A Storied Man

 
Herein are several people whose lives at first do not seem connected. Their paths converge unexpectedly. This is the Conclusion.

Parts: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15|The End

Conclusion

Doug stared at Lori, wondering how she would react. He hadn’t told anyone his secret since his girlfriend in college. It felt good, but it scared him.

“Why tell me all this? You barely know me,” Lori said.

“The only thing worse than being alone when you die, is being alone when you can’t die,” Doug said. He put his hands under the table and cracked his knuckles. “That’s what my uncle told me. Besides, you already knew most of my secret just from the DART train.”

“Your uncle?” Lori said. “You mean he’s…”

“Immortal? Yes. Or, he was, anyway. Before he died.”

“Huh?”

“Like I said before, there are exceptions. Nobody in the family knows for sure because he didn’t tell us, but we think he killed himself and made it look like an accident. He fell in love lots of times but always ended up calling it off. He didn’t want to tell anyone the truth, but knew he couldn’t hide it all his life, either.”

“Your father told your mother the truth, and they’re still together.”

“They’re different men. Dad was willing to take that risk. I always felt close to my uncle because he seemed to regret his decision, just like me. But if I get out of this mess, I don’t want to end up like him.”

“That doesn’t explain why you’re telling me all this,” Lori said.

“You’re too humble. I felt like we had a connection back in school, and you helped me on the day of the accident without even knowing who I was. I don’t want to risk ending up alone like my uncle.”

The prison guard across the room pointed to a large clock on the wall.

“I think our time’s about up,” Doug said.

Lori’s eyes widened. “You mean you want me to… to…”

“To think about it,” Doug said.

She responded only with a frightened, confused look on her face as the guard escorted her out of the room.

Doug sat wondering what would happen if he ended up in prison for life. He would watch wardens come and go. He would see new faces turn old. How long would he last before a prison official noticed he had outlived everybody else in the system?

How would he feed?

——-

Lori sat driving her car, wondering about what Doug had just told her. She couldn’t tell anybody what he had said. Immortality wasn’t possible, was it? Vampires were a myth.

On the drive back, she wondered how immortality would feel. As a computer support professional, she marveled at what advancements she would see, or maybe help invent, over the course of several lifetimes. Sentient cyborgs? Interstellar travel? Self-healing internal organs? The cure for HIV AIDS? Genetic recombination?

But, at what cost? To see friends and loved ones die, over and over? How close could she really get to anyone except Doug? How long could they live in one place before people started to wonder why they weren’t growing old? No more walks on a sunny beach. No watching a sunrise or a sunset. Not without dressing conspicuously.

There was an asylum on the way home. Maybe she should stop and have herself committed.

But they would not offer her immortality. If Doug really could give her that, then the pro might outweigh all the cons. Death always had frightened her, and avoiding that was the biggest pro she could imagine.

She pulled onto a residential street lined by small, Cape Cod style homes with young ornamental trees jutting from their tiny front yards. She confirmed the address from a pink sticky note partially covering the RPM gauge. When she stopped and put the car in Park, she noticed her palms were sweating. She wasn’t sure she was up to this reunion.

In the driveway, a woman played with a little boy, a toddler. A man and two teenage boys stood near a charcoal grill, talking. In the setting sun their long shadows — nondescript caricatures moving in tandem with every gesture — stretched across the driveway and onto the manicured lawn. Lori opened her door and got out.

She tried to remember their names as she walked up the driveway, but she had a lot on her mind competing for space.

“Hi, I’m Liz. This is my son, Reid.” She reached out a hand to shake.

Lori took it. “Hello. Nice to meet you.” Then, to Reid, “You too, little man.”

“My husband just went back to our place,” Liz said and indicated the house next door.

As Lori looked over, a man rushed from the garage, at first yelling unintelligibly while potato chip crumbs fell from his mouth.

He swallowed. “Hey, they just announced it on the news. That guy got 25 years.”

“You mean, Doug?” Lori said.

“Yep. Hey, when did she get here?”

Lori’s shoulders slumped. She knew that although conjugal visits were not an option in that state, prisoners sometimes were allowed short trips “outside” for visits. Would that be any way to maintain a relationship?

She looked down at little Reid, a normal, human boy. She might have one of those some day, but not if she committed to a life with Doug. A never-ending life. At that moment she knew how difficult Doug’s decision must have been back in college.

——-

Wall looked around Doug MacGruder’s childhood room again. His eyes stopped at a figure looming in the doorway. “You were right, Mr. MacGruder.” Wall said. “Can’t tell much about your son in here. If you don’t mind my asking, where’s your wife?”

“She’s out shopping. Typically we go together, but I’m playing host.”

Wall squeezed past MacGruder and into the hallway decorated by family portraits and snapshots. “And a damn fine one, if I may say.”

“Don’t joke, Detective. I have a long chain, but I prefer not to have it yanked.”

Wall tapped one of the family portraits, pointing at a woman. “This your wife, here?”

“Yes.”

“Fetching.”

“Thank you.”

They continued to the kitchen and the living room. MacGruder walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a jar of V8 juice. He opened a cabinet and grabbed a highball glass, poured it full.

“You making a Bloody Mary?” Wall said.

“No, just the juice. For my health. Would you like one?”

“Please.”

MacGruder pulled down another glass and started to pour. The V8 jar slipped from his previously dextrous fingers and shattered on the tile floor. “How clumsy. Forgive me if I don’t offer you my glass. I’m afraid I’m not the gracious host, after all.”

“No sweat, sir.”

With none of the composure he had shown so far, MacGruder drained the thick, red drink in a few gulps, then set the glass in the sink. A drip ran down from one corner of his mouth. He tore a paper towel from a rod under the cabinets and wiped his chin.

Wall shook that image off and took in the scene. He knew an underground house had no windows, but it was strange to see. Still, the number of lamps bothered him. “Don’t people with your condition have problems even with artificial lighting?” he said.

“We have the right kind of bulbs.”

“Specialty items, I’m sure. You know, I was just thinking, I would really enjoy meeting your wife.”

“My pilot will not be available much longer, Detective Davies.”

There was the disadvantage to leaving your ride up to your host. This trip was off the books, too, because as far as the department was concerned, the investigation was over. He had no way to stay overnight.

“I guess I’m ready to take off when he is, then. Thank you for having me here.”

MacGruder led Wall out through the utility room and to the crimson Lincoln Town Car in the driveway. The pilot emerged from the driver’s side and held open the back door. As Wall climbed into the car, MacGruder extended his hand. Wall reached out through the open door and they shook hands while looking each other in the eye. The car’s interior light shone enough to light up MacGruder’s wide smile.

“‘Til next time, Detective.”

“‘Til next time, Mr. MacGruder.”

——-

Doug sat at a small wooden table reading a note on college-ruled looseleaf paper, its edges yellowing with age. It read, simply, “I’m sorry, I can’t. Good luck, Lori.” He slid a National Geographic coffee-table book closer to him and carefully sandwiched the note between its pages.

Something clanged against the bars of his cell. “Got your usual special order here, Mr. Shadow.”

A guard stood outside the bars holding a small, brown paper bag. “I don’t know how your family finds these. They don’t make these no more, with the peel tab.”

Doug rushed to the cell door and reached for the bag. “They have a special source,” he said.

The guard pulled it out of reach. “Wait a minute. Where’s my payment?”

Doug walked to the back of his cell and pulled a dictionary from a plastic milk crate. He flipped to page 40 to reveal a zipper-bag full of cigarettes inside a hole in the pages. Resisting the urge to crumple them and cram them in the guard’s face, he carefully removed the cigarettes and replaced the book.

The guard cradled them in one hand as he handed Doug the bag. “How come at inspection time they never find nothin’ in there?”

“I move merchandise; I don’t store it,” Doug said.

“You been in here for almost 25 years and they ain’t never caught you?”

Doug shook his head. The guard laughed and walked away, whistling.

Doug sat at the edge of his bed, opened the bag, and unzipped a padded, insulated lunch pail. He carefully pulled out a small V-8 juice can and examined the foil pull tab. “You still have the touch, Mom,” he said and peeled the tab.

He put the can to his lips and drank slowly, not stopping until it was empty.

A month later a guard escorted Doug out of his cell, down several locked corridors, and outside the doors to the parking area. Doug followed him to a car that looked like a bubble on wheels. He glanced up at two guard towers looming above razor-wire fencing. Searchlights stabbed into the darkness.

