Vampire Dancing (11 page)

Emotional floodgates opened, and years of torment mixed with an overwhelming feeling of relief swept from me in one huge gush.

Mom dropped the knife and threw her arms around me.

“It's okay now,” she said. “Let it out.”

And that's exactly what I did. Until I had no more to give.

Over in the corner, Dad lay dead. Judging by his fixed gaze, his final image had been of me and Mom, finally free of his reign of terror. But there was something else in his eyes; something perversely proud; like I had finally lived up to his expectations after all these years; had finally become the kind of son he'd always wanted.

I looked away from him and continued to hold Mom tightly, and promised to myself I'd never be like Robert Wiley.

No matter what
.

01:42 am
...

Amber and Michael have discovered that passing between cars is possible, and are in the process of doing just that when the lights go out.

Holding open the end door, Amber turns to Michael. “Something's not right. Can't you feel it?”

Michael looks at Amber with a blank expression.

“God, you're hopeless,” she says.

“Not entirely,” he replies, grinning.

Amber sighs, then passes into the next car.

A concerned looking older woman wearing a mid-length woolen mauve coat approaches at the sight of the couple's entry. She's clutching a brown leather bag like it's made out of gold or some other precious metal.

“The lights have went out,” she says. “And the train's not moving at the right speed.”

“It's probably just an electrical problem,” Michael replies.

Amber makes her way past the gray-haired
senior citizen and continues along the aisle.

“Maybe we should wait for the lights to come back before going any further,” Michael says.

“We don't know they're coming back,” Amber replies. She opens the end door. “You coming?”

“Take me with you,” the concerned woman says, and clutches Michael's arm.

Michael looks from Amber to the woman. “I don't think that's necessary. Best you remain seated until you reach your stop.”

He pats the woman's hand.

The woman refuses to let go. She has a rabbit-in-the-headlights look about her. Michael wonders what her story is; why a woman her age is alone on a train at this time of night - or morning. He looks to Amber for guidance.

Amber shakes her head and exits the car.

“Lady,” Michael says, “I think it might be dangerous up ahead. It's best-”

“
Danger
?” the woman says, her eyes wide with alarm.

“Well- no. I mean, yes, but ... can't you just stay here?”

The woman digs her nails deeper into Michael's arm. “I'm scared.”

“Okay, come with me. But stay behind. If anything happens-”

“
Happens
?”

“You know what, nothing's going to happen.” He pats the woman's hand again. “Just stay close.”

*

The train passes Spring Street station without stopping. It's a sight which leads to a sharp increase in Amber's unease. Not bothering to wait for Michael to catch up, she moves quickly to the end of the aisle and exits through the door.

In the next car, a girl is sitting with her hands folded on her lap. She's wearing a denim jacket on top of a white cotton blouse, and a long, brightly colored flared skirt. She's all alone and staring ahead, as though mesmerized by the motion of the tunnel lights darting past the windows.

Amber's approach catches her attention.

The girl gets up from her seat and meets Amber at the midway point of the aisle. Clumsy looking black ankle boots are attached to her feet. “Did you see that? The train didn't stop just now. And the lights have went all weird.”

“Hard not to notice,” Amber replies.

The girl bites gently into her lower lip and twists a multicolored beaded necklace around one finger. “I had an argument with my boyfriend. He drove away and left me stranded in the street and I didn't have enough money for a cab, so I had to get this train. And I left my cellphone in his car. I'm terrified riding the subway at night.”

Am
ber reckons the girl can't be older than eighteen. “Your boyfriend's an asshole. Dump him.”

The girl continues to twist her necklace. “Well ... I'm kinda pregnant.”

Amber looks at the girl's tummy.

“Oh, I only just found out,” she says. “won't be showing for an age - hey, you wouldn't happen to have a phone on you, would you? So I can call my mom, let her know I'm okay? I should've been home by now.”

Amber realizes she's left her purse and jacket a few cars back. “Crap, it's in my jacket, and I put it down in another car. I can go back for it.”

“Uh, it's okay, it's not that big a deal. It's not like I haven't been out all night before.”

“Tell you what,” Amber says, “I'll need to fetch my things before we leave the train anyway. You can call her then.”

“Sure,” the girl replies.

The speed of the tunnel lights flitting past catches Amber's attention. “We seem to be running slower now.”

“Do you think we're stopping?”

“I don't think so,” Amber replies. “At least, not yet. It's like the train's gradually running out of power or something.”

“Maybe the driver's stopping to fix the problem with the lights.”

The girl's eyes are bold and blue, and she has punchy little cheekbones, a button nose and pronounced dimples – and, of course, she's a blonde. Amber believes it's just as well she has this whole cute thing going for her, because she sure as hell doesn't seem too bright.

“I think he would've stopped at a station to do that,” Amber replies.

The girl ponders Amber's words, then blurts: “Maybe it's a terrorist attack.”

“I think we have more chance of being invaded by aliens from outer space than being attacked by terrorists,” Amber says.

“You think it could be aliens?”

“No- I'm not suggesting we're being attacked by aliens, or that I even believe in them. I was just saying-”

“Have you ever saw a UFO?”

“I … don't really know.”

“I saw a UFO once,” the girls says. “It was shaped like a cigar and was long and vibrating.”

Amber looks bemused. Was this conversation really happening?

