Authors: James Roy Daley
Julie exhaled a deep breath. “Will everything be okay Dad? I’m worried about Paul.”
“I’m sure Paul is fine, baby.” Ron said, but he wasn’t sure about that. He wasn’t sure about anything.
After several minutes Gina returned to the bedroom. “Everything’s locked tight. I even checked the windows in the basement. I think we’re safe.”
Ron nodded, rubbing the stubble on his chin with a knuckle.
Julie faked a smile.
Another few minutes slipped past.
A car pulled into the driveway. Nobody heard the motor or saw the headlights; the master bedroom was at the back of the house.
Ron said, “How about I meet you guys in the kitchen? I want to get dressed.”
Gina, knowing her husband was naked beneath the sheets, said, “Come with me Julie. Let’s give your father some space.”
“Okay.”
Julie left the room and Gina followed. They sat at the kitchen table again, same seats as before. Gina considered the phone call, even though it made her feel anxious. The more she thought about it, the worse she felt.
There was a knock at the door.
Gina flinched and said, “Stay here.” She entered the living room and looked out the bay window, thinking she’d see a crazy woman with teeth that were
Very sharp, very sharp indeed!
A police cruiser sat in the driveway.
“Thank heaven,” she whispered, touching a hand to her chest. Followed by: “Cop car. Nothing to worry about.”
Julie, still sitting at the table, felt her muscles relax.
Gina turned away from the window, put her hand to her mouth like a megaphone and shouted, “Hey Ron, Mary O’Neill is here!”
Ron shouted back, “Okay, I’ll be out in a minute!”
Cops are here
, he thought.
Good. Let them sort this shit out. I need sleep, not that I’ll be getting any now. I’ve got to be at the docks at six thirty. What time is it now, four? Jesus. Tomorrow is going to be a bitch. Tomorrow? What am I thinking? Today! Today is going to be a bitch!
He opened a drawer and pulled out a pair of socks that were rolled up like a grenade. He dismantled the grenade and put a sock on each foot. He opened the closet door and took a moment deciding which shirt complemented his current mood.
Plain black t-shirt, snug fit. Great choice.
There was a bathroom attached to the master bedroom. He entered it, washed his hands and face, fixed his hair and turned off the bathroom light.
Then he froze.
Cameron was on the deck. She was naked, looking through the patio door with a grin that consumed her face. Her skin was pale, like the belly of a dead fish. She had dried blood on her face, chest, stomach and legs. It was in her hair and on her feet too.
She tapped a finger against the window.
“Let me in,” she whispered, staring at Ron with her haunting red-dot eyes. “Come to the door.”
The muscles in Ron’s stomach scrunched together; pins and needles danced across his arms and legs. Something cold slithered down his spine; his mouth opened and his heart rate changed gears. He stepped back, towards the bathroom and away from her.
She tapped on the window again, leaving a red smudge on the glass. “Hurry up,” she said. Drool formed around her mouth. “I’ve got something for you. Come to me Ron Stapleton. Come before they catch us and put a stop to it.”
She pulled her finger from the glass and touched her nipple, making it hard.
Ron cringed.
Cameron was the opposite of sexy; he couldn’t imagine enjoying anything she had to offer. He wanted her to go away; he wanted her to stop looking at him. But she kept looking and he returned the favor. He was gazing into those horrifically evocative red-dot eyes like he had never seen anything better. And the more he looked, the more power she had over him. He wanted her to feed on him now. So he moved towards her: one step, followed by another, he walked a straight line to the door. But only a fool opens the door for a vampire, right? He might as well put his neck on a plate and smear it in barbeque sauce. Still, he didn’t care. He wanted her fangs digging into him, even if meant the end of everything he cared about.
She’s not a vampire
, some logical thought challenged.
Vampires don’t exist. And if they
do
exist, that’s not what they look like. They aren’t naked, pale and covered in blood. They don’t have eyes that look like fire. And I recognize that girl. She serves coffee at the Big Four O, so how can she be a vampire?
