OV: The Original Vampire (Book #1) (2 page)

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry baby.” He whimpered.

The pain turned to swelling, as Josie felt the bump with her fingers. Her eyes focused onto Tom’s wrinkled lips as he cried. She didn’t believe it, nor did she care. He stopped crying. He looked at the ground, like a scolded boy.

Then, his eyes went empty again. He started to laugh. It was a wicked laugh, one saved for inhuman situations. This time she saw the arm, his sleeve shake with force, and the white fist with red around the knuckles come at her. The impact was great. It was enough to render her unconscious, but she saw angelic beings behind her e
yelids, as they and the adrenalin kept her awake, speaking enigmatic tongues. The angels were new; the pain was not. The pain was more of an annoyance than pain itself. Pain was dumb and anyone could administer it.

Tom began to whimper again. It was a sick Dr. Jekyll Mr. Hyde cycle. She watched his emotions ebb & flow. Many different shades of his personality reflected through his face, from idiotic to morbidly sadistic.

After the third cycle and the third strike, she sidestepped him and ran out the back door. The night air was crisp and the stars stared at her. She ran for the tree line. Dogs barked in the neighborhood. She was naked, except for a towel.

She took a trail to a patch of long grass and lied down. She noticed a satellite moving through the sky. The neighborhood’s sounds reminded her of childhood. The sweet smell of pine needles tickled her nose. She fell asleep. The adrenalin of the attack drained her.

She awoke a few hours later. It was quiet, so quiet her ears rang. She walked back to the tree line and watched her backyard. The back door was still open. It was black inside. It wouldn’t take much for her to believe it wasn’t her house. She faintly heard Tom’s familiar snore. He only snored when he passed out.

The next morning, Tom greeted her in the kitchen. It was another day. Slack time before turbulence; her life deduced to a poster of abuse at the Department of Social and Health Services. No one knew her delicate dance between life and death. Josie dressed for work and applied thick foundation to her bruises. Her apron stunk of old beer and deep-fried grease. She would have to borrow a pen and tablet from another waitress.

The bruises on her forehead pounded with her heart. She couldn’t focus or concentrate on one thing. She had heard of people dropping dead from a concussion. She sat down. She didn’t want to move in case she fell down.

Her regulars started to waltz in. Most of them were on Disability
, a pension, or were a vet. Their wives were alcohol and their second home was the liquor store. They walked past Josie to their favorite bar stool and rubbed her shoulders, joked and relayed the latest news. She flinched when someone touched her or spoke too loud.

Barb, the day server, came into the bar to place the first order. Someone wanted a Mimosa with their chili
omelette. She noticed Josie sitting at the bar, like a customer. Barb almost didn’t see her.

“You Okay Hon?”

“I’m fine,” Josie said. “I’m just watching the news.”

“Well, I’m
gonna have to get you to make me a drink dear.”

Josie got up and moved stiffly behind the bar and uncorked the champagne. The cork popped and Josie stepped back. She felt like she was in a slow-motion movie.
The customers were talking, but it sounded like rocks rubbing. She sat back down after the drink was made and stared at the channel number in the lower left side of the TV. The number seemed to vibrate.

It was Friday afternoon, a simple cause for celebration, just another excuse for a drunk to drink. Josie rested her hand on the Vodka bottle and waited for orders. The front door jingled as Tom appeared. Josie looked at the clock.

“Early one today Tom?” She asked.

“
Nothin’ happening today. I’ll take my drink.”

Josie grabbed four bottles and bunched them together and turned them upside down over a glass. The clear liquor rose to the top. She finished the drink with a little sweet & sour and Coke. She didn’t give him a cherry.

There were three empty glasses in front of Tom now. His face was flush, as he tapped his fingers on the bar. He looked at the other men talking. No one had befriended Tom. He had a reputation, no one knew exactly what it was, but Tom felt it and kept to himself.

It was five o’ clock and Tom was on drink five. His eyes were glassed over, like a dead fish. He looked around as if in a foreign place. Beads of sweat collected in the wrinkles of his forehead.

