Undesirable Chapter 27
TITLE: Undesirable (A vampire novel)
RATING: NC-17 (This chapter PG-13)
SUMMARY: Thus begins the most miserable day of George's life.
Word Count: 6730
Chapter 27
I woke with a start to the smell of frying bacon. Sitting up, I looked around and saw that I was lying in a bright orange sleeping bag in the middle of someone's living room floor.
Morning light came in through a set of floor to ceiling picture windows. Outside, beyond a wide wooden deck, was a beautiful view of a shallow valley filled and beyond that a line of snow crested mountains. Two feet away Wally yawned and absently reached out a stretched arm, hitting the runner of a nearby rocking chair and causing it to creak forward. His entire body jerked with surprise, he stared at the chair, then around the room, then finally over to me.
"Morning?" he said in a way that meant, Where the fuck are we now?
"Morning." Fucked if I know. At least we weren't paper bagged anymore.
I crawled out of the sleeping bag and stretched. My spine cracked and snapped in an alarming way. My eyes canvassed the room, looking for clues to where we were. Not a hotel for certain. The room was very clean and rustic, with hand made quilts covering the furniture and the walls, and a large quilting frame set up in the corner. Searching my memory, I had only the vaguest recollection of arriving at this house, sometime in what must have been the small hours of the night. Dimly, I recalled some old lady leading the way to the sleeping bags and I think I'd crawled in and passed out again without so much as thanking her. That had been rude of me.
After a quick trip to the toilet off the back of the room, I was distracted by a slight clatter and some conversation going on down the hall. I wandered in that direction, padding down the hall in my stocking feet, driven partially by curiosity, partially by hunger. There were good smells coming from that direction.
"That was delicious," I heard Chuck say. "No, I'm stuffed, save it for the boys."
I gingerly opened a door at the end of the hall and entered into a light and airy looking kitchen. Chuck was pushing back a plate with the remnants of scrambled eggs on it while an elderly woman in blue polyester pants slid a panful of bacon onto a platter with careful taps of a spatula.
"Oh, there's timing. Look they are awake." Chuck turned in his seat to give me a warm smile. He looked tried but relaxed. Evidentially nothing too horrible had happened in the night. "Did you sleep alright?"
"I slept fine," I said. "Did you get any sleep at all?"
"Not a wink," said Chuck, grinning as if it were a joke. "I've been monopolizing our host's phone line all night. I don't know how she lives with dial up."
"Very easily, since I don't own a computer! I'm very low tech. My daughter was trying to get me to buy a cell phone, but what's the point, there's no reception." The woman at the stove wiped her hands quickly on a towel and held one out to shake. "Hi there, by the way, I'm Ruth, an old, old friend of Chuck's." Her skin was crinkled and creased in that papery way typical of a person past 70, but her bones looked strong. She had dolled herself up with a trace of make-up around the eyes and I could still see a bit of the prettiness that she must have had in the past.
"Hi," I said and took her hand, which was surprisingly rough and firm gripped. "Thanks for letting us crash at your place."
"No problem. A bit of a surprise, I don't get visitors that often up here. But I'm always happy to see Chuck. What's it been," she said, turning to him. "Three years since you last visited?"
"Kendra was living with you last time," said Chuck.
"Oh, my, that'd be closer to eight years then. Time goes so fast."
"How's her Patron treating her?"
"Really well, in fact he retired her early four years ago. She and her husband have a baby and they are expecting another in September. Thought for a bit I'd never have grandchildren." She transferred three strips of bacon onto a plate and held it out to me, "You aren't a vegetarian are you?"
"No, ma'am."
"Good. Had to entertain one of those a couple of years back and I couldn't find a thing to feed the poor waif. Now, how do you like your eggs then. I can do them any way you like so long as it's sunny side up or scrambled. My wrists don't flip a pan like they used to. And hello to you, too!" she said brightly as Wally entered the kitchen. "Same for you. I'm making eggs and the bacon's already done."
"I'll get this washed up for you," said Chuck taking his plate to the sink. A few minutes later Wally and I were tucking in while Chuck and Ruth cleaned up and gossiped about people I didn't know. They seemed oddly intimate. I could have sworn Chuck was flirting with her, and I didn't have to imagine that Ruth was flirting back. I was torn between the normal disgust that comes when contemplating sex in the older generation, and a bit of admiration at Ruth's cougar daring.