He kept walking.
She hypnotizing me
, he thought.
She’s casting a spell with her eyes.
Maybe she
was
a vampire. But no––that couldn’t be right.
“Do it,ar i Cameron said, unkindly.
Ron reached out, unlatching the lock with his finger. A small groan escaped his lips.
Cameron slid the door open. Although she didn’t need an invite––only the vampires on television needed an invite––she said, “Invite me in.”
“Come in,” he responded, helpless and weak.
She stepped through the doorway, opened her mouth and revealed the true length of her fangs.
Ron whispered, “No.”
She leaned in, placed a hand on each of his shoulders and bit into his neck like she hated him, making it hurt. Warm blood blasted into her throat. It ran down her chest and splashed across the bed.
Ron’s eyes rolled back and his hands became fists. From the depths of his soul he released a small, harsh cry, not loud enough for the family to hear, only meant for the two of them. It was the last sound the
real
Ron Stapleton would ever make.
Cameron smiled with lips red, having drank until her victim’s eyes locked in place, his shoulders slumped and his heart stopped beating. And after that, when his eyes shifted again, she pushed him away and watched him stumble across the room, knowing he wanted to feed, glad he felt that way, eager for the moments that lie ahead to take their course.
4
Gina opened the front door.
Officer Mary O’Neill stood before her. She was big woman, a strong woman. She looked like she could handle herself in a physical confrontation. She had dark eyes, tanned skin, short hair and knuckles the size of walnuts.
“Hi Mary,” Gina said.
“Hi Gina. Everything all right?”
“So far, yes. Everything is fine. Come in.” Gina opened the door wider and stepped to the side, giving Mary room to enter.
Mary stepped into the front foyer. “Thanks. Let’s hope it stays that way. I have a question… have you seen Officer Kirkwood or Officer Costantino? Have they dropped by?”
“No, I haven’t seen them.”
The two women stepped into the kitchen.
Julie was there, sitting at the kitchen table, looking sleepy and guilty and wondering how one phone call could have led to all of this. “Hi Officer Neill,” she said.
“Hi Julie, how are you?”
“Okay, I guess. Did you send somebody to check on Paul?”
Gina sat down, putting both hands on the kitchen table. The lines on her forehead grew deep. “Paul?”
“Yes, Paul LaFalce. He’s working at Hopper’s Gas tonight. Don’t you know?”
“Actually Julie, I came
here
just as quick as I was able. I wanted to make sure that
you guys
were all right. You haven’t had any visitors in the last few minutes?”
Gina interjected. “No. It’s been quiet here. I’m thinking of putting coffee on. Would you like a cup?”
“Sure.”
Julie couldn’t believe what was happening. Coffee? Was her mother on crack? Paul was dying and she was making coffee? Trying to keep her emotions in check, she said, “Officer O’Neill, someone needs to check on Paul right now. You need to send somebody!”
Mary nodded. “Do I? Okay. I will. But listen a minute first, all right? Most nights in Cloven Rock nothing happens. There might be a fender bender or somebody that had one too many wiggly-pops down at the Yacht Club, but that’s about it. Occasionally we have two minor disturbances at the same time, in which case we inform the Maplebrook Police Department that we
may
need assistance. Now this doesn’t get everybody’s juices flowing, it just means a couple things are hitting the fan concurrently. The officers in Maplebrook send a cruiser in our direction in case we need them, but they don’t enter our jurisdiction unless we ask. And in situations like this, where the officer working the night shift at the Cloven Rock PD steps out of the office, we notify our two on-call officers. I’ve done both of these things. I’ve notified our on-call officers and I’ve talked with Maplebrook. Right now I have two men pulling themselves from bed and making their way to the station. Plus a car from Maplebrook is headed in our direction.”
Gina said, “What happened with the officers that are on duty tonight?”
“Officer Kirkwood and Costantino haven’t reported back to me. I noticed their car parked down the road. That’s why I asked if you’ve seen them.”