“Do you want another one Tom?” Josie asked.

“What did you say?”

“Did you want another?”

“You think I’m
fuckin’ drunk?”

Josie looked down at the counter. She placed her hands on the counter, as if holding herself up.

“You think. . .all…I…want…is…drink?” Tom sneered.

Josie was speechless. She turned white. Fear had grabbed her throat, the same way Tom suffocated her.
That stupid pain was back. Josie walked out from behind the bar and walked into the dining room. The table cloths were a happy yellow. Barb looked over and smiled.

“I have to leave.” Josie said.

“Well honey, you’re the only one.” Barb said.

There was desperation in Josie’s eyes that sucked the air out of the room.

“Call the owners then,” Josie gasped. “I have to leave, now.”

Barb’s face flashed with recognition of Josie’s hidden bruises. Barb’s happy complexion turned serious. There was now a sisterhood. Barb walked to the phone as Josie walked out into the parking lot, which was lit orange by the sunset. Crows were swooping over her head in the airstream.

Josie walked fast to her car. It was by the door to the bar. She got her key ready. Her hand launched towards the lock when she noticed the bar door open. Tom swayed in the darkness of the doorway. She heard a sound like a growl. It was a low gurgling sound. She realized it was Tom slurring her name. It sounded like a horror movie, when someone gets their throat slit and their trying to speak through blood.

“
Josieee. . .”

She got the car started and floored it in reverse. The tires yelped
like a dog being hit. Tom tried running but fell down. Watching the restaurant get smaller in the rear view mirror, Josie pulled away.

Josie now had an inner-calm, the kind someone gets when they realize they’ve lost it all and there’s nothing to do about it. She drove aut
omatically towards Port Angeles where the good memories lived.

Josie made it over the last summit to reveal the aqua-blue, expansive Lake Crescent. The road snaked around it with dangerous corners. Logging trucks took the corners as fast as they could, as if they were bored and homicidal.
The lake was surrounded by large white peaks, which the Native Americans called “Grandfathers.” Only a few beach houses lined the shore. If the water was any warmer the lake would be exploited by large hotels and tourism.

Josie came to a sign that read Camp David Junior. She had gone to summer camp there when she was twelve. She met
Daira, a girl her age. They did everything together. They laughed so hard they would almost pee their pants. At night, they would tell stories and giggle. She wished it had lasted forever. Even today, Josie cried as she drove past the entrance.

She took the off-ramp next to the sign that read: East Beach. The sunset shone through the car windows and the warmth on her arms felt good. She managed to take a deep breath and smile. There was a place to park next to the trailhead. She got out and looked around. She was embraced by serenity. A large raven bounced on a limb and made a sound like a ball-bearing being dropped in a toilet bowl.

The trail was easy and flat at first. The crystal blue water was on one side and the sheer cliffs on the other. There was fresh snow on the peaks. Once in a while, there would be a giant Douglas Fir tree that fell across the trail and into the water. Forest rangers had cut chunks out so hikers could pass through. Josie tried counting the rings on the tree, but lost count after 300 years old. There were old pieces of rusty train track and railroad spikes protruding from the weeds.

The trail began to look familiar. She went back through her memories. About an hour later it dawned on her. She and Daira had played on these slopes twenty five years ago. They had to walk back three miles to camp with sand in their bathing suits. Josie remembered hearing the logging trucks across the lake all night, using their Jake Brakes rumbling down the hills. Daira had been taken home early because of the flu. That was the first heartbreak for Josie, there would be many more, so many that life would become blurred through tears.

It was becoming dusk as Josie slipped out of reverie and focused on shelter for the night. There were some deer trails that went up the mountain. They were steep, but they were off the beaten path and Josie would less likely be discovered. Her paranoia of being caught and beaten kicked in her primal instinct. She wasn’t hungry or tired and her eyes were open wider.