“So, this is what my father sent me?” Doug said.

“Yep. The keys are in it.”

The End

(Note: I had neither read, seen, nor been told about Twilight before writing this story, so any similarity in the way the vampires feed is strictly coincidental.)

 
Herein are several people whose lives at first do not seem connected. Their paths converge unexpectedly. This is Part Fifteen.

Parts: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14|15

Part Fifteen

Cooper pushed off with his right foot as he and Hunter rode their skateboards down their street. He knew that they had been lucky, but he couldn’t shake the feeling they were pushing that luck.

“You sure this is a good idea, man?” he asked.

“No, but they invited us, so we should go.”

“But we stole dude’s truck.”

“Borrowed, Coop.”

“I think once you totaled it, you lost the whole ‘borrowed’ excuse.”

Both boys looked both ways and then crossed the street. Each did his own stunt over the curb onto the opposite driveway and continued down the sidewalk.

“You’re gettin’ better, butt-munch,” Hunter said.

“Thanks, ass-bite.”

A few houses up ahead, two men sat in chairs on a driveway. A smoking grill stood nearby and a woman threw a ball to a toddler.

“Americana non grata,” mumbled Coop.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“If you’d spend less time reading and more time skating, you’d be as good as me by now.”

They approached a girl, no older than 12, on her front lawn twirling a baton. Short red and white streamers trailed from each end as she spun it between her fingers and then threw it several feet up. When she looked up to track it she faced the sun. She squinted and quickly lowered her head. The baton hit the grass and bounced onto the sidewalk between the two skaters.

Coop hopped his board over it and continued. “Thanks to our adventure, skating is about the only way we’ll be getting around in the near future.”

“We have friends who can drive.”

“Not any more.”

“They’ll come around.”

One of the men stood, winced in pain, and opened the grill. He leaned back as smoked billowed into his face.

The little boy pointed at Cooper and Hunter. The woman playing with him raised a hand and waved. “Hey, boys! Come on down. Been waiting for you.”

They stopped at the driveway and deftly flipped their boards up to catch them with one hand.

“Moment of truth,” Coop mumbled.

Muscles in his neck tightened as he worked to look relaxed. His stomach muttered its discomfort.

The man working the grill closed the lid and moved a large pair of tongs from his right hand to his left. He limped a few steps and reached out to shake Hunter’s hand. “I’m Blake Leftkowitz. Nice to finally meet you.”

“Hey,” Hunter said and gave Lefkowitz’s hand a few pumps.

As the two parted hands, Cooper offered his. Firm but not overpowering, Leftowitz’s hand was hot. “Nice to meet you, too, sir.”

“Just ‘Blake,’ guys, just ‘Blake.’”

“I’m Alex,” the seated man said. He stood.

They repeated the handshaking ritual with him and his wife, Liz. Their little son, Reid, pawed at the ball in Liz’s hands.

A half hour later, as the boys tore excess bun from around convex hamburger patties, Blake broke the awkward silence.

“Sorry about the shape. I don’t know why that always happens,” he said.

“You know, boys, I can kind of identify with what you did,” Alex said. “One time when I borrowed my dad’s car to take my friend home, I slid it into a ditch. Didn’t even have my license yet.” Alex said.

Hunter finished chewing a bite and swallowed. “But nobody held a gun to you and then got his neck ripped apart right in front of you.”

“Don’t get smart, bud,” Alex said.

“Be nice,” Liz said.

“I’m trying.” He turned to the boys. “You kids make it damn hard. After you stole his truck and wrecked it, almost killing us all, Blake here grilled burgers for you. And standing on his one good leg. And you smart off to me like that? I hope we bring up our son to know better.” He sat down hard, sloshing beer over the rim of his cup. He moved his feet quickly before the beer hit the driveway. “Shit. Now look what you made me do.”

Cooper and Hunter stared silently at him.

“Alex, take it easy,” Blake said. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and these kids probably saved my life. I’m not convinced it was a coincidence.”

“Damn hard,” little Reid said.

“Reid! We don’t say that,” Liz said.

Cooper and Hunter smiled. Blake laughed.

“I’m finished talking. I’m going back to our place now. Liz, you’re welcome to come with me,” Alex said and stormed across the grass between the driveways

Liz stayed behind as Alex disappeared into their open garage. From the garage his voice called out, “And you killed his little dog, too!”

Cooper suppressed a laugh. And your little dog, too!

“He’s upset because he’s the one who found the keys in the truck but left them there,” Liz said.

“Why? He helped, too,” Blake said. “These boys just followed through. If they hadn’t stolen my truck and smacked into us we might have been shot. We’ve all been through something much larger than car theft. The Lord works in mysterious ways.”

“And that same Lord sent a monster to kill the carjacker?” Liz asked.

“Seems like it to me,” Blake said.

“Coop, you were saying some stuff like that right after it happened. You know, like God intervened or something. Spooky.” Hunter said.

“You mean while you were puking?” Coop shot back.

“Dude, that ain’t right.”

Liz threw the ball into the front yard and Reid followed as it bounced under the hedges. “Puking? What happened in that car, anyway?”

“Pretty much what we told them in court,” Cooper said. “He pulled his gun on us after we helped him out of your minivan. Then he walked us over to the two ladies standing there with a guy with a blanket over him.”

“He shot the guy under the blanket,” Hunter said. “Then he walked us to the ladies’ car and told me to drive. I told him it wasn’t going to drive ‘cuz it was wrecked so bad. He didn’t want to hear it. Made me keep trying.”

Cooper had a vivid recollection.

——-

They sat in the wrecked Toyota Matrix — Hunter in the driver’s seat, Cooper beside him, and the stranger in the back, pointing his gun at them.

“Get us out of here, young man. Now,” the gunman demanded.

Hunter frantically turned the key. The starter cranked, but the engine did not respond. Multiple lights flashed near the speedometer. “It’s hosed,” Hunter said.

Cooper heard a back door open. As he turned he saw a young man knock the gun from the stranger’s hand. Smoke rose from the intruder’s skin.

“Hey!” said the gunman.

The intruder put one hand on the gunman’s head and one on his shoulder, then opened his mouth wide and clamped down on his neck. Cooper thought he saw fangs. The gunman screamed once and then fell silent and limp. Cooper’s mind flashed an image of a tiger attacking a young gazelle.

Instead of just holding on, however, the intruder bit the man’s neck again and again, as if ravenous. Blood poured down the front of the gunman’s shirt. He finally stopped and, although it was hard to tell with the rain pelting the car, Cooper thought he heard him swallowing.

“I’m outta here!” Hunter yelled and opened the driver’s door.

Cooper got out and the two boys ran across the rain-soaked street to a convenience store.

——-

Blake was dumbstruck. He took a sip of his beer and reached under the grill to close the air vent.

“Wow,” Liz said. “That’s awful. The press didn’t release all that detail.”

Reid ambled over with the ball he had retrieved from the hedges.

“I was scared shitless,” Hunter said. “I’m not ashamed to say it now.”

Blake straightened after closing the grill’s vent. “I can see why,” he said. “I’m glad you guys told us about it. I knew a little communication would do us good.”

“Shitless,” Reid said.

“No, sir!” Liz said.

(to be concluded)

 
Herein are several people whose lives at first do not seem connected. Their paths converge unexpectedly. This is Part Fourteen.

Parts: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13|14

Part Fourteen

The setting sun glinted orange off the small jet’s wing. The clouds below stretched out, a blanket of cotton candy completely obscuring the ground. Besides the hum and whine of the jet’s engines, it was a quiet, still world up there. Off the tip of the wing, in the distance, a commercial airliner headed the opposite direction.

Wall hated flying, and to him a nine-passenger plane was barely sky legal. Something wasn’t right about a passenger’s ability to see directly into the cockpit. He was the only one riding for that flight, however, and he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to bum rush the pilots.

Doug McGruder’s father had insisted that Wall come see him right away. When he said he didn’t have time to drive there, McGruder had sent his jet.

Directly ahead, clouds stood tall and dark above the veil layer, lying in wait for unwelcome guests. Lightning flashed between them.

A red blotch, at first small, worked its way down from the top of a small screen embedded in the control panel. It grew larger with each passing moment.

“What’s that screen with the big red patch telling you?” Wall said.