"So I hear you all are going to Portland," said Ruth over the roar of the sink water. "I love that place. Lived there for forty years out in Ceder Mill. You are from Beaverton?" We nodded. "Kendra went to Sunset High, but she's quite a bit older than you, so I imagine you never met her."
"Wouldn't have anyway," I said. "I went to Oregon City."
"Aloha High," said Wally.
"Aloha! That's actually where I first met Chuck. He used to live out in Aloha for a time. That was his haunt. You still there?" she asked.
Chuck was drying his hands. "I'm not really anywhere these days, Ruth."
"Chuck's an Oregonian, too, so you picked the right guy to help you get back home." Ruth swooped in to take our plates before we had a chance to lift a hand to help. "I've known Chuck since before the war, would you believe. Long time."
"Long time," agreed Chuck but his smile had slipped a bit.
Ruth looked a little confused for a moment, then shrugged. "Well in any case. I'm letting Chuck borrow the Taurus. And I'm using 'borrow' in the loosest possible way, I don't care if you bring it back. Donate it. Toss it off a cliff. It's all good to me. He went out there this morning and managed to start it, so that's good. It's old, but it's reliable. It may need a new battery though, so beware of that. I keep some jumper cables in the trunk just in case. Oh, and the tires are a bit bald so watch it if it's raining. You might also want to check the oil when you get gas, not that I think it's leaking, but just as a good idea. The transmission can be a bit rough at times so be gentle accelerating on hills." She paused. "The brakes are sound. Mostly."
"Won't you need your car?" Wally asked.
Ruth laughed. "Oh no, I'll use the truck. I've been meaning to get rid of the Taurus since Jed died, but somehow it just hasn't happened. Damn thing isn't worth anything and it's too expensive to tow it anywhere. So, no it's yours."
"We are going to be doing things a bit on the sly here," said Chuck to us. "Because none of us can pass for Ruth and my hacker is still trying to run down the ID tracker for her car."
"I have no idea what its number is," said Ruth. "I'm sorry. I've never had to keep track of that sort of thing."
"It's alright," said Chuck. "My guy will know it as soon as we've gone through a gate. I just need to be somewhere where my cell phone works so I can tell him the time and place. But until then, we are really going to need to be careful not to run into any police. To be truthful, this makes me really nervous."
"You run things all the time," said Wally.
"Even if Ruth is giving this car to us, until the papers are filed, it is still technically theft in the eyes of the law. And human law is not like running afoul of vampires. Vampires are a synch, they forget, they can be reasoned with, or bargained. Human law does not forget about things, it's relentless. It'll bite me in the ass years from now." He gave a little ironic chuckle. "You know, guys. When it comes to my business, I'm far more frightened of humans than I am of vampires."
"Go team human," I rahed.
"Yeah, really," Chuck shook his head and looked suddenly grim. "I've got us a place to spend the night near Pendleton. From there it's just a few hours drive into Portland Protectorate."
Wally frowned. "If we are where I think we are, we could probably make Portland in one push. It would be a long drive but definitely doable."
"No. You boys still need to make your decision, and I need to do work." Chuck layed out the map across the end of the kitchen table and Wally and I got up to look at it. The red line was all over the place, randomly jogging East at times South at others. I looked like a route a 5 year old might plot out. "Anyway, I think this leg's going to be longer than you think as it is."
"No kidding," said Wally. "Why?"
"Just being damn careful. We can't afford another Salt Lake City. Our best bet is to keep off the main thoroughfares as much as possible. Vampires can't set up traps everywhere."
Ruth was already putting waxed paper bundles into the familiar blue cooler. "I don't drink soda, but I have quite a bit of bottled water. I hope that will be adequate."
"Absolutely fine," said Chuck. "You have enough food to tide the boys past dinner time."
"Unless they have bigger appetites than my son in law, which from the size of them isn't likely."
"Then we better be heading out." Chuck gave Ruth a quick kiss on the cheek and hefted the cooler. We followed Chuck through the kitchen door to the large wooden deck. The air was very crisp and clean and earthy. There was a shaft of sunlight breaking free of the cloud cover and hitting a distant hill in a painting-perfect display. Feeling uplifted by the scenery and the breakfast, I was pretty pumped by the idea of getting on the road again.
We followed Chuck down a flight of stairs to a garage tucked into the hillside under the house. In there was nice looking late model Ford 150 which made me smile and a twenty year old, faded black Taurus that took the smile right off again. It was a homely looking piece of metal. I noticed pockets of rust around the wheel wells and a dent in the back bumper where Ruth must have tapped a post. Chuck put the cooler in the trunk, where I noticed our sack of clothes had also been stowed. Any desperate hope that this wasn't the vehicle we'd be taking for our next multi-hour drive was dashed.
