Kathy Love: Fangs But No Fangs

"No," he muttered to himself. He wasn't that same vampire. He couldn't rectify his past deeds, but he could control the now. He could control his vampire nature. He'd done it for almost a year and he'd continue to do so. But instead of picking up the car keys from the scratched end table near the door, he returned to his computer.

Back to the reasoning behind living in a trailer park in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The reason I stay here is because it's a totally different place than what I knew. And I am a totally different being. As the blog title says, I'm working on being human.

Just then a loud scream pierced the air. A terrified sound, very different from the usual drunken shouting. He rose out of his seat and strode to the window. Pulling back one of the thick shades that covered his window, he didn't see anything. Then, across the rutted dirt road that served as the main entrance for the trailer park, he saw movement in the tall weeds. The head of a woman appeared behind a small bush.

He recognized the woman crouched in the high grass. She was the neighbor who lived in the trailer directly across from his. He'd never spoken to her, or any of the residents of Shady Fork for that matter, but he'd seen her a time or two, walking late at night. He'd wondered what she was doing wandering the desolate mountain roads in the late hours of the night. Of course, he'd never wondered enough to actually ask her.

Now, he wondered what she was doing crouching in the grass at— he glanced at his watch— three in the morning. Had she been the one who screamed?

She started, peeking toward her trailer, then she ducked back into hiding. Christian followed her quick look. A man exited her front door. The rangy silhouette clutched the railing of the steps with one hand, staggering, and waving something in the other hand.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," the man shouted, his voice thick with a twangy southern accent.

The grass swayed, just a bit, but his neighbor didn't reveal her hiding spot. The man half-walked, half-fell down the steps, using the railing to steady himself. Once on the ground, he managed to keep his balance and started searching.

"Come on, Cherry," he called, his voice almost wheedling. "Come out."

When she didn't, he swiped a hand through his hair and roared, "Now! Goddamn it!"

He stepped farther into the thigh-high grass, raising whatever he held in his hand out in front of him. Light from the bare bulb on outside the trailer glinted on the object. A blade. The man headed in the exact direction of Cherry.

Christian didn't even register what he planned to do until he threw open his front door and hurried out into the road.

"Hey there," he called.

The man stopped, dropping the knife down to his side. Now Christian could see the tangle of greasy hair, the shine of sweat on his pasty skin, and the crazed glitter in his dark eyes. But the tall figure was just barely a man. He appeared no older than twenty or so.

"Can I help you?" Christian asked. The deranged kid obviously needed more help than Christian had to offer, but he thought it best not to provoke him.

"Fuck off, buddy," the kid growled. "This ain't any of your concern."

Christian noticed the grass move again, but Cherry didn't show herself. Wise lady. With his greatly depleted abilities, the likelihood he could reach the kid before the kid reached her was iffy at best.

"Maybe I should call the police?" Christian suggested.

The kid flashed the knife, sneering.

Christian raised an unimpressed eyebrow. He now saw the knife was actually a pocketknife. A large one, but not as menacing as he'd originally thought. Still, well-aimed, the blade could do real damage.

"Maybe you should just go back in your trailer and mind your own damned business," the kid warned, waving the knife again.

"I don't think I want to do that." Although in truth, that was exactly what Christian wanted to do. Instead he leisurely approached the armed youth.

Surprise and confusion played over the kid's face. He lifted the knife higher. Christian continued to stroll forward.

The kid actually backed up, unfortunately in the direction of Christian's neighbor.

Christian stopped. "You need to go now."

He concentrated, trying to use his mind control. The kid blinked and looked even more disoriented, if that was possible. Then he lifted the knife, waving it again in Christian's direction.

"Damn it, dude, don't you get it? This is none of your fuckin' business."

Christian stopped concentrating. Apparently his "being human" plan had been more effective than he'd thought, especially if he couldn't control someone this mentally feeble.

"Actually, I think a knife-wielding… " He frowned, trying to decide what to call this guy. Oh, why waffle on the matter? "Imbecile, in my neighborhood, is very much my business. Now, drop the knife." Good Lord, had he just officially named himself the head of the neighborhood watch?

The man wavered, uncertain what to make of Christian. But then he snarled and lunged at him. The pocketknife connected, slicing Christian's forearm as he deflected the strike, which he might add was aimed at his chest. This guy didn't mess around. Christian caught the kid's arm, spinning him and jerking the limb painfully behind his back.

The imbecile swore and dropped the knife. As Christian was about to kick the weapon across the gravel drive, his neighbor appeared out of the bushes and grabbed it.

She stood directly in front of her attacker, glaring at him with dark eyes.

"Vance, I'm not going to call the police. But I swear if I see you again, I will," she said. Her voice had the same accent as Vance's although on her it sounded very different, almost pleasant. She pointed the knife at Vance's chest. "I'm not kidding, Vance. This is the last warning I'm giving you."

Christian raised an eyebrow at that. She had given this jerk other warnings? How many chances had he had before? And was this woman as much of an imbecile as her assailant? The guy was planning to attack her with a knife.

"You bitch," the man muttered almost petulantly. "I need money."

"Then get a job, Vance," she told him, flicking the knife closed and slipping it in the pocket of her jeans.

"Dude, my arm is going to pop out of the socket," Vance complained to Christian, trying to look over his shoulder at him.

Christian couldn't resist tugging his arm up just a tad higher. The kid cried out and swore again.

"Let him go," Cherry told Christian.

"I don't think so. You might not be calling the police, but I plan to." These two had interrupted his… blogging. Someone was going to pay for that. Not to mention, they'd gotten him involved. And he had been damned successful at not getting involved with anyone.

"No," Cherry said, her dark eyes pleading.

Why on earth would she beg to help this idiot?

Her attention returned to Vance. "Vance, you have got to get help. I mean it. You are going to end up right back in prison again."

"Just give me some money, then."

"No, Vance. No."

The kid actually kicked the ground like a cranky child. "All right," he finally muttered.

"And don't you dare come back here unless you are clean," she added.

The kid mumbled something under his breath, then nodded.

Cherry stared at him for a moment, then looked to Christian. "Please let him go."

Even though it was against his better judgment, Christian released the kid. Vance shook out his arm, rotating the shoulder, and then like a rabbit released from a trap, he ran down the road toward the highway. Well, more like an inebriated rabbit. A few seconds later, Christian heard an engine start and wheels squealing on tar.

"Thank you," Cherry said, and smiled a little sheepishly. "I appreciate your help."