothing even remotely serious and ten minutes into it the main character did something inane like jamming his hand in a drawer or something…

And they laughed.

Not loud. Not hard. But enough.

He turned and looked at her for the first time and she was lovely and smiling back.

Then he hid again in the screen.

They laughed some more. Not because it was funny. Maybe because it wasn’t funny. It was stupid and mindless and so… easy. So silly and safe. And they laughed. And they drew closer and closer and when the film finally ended Felix had his arm around her shoulder and he turned to her and realized he stank and needed a bath.

She was already getting up.

“I’ve got to have a shower,” she told him, rather shyly. He grinned. “Me, too.”

“Oh!” she replied. “Do you want to go first?”

“No. I can use the other.”

“But Cat’s asleep.”

“Yeah. Well, I’ll wait.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

“Really?”

And he looked at her and they laughed again.

“Okay,” she said. “I’ll just be a minute.”

“Take your time,” he called after her.

And meant it. Because he was scared again.

He stayed scared the whole time he listened to the water running and his heart beating because he knew…

He knew…

He knew he wasn’t going to be able to do this.

He didn’t know why. Not yet. Not clearly yet. He only knew it was so. And unfair.

“Okay!” she called out cheerily. “Your turn!”

He sipped the rest of his drink dry in one sip and stood up and puffed on his smoke and put that out. Then he walked into the bedroom.

Utterly, impossibly beautiful. Toweling her hair in the dim bedroom, the light from the bathroom soft from behind her and across her bare shoulders wrapped up snug and clean in a huge white towel and he didn’t blame her for this. From first sight it had been the two of them, rich and strong and needing each other. What she was doing was not wrong. Simply more painful.

He got past her somehow and into the bright bathroom lights. He even managed to close the door behind him without slamming it shut. He got his clothes off and into the huge sunken shower that smelled like her and drenched himself but none of it would go away.

Why can’t I have her? Why do I feel like I can’t?

Why do I feel like I can’t yet?

What the hell more do I have to do?

Sure, they’re still out there and, yeah, they’re still biting people. But that’s not my fault! Christ! I’ve fought and fought and everybody else is dead. They killed everybody else. Am I supposed to feel unworthy because they haven’t gotten to me yet? What kinda samurai bullshit is going on here? Is it a disease or something? The Jack Crow Samurai Bullshit Syndrome?

It’s not fair!

I don’t want to kick any more ass. I’m scared, dammit! It’s unfair to feel like I’m supposed to.

To feel like I must.

I don’t want to have that goddamned torch passed on to me. That torch kills people. It kills everyone.

“I don’t believe this shit!” he shouted out loud into the cascading water.

But it was true.

But maybe it was only true… now. Maybe it was just part of the grief and the like. Yeah! That was it! I’m just rundown and tired and my comrades are gone and I feel like I’m taking advantage of them now but…

But that will pass.

Right?

Right?

He waited over an hour to come out. To sneak out, on tiptoe, bathroom lights already out before he opened the door.

She was asleep. At least she was lying still on the shadowy bed and that was good enough for him. He sneaked past her into the living room and found an extra cover in a closet there and wrapped up in it on the couch and turned off the light — all without making a peep.

Tomorrow this will pass.

Right.

Sometime in the night the sound of someone sobbing woke him up. He rose up on the couch and started to go to her but it stopped. Was that Davette?

Was that me?

Is this ever going to end?

The next morning she was sweet and friendly and gracious as if nothing had happened and he knew damn well he had hurt her feelings but…

But he didn’t want to think about that now.

Cat came to a little later and he was shaken and ashen gray once more but he was back.

They talked about nothing while they ordered and waited for breakfast and then it came and they sat down together and ate it and it was somewhere in the middle of that meal that Cat had looked up at Felix and thanked him.

And Felix shrugged.

A few minutes later Cat spoke again: “So. What’s the next move?” he asked Felix.

And Davette had looked to him as well, as if it was the most natural thing in the world — for him to decide.