"So… who wants to drive first?" Chuck asked.
I've driven many cars in my life. Practical cars like my parents Civic. SUVs when work took me someplace last minute and all the cheap cars were already rented out. I've driven trucks and sports cars and, thanks to Chuck, a hybrid. The Townie had been quite an experience. But none of those cars presented nearly the adventure that Ruth's Taurus did. The thing was an absolute nightmare.
It hated hills with a passion, making noises that made me think the transmission was going to physically drop out the bottom of the car onto the road. It didn't like to idle at lights. Its tires spun every time it hit a soft spot. It noticeably pulled to the left. And it smelled. In some ways that was the worst. As spotless as Ruth had kept it, she hadn't been able to stop it from having a mildewy odor. By hour three I had a headache that lasted the entire rest of the trip. I went from thinking that Ruth had done us a nice favor to wondering if Ruth was nursing some deep seated resentment against Chuck.
We managed as best we could. I solved the left leaning problem by putting more air in the tires at the same stop that Chuck installed a new battery and Wally pumped some fresh gas into the tank. We each coped in our own way: me by swearing and complaining. Wally by being silent and broody. But even Mr. Positive had serious problems with the vehicle.
Chuck seemed to consider it to be his job - and no one else's -- to make sure the stupid car ran smoothly and several times insisted we pull over so he could tinker about pointlessly under the hood. He was deaf to second opinions and irritable if we even approached him while he was leaning over the engine. Wally and I gave up after the second stop and simply hung around stewing and staring at traffic for ten or fifteen or however many minutes it took before Chuck figured he'd fondled the car guts enough. It was a pure waste of time: we didn't have any proper tools, and in any case, nothing short of a week in the shop was going to make the thing "reliable". Ruth's car was a hunk of junk and a surly one at that.
"Stay in the car," Chuck snapped at us as he stomped out of the vehicle. "I'm going to check the transmission fluids."
"Christ, not again," said Wally under his breath, and covered his face with both his hands.
"Leave it!" I called out to Chuck. "Just leave it. It's not the transmission fluid."
"It's something."
"Yeah, It needs a rebuild!" I opened the door carefully, checking to make sure that there wasn't a car coming up on me, and stepped out around the car to see what the hell he was doing this time. "You already checked this Chuck."
Chuck looked terrible. Pale and sweaty and exhausted. "I told you to stay in the car," he said replacing the ATF dipstick.
"Are you okay," I asked him. "You look like you are getting sick."
"I'm just tired." Chuck looked up at the hot, naked sun as if it were somehow offensive to him. The morning clouds had burned off long ago and it looked like it was going to be a nice day. "Fuck this. I'm exhausted. I'm taking a nap."
"About time," murmured Wally softly to me as Chuck threw himself into the back of the car and I took his place behind the wheel. I just shook my head. Maybe now we'd make some headway. Half the day was gone and we'd barely put a hundred miles behind us.
Unfortunately, Chuck clearly didn't find the duct taped back seat nearly as comfortable as the Prius's and his sleep was fitful. He woke every fifteen minutes when the Taurus backfired or issued one of the thousand other random unhappy noises it made. Every single time he demanded to know where we were on the map. We'd tell him, then he then humphed in a cartoonish way and went back to sleep. Wally at least found him funny, but I couldn't laugh.
I was too worried about the insane route Chuck had chosen for us.
Because, while all this was going on, we were driving through some of the most desolate and lonely territory we'd come across the whole trip - and I'm including Wyoming here. Half the routes were nothing more than single lane paved roads, and more than a few weren't even paved. My hands were sweating and numb from the vibrating wheel. My lower back twinged from being jarred by the poor suspension. There was no here, here. Just endless, tumbleweed dotted nothing, with a smidge of painted desert in the distance. If we were lucky, we saw one of those weird circular irrigated patches, and knew that there was some civilization out there somewhere.
Christ, I knew we were trying to avoid population centers, but this was just insane. Absolutely batshit insane.
Oh baby, don't break down on me now, I thought when the car bottomed out on a pothole.
"Where are we?" came Chuck's gruff voice.
"Somewhere North of Highway 24 - still," replied Wally.