“That’s Doppler. The red is a thunderstorm. Don’t worry, we’re going around it.”

“I hope so.”

Although the red patch shifted to the left, Wall couldn’t tell that they were going around the storm. Within minutes the sky turned dark. Instead of glowing in the sun’s orange light, the wing nearly disappeared. He confirmed it was there by connecting the dots between the running lights. As thunder rumbled and boomed and Nature’s strobe light illuminated the clouds, he imagined the lightning’s jagged tentacles reaching out to strike the plane.

The song “Electric Avenue” ran through Wall’s head.

To distract himself, he pulled out his microcassette recorder and plugged in the earphone. He had used it when interviewing the suspect’s former childhood friends and college instructors, and listening to those recordings would help him be fresh for his talk with the elder McGruder.

——-

The McGruder house sat on a slightly sloped, well-groomed yard. Or rather, in it. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it appeared that the front door, on the downhill side, was the only part not covered by earth. Wall had driven past a few underground homes, but never had set foot in one.

Scotland McGruder stood outside the door. He was taller than average and thin, but not particularly intimidating, probably 60 years old. Nothing about him said, “vampire,” and Wall shook his head at even having to think that.

“I trust the flight here was uneventful,” he said.

“Not entirely, no.”

“Sorry to hear that, Detective Davies.” He held open the front door. “Please, come inside.”

Wall walked into a small utility room, big enough for two or three people, and stopped. A small counter with a stainless steel sink sat to the right. A closed door awaited him straight ahead.

“Go ahead and open it. It leads to our living room.”

Inside the door was a house not much different from any other. The kitchen and living room were separated only by different flooring. Darkly shaded lamps hung in the corner of each room, just bright enough to reveal the meticulous housekeeping. A doorway led from the living room to a dark corridor.

“I’ve never seen a front door that opens into a utility room,” Wall said.

“Well, as our only exterior door, it fills several roles.”

Wall made his way to the kitchen table and had a seat. He found that domestic interviews worked better there, as it was casual enough to keep the interviewee at ease without making himself too comfortable.

McGruder pulled up a chair across the table and set down a steaming mug. “Hot apple cider?”

“No, thanks. I’m trying to quit.”

“I admit I was hoping you would decline. It’s the last mug, and I was craving some.” He wrapped his long fingers around the mug’s handle and slid it to his own side of the table. “So, Detective Davies, tell me what more you need to know. I can’t imagine anything I didn’t already tell the police or the attorneys.”

“Hell, I don’t know anything. I can just repeat back what I’ve heard.”

“Very well. What have you heard?”

“First, I think I understand your condition… this… Xeroderma Pigmentosa. You stated that your son has it, too, and that’s why he’s so sensitive to sunlight.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“I get that. But there’s something else the State Crime lab found that hasn’t been explained yet. He has no blood type, and they found bovine blood cells in his system.”

McGruder slowly slurped cider from the mug, both hands wrapped around it. “How strange. Something must have tainted the sample somehow.”

“Yes. Tainted,” Wall said. “I’d also like to take a look around your son’s room. You mind?”

“Not a problem at all. Come with me.”

Both men stood, the feet of their wooden chairs skidding on the stone tile floor. Wall’s gracious host led him across the living room and into the dark hallway. He flipped a light switch to reveal plain white walls peppered with family snapshots in frames of various sizes and colors. They entered the first door on the left and McGruder turned on the light.

At first glance, it obviously was not the room of a teenage boy any more. There were no posters on the walls, no lava lamps.

“You won’t find much about Douglas in here. He’s been out of the home more than 10 years. Besides, I thought the investigation phase was complete. Isn’t our son’s fate up to the courts now?”

Wall worked his way around the room. He opened the closet and leaned his head in for a better look. “I try to stay on a case as long as I think there are questions that need answered. Your son told a young lady something you might find interesting.”

“What is that?”

Wall leaned out of the empty closet and looked McGruder in the eye. “That he’s a vampire.”

McGruder’s eyes went wide with surprise, but in the next blink it was gone. He laughed. “Oh, the fantasies he has made up about his condition over the years.”

“So he’s had XP all his life?”

“Yes, just as his mother and I have. I went over all this with the authorities.”

“So you’ve said. But the thing is, I’ve been doing some reading. Victims of that disease don’t tend to lead long, healthy lives. And, other residents here who knew your son as a child say you and your wife were different, but he played outside just like other kids.”

“Well, we’re very careful, and ‘all his life’ is a relative reference. He developed it when he was still very young.”

“His former college instructors confirmed that he had classes during regular daytime hours and never seemed different from the other students. Until second semester of his sophomore year, when he switched exclusively to night courses and correspondence.”

“To me that is very young, Detective.”

“Point taken, sir.”

(to be continued)

 
Herein are several people whose lives at first do not seem connected. Their paths converge unexpectedly. This is Part Thirteen.

Parts: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12|13

Part Thirteen

Blake Leftkowitz sat in a nylon lawn chair in his driveway, red Solo cup in hand. His charcoal grill stood a few feet to his left, a steady stream of smoke rising from the lid’s vent holes.

Alex and Liz walked up, each holding a collapsed camp chair. Little Reid ambled around them, alternately burying his face in their legs and smiling up at Blake.

“Smells good,” Alex said. “What are you cooking?”

“Steak,” Blake said.

Alex unfolded his chair and sat. “Have you heard anything more about the guy who carjacked us? Damn, these things are uncomfortable.”

A large passenger jet passed overhead. Reid pointed skyward and proclaimed, “Pwane!”

“No, nothing. I think somebody at my company knows but just isn’t talking,” Blake said and grunted as he stood. He lifted the grill lid and flipped his steak using a large pair of tongs. “This bad leg of mine talks to me all the time.”

“It’s a shame that guy’s probably going to be executed,” Alex said.

“He is?” Liz said as she struggled to set up her chair and keep Reid off of her.

“Most likely, babe. Juries don’t like monsters ripping up people.”

Liz directed Reid to walk a few paces out and began a game of catch. “The guy had a gun on us, and then those kids. Doesn’t that count for anything?”

Flame climbed up and danced all around the steak. Blake poured water from the Solo cup. The fire hissed in protest as it died down.

“Society sometimes doesn’t tolerate heroes,” Alex said.

——-

“Wait a minute, Maxie. You’re telling me that the guy has no blood type at all?”

“That’s right. None. With the amount of bovine blood in the sample, at first we thought someone was playing a joke. The boss says he’s never seen anything like it, Wall.”

Wall didn’t need unique right now. He needed a steady stream of straightforward cases to build his reputation. Going back to the beat was not an option, but this case made him want out of the investigative division.

He switched the receiver to his other ear. “This girl told me the guy said he was a vampire. She thought he was joking. It’s ridiculous to even consider it,” Wall said.

Silence.

“Right?” he said.

“Oh, sorry, Wall. I was chewing a bite of birthday cake. You know how office birthdays are. Don’t want to refuse and look rude.”

“Politic your way ’round to helping me figure this out, pal,” Wall said.

“You obviously never had June’s pineapple upside-down cake.”

“Dammit, Maxie.”

“Sorry. On this one, we’re medically stumped.”

“If the State Crime Lab can’t help me, then who can?”

“Don’t know. Man, this is delicious cake. Must have used fresh pineapple.”

——-

Lori hated to see Doug in that orange jumpsuit. She grew sad as she envisioned him out on the Interstate highway median picking up trash, and then sank deeper when she realized that they don’t allow murderers that kind of freedom. What was she doing there talking to a killer?

He looked into her eyes. Ashamed of what she was thinking, she glanced away and noticed black paper over long, narrow windows near the ceiling.

“They put that up there for me,” Doug said. “Even though this cell block is in the basement, there are windows. I guess I’m getting the celebrity treatment.”

Lori looked down at the table. Its wood top was unblemished.

“Such a beautiful, flawless thing,” Doug said.

She turned her eyes up and saw his staring back. He blinked slowly and smiled warmly. How could that gentle mouth, which she had kissed, chew a man’s neck nearly in half?

“Sorry, it’s just, I’ve never visited anyone in jail before,” she said.

“Me neither. It must really suck.”

They both laughed.

“Doug. I’ve been wondering. Just what happened to you out there?”

“My skin’s very sensitive to sunlight.”

“I know that. I meant the whole… you know. When you attacked that guy.”

