Thirst (10 page)

“Sorry—I just remembered that I was supposed to meet the guys for nachos. You don’t mind, do you?”

Laura smiled. “No—go ahead.”

Michael smiled, and then took off.

On the table was a long rack of short ribs—Wade’s favorite food.

“Whoa,” Wade said, looking at the delicious dinner. “What’s the occasion?” he asked. “I thought we were having spaghetti tonight.”

“I don’t know. I woke up this morning, and I felt like we should have ribs. Maybe my wifely instincts told me that you were going to have a bad day.”

Wade smiled at his wife.

“Well don’t let it go cold!” Laura said.

Michael got into his father’s car, which was still warm from Wade’s drive home. He fired it up, and took off swiftly.

Michael had not even noticed that he had walked right underneath Brittany.

Brittany was sitting up in the Fenner’s tree, shrouded by the shadows of its thick branches. Her fangs were fully extended, and her eyes were a deep red color. She was thirsty, and she could not fight it any longer.

She watched Wade through the window, devouring ribs like a starving baboon. His blood would be fatty—and filling. Fat blood was a treat—like a desert. It was sweeter and richer than normal blood.

Anger and thirst are a deadly combination—especially with a vampire who never properly learned to control their thirst.

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

LOVE

With their fingers warmly and tightly wrapped together, Connor and Hanna walked through the snowy streets of Snowbrooke, underneath the warm glow of the amber streetlights.

As Christmas drew closer, the town of Snowbrooke began to embrace the Christmas spirit. More houses than ever before were beautifully decorated with contemporary sleek white and yellow Christmas lights, instead of the classic red and green ones. The orange glow from the private lives within each house glimmered against the deep white snow that buried the small town.

“You know—you really don’t have to walk me home,” Hanna said.

“I insist,” Connor replied.

“I always stay on the main roads where it’s light. If there is a deranged killer out there, he’s not going to attack me out here.” 

“I’m more worried about a mouse,” Connor joked.

Hanna playfully hit Connor in the arm. “You better hope I don’t find out what you’re afraid of.”

“Me? I’m not afraid of anything,” Connor said.

“Oh—Yeah right.”

“What? I’m not. I can watch any horror movie with all of the lights off, and I won’t even flinch.”

“What about The Exorcist?”

“Didn’t faze me.”

“You’re so full of crap!” Hanna laughed.

“It’s true—You can even test me.”

“Okay. I’ll go rent The Shining and we’ll see how you handle it.”

“Great. I look forward to it.”

The two arrived at Hanna’s old, decrepit house. Connor looked up at it as an eerie sensation crossed over him. He could not help but notice the boards on the windows, and the door hanging on by a single hinge.

“So, are you renovating or something?” Connor asked.

“Um—Yeah,” Hanna said.

“You live with your parents?”

Hanna thought for a moment, trying to think of a believable response. “It’s complicated,” she said.

“I hear that.”

“Be sure to let me know how your mom is doing,” Hanna said.

“I will,” Connor said as he took a step closer to Hanna. He smiled as he looked into her eyes.

“I’m sure she’s doing great,” Hanna said as she stared back into Connor’s incredible blue eyes.

They kissed.

Connor gently tickled Hanna’s bottom lip with the edge of his front teeth before pulling his head back.

“You know, I could come over one day and quickly fix up that door,” Connor said, walking towards the house.

“It’s really not necessary,” Hanna said, running to catch up with him.

“No—it would be simple. I’ll just grab some new hinges from the hardware store, sand down the frame and stain it up. This door doesn’t even have a weather strip. A few bucks and a couple of hours and your house would be way warmer—and you’d save money on your heating bill.” Connor stepped up the porch steps and reached for the handle.

“That’s okay—really, Connor.” Hanna stepped between Connor and the house before Connor could open the door.

“Seriously—It would be easy.”

“I just—don’t want to make my dad angry. The house is kind of his baby.”

Connor looked up at the decrepit disaster zone of a house—remembering Andrew’s story about the murder of Hanna’s father. Hanna was acting strange, as if she was hiding something.

“Is everything okay?” Connor asked.

“I’ll talk to my dad about it. Maybe he’ll say it’s okay. But really—don’t feel like you need to do it.”