“Anyway,” the girl goes on, “one moment it was there, the next ...
poof
. Gone.”

Amber forces a smile. “That's usually the way.”

“Yeah,” the girl says. She sweeps her bangs back from her face. It does little good. Her ash blonde hair is clearly in need of a trim.

Amber offers the girl her hand. “I'm Amber, by the way.”

The girl takes Amber's hand. “Wendy.”

“Pleased to meet you, Wendy.”

Meeting Wendy, all alone and vulnerable, and exchanging names and a handshake, Amber can't help but be reminded of Julie with the car trouble, outside of Van Horn.

There are some things you never forget.

Just then, Michael and his uptight lady companion enter the car.

Relief sweeps over Amber. Even though she only just met him tonight, she's already feeling considerably more assured in Michael's presence.

“Michael, meet Wendy,” Amber says.

Ushering the woman accompanying him towards Wendy, Michael says: “Hi, Wendy, meet Barbara. Barbara, meet Wendy. Now, if you'll excuse me, ladies, I need a word with my wife.” He takes Amber by the arm and pulls her to one side.

Amber yanks her arm free of Michael's grasp. “That was rude -
and your wife
?”

“Ssh,” Michael says. “I had to get you away. I need to talk to you.”

“About?”

“This ... you don't think this has anything to do with what happened at the parking garage, do you? There's surveillance cameras everywhere these days.”

Amber glances past Michael to make sure the other women aren't within earshot. “I hardly think the cops would have the driver randomly mess around with the train - and besides, it's too soon for them to have caught up to us. This is something else.”

“Anything to do with the trail we followed?”

Amber thinks for a moment. “I don't know.”

The lights in the car briefly flicker
.

The flickering catches Michael's attention. “Remember a few minutes ago ... when you asked if I felt anything out of the ordinary?”

“Yes?” Amber replies.

“Well now I'm beginning to.”

*

01:42 am
...

“Shit, what the hell's happened to the lights?” Screwball says. “And just as things were gettin' good!”

Wiley frantically tucks his penis into his pants. He can hear Len blubbering excitedly and Kobie yelling expletives from the other end of the car. He looks along the aisle and sees Amanda coming towards him through the darkness. She doesn't look like his mom anymore. She's completely Amanda again.

And yet she isn't
.

He pulls out his switchblade and flicks it open. “Stay away from me, bitch, or I'll fuck you up!”

Amanda wraps her fingers around a vertical hand rail and takes another step towards Wiley. The light from the tunnel flashes across her face and, for the briefest of moments, she doesn't look pretty at all. Her hair is straw-like and all over the place, and her mouth is drooping, as though it's melting. And then there's her eyes ...
dear God, her eyes
. Each eye is completely black with a bright yellow elliptical pupil.

Wiley feels his legs turn to Jell-O. It doesn't matter that Amanda looking like some kind of monster lasted only an instant. The very fact that she
did
just turn into something hideous means she'd be no less threatening a sight dressed as a Catholic schoolgirl with her hair in bunches and a lollipop sticking out of her mouth.

He backs into something and turns with a startled cry.

It's Kobie, come to see what all the fuss is about. “What the hell's wrong with you, man?”

Looking over his shoulder, Wiley says: “We gotta get out of here. She isn't human. Her boyfriend has to be the same.”

Bewildered, Kobie shakes his head. All he can see (and not very clearly at that) is a non-threatening woman coming towards them.

Wiley leaves Kobie where he's standing and heads quickly for the end door.

Kobie watches Wiley go -
dude's went fucked in the head
- then turns his attention back to Amanda - who is suddenly standing right beside him.

And she looks anything but human
.

Before Kobie can react, Amanda grabs the back of his head and rakes his face with wickedly long fingernails.

Blood sprays onto her face.

Kobie's screams fill the car.

“Kobie!” Screwball yells, and fumbles for a handrail. He trips over something big and lands face first. His baseball cap topples from his head. “Jesus fuck!”

Shadows generated by the lights from the tunnel dart back and forth through the car's interior.

Screwball manages to discern what he's fallen over.

It's Len.

He crawls over to the big guy and gives him a shake. “Hey, Lenny, wake up.”

No response
.

He gives Len's face several light slaps. “Come on, I think Kobie's-”

Screwball realizes his fingers are wet. His hands begins to tremble. “Lenny?”

But Len isn't going to reply to Screwball, or eat another peanut M&M or drink gallons of soda in a day or look at a pretty girl and wish he wasn't a loser ever again, because his throat has been torn out, and that makes him about as dead as dead can be.

Fear causes Screwball's bladder to momentarily loosen and a little bit of urine to spurt out of his prized pecker.

First those screams of Kobie's, and now Len ...

Something is killing them
.

*

Wiley hurries into the adjacent car and sees Spring Street speed past the windows.

The slumbering old man he had passed several minutes ago is now on his feet. “Whatever's going on in there” – the man points at the door Wiley just came through - “I don't wanna know.”

“The train's not stopping,” Wiley says.

The old man digs his hands into the pockets of his dark, quilt-lined coat. “I think we went past my stop a long time ago.”

Wiley's sure there's a double meaning in that statement. He looks at the old fella. He's not a very tall man - five-eight at a stretch - and has a face that looks like it's partied in Hell and lived to tell the tale.