Jillian Eaton - Pitch

There was one more reason for Dad’s mounting stress. It was just past six o’clock. Under normal circumstances this was when he would come home, slump on the couch, and pop open his first of many beers. I knew the fine line of perspiration gleaming high on his forehead wasn’t just from walking. I should have saved a couple beers. It was stupid of me not too. Would I rather be with someone who was slightly drunk or someone who was going through the throes of withdrawal? I still remembered – vividly – the one time Dad had tried to stop drinking cold turkey. It was not something I ever wanted to witness again.

“I have to go back,” I said.

“What?” Dad and Travis said in unison.

“I, uh, forgot something.”

“Lola the sun is going to start going down in one hour,” said Travis. “We don’t know when they can come out. They might not have to wait for it to be completely dark.”

“And we have everything we could possibly need,” Dad added, gesturing to the small mountain of supplies we had piled into two wheelbarrows.

I met his gaze. “I forgot one thing. It won’t take long. I know exactly where it is.”

His eyes immediately cut to the ground and I knew that he knew what I was going back for. “Lola, I -”

“Don’t.” I held up my hand. “It’s fine Dad. I’ll be quick. I promise.”

I could tell he wanted to tell me not to go. To forget the beer. But he couldn’t force the words out.

“What is going on?” Travis wondered out loud.

“None of your beeswax,” I said, punching him on the shoulder.

“Ow that hurt. Why do you always do that?”

“I’ll be back before dark. Where will you be?” I asked.

Still not looking up, Dad mumbled, “Room two fifteen. Your, ah, mother and I stayed there. Once. It’s a nice room.”

Surprise lifted my eyebrows as high as they would go. “You did? When?”

“A long time ago. Before you and your sister were born.” When we were happy.

He didn’t say the words out loud. Of course not. But they lingered between us just the same, a silent reminder that my sister and I had wrecked our parent’s marriage.

“Room two fifteen.” I managed a tight smile. “Got it.”

Travis grabbed my arm right above the wrist. “Lola, this isn’t a good idea. Whatever you forgot we can get tomorrow.”

I shrugged him off. “I’ll be fine.” And then, in a quieter voice only he could hear I said, “Look after my dad, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered back.

Good old dependable Travis. Impulsively I leaned towards him and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek. His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened, but he didn’t say anything. Turning, I let the corn stalks swallow me up.

The only beer store in town was on the West side, opposite of the Renner Hotel. I walked briskly, splitting my attention between the sidewalk in front of me and the sun hovering just above the tree line.

I should have taken Travis’s watch to keep track of the time before I left. Another stupid mistake. How many mistakes did you get before you ran out? It couldn’t be many more. I was, as they say, skating on very thin ice.

I reached Main Street and automatically turned right. Only five more blocks and I would be at Bub’s Beer and Liquor. This wouldn’t be the first time I’d gotten beer for Dad. Some part of me desperately hoped it would be the last.

My shadow began to grow longer and longer, inching out across the street with every step I took. Goaded on by the setting set I went from a fast walk to a jog, dodging and leaping over bodies and broken glass like some kind of world class hurdler.

The beer store loomed in front of me. The sliding glass doors were bashed in and I ducked through them, already looking down the aisles for Dad’s drink of choice. I took a case off the shelf. The weight of the twenty four cans dragged my arm down and with a grimace I hooked the bulky box up under my arm and held it securely against my side. It wasn’t ideal, but it would have to do.

For a split second I considered one of the carts that have been overturned in the corner, then quickly changed my mind. A cart would make too much noise. Draw too much attention.

I hit the sidewalk at a dead run. The sun had sunk below the tree line, and although it wasn’t yet dark, there was a definite sense of impending doom and gloom.

My hair flew out behind me like a black cape and for the second time I cursed myself for not remembering to grab elastics. Tomorrow. I would come back and get them tomorrow. If I live that long .

When I reached Main Street and dashed across I allowed myself one gasp of relief. Not far now. Not far at all. Travis had been wrong. The Drinkers couldn’t come out until it was completely dark.

I was still thinking that when something grabbed my hair and yanked me off my feet.

I saw the eyes first. They swam above me, so vibrant in their intensity I had to look away. The voice came next. Soft. Crooning. Gloating.

“Pretty pretty girl. I’ve found a pretty pretty girl. You ran too slow, pretty girl.”

A cold finger trailed down across my cheek. I struck it away. The voice giggled.

“Ooo, a fighter, eh? Here, let me help you up.”

Strong hands dug into my shoulders and hauled me to my feet so fast my head spun. The hands released me and I stumbled forward, catching myself on a lamppost. Holding fast to the metal, I spun around it to study my attacker as bile curdled in my throat. This can’t be happening again , I thought hopelessly. It isn’t night yet! It isn’t fair.

This Drinker was a young man, slender and tall as a willow. His hair was pale blonde and cut short enough to outline the round edges of his skull. His t-shirt and jeans hung off him, too big for his wiry frame. His eyes were the same blue as Angelique’s. He grinned and held out one fist, slowly peeling back finger after finger to reveal what he had clutched in his palm.

A ball of my hair. The bastard had ripped my hair right out of my head. While I watched he lifted the hair to his nostrils and inhaled deeply, his eyes flickering closed. When his tongue darted out, dark red against his pale white skin, I made a sound of disgust and looked away, stomach turning. The Drinker’s high pitched giggles filled the air.

“I know what you are,” I bit out. “And I’m not afraid of you.”

The Drinker darted forward, light as a cat. His pointer finger slid down my arm and I didn’t register he had sliced my flesh open until he danced away and sucked the blood clean from his fingertip. “Mmmm. Tastes like strawberries.”

He stared at me expectantly, his gaze feverishly bright, no doubt waiting for me to start crying or fall to my knees begging for mercy. I did neither. My blood made a faint drip drip drip sound as it ran past my wrist and fell to the pavement. The Drinker licked his lips and began to circle me, much as Angelique had when she had me cornered the night before.

“Where have you been hiding, moppet?” he asked. The corner of his mouth curled up. “Clever, clever moppet to last this long.”

“What are you going to do to me?” I said, ignoring his question. I didn’t want to say anything that might give away Travis or Dad’s location.

“Oh moppet, the things I’m going to do to you… Best not dwell on them now, though, not when – what is happening to your arm?” he hissed as he crouched low, blue eyes darting left and right. “You didn’t tell me you were already claimed. Sneaky little bitch.”

I followed his gaze to my arm and saw what had upset him. My strange new healing powers were at work again. Before my very eyes the cut on my arm stopped bleeding and closed up, leaving only a light pink scar. “That’s right,” I said, seizing the opportunity he had inadvertently given me. “I’m already, er, claimed. So you can’t, ah, have me.”