“He had just shot me and probably would have done the same to those kids.”

Lori shifted in her seat, trying to find the right words.

“I’m not here to prosecute you. I just want to know how you did that.”

Doug traced imaginary circles on the table. “I’ve been wanting to tell you, but it’s a long story.”

“I’m game.”

He leaned back in his chair and Lori felt something brush against her ankle. She looked down. He had straightened his legs.

“When I saw you on campus and we had that date on the spur of the moment, I was coming off a big break-up with my girlfriend. I had sworn off women. But then I saw you and remembered all the little notes we passed in class. How you always agreed to wake me up if I needed a quick 10-minute nap.”

“I’m an incurable enabler,” Lori said.

“Whatever you call it, it was nice,” Doug said. “I just wish now I had thought about that before I …” he squeezed his hands into fists and took a deep breath.

“Before what?”

“This is very hard for me. I’ve only told one other person and she ran screaming.”

Lori wanted to hear it, but didn’t want to sound too eager, like some gossip just waiting to run off to her friends. “I’ll stay as long as they let me.”

——-

Doug had grown up an only child outside a small town, on about 120 acres of land encompassing forest and meadows. Although his family didn’t keep any animals, it wasn’t unusual for a surrounding farmer’s cows or horses to wander up to the fence trying to get the grass on his family’s side.

He knew from a young age that his mom and dad were different from other kids’ parents, but he never thought them strange because he had known nothing else. Both worked the night shift and spent all their waking hours inside their underground house. According to his parents, they had fallen in love after meeting through a support group for people afflicted with a rare condition called Xeroderma Pigmentosum.

“We were so blessed when you weren’t born with XP,” his mother told him.

The family went out together only at night. Most often they looked up at the stars and named constellations, but occasionally they went to the local bowling alley or roller skating rink. On the rare occasion they went out during the day, his parents had to wear long-sleeved shirts, overcoats, gloves, and special hats with face shields.

Despite all that, Doug typically got along well with other kids and their parents.

At age 12, things changed at school.

One day in the cafeteria, he noticed his friends had moved to another table. They sat near a boy named Terry Stark, whom they typically ignored. Terry was pointing at Doug and making the other kids laugh.

“Doug’s parents are freakazoids from planet Freakopia!” Terry said.

Crushed by his friends’ betrayal, Doug turned to reading. He quickly discovered entire universes within the pages. Worlds gone by, worlds that might one day be. And all of them peopled with characters who seemed to understand being different.

He quickly grew bored with the books his school had to offer. Confident that he could read anything, he accompanied one of his few remaining friends on a Saturday trip to the local public library. There he found a book on rare diseases and turned to Xeroderma Pigmentosum.

Everything his parents told him had been a lie. He made photocopies of a few select pages before leaving the library.

When his friend’s family dropped him off at his house, Doug leaped from his friend’s car and sprinted to the front door. He burst into the buffer room and forgot to close the door before opening the living room door.

“Doug! The outside door!” his mom shrieked as she ducked behind the kitchen island.

He turned back to close it. “Mom, where’s Dad?” he said, more demanding than asking.

His mother peeked up from behind the counter, peering over an uncut tomato on a warped, wooden cutting board. “Taking a nap. Douglas, what’s gotten into you?” She stood and set a large knife’s blade on the tomato. With a quick stroke it sliced through the ripe red fruit.

He set down his backpack and unzipped it, then fished out the photocopied pages from between his math and English books.

“You guys do not have XP!” he yelled.

“What, son? What do you have there?” his mother said. She laid the knife down.

He ran across the living room to the hallway that led to the bedrooms. “Dad! Get up!” he called.

“Douglas, I think you need to sit down. This behavior is not acceptable,” his mother said.

“Here, I made copies for all of us.”

She grabbed it before he set it on the cutting board. “Careful of the tomato juice, dear.”

“What’s going on?” his father called as he wandered toward the living room.

“I need to talk to you. Both of you.” He handed copies to his father. “Mom, please read it for us.”

She shot his father a questioning look.

“Go ahead, dear. Let’s see what young Douglas thinks he has found.”

She cleared her throat, then read. “Sufferers of XP must avoid exposure to any ultraviolet light source. The DNA damage resulting from such exposure is cumulative and irreversible, and often leads to cancer. The life expectancy for XP patients typically falls 30 years short of that found in the general population.”

“See?” Doug said.

“See what, son? You know your mother and I are very careful about staying out of the sun.”

“It isn’t just the sun, though, Dad.” He held up his pages and shook them. “These people have to be careful what kind of light bulbs are in the same room. Plus, you guys heal. I’ve seen it. You might not think I remember, because I was little, but I know. That time the field was on fire and Dad ran outside without covering all his skin? These people don’t heal like you did.”

His father sighed heavily and sat on a worn leather recliner. “It’s time, dear,” he said.

“Now? But… he’s our baby.”

“Not any more. Son, come over here on the couch and let’s talk.”

Doug sat next to his mother and listened.

“First, although we are rare, we do not have a disease. I come from a long line of special men, Douglas. We must hide it from the public, but it is something of which we should be very proud. Rather than a shorter life expectancy, we’re blessed with one that never ends. Your mother has it because I gave it to her.”

“Never ends? You can’t die?” Doug said.

“Well, in special circumstances, we can. In the modern world we have learned to adjust our ways and be less conspicuous, so those opportunities seldom present themselves.”

Doug understood, but in his shock he could not speak. “You’re… you’re…”

“Vampires,” his father said.

“But vampires aren’t real!” Doug shouted. He jumped up from the couch. “No, this isn’t happening.”

His mother stood and reached out for him.

He recoiled. “Get away from me. You lied to me all my life and now you’re telling me you’re vampires?”

——-

“And then I ran to my room and slammed the door,” Doug said.

Lori sat at the table wondering whether he was crazy. She was convinced that she certainly was if she stayed much longer.

“But you were able to go into the sun when you were a kid,” Lori said. “What happened?”

“I could in college, too, until that holiday break right before you and I had our only date.”

“But the class we had together was a night class,” Lori said.

“Were you in it because the sun can melt your skin off?”

“Well, no, but, ummm.”

“Neither was I,” Doug said.

“So, what happened? How did you become one of them?”

“After my folks told me they didn’t go out killing people by sucking their blood, I learned to live with it. They had been my parents all my life. I couldn’t just leave.”

“How did they get their… you know?”

“Livestock, mostly. That kept them alive. But to stay immortal they had to have human blood.”

“I think I need to go,” Lori said and pushed out her chair.

“No, wait, just hear me out.”

She sat back down. She leaned in and whispered, “This is crazy. You know that, right? Off-the-walls, bat-shit crazy.”

Doug laughed. “Bats. If only that old folk tale were true. Then I could just fly right out of here.”

“Please don’t make jokes. I’m having a hard enough time taking all this in as it is.”

“Sorry. I don’t blame you for thinking all of this is crazy,” he continued. “I thought the same thing after they told me.”

Lori leaned back in her chair. “You have my attention. Barely. You were talking about human blood.”

“My mom worked as a medical technician at a very busy lab. She somehow found a way to bring home blood that would have been tossed as biohazardous waste. Nobody dies, and my parents live on.”

“It’s still horrible,” Lori said.

“My next six years were pretty bad. I got into trouble a lot at school. I didn’t have any friends. That all changed when I went to college, where nobody knew who my parents were.”

“You weren’t the boy from Freakopia anymore,” Lori said.

“Right. I got pretty good at socializing that first year, and fell in love with a girl my second. When I tried to tell her the truth about my family over holiday break, she left and never looked back. I got depressed and said I didn’t want to live anymore. I had just turned 20. The age of decision.”

Lori stood up and walked over to a nearby table. She leaned on it hard with both hands. “Sorry, I sit too much in my day job. What happened then?”

——-

Doug sat on his parents’ couch. A Christmas tree stood in the corner of the living room, its top bent against the ceiling. His mother worked at draping strings of popcorn and blood-red cranberries around it. White lights among the branches blinked in synchronized time with an electronic music box hidden near the tree’s base.

“I’m sorry she left you, Doug. You know, you didn’t have to tell her the truth,” his mother said.

“I had to, Mom. How could I hide it from her the rest of my life?”

“But you haven’t chosen yet,” she said.

“I wanted her to be a part of the decision.”