"This is crazy," I said to Chuck. "The car can't take this route." In the far distance I could barely see the highway paralleling us. Cars like little dots whizzed along at 80 miles an hour, while we were stuck doing twenty on a dirt road covered with, oh fuck this ATV tracks. What the hell was Chuck having us do here? We were still channeled back through the gates when we came to them. Which was rare. These rural protectorates were massive.
"Wanna go turn yourself in to nearest police station? Fine by me." He rolled over and went back to sleep with his arm over his eyes.
Oh Goddamn it. That's it. Fuck this noise.
I gave Wally a look. Then at the next unmarked intersection, I turned the wheel of the car and took us off the red lined route and back to the paved highway again. Maybe I was risking getting caught by vampires, but that was better than risking being stranded in this god forsaken desert. If Ruth's Taurus broke, our next ride would certainly to be in the back of a police cruiser. Wally didn't say a thing. We both sighed with relief when the wheels blissfully met pavement again.
Whatever Chuck thought would be wrong with the main highway wasn't. For the next six hours we didn't see so much as a state police cruiser, much less a Salt Lake style drunk trap. Either the vampires hadn't figured out this leg of our route, or maybe, the ones around here just didn't care to get a piece of me. Salt Lake City was looking more and more like a fluke with every steel trussed gate we calmly drove through.
And Chuck actually got some needed sleep, which saved everyone's sanity.
Even as one headache resolved another raised its head. Today was the first truly warm day I'd experienced since I went on the run nearly 2 weeks ago. There had been no sign of a cloud for hours and the sun shone down, bright and pitiless in a bald sky. The ground around us seemed to pick up the heat and throw it back. Naturally, the Taurus did not have air conditioning. Of course not.
"Bah!" I said and peeled my designer long sleeved shirt off my body. I immediately felt a shock of coolness as the air from the window buffeted my sweaty chest and arms. Offhandedly I tossed the disgusting shirt behind me into the back seat.
"Geo!" rebuffed Wally, and took his eyes away from the road long enough to glance back. "Christ, man."
Oh shit, I'd forgotten about Chuck. He'd been so quiet the last three hours. I rolled on one hip and levered myself up to glance over my seat back. Chuck was still curled across the bench, one arm draped over his eyes. My shirt had nailed him squarely on the chest. Without waking, Chuck felt down and snagged the shirt. I thought he was going to toss it off of him but instead he pulled the smelly thing over his face and settled back into sleep again.
Wally and I could say nothing about that. It was just too fucking weird. We laughed a little in that uncomfortable way that covers up shock. Then we kept our heads forward and tried to ignore it. I understood trying to keep the sun out of ones eyes but that was just disgusting. It was jarring that he hadn't been angered by what was as offhandedly rude move on my part as a teabagging. Most of the time Chuck seemed like an upfront normal sort of guy, but every so often he did creepy things like this.
But soon enough we forgot about Chuck again. The temperature just kept climbing, past comfortable and all the way to unseasonably hot. Wally doffed his shirt not long after I did and we both cranked the windows down as low as they would go, but the heat kept coming. Even with the wind, it was like sitting next to an open oven door. By five pm, the temperature had to be 90 in the shade, and there wasn't any shade, just a dark metal box absorbing it all. I was considering taking off my pants as well. Instead I sucked down water and sweated it out again. My back sticking to the fake leather seats time I shifted or moved arms.
At least we were making good time. This was one of the most exhausting drives I'd ever been on. I hoped wherever Chuck was taking us would have a nice cold beer waiting.
Chuck woke just after sunset, tossing my shirt off his face without comment. "My turn to drive," he said, curtly. "Pull over."
"You okay," Wally asked, pulling the car into the breakdown lane.
"Hungry as hell, but fine," said Chuck. We all got out to play musical chairs again. Chuck suddenly stiffened and looked out at the road, then frowned. I could tell he was not liking the view of Boise's wall not 5 miles behind us. Yeah, we'd driven right through a crowded city. No one had stopped us. And for heaven's sake why should they? Every ping our car sent out said that it was being driven by a little old lady who had no connection whatsoever with me or Wally. Vampires weren't clairvoyant, thank God.
"I'll get something from the cooler," I offered, in part to distract Chuck from the fact that we were not following his route anymore. "There should be another chicken salad sandwich back there."
"No thanks," said Chuck, tearing his eyes away from our trail. "I can last until we get to our destination."
"You sure?" I asked.
"I'm not a mayo person." He looked at me in a way that ended the conversation. "Did the two of you decide yet?"
Decide what? Oh that. Wally and I looked at each other and gritted our teeth. We hadn't so much as cracked open the laptop. "We've been too busy driving."