“Oh, no. We haven’t seen them at all. What do you think they’re doing around here? That accident you mentioned earlier… was it on
this
street?”
“No,” Mary said. “It wasn’t.”
“Who are you sending to Hopper’s Gas?” Julie asked. She was angry now, clearly angry. It seemed very obvious that something needed to be done twenty minutes ago and nothing was getting done. She wondered if this was what people meant by
red tape
. “Are you sending the policemen from Maplebrook?”
Mary hesitated. “Sure, Julie. I can send the Maplebrook officer’s to Hopper’s. But this is the first I’ve heard there was trouble. Why should I send men there? Can you tell me, because frankly, I don’t know.”
Julie shot her mother an uncomplimentary glance, thinking,
Mom dropped the ball
.
I asked her for help and she did everything except what needed to be done. Paul LaFalce is probably lying at Hopper’s in a pool of blood and nobody is checking in on him! It isn’t right. It isn’t fair. Do I have to steal a car and check on him myself? Is this what it has come down to?
If he dies,
I’ll never forgive her for this!
She said, “You don’t even know what happened, do you?”
Officer O’Neill said, “No Julie. I don’t. I got a call from Gina and she said you’ve been threatened. That’s all. That’s why I’m here… to keep you safe. And that’s what I’m doing. I’m keeping you and your parents safe. Now if you’d like give me more information, I’d be happy to respond appropriately.”
Julie felt like yelling, crying and kicking her feet. She hated when old people treated her like a stupid kid. Why were adults like that? Why couldn’t they treat her like an equal? Did they think she just plunked out of the womb this morning? She wasn’t five years old. She was sixteen…
sixteen!
Soon she’d be seventeen!
As calmly as she could manage, she said, “I phoned Paul at Hopper’s tonight. While I talked with him he started screaming. It sounded like he was getting killed. I was worried about his safety so I told my mom. I wanted her to help out somehow. You know, drive me to Hopper’s Gas or something; call the police. Do something to help Paul out, ‘cause he was screaming like he needed help. Don’t you get it? It sounded like he was dying! He needs help!”
Julie looked down at her hands, which were balled into fists.
Officer O’Neill said, “Go on.”
Julie nodded, keeping her eyes on the table. She thought she might cry, and she didn’t want that. She
really
didn’t want that. “My mom called Hopper’s to see what was going on. And she talked to somebody. I’m not sure who she was talking with because she wouldn’t tell me.”
“I don’t know,” Gina exclaimed, trying to remember the girl’s name. Was it Cynthia? Cameron? She wasn’t sure. “I have no idea who I was talking with!”
“Okay then, fine. My mom didn’t
know
. Then she called you. She was supposed to tell you to check on Paul, because Paul needs help. He
really
needs help… not like us. You should be at Hopper’s Gas checking on Paul, not sitting here with us!”
“Okay,” Mary said. “I’ll send somebody right now.”
She stood up.
Then a howl came from the bedroom and all three women turned towards the sound. Something bad was happening. It seemed that Paul’s assistance would have to wait.
5
Gina ran down the hall.
Mary followed.
Julie didn’t move. She just sat there, eyes wide, hands on the table, lost in thought.
Gina reached a hand towards her bedroom door and was about to open it when Mary said, “No! Don’t! Let me go first!”
Gina stepped out of the way.
Mary rushed past, brimming with courage and authority. She pushed the door open, looked across the bedroom and out the open patio door. Then her eyes fell to the floor, her hand trembled and her teeth pressed together.
Ron was on his hands and knees; his head hung low. Blood drained from his neck.
Mary wanted to pull her gun from her holster because she was afraid; she didn’t. The gun stayed put. Ron needed help. That’s what Officer Mary O’Neill figured when she first looked at him––there was no immediate danger and the man needed help. She was wrong of course, and knew it almost at once. ‘No immediate danger’ didn’t mean ‘no danger’; the man received his wounds
somehow
. He didn’t rip apart his own throat, did he? No, of course not. That meant someone else was here. That meant danger.