Night Runner (15 page)

“Wow. The cops. That's sick! What did you do, switch everyone's medication?”

I didn't feel like explaining it to him right then and there. You don't feel terribly safe in a phone booth. The walls are see-through, for one thing. And I kept expecting to hear the sound of oversized bat wings.

“Can I explain later?” I said. “I just have to get out of here. I'm at the Brookdale Plaza. Is there some way you can come and get me?”

“I don't think so. I'm here by myself. Dan won't be back with his kids until tomorrow. He's off riding the roller coaster at Canada's Wonderland.”

“Well, I need a place to hide,” I said. “I'm in a lot of trouble. I need to get to a computer. I need to call my uncle.”

“You have an uncle? Wow! Where's he been all this time? The moon?”

“That's what I thought. It's a long story. Can you come and get me? I don't feel safe here. And I'm starving.”

Charlie took a moment to consider.

“Suki might have a car, but it's a bit late to wake her family up . . . Could you take a cab or something? I could pick you up at the marina.”

I'd forgotten for just a moment that his cottage was on a small island.

“I don't have any money,” I told him.

“It's okay. I've got some. Just get here.”

T
he scariest part of that night was waiting for the cab. I suppose it took only two minutes or so to arrive, but every second felt like the tense moment in a horror movie. All that was missing was the creepy music. I hid behind a Dumpster until the cab arrived. Once we got moving, I felt a lot safer, which is usually about that time in the movie when the bad guy jumps out with a chainsaw or something and hacks you to bits. Fortunately nothing happened, and the cabbie got me there in about twenty minutes.

When I climbed out of the car, Charlie was waiting on the dock. He saw me, waved and came over to pay the fare.

“How much is it?” he asked.

I don't know what the cabbie said, but Charlie pulled a wallet out of his back pocket and took out some bills. He handed them through the window to the cabbie and then pushed me roughly on the shoulder.

“Run,” he shouted, stepping past me.

I didn't move right away, so he pulled me forward.

“Run!”

I don't know why it is that I don't always do what I'm told. I suppose it's because I usually want to understand what is going on before I make a decision to do anything. It seemed strange that my friend was pulling me towards the dock and screaming in my ear like that guy with the chainsaw had just appeared, but when I saw the cabbie open the door and get out, well, the look on his face told me everything I needed to know. It was pure rage. There's probably a picture of him in a dictionary somewhere under
maniac
. I can picture the words underneath it: “Don't ever, ever cheat this man of his cab fare!”

Charlie must not have had enough money.

I ran. Fortunately, Charlie was ahead of me by quite a bit and had untied the boat. It was a small tin boat with a bright orange engine that made me think of a pumpkin. He didn't bother trying to start it. He just pushed off from the dock. I had to leap.

I was excited, so I jumped too far. Fortunately, I had the presence of mind to drop my father's journal into the boat as I flew over it.

My feet hit the water on the far side, but I managed to turn and grab hold of the boat as I dropped past. An instant later, the coolness of the water seeped through my pants. I kicked my legs and tried to pull myself over the side, but Charlie didn't give me the chance. He fired up the motor, put it into gear and took off. I could hear the cabbie swearing at us from the dock, but I didn't look back for even a second. As soon as the boat started moving it was all I could do to hang on. After my adventures on the Otonabee, I was so scared of drowning that I dug my fingertips into the metal. I could feel it bending from the pressure.

Charlie didn't slow down. Even though there was water spraying everywhere and we were too far out for the cabbie to get us, or even
hit us with a rock, he kept the throttle turned up to full. I'm amazed I didn't tear the boat in half. Finally I started shouting at him to slow down, and he cut the engine. He was laughing hysterically.

There must be something contagious about laughter because a second later I started up, too. We were a pair of hyenas. The whole time, I kept trying to climb into the boat, but I was laughing too hard. After a minute, Charlie reached over the side and helped me in.