Connor looked into Hanna’s eyes. Hanna looked down coyly. Gently, Connor placed his fingers under Hanna chin and softly lifted up her head.

“You don’t need to be shy around me.”

“I know,” Hanna said.

“Do you?” Connor asked.

Hanna smiled. “I do—really.”

“I like you. There’s nothing about you that I don’t like.”

“I like you too.”

“Whatever it is you are scared of me knowing—I want you to know that it won’t affect how much I like you.”

Hanna’s smile faded away slowly. “No one’s ever liked me before.”

“I can’t believe that. There’s just no way it’s true.”

“It’s true.”

“People are just hard to read sometimes.”

“No—People have never liked me. I know that it’s hard to understand, but it’s sadly true. I’ve been beat up, spit on, mocked and humiliated more times than I could possibly count—And I don’t mean metaphorically.”

“Who would do that?”

“Everyone.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never known. So it’s weird for someone like you to not see it…”

“See it? See what?”

“What other people see—What everyone else apparently sees in me.”

“I only see a beautiful and talented girl.”

Hanna blushed. Connor leaned in again and gave her another long and passionate kiss. Hanna’s heartbeat soared as her body became light.

“I love you,” Connor said.

Hanna’s heart stopped and everything froze. She had never heard those words in her life—except for on television or in songs on the radio. Until that moment, that word love was mythical—never meant to touch her ears. She opened her mouth to respond, but no sound came out.

“Don’t stop being you,” Connor said.

“I—I love you too,” Hanna said.

They joined for another, longer kiss. Connor wrapped his thick arms around the soft shy girl. He held her tight as motionless snowflakes floated around them.

Connor leaned his head back. “Can I come inside?” he asked.

Hanna thought for a moment. “You’d better go see your mom before visiting hours are over,” she said.

“Right—I almost forgot. Maybe tomorrow I can come over, and you can show me your place.”

“Maybe,” Hanna said, forcing a smile.

“Cool. That would be fun.”

“I’ll see you later,” Hanna said, waiting for Connor to leave before she opened the door to her mysterious home.

“Bye,” Connor said as he stood smiling, waiting for Hanna to go inside before he turned to leave. Hanna nervously fondled the door handle with her hand.

The standoff lasted a moment, before Connor started to laugh. “Okay—Okay. I’ll go,” he said with a charming smile. “Good night, Hanna!”

“Good night,” Hanna said, waiting for Connor to reach the sidewalk before turning around.

Carefully, she slipped into her house and closed the door behind her. The inside of the house was dark and cold. Hanna reached for the old switch that controlled the foyer light.

The little dangling light bulb began to flicker for a moment before turning on and lighting up the entryway. On the wall adjacent from the front door were the words “Demon Child” spray-painted in large, red letters. It was not the first hate-message that had been written on her wall.

Under the words “Demon Child” were various other words and phrases, including “Murderer,” “Killer,” “Die Satan,” and “Burn in hell.” Hanna had tried to clean each one off—but spray-paint did not exactly wash out of solid wood easily.

Hanna looked around the house. Her floor was littered with beer cans from the drunken college kids who came from time to time for a cheap thrill. Every window on the main floor had been smashed, and subsequently boarded up. The floor was covered in an inch of dirt, broken glass and mildew. The kitchen and the downstairs bathroom had been completely ravaged—not that Hanna used them anyway. Upstairs was still mostly in tact, as kids rarely made it up the stairs before chickening out—but it was still eerily empty, dusty and neglected.

Hanna could not let Connor see the house the way that it was. “Old, broken and outdated” was one thing—but the “abandoned circus attraction” it was now would almost certainly send him running for the hills.

On her hands and her knees, Hanna crawled through the house and picked up every single beer can and broken bottle shard, stuffing it into a number of garbage bags.

Hanna went into the basement and dug through her father’s old tool-kit. She managed to find a sheet of old sandpaper. She made her way to the front entrance and started to scrape away at the years of humiliation and torment.

The most depressing part of it all was that all of her hard work was ultimately in vein. Within a week, the floor would once again be littered with bottles and cans, and the entry wall would once again mock and degrade her.

The job took hours—but eventually, the house resembled any other foreclosed dump.

Exhausted, Hanna retired to the attic. She sat down in her usual spot, and began to write a new poem.