His father walked over, carefully cradling a clear glass mug of apple cider. Steam drifted up from the brown liquid.

“Son, you grew up with us,” his father said. “We’ve all been together your whole life. You can’t expect someone from the outside to handle this without establishing a strong relationship based on years of love and trust.

“Immortality is not as easy to hide in these modern times. That is why we number so few now. Your mother and I want you to make an informed decision.”

“I do want to live forever. Who wouldn’t? Isn’t it what all those people in the churches are hoping for? Now I can have it, and you’re saying I should think of giving it up?”

His mother stroked his hair and drew a deep breath. “You might see it differently in 20 years. Or even 50. Or 100. It’s a long time to live as an outsider.”

“I can’t just ignore it. I want to do it. I want to commune.”

——-

Lori struggled to keep from storming over to the guard and demanding to be let out. At the same time, she couldn’t tear herself away. She walked back over to Doug’s table and sat down.

“I knew the power that came with the life, and figured if I was suffering so much trying to be ‘normal,’ I might as well change what I could control.”

“You mean you’re… immortal?”

“Except for a few notable exceptions, yes.”

(to be continued)

 
Herein are several people whose lives at first do not seem connected. Their paths converge unexpectedly. This is Part Twelve.

Parts: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11|12

Part Twelve

Lori sat in her parked car, nervous.

She took the last bite of an over-ripe banana, the final bit of the lunch she had gobbled down on the drive from her mother’s house. Although she was more than a thousand miles from her normal routine and a world away from the life she had carved out for herself, old habits died hard. Just like back home, she put efficient use of time above safety.

As she put the sandwich container back into her padded lunch pail, she wondered exactly what she was putting above safety now.

Muffled strains of Mozart interrupted her thoughts. Her phone was ringing. She rifled through her purse, pulled it out and flipped it open. Her thumb hovered over the “Send” button as the caller ID displayed the words, “Yo Momma.”

“Oh, great,” she said and pushed the button. “Hey, Mom.”

“That’s disrespectful,” her mother said.

“Excuse me?”

“You should say, ‘Hello’ when you answer a phone.”

“I knew it was you. I wouldn’t call that disrespectful.”

“Well, there’s something not right about it. Are you there yet?”

“I’m sitting in the parking lot about to go in.”

“Why are you doing this? Love? A crush?”

“Don’t grill me, Mom. I told you that I feel like Doug needs somebody, and for some reason he and I were on the same train that day.”

“You’ve become some sort of thrill-seeker.”

Lori sighed. “Yes, that’s it. Knitting just wasn’t doing it for me anymore.”

“Don’t get smart,” her mother said, the last word lost in a cough.

Lori held the phone away from her face while her mother’s lungs worked a little revenge for decades of chain smoking. After the hacking subsided, she set the phone against her cheek again and said, “You finished?”

“Are you trying to fix him? You can’t fix a man, sweetheart. He is what he is.”

“I’m going to see him, Mom. I’m already here and you’re not talking me out of it.”

She held out the phone and pressed “End.”

——-

Doug sat staring at the wooden table’s unblemished surface. A piece of wood free of carved letters would be a wonder in any normal public meeting space. Where he sat, however, objects capable of such defacement were considered potential weapons.

The incongruity of all those pristine table tops in a place built for society’s most brutal former citizens bothered Doug. His head felt hazy, but very clear was a desire to slash a big “Z” in the table, just for fun.

A jury of his peers — if anybody truly could be called that — were about to find him guilty. Despite the teenagers’ testimony that they had been taken hostage at gunpoint and Doug had saved them, his self-defense argument held no water. The jurors twisted their faces in disgust and horror when the prosecution presented photos of the victim. The prosecutor’s words came back to him.

“The accused stated to bystanders, ‘Now, just point me toward that trigger-happy asshole and you and your mom will get your money’s worth.’ He then ran from a position of relative safety to confront a man witnesses testified had just shot him. He then nearly decapitated the victim like an animal would its prey, a slaughter described in detail by two witnesses and corroborated by police photographs. All this, ladies and gentlemen, constitutes a vengeful act of murder, not self-defense. No matter what the victim allegedly had done that day, we cannot allow the defendant to do his Honor’s job and yours by delivering vigilante justice. The law says that we cannot allow it.”

Doug’s court-appointed attorney had done a fine job, but with so many witnesses and the victim’s blood all over his client, there was only so much doubt he could cast, and none of it very reasonable. The charge of second-degree murder was the best the District Attorney offered, and Doug’s team had jumped at it. He found himself hoping for a miracle

A door at the far end of the room opened. Lori walked through, followed by a guard. She scanned the room and found Doug, then smiled at the guard before working her way down an aisle between tables and chairs identical to Doug’s.

For the first time since he and Lori were so forcefully reunited on the commuter train, Doug noticed her beauty. That, her demeanor, and her wit had caught his attention in a college class 10 years ago, when he and his last serious girlfriend were still together. Shortly before holiday break, his girlfriend dumped him, just days before his 21st birthday.

In his family, it was a coming of age that few people knew about and even fewer understood. He had dreaded it all his life, and he was expected to make a decision: continue as a part of the family or leave it behind and forge ahead completely on his own.

The following semester he had seen Lori walking alone on campus. Unspoken for, he jumped at the chance to go out with her, but when he had to force her out the door before they could watch the sunrise together, he knew he was doomed romantically. He worried that he had accepted his fate hastily, but there was no going back.

One thing he knew for sure: had he not broken his rule about socializing with co-workers, he wouldn’t be in any of this mess.

Now, as Lori pulled out a chair and sat across from him, Doug also knew that he was going to tell her the truth. After all he had put her through then and now, he figured she deserved that much.

(To be continued)

 
Herein are several people whose lives at first do not seem connected. Their paths converge unexpectedly. This is Part Eleven.

Parts: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10|11

Part Eleven

Sitting in the surgery waiting room’s hard plastic chairs, Lori asked herself the question she knew her mother was thinking. Why did she care what happened to Doug? He barely had been a part of her life in the past, and after 10 years of forgetting him, suddenly she practically was forced into the strange world he inhabited. At least most of her friends who had given up their careers for men had fallen for relatively normal guys.

In a haze of determination she still did not understand, Lori had stood near the policeman who guarded Doug’s door, hoping to wear him down into letting her go inside. After her feet got sore without any hint of her plan working, she had given up the first round. Apparently her feminine wiles needed work, and she needed better shoes.

So, there she sat, waiting to see a man who it seemed needed more help than she could give.

A man with a slight, tight-lipped grin approached. He wore tan slacks, a brown and orange paisley tie with a burnt orange shirt, and stood more than six feet tall. He held a small spiral notepad in one hand and pushed dark brown hair from his forehead with the other.

The newcomer sat in the chair attached to the same end table as Lori’s. “Hello, I’m Detective Wallace Davies, Homicide. Is it okay if I ask you ladies a few questions?” He swept his dark brown hair off his forehead.

Nothing about him resembled the casually dressed detectives Lori sometimes assisted back in Ralston. That department didn’t have a separate homicide division, but she doubted that made a difference.

“You need to read us our rights,” said Lori’s mom.

Lori sighed. “Jesus H., Mom. He’s not arresting us.”

“Fine, then you do all the talking. This is your own deal, anyway. I’m not a part of it. And watch your language, young lady.”

“Excuse me, Mrs. Breden, but I believe the victim died in your vehicle,” the detective said.

Lori’s mom pursed her lips, turned her head away, and held out her hand, palm flat and fingers straight.

“That means she’s finished talking, Detective Wallace.”

“That’s Davies.”

“Davy’s what?”

“My name is Wallace Davies.”

“Oh, sorry. To answer your question, yes, it was Mom’s car, but she just came to pick me up at the DART station.”

“Why were you transporting one…” he referred to his notes. “Doug McGruder?”

“He had some kind of attack on the train.”

“So you two were traveling together?”

“No. We just happened to be on the same train. I used to know him back at UHD. I think he had passed out drunk or something.”

“UHD?”

“University of Houston Downtown.”

Wallace wrote in his notebook. His eyelids closed halfway and his mouth gaped open as he drew in two quick breaths. He turned his head quickly and sneezed into the fold of his arm.

“God Bless you,” Lori said.

“Don’t you mean, ‘Jesus H.?’” her mother said.