"Goddamn it, you two," said Chuck rubbing his chin. "I need that name. I really do. Pick someone, anyone, or I swear I will pick for you, and I doubt you'll like my choice." There was an intensity to demand that scared me. This was the Chuck who went out and killed vampires.
He walked to the trunk of the car and pulled the laptop out of its case and handed it to me. Maybe I imagined it, but there seemed just the slightest hesitation on Chuck's part, as if he didn't really trust me with the thing. Chuck's nostrils flared with anger for a second, just as he let go of the computer, then he abruptly turned and yanked open the driver's side door and climbed in, slamming it shut behind him.
Wally and I both took the back seat. In part because we were supposed to be reading bios, and in part because neither of us wanted Chuck's attention on us. Chuck was beyond pissed, but honestly, what were we to do? That route Chuck planned wasn't just a little misguided, it was terrible. But Chuck's true face was really showing here. He was not the kind that thought he could ever be wrong about anything. We were still at his mercy if we were to hope to get back to Portland. It was time to do the eggshell walk.
You know how it is when you really, really need things to go smoothly, they refuse to? If there is any evidence of God out there, I think this must be it. Because this much fail has to have a divine sense of humor behind it.
"Oh damn it, not now," I whined as the little battery icon suddenly appeared in the corner of the screen. Then winced and wished I'd kept my mouth shut. We were through seventy-six out of a hundred and twenty-two files, we could probably pick one from those. Or we could if their names hadn't all mixed and blended in my head. The only ones that stood out were the ones I dismissed as being awful.
Wally glanced at me, then at Chuck who was driving us aggressively down I84.
"What is it," growled Chuck.
"The laptop is low on batteries," said Wally.
Chuck snorted. "Leave it. You can finish up when we get to where we are going."
Wally closed the cover on the laptop and I felt relieved. I was getting pretty carsick and my head was pounding. I leaned back and closed my eyes. Then opened them again when I felt Wally's hand on mine.
"It's going to work out," Wally said. "I know it will."
I shook my head. He'd obviously misinterpreted my need to throw up for worry, but it seemed too much effort to tell him otherwise. I tried to doze away the discomfort and managed to reach a kind of a redundant dream in which I was driving endlessly down desert roads, when the Chuck jarred me awake by taking me off the smooth paved highway and onto a gravel road.
Sitting up, I looked around. It was pitch black beyond the sweep of the Taurus's lights, fencing had sprung up to either side and the wheels clattered as they ran over a cattle grate.
"Almost there," said Chuck, sounding calmer than he'd been all day. "I can see it up ahead."
I have no idea what Chuck thought he was seeing. I couldn't see blasted anything. And then I could. A single story farm house, with its porch lights on. A shiny RV parked to the side connected to the house by a thick orange extension cord. Inside I could see the blue flickering of a television set, and I spotted the dish attached to the eves.
I got out of the car, my legs actually shaking from the long journey. The ground was still warm from the heat of the day and I smelled horses somewhere nearby. Chuck got out and lightly climbed the stairs pressing the doorbell just as the door opened up. An older man stepped out. "Hey, hey," he said. "Weren't expecting you for a couple more hours."
The owner of the house was named Rodrick and apparently he was someone that Chuck had helped out once, a couple of years ago. He'd run afoul with a vampire who was after his son, who had just turned 18. Rod and his son were fundamentalist Christian. The vampire in question was male.
Rod undid the top buttons of his plaid flannel shirt and showed Wally and me the back of his shoulder. Four parallel furrows of scar tissue and one spaced off to the side marred the sun-freckled skin. "Took me months to be able to use this arm proper," said Rodrick lifting his right hand. "Chuck got me out of that basement, out of that protectorate. It was a hard lesson to learn, but I did learn it."
"Not to anger vampires," I stated. Yeah, I'd figured that one out, too.
Rod frowned. "No, that vampires have a place in this world. That I was wrong."
For a second, I was stunned. Rod went on. "See, I went back to my scripture and I realized that the Devil can't create things. He can only tempt us to do wrong. Vampires must be God's creation then, just like the lions and the jackals. They have a place. And you know what that place is?"
"What?"
"To keep us humans humble." Rod smiled. "We were getting too big for our britches, so God set the vampires here to keep us in line. My son had a duty to perform and I interfered with that duty. Chuck helped me understand that. If he hadn't, my son and I would both be dead now. Though I admit it sure helps that our new patron is a really pretty girl." He chuckled.
