Fat Vampire (19 page)

When she finally saw the person standing at the bottom of the hill, she was almost on top of him. Given more warning she might have nonchalantly crossed the street, but now she could do nothing but pass him by. Or else stop, turn, walk or run, risk embarrassment and offense against what was probably just a man walking his dog. A short man, about Doug's height. No dog. A man staring right at her.

Not Doug. This man was a little leaner and older. Just a man. Who seemed to be trying to hoist his careworn features into an unpracticed smile.

“Hello,” said the man.

“Hello.” Sejal smiled briefly, then dipped her head as she passed.

“A quiet night,” the man replied, and kept pace with her, though whether he was now following her or merely continuing on his way, she couldn't tell.

“Mmm.”

“You know, when I was your age, one didn't often see a girl walking alone at night. You would be tempted to draw conclusions about such a girl. You would say she was no better than she should be.”

This seemed like an insult, something that begged for an answer, though maybe it was just harmless chitchat.
Times have changed—what a world.
She stole a glance at the little man out of the corner of her eye: a dark, long-sleeved shirt over a white tee. Gray wool pants. That was all, despite the chill. Sejal suddenly wondered if this man was in need. Perhaps he only meant to ask for spare change.

“I do not think they have the sort of girls you're talking about in a neighborhood such as this,” she said. “Is your…house nearby?”

“No. I have two homes, but one is in the country, and one is in the city.”

“Like the mice,” said Sejal, “in the fable.” It was a puerile thing to say, but she always felt more at ease when she pretended to be at ease.

“Yes,” said the man. “Very good. I hadn't thought of that in ages. I'm like a mouse that flies from city to country, country to city. But I have no houses in the rarified half life that is the suburb. I've only been spending some time here,
observing. We're both far from home, I think.”

“No, my home is close. Very close,” she added, though it was still many blocks away.

“Then you'll permit me to escort a young lady just a little bit farther. To her home, or to the place that serves as home for now. Am I right?” His sleeve brushed her coat, and she sensed if not felt it through three layers of clothes—a cold sting. “I think we have this in common: we'd both like to go home but we have now only houses. I have a house in the Poconos, but it's not my home. I have a house in West Philadelphia, next to Clark Park—do you know it?—but it is not my home either.”

Sejal was surprised to find that Clark Park did spark some glimmer of recognition in her. A name like that, once heard, could never be entirely forgotten. Had Cat mentioned it?

They turned a corner. The Browns' house grew closer, but was still achingly far away.

“I think I've heard of the Clark Park,” Sejal said. “I cannot remember why. Is it nice?”

“It's perfectly nice. You should visit. I expect you will.”

“Well, this is me,” said Sejal, stopping in front of a well-lit flagstone house with
THE HOLSTEINS
painted on the mailbox.

The man stopped a few feet off and watched her. Could body language be mistranslated? What was expressed on his face as a smile clearly meant something different where he came from.

“You have nothing to fear from me, young lady. Not directly. You're not my type.”

Sejal tried to tell him that she just really needed to get inside and was dimly surprised to find she slurred her speech.
She was so tired, in a moment, and the fog was thicker than ever.

“Do you know something?” said the man, and it was like the hum of a voice that you hear a moment before waking. “I'm going to tell you everything. I'm going to explain it all. And you won't remember a bit of it until it's much too late.”

T
HIS WAS HOW
Doug's dates with Abby went: they'd rent a movie or go see one. Doug had half watched the first fifteen minutes of a number of movies from the back rows of theaters or from the tweed cushions of his great accomplice, the Lee basement sofa. He'd initiate some kissing, and Abby would respond willingly at first, but eventually return to the movie, as if anyone could possibly care what Matthew McConaughey was doing. He'd have to keep restarting things, keeping both of them on track. Then he'd feel a breast, and she'd guide his hand away, and he'd wait what seemed like the requisite amount of time before he could do it again. She'd let his hands be on the second try, sometimes the third, but get squeamish when he went under her shirt, so he'd go back to just kissing,
as if they both didn't know what was going to happen. Once he was under her shirt he'd hike it up a bit, maybe feel her ass, and if the movie wasn't too short he'd finally get to the business of biting her neck and sucking out a half pint of blood before the closing credits.

At her front door, or his, they'd have a kind of coded conversation about how Doug always rushed every evening to sex. He didn't know how to tell her they'd hardly had any. If he was leaving Abby's house she might wonder aloud why she always gave him what he wanted, they should be more careful, she couldn't vouch for his safety if her parents ever caught them. Doug wondered how her parents would react if they ever caught him doing what he was
really
doing to her. In monster movies there were usually torches.

She was a little overweight. He reminded himself constantly that extra weight meant extra blood, that this was a good thing. Swimsuit girls would be like light snacks. They'd be small Diet Cokes. He'd hear himself noisily sucking air after the third date.