Lori growled and stood. Why didn’t her mother just leave if she was going to be so difficult? “Detective, can we please go somewhere else to talk?”

“Sure. You want to grab a coffee in the cafeteria?”

——-

Wallace “Wall” Davies sat in The Gourmet Bean, a coffee shop adjacent to the hospital’s cafeteria. A man wearing a blue hospital gown sat at a nearby table, a tube from his arm leading to an intravenous drug bag hanging from a wheeled stand.

“I guess some people just gotta have their coffee,” Wall said.

Across from Wall sat a young woman who looked equal parts frightened and uncertain. He had seen it before. A guy she’s interested in gets wrapped up in a possible murder charge and she’s torn between spilling what she knows or covering up to give him a second chance.

“Detective, I want to tell you everything I know about Doug, but without my mom around. Some of it’s kind of embarrassing.”

Sometimes his first guess was wrong.

“Oh. Okay, Lori. I’m here to hear you.” He almost cringed after he uttered the phrase that one of his superiors had used during interviews. Now that he was the lead, he was doing some of the things he had sworn he never would.

“He told me on the DART this morning that he didn’t have this sensitivity to sunlight when we knew each other, but now that I’ve had time to think about it, things are making sense. Really adding up, you know? I mean, I didn’t think anything about it back in school, and I hadn’t even seen him since then.” She stopped and took a slow sip from her latte, cradling the large mug in both hands.

“I was walking on the sidewalk in front of the student center one night and this guy pulls up in his car. Doug. Out of the blue he says, ‘You doing anything tonight?’ We had a night class together the semester before, and I always thought he was nice and funny, but he had a girlfriend.

“I got in the car with him. He drove us to his duplex and we made out. It was like all of this pent-up attraction came out at once. After we went as far as I would on a first date we just hung out and talked all night.

“Everything was going great, and then he looked at his watch and said it was time for him to take me back to my dorm. Said he didn’t do sunrise on a first date. Too special, or something. After that I didn’t see him again.” She looked down at her latte and swirled the mug, seemingly mesmerized by the taupe liquid’s movement. “I just figured he decided he didn’t like me.”

Wall took another sip of his plain, black coffee. “Did he ever show any signs of being violent? Like he’s capable of what happened this morning?” he said.

“No, not that I saw. But there’s something he said in the car that’s been bothering me. I laughed it off at first, but it’s like all these things I knew about him back then add up with what I know now.”

“What did he say?”

“That he’s a vampire.”

Wall gulped down the rest of his coffee and banged the mug back to the table.

(to be continued)

 
Herein are several people whose lives at first do not seem connected. Their paths converge unexpectedly. This is Part Ten.

Parts: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9|10

Part Ten

Cooper and Hunter ran between the few cars that had straggled into the intersection. Traffic sat still at all four lights. Some motorists honked their horns and yelled for others to get out of the way. “Haven’t you ever seen a wreck before, idiots?” a man shouted.

Not one quite like that, Cooper guessed. At least not the way he and his friend had seen it, anyway.

“That was totally messed up, Coop! That just ain’t right.” Hunter yelled, a frightened edge in his voice that Cooper didn’t recognize coming from him. He stopped in the corner convenience store’s parking lot and leaned over to vomit between his shoes. Rainwater carried it away.

Cooper, unsure whether he was short of breath from exertion or terror, took a moment to slow his breathing. “I know, man.”

“That guy is some kind of monster,” Hunter said and spit repeatedly to clear his mouth. “He ripped his neck apart with his teeth.”

“I’m never going joyriding again. This proves we shouldn’t have done it.”

“So, you think that was some kind of punishment?”

“First we have a crash, then a guy with a gun takes us hostage. But, and this is the kicker, we’re saved by a vampire or whatever the hell that was,” Cooper said.

The boys sat on a curb near a bright yellow, coin-operated machine. On it was a coiled black hose and large black letters spelling, “AIR.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s God’s retribution.”

“You know what that word means?”

“Shut up, Coop. This is no time to be a superior prick.”

“Fine.”

As quickly as it had begun, the rain stopped.

Cooper turned his head and took in the scene. The man who had killed the gunman still lay still under the afghan, but the ladies with him kept their distance. The family from the minivan sat on the sidewalk across the way, caddycorner, and watched what was happening. The hurt guy with them was talking, but he didn’t look so good. The kid wasn’t crying anymore. That helped a little.

A police cruiser pulled into the lot and screeched to a stop so close that Cooper felt the heat from its engine. The officer from the driver’s side bobbled a bullhorn and held it up to his mouth. Squealing feedback echoed off the surrounding buildings. He fiddled with a knob on the device and tried again. “Please, all those involved in the accident, stay where you are. Everybody else, please clear the area.”

His partner, the heavier of the two, lumbered from the passenger’s side and shot the boys a severe look. “Damn, Bennet, try not to hurt yourself with that thing. You already almost ran over these kids.” He then strode stiffly to the center of the intersection, where he directed traffic around the accident victims and damaged cars.

Sirens approached from the left and from behind. Fire trucks, ambulances. Cooper didn’t know. Things that rescue people.

——-

Doug was in pain, but he had felt worse. The storm clouds had moved in at just the right time, so he most likely would survive, but now that his secret was out he wasn’t sure how much of a life that would be. He opened his eyes.

He was in a stark white room without windows, tucked into crisp white sheets on a bed with metal rails. A television, turned off, hung from a hinged metallic arm on the wall. He smelled disinfectants and latex. “Hospital. Shit.”

Doug found and depressed the call button. A nurse skittered in moments later. With a professional yet warm demeanor she wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his left arm and pulled her stethoscope up to her ears. She placed the other end of the stethoscope against the inside of his arm just below the cuff and gave a black rubber bulb several quick squeezes. The cuff tightened.

“Could you please tell me what’s going on?” Doug said.

She held up her index finger indicating for him to wait. The cuff gradually loosened while she concentrated. When it went completely slack she noisily opened it and pulled it off his arm.

“I only know that you were brought here by EMT’s earlier today. We couldn’t make out your blood type so it’s a good thing you didn’t need any. Strangest thing, though. Usually that’s so easy to tell,” she said.

“I’m pretty much a universal recipient.”

Doug considered again her words. “I was injured?” he said. “In the crash?”

“I don’t think so. Turned out we didn’t find any open wounds, so that blood on you wasn’t yours. It’s amazing how fast your skin healed from the burns.”

“What else do you know?” What did any of them know?

“About what happened? Nothing. But, there’s a policeman standing watch outside your door. Probably on account of that blood not being yours. And, a young lady has been asking to see you, but he won’t let her.”

Doug suspected the nurse wasn’t telling him everything. The doctors probably found his blood very unusual and it would be only a matter of time before he was being poked and prodded in ways he preferred not to imagine. If not by doctors, then certainly by the inmates wherever he ended up after his inevitable murder conviction. He hoped maybe he could avoid the latter by claiming his actions were heroic. That would leave him battling only the doctors.

——-

Detective Wallace Davies sat on an orange plastic chair in the surgery waiting room, next to two frightened parents and their toddler son. It was his first homicide case as the lead investigator, and it had started out weird.

“So, Mr. and Mrs. Cody, you don’t know why the victim was allegedly chasing your friend, Blake Leftkowitz?”

“Neighbor,” Mrs. Cody said. “He was just our neighbor. And, please, call me Liz.” She pointed to her husband, who was pinching their son’s nose. “He’s Alex.”

They were sitting in a hospital waiting for him, but he wasn’t a friend? “Okay, your neighbor. Any ideas why someone might come after him?” Davies said.

Alex spoke up. “He demanded that we take him to Defensor. Said Blake could get him inside.”

“Were you aware of the sensitive nature of Mr. Leftkowitz’s job?”

“No. We knew where he worked, but last I heard from him he didn’t have any security clearance yet. Like Liz said, though, we barely knew him,” Alex said.

“But you opened his vehicle door and turned off the headlights and the ignition?”

“I’m a good neighbor and I didn’t want his battery to go dead.”

“But you left the keys in the vehicle?”

“I feel awful about that.”

“Well, if the stories I’ve heard are true, that was the best thing you did all day.”

(to be continued)

 
Herein are several people whose lives at first do not seem connected. Their paths converge unexpectedly. This is Part Nine.