A second later we were heading down the lake again. I was clutching my father's journal against my stomach, which was grumbling so angrily I'm surprised it didn't crawl out and attack me. And I was getting cold. My clothes were soaked right through. So was the journal. I'd splashed so much water into the boat that it was drenched. I hoped I hadn't wrecked it completely.

Charlie must have known I was really bummed out, because he didn't say a word to me once we were moving. He just let me shiver. All I could think about was how awful things were. My life had gone from painfully dull to totally out of control. And I felt ridiculous because it was what I'd always wanted—an adventure just like Bilbo's. Well, I imagine you've heard the saying “Be careful what you wish for.” The wise guy who came up with this one must have had a brain the size of a watermelon. My own adventure had arrived like a kick in the pants. Baron Vrolok and his servants were after me. I was soaked, freezing and penniless, with no way to feed myself. I didn't even have a change of underwear. If there was an adventure survival guide out there someplace, I'd already broken every rule in it. And that wasn't all. While I was screwing up left and right, the people I needed most were disappearing, one at a time. First Nurse Ophelia. Then Mr. Entwistle. It made me really nervous because I was with Charlie now, my best friend. If things kept up the way they were going, well, we were both in for it.

The boat ride to Charlie's cottage was mercifully short. I was shivering so much I'm surprised I didn't chip a tooth. But Charlie's
place was warm and cozy. I'd never been in an old-fashioned cottage before, but I'm sure if you ever have, you know exactly what it's like to walk into one for the first time. It has this wonderful smell, like old, sun-baked wood. The design was simple: just a porch, a kitchen, a living room and a master bedroom, all laid out in a row. I'm betting it was just what the survival guide would have recommended.

“I'll get you a towel and some clothes,” Charlie said. He disappeared into the bedroom. While he was gone, I sat on the kitchen floor against the cupboards and tried to figure out what to tell him, but it was hard for me to concentrate. The hunger was coming on. Pinched eyes. Churning gut. Itchy throat.

I didn't notice that Charlie was back until he grabbed my wrist.

“What are you doing?” I snapped, jerking my hand away.

“Relax. You want to scratch a hole in your neck?”

I don't know about you, but whenever someone tells me to relax it always has the opposite effect.

Charlie tossed a dry shirt and pair of pants on the floor beside me. “Man, who's pulling on your tail?”

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I even tried counting to ten to settle myself down, but I only made it to three. Blood. I swear I could smell it right through Charlie's skin. It made my teeth grind together.

“I need to eat.” I kept my eyes closed when I spoke. I was sure if I looked at him, I'd bite him.

“What do I have that you can keep down? You're allergic to everything but air.”

“I need blood,” I said.

There was a long pause after this. I opened my eyes just to make certain Charlie was still there.

“Blood?” he said.

I nodded. “Yes. Blood. Now. Like,
right now
.”

Charlie was sitting in a kitchen chair. He stood up so that he was looking down at me.

“Oh, blood. Right. Of course, blood. What was I thinking? Well, we just happen to have a huge barrel of it in the back. Do you want some fries with that?”

What should I have expected? But I did need to eat. I didn't want some part of my mind taking over and forcing me to do something unspeakable to my best friend, so I told him the truth.

“I'm a vampire. I got infected eight years ago. I need blood.”

We stared at each other for a few seconds, then Charlie started shaking his head.

“You lucky duck,” he said.

C
harlie kept staring at me. I couldn't tell if he was stunned or jealous.

“You believe me?” I asked.

He put his hands on his hips and flashed me a grin like he heard this sort of thing every day. “What do
you
think? I told my dad I thought you were a vampire years ago.”

He walked across the kitchen to where I was sitting on the floor, then he reached down and offered me his hand. He was very trusting. If he'd known how much I wanted to help myself to what was flowing through his wrist, he might have run for his boat.

I took his hand and stood up. Then I started changing out of my wet clothes and into the dry ones he'd brought.

