Leelee, the ‘V’ in her forehead just grew deeper and deeper until it looked like you could shove a dime in there and lose it forever. “It’s just a thing, a temporary my pee looks like cranberry juice thing,” Kayla said, fetching her last cigarette from her pocket.
She popped the Virginia Slim between her lips like a lollipop. Her father quickly grabbed at it—she was too slow to lean back, and he snagged it. Then he flicked it into the lake where fish promptly began to nibble at it; it twitched and hopped like a bobber.
“ Dad ,” she said. “That was my last smoke.”
“Last smoke is right. You’re done with that shit. You’re not healthy, and sick little girls should not smoke cigarettes.” Before she could protest, he continued—more firmly this time, thrusting his finger up into her face. “You’re also done with this delusion about what’s going to happen tonight. We’re not waiting around for that mean crazy sonofabitch to come back.”
Kayla sneered. “I’m not a little girl. I’m fifteen years old. And he is a vampire. Mean and crazy, maybe. But he’s a vampire. You can say that word.”
“What I can say is that he was some nut-ball cannibal cranked to the gills on methamphetamines or horse tranquilizers or some-such. We can only hope that he didn’t have some kind of other disease before he decided to bite into Ebbie like he was a tube of summer sausage. Last thing we need is Ebbie getting Hep-A or something. We don’t have the means to deal with that.” Just six months ago or so, Ebbie got an infection from a cut on his calf—the skin turned red and dark tendrils spread out underneath the skin looking like earthworms under dirt. Leelee said it was blood poisoning, and that they were lucky to find some antibiotics in the medicine cabinet of an abandoned house or Ebbie would’ve been a goner. Didn’t help that Leelee discovered the big guy had diabetes (though Ebbie strongly disagreed with that diagnosis and made no effort to confirm it). “Ebbie’s already laid low today, thanks to that monster.”
“Ebbie’s going to be fine,” she said. “Besides, he could stand to lose some water weight.”
Again with the finger in her face. She felt a stab of guilt in her heart because she knew what was coming: “Abner could’ve been killed last night. And there you were cozying up to the one that almost put him in the grave. If we had it your way, he’d be stuck on a spit somewhere. We might all be. Hell, your buddy from last night damn near collapsed my throat.” He craned his neck, showed her his own bruises—mottled shadows from where the rifle pressed. “You should be ashamed of yourself, little girl.”
Leelee offered a steadying hand and gently eased Gil’s finger and hand back toward the rifle. “It’ll all be okay.”
Kayla tightened her lips. She wanted to say she was sorry, wanted to tell her father and Leelee that it would all be okay, that she dreamt about how it would be all okay in the end—but she felt angry inside, a storm of broken feelings like a tower of teacups pushed over so they shatter.
“You shouldn’t talk to me that way,” was what she said instead, her words betraying her feelings—or was it the other way around? “Tonight, he’s coming back here no matter what you say. That’s just the way it’s going to be. We’re going to give him what he wants so he helps us get out to California. You don’t like it? Too damn bad, Daddy. Because if you really believe I’m so special like you keep staying, then you don’t want me doing something rash, do you? Running off by my lonesome? Maybe taking a big old fistful of Tylenol and Advil and swallowing it down with a gulp of Cecelia’s vodka? You think I’m so special, then it’s time to start doing things my way.”
The anger came out of her like fluid from a lanced blister. Her father, rarely a man to wear his emotions on his sleeve, looked taken aback. He tried to say something, but she
She popped the Virginia Slim between her lips like a lollipop. Her father quickly grabbed at it—she was too slow to lean back, and he snagged it. Then he flicked it into the lake where fish promptly began to nibble at it; it twitched and hopped like a bobber.
“ Dad ,” she said. “That was my last smoke.”
“Last smoke is right. You’re done with that shit. You’re not healthy, and sick little girls should not smoke cigarettes.” Before she could protest, he continued—more firmly this time, thrusting his finger up into her face. “You’re also done with this delusion about what’s going to happen tonight. We’re not waiting around for that mean crazy sonofabitch to come back.”
Kayla sneered. “I’m not a little girl. I’m fifteen years old. And he is a vampire. Mean and crazy, maybe. But he’s a vampire. You can say that word.”
“What I can say is that he was some nut-ball cannibal cranked to the gills on methamphetamines or horse tranquilizers or some-such. We can only hope that he didn’t have some kind of other disease before he decided to bite into Ebbie like he was a tube of summer sausage. Last thing we need is Ebbie getting Hep-A or something. We don’t have the means to deal with that.” Just six months ago or so, Ebbie got an infection from a cut on his calf—the skin turned red and dark tendrils spread out underneath the skin looking like earthworms under dirt. Leelee said it was blood poisoning, and that they were lucky to find some antibiotics in the medicine cabinet of an abandoned house or Ebbie would’ve been a goner. Didn’t help that Leelee discovered the big guy had diabetes (though Ebbie strongly disagreed with that diagnosis and made no effort to confirm it). “Ebbie’s already laid low today, thanks to that monster.”
“Ebbie’s going to be fine,” she said. “Besides, he could stand to lose some water weight.”
Again with the finger in her face. She felt a stab of guilt in her heart because she knew what was coming: “Abner could’ve been killed last night. And there you were cozying up to the one that almost put him in the grave. If we had it your way, he’d be stuck on a spit somewhere. We might all be. Hell, your buddy from last night damn near collapsed my throat.” He craned his neck, showed her his own bruises—mottled shadows from where the rifle pressed. “You should be ashamed of yourself, little girl.”
Leelee offered a steadying hand and gently eased Gil’s finger and hand back toward the rifle. “It’ll all be okay.”
Kayla tightened her lips. She wanted to say she was sorry, wanted to tell her father and Leelee that it would all be okay, that she dreamt about how it would be all okay in the end—but she felt angry inside, a storm of broken feelings like a tower of teacups pushed over so they shatter.
“You shouldn’t talk to me that way,” was what she said instead, her words betraying her feelings—or was it the other way around? “Tonight, he’s coming back here no matter what you say. That’s just the way it’s going to be. We’re going to give him what he wants so he helps us get out to California. You don’t like it? Too damn bad, Daddy. Because if you really believe I’m so special like you keep staying, then you don’t want me doing something rash, do you? Running off by my lonesome? Maybe taking a big old fistful of Tylenol and Advil and swallowing it down with a gulp of Cecelia’s vodka? You think I’m so special, then it’s time to start doing things my way.”
The anger came out of her like fluid from a lanced blister. Her father, rarely a man to wear his emotions on his sleeve, looked taken aback. He tried to say something, but she
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