Parts: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8|9

Part Nine

Sharp pain filled Blake’s head and everything on his left side. He hoped that they were out of danger now, after he had dragged them into his problem. The man who had carjacked them, flanked by two teenaged boys who had emerged from Blake’s Endeavor, stood with his back to Blake. He spoke to two women who assisted a figure enshrouded in a colorful, handmade blanket. The latter three had climbed out of the Toyota Matrix that had struck the minivan head-on.

Thunder provided an aural reminder of a storm’s impending arrival. Darker clouds rolled in and blotted out the sun.

Blake lay on the sidewalk next to little Reid, who still sat strapped into his car seat while his parents attended to him. His crying had stopped. Alex whispered something to Elizabeth and then sat down next to Blake.

“How are you?” Alex said.

“At least as bad as I look,” Blake said, pain shooting through his head with each word.

“No comment. Help should be on the way soon, man. Just keep talking to me.”

“‘Just keep talking?’ Damn, I must look worse than I feel.”

The man who had shot at him got more animated with each moment that he talked to the ladies and Blanket Mummy.

“Probably. So, what do you think they’re talking about? And why is that guy wrapped in an afghan?”

“No idea. I wish we could help them.”

“Well, you can’t, but I could,” Alex said.

“Don’t even think about it. I don’t want Reid losing his daddy because of me.”

“Where’s a damn ambulance?” Alex said to nobody in particular and stomped his heel on the sidewalk.

“Do we even know for sure that someone has called this in?” Elizabeth said.

“I’d be surprised if there’s a person at this intersection who hasn’t,” Blake said.

He lay there wondering if what he suspected could really be true. “You know, I think that’s my truck that hit us,” he said.

“What?” Alex said, then turned to look. “Oh, God, I feel terrible.”

“Why?” Blake said.

“Before we left I noticed that the keys were in it and I just left them there. I checked to see if you were home, though.” He looked at Blake, then at Reid. “This is all my fault.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Blake pointed at the odd group in the intersection. “He’s the reason my keys were still in the truck. I just finished cleaning it up and raising the windows when he took a gun to me.”

“That’s so scary. What did he want?” Elizabeth said.

Alex gently pinched Reid’s nose. The boy laughed. “If it’s none of our business, just say so,” he said.

“That’s fine. Actually, I –” Blake began.

“Hey, something’s happening,” Elizabeth said.

Blanket Mummy almost fell, but stayed on his feet thanks to his helpers. The gunman and the two teens walked quickly toward the Toyota Matrix.

——-

Lori and her mother tried to restrain Doug as he struggled to follow his attacker. He pulled free of them, afghan trailing on the street. He worked free of it as he walked, then ran toward her mom’s car. The yarn’s bright colors piled onto the asphalt just as the first raindrops fell.

“Doug, stop!” Lori called.

“If he wants to get himself killed, then let him. We did all we could,” Lori’s mother said.

In a weird moment, Lori wondered if her late grandmother, who had passed down her knitting skills, was looking down to see her legacy lying on the wet, dirty pavement. The rain poured now.

The Toyota’s starter turned over but the engine did not respond. Doug reached the car and entered through a back door. Lori could not see what happened next, but she never would forget the screaming. Although the man cried out only once and very briefly, the teens shrieked in horrified shock as they escaped the car and splashed their way through traffic to the nearest corner.

Doug burst from the car and bolted toward the afghan, emitting a sustained primal yell all the way. Blood covered his chin and the front of his shirt. He put the soaked afghan over his head and collapsed on the glossy black street.

Although Lori’s instinct to run and help was strong, instead she and her mother stepped back several paces. Doug McGruder had changed a lot since college. Lori felt her socks getting squishy.

(to be continued)

 
Herein are several people whose lives at first do not seem connected. Their paths converge unexpectedly. This is Part Eight.

Parts: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8

Part Eight

“Oh, God. Mouse,” Blake said. His faithful canine companion of 10 years lay still on the minivan’s floor.

Pain ran up Blake’s left side, from his feet to his head. He couldn’t see out of his left eye, and the world was blurry. Two white blobs, presumably airbags, blocked his view out the front. He gingerly touched his ribs on his left side and, after nearly passing out from the pain, looked at his blood-smeared fingertips. To avoid hurting more, he ignored the urge to move his left leg or arm.

Two-year-old Reid wailed, “Mommy!” between tearful sobs.

“It’s okay, baby. Everything’s… gonna be all right,” Liz sang from the front passenger’s seat. She seemed to be working to free herself from her seatbelt.

Still not convinced, Reid kept crying.

Alex unbuckled his seatbelt and worked to open his door. “Hush little baby, don’t you cry. Daddy’s gonna sing you a lullaby,” he sang. He continued his struggle and the song as the child’s cries grew louder.

Doug turned enough to see whether he still was being held at gunpoint. The man who moments before had shot at him lay motionless and face-up against the back of Blake’s and Reid’s seats, cradled by a cushy bed of trash bags filled with clothing, stuffed animals, and toys. Blake slowly reached out his right hand and pushed on the man’s chest. Somewhere below a high-pitched, badly sampled voice enthusiastically called out, “I love you.” The man didn’t move.

Between Reid’s squalls came the sound of a grown man screaming, but it wasn’t anyone in the minivan. Somebody in one of the other involved vehicles was wide awake and suffering.

Liz finally escaped her seatbelt and crawled over the console to her son. She stroked his head and said, “There, there, sweetie,” in soothing tones.

Someone outside the van shoved the rear passenger door open along its track. It was Alex. “Leave him in his seat,” he said.

“But he needs us,” Liz said.

“He might be hurt. It’s best to just take his car seat out with him still in it.”

Liz released the belt holding the boy’s seat and Alex deftly lifted Reid out the door. She followed them.

“Here, take him. I’m going to see about Blake,” Alex said.

Elated that he was no longer a hostage, Blake lifted his right arm just enough to give a thumbs-up. Then everything went black.

——-

Just like in his nightmare in the church, Doug felt the flesh on his legs was on fire. He screamed at first, then ratcheted it down behind clenched teeth. His head and arms still were covered and he was slumped face-down over something hard. A dull ache started building behind his forehead.

“Mom? Doug?” Lori called, from Doug’s left.

Lori’s mother groaned from the right. “Is everybody okay?” she said.

“No, my legs,” Doug moaned. “Uncovered.”

He felt two hard objects dig into his back, and then the excruciating burning sensation on his legs gave way to the pain of after effects. The two objects (elbows?) lifted from his back.

“There. Better?” Lori said.

“Yes, thanks,” Doug said. “What did we hit? A Mac truck?”

“Minivan,” Lori said.

“My face hurts,” Lori’s mother said. “Better than hitting the windshield, I guess.”

“Let’s get out of the car,” Lori said.

Doug vowed never to risk getting caught in daylight again, and to avoid drunken nights with people who didn’t know his condition.

——-

“Come on, Coop, we gotta check on the people in the van,” said Hunter.

Cooper stood, leaning over with his hands on his thighs. He thought he was going to be sick. “I can’t believe you hit them. You weren’t even watching where you were going,” he said.

“I already saw some of them get out. They’re probably fine.”

The two teens waited for a clearing between passing cars and then ran over to the minivan. As they approached Coop saw the driver’s side had taken heavy damage, especially above and behind the rear wheel. The large window above the wheel was gone, but there was barely any glass on the road below. Confused, Cooper forgot about it when he saw the man seated inside.

He sat bloodied and in a daze while a man on the passenger’s side of the van urged him to get up.

“Blake, we have to go. He could wake up any minute. Come on.”

Bloody Blake moved slowly toward the door to take the other man’s outstretched hand.

Who could wake up? “Oh, shit, look,” Cooper said, pointing to an unconscious man sprawled out in the back. “That guy needs help.” The man opened his eyes and with great effort turned his head to look at him.

Cooper and Hunter dashed around the van and started to squeeze past the two men.

“Stay away from him. He’s dangerous,” said the man helping Bloody Blake.

“Bump that, man. I feel bad enough. I’m not about to let that guy die in there,” Hunter said.

Both his arms assisting his friend, the man had no way to stop them, and made no attempt. “Just, please, stay away and let the authorities handle him.”

“Whatever, dude,” Hunter said as he and Cooper ducked inside.

“You boys are my saviors,” said the man they had come to rescue. “Take me to your vehicle and drive me away from here.”

“Sorry, but our ride’s out of commission,” Hunter said. “Besides, don’t you need a hospital or something?”