As she climbed, the moisture from the ground, heated by the sun, acted like a sauna. She was drenched with sweat. Her pores were being cleansed from the bar smoke, grease and the bile aura of her boyfriend. It was near dark when she reached a plateau. Fog rose from the lake and got caught in the trees. A sliver of moon rose from the east. Josie took off her shirt and lied on her back on a large rock. It was just her and nature. Stars became visible as the sun’s last flame licked the horizon.

Josie fell asleep. Nature supplemented her insanity with tranquility. Never had she slept so sound. Her dreams were vivid and positive; she was the star of a show, or she was hugging her dad in Heaven. Her suppressed subconscious was acting out in positive ways.

The hoo hoo of an owl awoke her. It was jet black night with bright shooting stars. Redish-green dust clouds swirled in the sky, a neon marbling of sorts, called “The Northern Lights.” It was like a ride at Disneyland. She lied there mesmerized.

The rock was hurting her back so she moved into the mossy den of the forest. Giant fir Trees surrounded her. Some of the trees grew so tall that they broke in half during storms. She knelt
down and sat Indian-style on the bed of moss. The large limbs of the trees waved at her. She felt protected. She began to sing as the tears rolled down. Either it was a revelation or a revolution but her spirit was renewed.

Sh
e lied down on the moss.The moss tickled her body and kept her warm with moist heat. The limbs of the tree swayed. With all the trees of the forest it sounded like waves of the ocean with every gust. She reached behind her head and touched the bark of the tree. She studied its lines. There were dark brown veins and jagged light brown peaks. The tree possessed a certain character which intrigued her. She had never sat by a tree so long and seemed to be bonding.

“This is silly Josie.” She spoke to herself. She placed her hands flat on the tree and rested her ear on the trunk. The tree didn’t make a sound, but Josie’s mind created a narrative for the tree.
She thought of the tree’s development over the hundreds of years, how other trees fell down, or were burned in fires besides this one. The tree swayed peacefully. How easy our lives would be if we could shut off our inner-voice.

She lied back down and the daydreams turned into deep sleep. When she awoke the next morning, the sky was dark blue and turning lighter. The fog spiraled up from the lake.
The tree was still peaceful. She thought about that logging rally in college. She had guts and purpose then, and Vinnie – his actions changed his life forever. . .

Josie walked off the mountain down to the main trail on the waterfront. She wanted to see Devil’
s Punchbowl, afterword she’d turn around. It had been twenty five years. She wanted to compare notes with her memory.

Devil’s Punchbowl was a half-circular part of a rock formation. A bridge went across it. The half crater was full of crystal clear water and the bottom seemed bottomless. There were cliffs that crazy kids jumped off
, their bodies hitting like a rock thirty feet below. Every couple of years someone would die, their head would hit the cliff wall before landing paralyzed in the azure stillness. The cliff sides could be seen fifteen feet down in the water, like a menacing sunken ship.

Josie approached another one of many sharp corners on the trail where she couldn’t see the other side. She heard laughter. She stopped and listened. The laughter didn’t register as familiar as she walked forward. She stepped up a few rocks and was on the point of the corner where she could see both sides of the trail now. She saw the rust colored bridge.

There were two young guys leaning against the railing with their shirts off. They laughed and pointed at the cliff. Josie approached and placed her left foot carefully onto the bridge. The guys looked at her. Their stomachs were tight from leaning back on the railing, as Josie could see the lines of their stomach. She tried to smile as she got closer.

All of a sudden there was a huge splash, like a boulder had slid off the cliff into the water. Josie grabbed the railing for fear of falling in. The guys looked at her again then smiled towards the spot where bubbles were rising
and the water was stirred white. She looked in their direction. She looked over the railing closer to the white bubbling spot. She could see a body swimming upwards like a frog doing a breast stroke. It was another man. His hair flowed behind him as he became more visible, then he broke the surface with a gasp and a shout. He whipped the water out of his hair and turned to see Josie staring at him. His eyes were light blue and reflected the sun.