It was confusing to see Abby at school, or after school rehearsing the fall musical. Her proper context was now in basements and back rows and humid media rooms. What was she doing here, so fully inflated and out in the world? Why did she sit in the theater seat next to his in this school auditorium, so far from the back row and so near these prying eyes? What was she doing talking to that other guy?

 

Onstage, Sejal sang with Tony Petucco. Cat stopped them and reminded Tony of a crucial bit of blocking he'd missed, and
they began again from “Somewhere, We'll find a new way of living, We'll find a way of forgiving.” Tony Petucco had certainly not been cast because he could sing or act or dance in any fashion that did not give the impression he was plagued by invisible insects. He more than once even failed to respond when another actor called him by his character's name. Which was also Tony. He
did
look good in a T-shirt. It was much discussed.

In scenes like this, when facing the audience, Sejal's eyes sought out Cat. Cat was her anchor. When Maria closed her eyes, it was Cat's face in bright negative on the insides of Sejal's eyelids.

There had been no fallout from her conversation with Ophelia that night. Ophelia was being discreet or hadn't found the details worth sharing or she was holding them in reserve, waiting until they could be used to greatest purpose.

Now Sejal and Ophelia were onstage together, rehearsing their big scene, their big song. Cat rose from her seat at the behest of the director and left the room on some errand. Most of the rest of the cast was scattered around the theater, in the aisles, lobby, or backstage. Talking quietly to each other, flirting, consoling one another at the end of a long school day with electrically charged rounds of truth or dare and surprisingly smutty neck rubs. Sejal sought out a new face, an anchor in the audience, and she stammered through a line as her eyes fell on the only person who was at that moment staring straight back at her.

 

She had a beautiful voice, Sejal. Doug remembered Abby having a good voice, too, but lately it was scratchy. Hoarse. She
wasn't taking good enough care of herself. If you didn't take care of yourself, who would?

He was still mad at Sejal for leading him on, then rejecting him, but he sort of admired her for it as well. You couldn't just give it away like Abby did. Not if you had any morals. Not if you had any self-respect.

“God, take a picture,” said Abby as she slid back into the seat next to Doug's. “It'll last longer.”

“Take a picture of what?”

“You know what.”

“No, I really don't—that's why I asked. You see how that works?”

“If you had a picture, you could spank off to her later. That's the best you'll ever do, you know—her picture and your right hand. She's not interested.”

“If you're talking about Sejal,” said Doug, “I think you'll find you don't know her any better than I do.”

“I know what she really thinks about you.”

Doug struggled to get a grip on himself. It wouldn't do to let her think he cared.

“Look, I don't know what we're even fighting about. I was looking at the stage. There are people on it. Singing. I don't know where I picked this up, but I was under the impression that you were supposed to look at people when they sing on a stage. It's good manners. You don't see me picking fights over you talking to that guy over there for ten minutes.”

“Who, Kevin? We've been friends since kindergarten. I can't talk to Kevin?”

“You can. That's my point. I didn't throw a hissy over you
talking to that guy, but I can't watch a girl—
two girls
—on a stage singing? Without you going insane?”

They sat in silence for a while before Abby apologized. “But if you're still thinking of trying to get with her,” she added, “I wouldn't. You don't know what I know—that's all I'm saying.”

 

This had been a semi-dress rehearsal. There were new costumes to try on, and makeup tests. All the Puerto Rican girls apart from Sejal had already dyed their hair black, or tried to. Sophie's fine blond hair was giving her trouble. It was more the color of mold.

Because it was a semi-dress rehearsal it was also the semi-official start of the Cleanest Dressing Room Contest. Each night Ms. Todd and Cat inspected the boys' room and the girls' room, and tallied the nightly winners. The losing gender would have to clean the better half's dressing room on closing night, plus their own, before being released to attend the cast party. It was all a bald-faced ploy to get them to clean up after themselves, and it worked. It more than worked—you could only get a room in a fifty-year-old auditorium so clean, and this invariably sparked an escalating arms race of baked-good bribes, flowers, throw rugs…even the utter transformation of linoleum floored, white cinder-block spaces into gaudy nightclubs or the Garden of Eden.

Doug left the other boys behind to sweep and wipe mirrors. He didn't care about the contest, and the ammonia smell was burning his nostril hairs. Outside, the sun was setting—he could feel it. He could feel his blood rising.

There were whispering voices, the furtive
pssts
and shushes of secrets leaking into the air. He could follow the wispy trails of their echoes, down the hall, through the woodshop, to the black-painted floors and red flowing curtains of the stage's right wing.

Sejal and Ophelia were here. Doug lurked behind a curtain. Sejal was upset about something, and Ophelia was trying to smooth it over. He only picked up bits and pieces. To him the whispers were loud, rough, buzzing his eardrums like they were broken speakers, but they didn't resolve themselves into useful shapes.
Yet another part of being a vampire that's not all it's cracked up to be,
thought Doug.