“No, no doctors. No police.”

Cooper and Hunter kneeled to allow the man to throw an arm over each boy’s shoulders. They hauled him to the door and stood, then set him down on the floor with his legs dangling. He pulled out a gun, careful to keep it concealed between his legs.

“Easy, man. We just came to see if you’re okay. We don’t even know these people,” Hunter said. “Right, Coop?”

“Right.” Cooper said and looked back to find if somebody was watching.

“As I said before, you two will take me away from here. I don’t care which vehicle you use, but we can’t stay for the rest of this party.”

Cooper thought he must be having a nightmare. He was even more sure of it when from a smashed Toyota emerged a person wrapped in a brightly colored afghan, escorted by two women.

——-

“Mom, you’ve got to hold it shut or he’ll burn,” Lori said. Already angry at herself for following too closely while driving, she was taking her frustration out on her mother.

They pulled Doug from the car and guided him while trying to keep the afghan light-tight.

“Don’t scold me. I came to pick you up at the station and then all this happens. I’m beginning to hope I’m still at home in bed, dreaming all of this.”

“Sorry, ma’am. I didn’t mean to cause you trouble,” Doug said from behind his yarn veil.

“Vampires, men with guns. I think I’m losing it,” Lori’s mother said.

“He’s not a vampire, mother.”

“Umm — ” Doug began.

“Hey, lady, does your car run? This guy’s hurt real bad and we need to rush him to a hospital,” said one of two approaching teenagers with a man following close behind.

“The EMT’s should be here soon,” Lori’s mother said.

“He can’t wait.”

“You’re not taking her car,” Lori said. “You’ll have to wait like everybody else.”

“I don’t think you understand how important this is,” said the other boy.

“Kiss off,” said Lori’s mother. “My day’s already turned to shit and I’m not letting you take my car.”

Doug laughed.

The man with the boys flashed a gun and fired twice, with a sound not exactly like Hollywood’s guns with silencers, but similar enough that Lori knew what had happened. He tucked the gun away just as quickly.

Doug slouched. Lori and her mother caught him before he hit the ground. They strained to stand upright.

“Now ladies,” the man said. “Do we understand the urgency?”

“Oh my God. You just… oh my God. Doug!” Lori shrieked.

“Shut up now or someone else gets hurt,” the gunman said calmly.

Lori sobbed. Her mother stood still, apparently in shock, but held onto Doug.

“They keys are in it,” Lori said.

The man prodded the boys and made his way behind them to the Toyota. She tried not to think of what would happen if it didn’t start.

“Doug, can you hear me?” Lori said.

“Yes,” he whispered back.

“Help should be coming.”

“I’m fine. Well, except for these third-degree burns from the sun. Now, just point me toward that trigger-happy asshole and you and your mom will get your money’s worth. Be ready with the blanket, though.”

(to be continued)

 
Herein are several people whose lives at first do not seem connected. Their paths converge unexpectedly. This is Part Seven.

Parts: 1|2|3|4|5|6|7

Part Seven

Cooper sat in the passenger seat of the “borrowed” Mitsubishi Endeavor. His lifelong friend Hunter drove. This was the craziest thing they had done, but denying it was fun would be lying to himself.

“Donuts, here we come!” Hunter said.

“And then the Comic Con, right?” Cooper said.

“What?”

“Star Wars Fan Days Two. It’s free.”

“Coop, we’re not going to a sci-fi geek-out today. Going and parking this thing kind of defeats the purpose.”

Defeated was exactly how Cooper felt. Why had he gone along on this ride in the first place? “Wasn’t it kind of dumb to take a car from our own neighborhood? How are we going to get it back without anybody noticing?”

Hunter sighed. “Coop, Coop, Coop. How many times have you heard of joyriders taking the car back to where they found it?”

“None.”

“Exactly. Now relax and get out your cash for donuts.”

“I didn’t bring any cash,” Cooper said.

“Shit, man. I guess I have to handle everything.” Hunter opened the console between the front seats and looked inside. “Aha.”

“What?”

“He’s got one of those coin organizer things built in. Must be at least three dollars here.”

Cooper looked up in time to see a red light for their lane.

“Hunter! Stop!”

——-

Blake sat in the middle row of the minivan’s seats, his dog Mouse on his lap. Behind him sat a man he did not know, holding a gun and telling everyone what to do. His only idea for situations like this — running — was out, so although he had no relationship with God to speak of, he did what came naturally.

Blake prayed. He asked God to protect not only him but the family who had stopped to help. Although he had lived next door to them for nearly a year, he had not bothered to get to know them. After finishing he opened his eyes and looked over at Reid, Liz and Alex’s two-year-old son, strapped into the seat next to his. The toddler had stopped crying, but tears still streaked his face.

“You will drive me to Defensor,” said their captor.

“Just let them go, please,” Blake said. “They don’t work with me. They don’t know anything.”

The man in the back pulled a children’s toy from a trash bag and waved it in front of Reid, who happily squeezed it. The toy bleeped and blooped and blinked red lights. “If they cooperate, they will not be harmed. The actions of individuals today will be irrelevant once I have carried out my mission.”

“I don’t know why you think I can help you. I don’t even have level five clearance yet,” Blake said.

“No, but you can get me in the building, Leftkowitz. Once I am inside, I have other methods to get what I need.” Then, to Reid, “That’s a good boy.”

“Alex, Liz. I’m sorry for getting you involved,” Blake said.

“How sweet,” said the man. “Somebody’s bucking for the Neighbor of the Year award.”

Still aiming the gun at Blake with his left hand, the man continued playfully shaking the noisy toy near Reid’s outstretched hands. The little boy’s tiny fingers batted at it, just short of satisfaction.

Alex turned around in the driver’s seat. “Leave our son alone,” he said firmly.

Blake noticed movement out of the corner of his left eye and turned to look. He was dumbfounded to see his own SUV run the red light and head straight for his side of the van.

——-

Lori’s mother climbed out of her blue Toyota Matrix to greet them. She looked puzzled.

“I’ll tell you when we get in the car,” Lori said. “We have to keep him covered.”

The two women Lori believed were suburban prostitutes smiled at her mother as they approached the car holding up loose ends of the afghan. Her mother held open the back door while Lori and her newfound friends worked to tuck Doug safely into the backseat. Once the enshrouded Doug was seated, Lori closed the door.

“Thank you, ladies. You’ve been very kind,” Lori said.

The two women turned on their high heels and clopped their way to their respective vehicles. Lori wondered what their haul was from the night before.

“What’s going on, honey?” her mother asked. “Are you all right?”

“Yes, Mom. I’m fine. It’s Doug I’m worried about.”

“I’ll be fine,” Doug said, his voice muffled behind the tightly woven yarn.

Lori, who preferred not to have her mother behind the wheel, settled into the driver’s seat and smiled as she pulled out into downtown Plano traffic. “We’ll get you to whatever help you need for your… um…” she trailed off.

“I know you’re probably wondering,” Doug said. “So I’ll just come out and tell you. I am a vampire and if it weren’t day time you both would be my unwitting concubines by now.”

“Very funny, Doug. That is one thing I remember about you,” Lori said. “So, Count Dracula, how do you make a living?”

“I barely have to anymore. I have a free place to live by way of a dead uncle. At my job I work hours that don’t require me to go out while the sun’s up. Count Dracula’s a myth, by the way. We real vampires don’t take much to tales about him.”

“You still didn’t tell me what kind of work you do.”

“I’m a web designer,” Doug said.

“Which plays right into your need to work weird hours.”

“Precisely. You’re as smart as you were back in college. I look forward to biting your neck.”

Lori’s mom looked worried. “Don’t be scared of this guy, Mom. He always loved a good joke.”

“That’s not what’s bothering me,” her mom said. “Look.” She pointed to a minivan directly ahead as it approached an intersection.

Lori looked. She saw a man in the back of the van, apparently sitting atop full garbage bags, and in front of him were three more adults and a toddler. “Looks like a normal family ride to me,” she said.

“That man in the back. I think I saw him wave a gun,” her mom said.

A gray SUV plowed into the minivan’s back left corner, spinning it to face Lori, then struck another SUV and stopped.

Lori swerved to miss the wreckage, but caromed off a car in the adjacent lane and smashed head-on into the minivan’s grill.

(to be continued)