“I can't help you with the blood,” he said. He started digging through the refrigerator, then he stopped to look at me. I was hopping up and down trying to get my foot through the second pant leg. It was
tough because my skin was wet and the material kept bunching up. I bumped into the counter and slipped to the floor.

“Aren't vampires supposed to be super-coordinated?” he said.

What could I say? I was having an off-day.

He turned back to the refrigerator. “What have you been living on?” he asked.

I had to answer him with my teeth clenched. I had never been this hungry. Not ever. “Animal blood of some kind. I don't really know. From a cow, maybe? I thought it was strawberry syrup.”

“Would Nurse Ophelia know?”

I nodded. “But she's gone. She never came back to work.”

“What do you mean, she never came back?”

“I mean she never came back. The night before I left, she didn't come in. I think something happened to her.”

Charlie walked over to the telephone. “I hope not,” he said. “Maybe she just got sick.”

“She never has before.”

“Well then, she was overdue.” He picked up the phone and started dialling.

“Who are you calling?” I asked.

“You,” he answered.

He waited, then started speaking.

“Hi. It's Charlie Rutherford. I'm calling for Zack Thomson or Ophelia. I was hoping someone could let me know what is happening. If someone could call me back as soon as possible, I would appreciate it. My family is very worried. Thanks.” Then he left a number and hung up.

I slipped back to the floor and put both hands over my stomach. I was so hungry I nearly bit myself. I couldn't move. I couldn't lie still. It was worse than being hit by that van.

“Do you know her home number?” Charlie asked me. “Or her last name?” He must have meant Nurse Ophelia.

I shook my head and grunted a no.

“Damn . . .”

Charlie walked over to the fridge and opened the freezer. He took out something that hit the counter like a big block of ice. I heard scraping noises. When I looked up, he was jabbing something with an ice pick. Then he reached down and handed me a cold chunk of pink stuff that looked like part of someone's brain.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Frozen hamburger,” he answered.

I knew better than to eat it, so I just sucked on it. It didn't do much. At least, not right away.

“So, you can drink animal blood?”

“I guess so.” I waved my hand like I was hailing a taxi. “Keep 'em coming.”

For about an hour or so, he fed me frozen hamburger, then frozen steak, then frozen pork chops. I didn't chew on them, I just did my best to drain every bit of moisture from each piece. It helped pass the time while my stomach went nuts.

We talked the whole time. I told him everything, starting with Mr. Entwistle's motorcycle stunt and ending with my flight from Al and Barky.

“I've got an idea,” he said. He handed me another piece of frozen pork, then he slipped on his windbreaker and headed for the back door.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

“Ordering breakfast,” he said.

I waited while Charlie did something behind the cottage. He was making a lot of noise. The sound was metallic, like someone shaking cymbals. Then I heard footsteps on the roof. A few minutes later, Charlie came back.

“What was that all about?”

“Squirrel traps,” he said.

I fired the last piece of frozen pork into my mouth. “You've gotta be kidding,” I said.

“Hey, I'd rather rid the island of squirrels than watch the neighbours' dogs disappear one at a time. Unless you have plans to rob a blood bank?”

He had a point. “Do you think it will work?” I asked.

“What, the traps? Yeah, better than throwing rocks . . .”

“No,” I said. “I mean squirrel blood. Do you think I can drink it?”

“I have no idea.” He threw up his hands. “Who do I look like, Anne Rice?”

He didn't look a bit like Anne Rice, but I didn't think there was any point in saying so. Instead, I just sat on the floor and held my stomach.

“Here, try sipping this,” he suggested. He handed me a glass of water.

I shook my head.

“Blood is mostly water,” he said. “If you can drink cows' blood, you should be able to handle this.”

That made sense. I put a few drops in my mouth and let them slide around. Then I swallowed. Nothing happened. Nothing bad, anyway, so I took a few more sips. I nodded to Charlie. I was going to be all right. At least for a while.

“So, what will you do in the morning?” he asked me. Morning was about two hours away.