The thought surprised him. Wasn't everything getting better? Wasn't this new life so much better than the one before? There was a girlfriend and respect. Strength. But throughout, a glimmer of something inside him like a warning light on his dashboard.

Ophelia pressed herself against Sejal. Footsteps approached from behind.

“Why aren't you helping the other boys?” asked Ms. Todd.

“Too many of us,” Doug replied as he turned and walked back through the shop toward her. “We were getting in each other's way. I promised to bring some sponges and stuff tomorrow.” Not a bit of it was true.

Ms. Todd studied him. “You better tell Jay not to miss another rehearsal or he's out.”

She had actually been pretty clear about this when she'd called roll at the beginning of the evening. When Jay hadn't
responded, she'd made an announcement to all cast and crew that anyone missing rehearsals without an excuse would be cut, she didn't care who they were, no exceptions. She'd made the announcement while staring straight at Doug, like Jay was his responsibility.

“Either Jay or his sister has to go let their dog out after class,” Doug breathed. “They both have after-school things. If he didn't come back, he must have had a good reason.” This was true—Jay would have a good reason. With a dull pain Doug realized he hadn't wasted a moment wondering what it was.

 

Later he walked with Abby to her car. She was talking to him or something. Doug was too occupied in contemplating what he'd seen of Sejal and Ophelia and what it meant. Only when Abby suddenly lowered her voice did he give her his attention, and then only to hear her say, “There's a guy by my car.”

He scanned the dark parking lot and fixed upon the small figure of Stephin David, standing just in front of the passenger door, arms heavy at his sides. Face flushed, probably from drink.

“I know him,” Doug told Abby. “You go ahead home.”

“With…without you?”

“Yes.”

“I was hoping you'd drive. I feel dizzy.”

“What? No, I'll find my own way home. Don't worry about me. Good night.” He walked off toward the edge of the soccer field, leaving Abby to sway unsteadily under a yellow, moth-battered lamppost. Stephin gave her a clipped
nod and came to meet Doug on the grass.

“What are you doing here?” Doug asked, looking around him. Cast and crew spilled slowly out of the auditorium. There were other students, too, here and there, coming from the quad or the track.

“I was in the neighborhood,” said Stephin. “You've been so elusive, I had to find some way to grab your attention.”

“Well, okay, you've got it. And good move, too: single guy, single
gay
guy, hanging out at the high school? You look like a child molester.”

Doug knew he wasn't supposed to throw Stephin's sexuality in his face like that, but the man was making him supremely uneasy. He did not belong here.

Stephin said, “We play the roles in which we are cast. Every play's a tragedy, if only you leave the curtain raised long enough—”

“God! Please, just…What do you want?”

Stephin took a moment before speaking. “I received an interesting message about your friend Victor. It seems Cassiopeia is under the impression he's hunting his maker. It seems that you gave her that impression.”

“Shit,” said Doug. “That was…I didn't mean to throw Victor under the bus like that, but I needed a diversion. It's no big deal.”

“I doubt Victor will see it that way. But can we be clear? Victor does
not
aim to find and kill his maker, with the intention of undoing his curse or for any other reason?”

“No,” said Doug. “No, and I'm not even sure I want out anymore either. I…have to think about it.”

“You should. It's a big decision, an enormous responsibility. Consider all the people you may meet during your long existence. Souls you can't even imagine. People not yet born. Would you deprive all these people the pleasure of your company?”

Doug chewed his lip and watched Stephin for some hint that he was joking. But his dead face was as illegible as ever.

“Of course, you have also to consider all the lives that may curdle at your touch. You could be a curse to others, something worth breaking. Such responsibility.”

“Well, I guess I'll just kill myself.”

“Suicide is ungrateful.”

In the parking lot engines cleared their throats, and red and white lights winked on. Doug was dimly aware that Abby had not yet pulled out of her space. She was just sitting in her car. Was she watching them?

“So, then…is it possible? Becoming normal again? You sound like you're saying it's possible.”

“Hm. Well, I've been doing some research, purely with the intention of dissuading you from this course, you understand. But, I can't lie—I've uncovered evidence that such a thing may be possible, if certain conditions are met. But do leave Victor alone. It has to be the head of the family—the oldest active vampire in the lineage. I think a stake in the heart may be necessary. You won't do it, will you? Of course you won't—you don't even know who made Victor. And you with your newfound zest for life.”

“Asa told me you only have to kill the next vampire in line,” said Doug, though he wasn't really sure
what
Asa had meant.

Stephin was silent for a moment, during which a steady pulse of red taillights passed like heartbeats behind him.

“Did he, now.”

Doug heard a distant squeal of tires. He looked over Stephin's shoulder just in time to watch Abby run her car into a fence.