"Where is Scott?" asked Chuck, coming back into the room in a fresh set of clothes and his hair towel dried into an odd looking mess. "I was hoping to see him."
"Yeah, I know. Sorry about that, Chuck, I meant to call you. His mother called this morning and said she needed him to help her move some things out of storage before Saturday. So he set out for La Grande soon as his permission cam through. I'd have gone with him if I didn't know that you were coming. We are divorced, my wife and I," Rod said for Wally and my benefit. "Nearly twelve years now. But it's been amicable and we still do each other favors. He will be back by Saturday afternoon, but I guess you'll be moving on by then."
Chuck looked frustrated but said nothing. The room seemed oppressive.
"I can give him a call," Rod said, hastily. "He should be up there by now. If you need to talk to him."
Chuck clicked his tongue and shook his head. "That's okay. It's not important. Scott's room's got a phone jack, I can work there. Don't disturb me." He gave me one last long irritated glare as if this, too, was somehow my fault, then headed down the hall like he owned the place and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. All three of us, including Rod, let out a sigh of relief as soon as the door was shut.
"That's quite a mood he's got on him there. Alright, I'm going to put the two of you into the RV," said Rod, amiably. I felt a wave of relief. "That way you can stay out of Chuck's hair while he does his business. The one thing I ask is that you use the bathroom in the house so I don't have to muck out the tank afterwards. The side door will be unlocked and I'll leave the porch light on."
He led us out to the RV. I've always been fascinated by how much stuff can get crammed into such a small place. There was a full kitchenette, a table and two upholstered bench seats, and three narrow beds arranged in a U that could be folded in to become couches. Wally and I would be back to sleeping like roommates again tonight. Probably just as well, I wasn't really feeling like having gay sex in an evangelical Christian's RV anyway. It seemed disrespectful.
We went back into the house where we took turns taking much needed showers and switching into slightly less disgusting clothes. Either we were going to have to hit a laundromat soon, or start washing our clothes in the sink. Meanwhile, Rod cooked us up some steaks for a late, late dinner. Half an hour later we gathered around the kitchen table to one of the most awkward, uncomfortable meals I'd ever eaten.
Rod quickly showed himself to be one of those guys who was extremely loud and opinionated, and not in a good-natured way. He kept peppering us with questions about religion and politics that there was no way in hell either of us could honestly answer without getting harangued. We prevaricated where we could, and outright lied when pressed. It felt like weathering an assault.
Rod filled in our uncomfortable silence with a string of horrifyingly absurd conspiracy theories and offensive slurs directed at every minority in existence. I understood perfectly why a vampire might want to rip him to pieces. I began to wonder if Rod might have some kind of mental illness, but as the evening went on it became apparent that he was perfectly sane - just completely irrational and bigoted as hell. In retrospect, Abram seemed like the model of reasonableness and practicality. How the hell could Chuck stand this guy?
"He can withhold the rain and wither the crops," Rod went on in an ecstasy of righteousness. "It's his way of telling us to turn away from sodomy and miscegenation get back on the His path, hallelujah. Until we remove the queers from government we are doomed."
Queer-as-hell Wally cleared his throat. "You a Beavers fan? Or Ducks?"
Off to the side, Chuck's steak sat on his plate, cooling, untouched. Occasionally one of us would look towards the closed door to Scott's room, but none of us had the guts to tell him dinner was ready. Occasionally we heard his voice, muffled through the door, yelling at someone over the phone. Chuck was having a bad day.
Wall and I ended up heading off to bed as soon as we could politely do so. All the gay bashing over dinner had frayed poor Wally's nerves. He simply couldn't hold the anger in anymore. Though he managed to bite his tongue, he couldn't keep himself from slamming the door to the RV shut.
"I don't know how he expects us to do what he wants," grumbled Wally as he shed his jeans and crawled into his cot. "He makes it completely impossible."
I was confused for a moment, then realized that Wally meant Chuck, not Rod. Once again we didn't have the laptop. Chuck was using it to do his business, and who knew how long that was going to take.
"It doesn't matter," I soothed. "We can pick someone in the car tomorrow. Or wait until we get home. I don't see why there's such a rush." I sat down at the edge of my bed and stared at my reflection in the RV's back window.
I tried to remember my apartment. It seemed vaguer than ever and all the things inside it struck me as being utterly important. The things I missed most wouldn't be waiting for me even when I did get home: My job. My computer. My expectations of the future. Did I really care about that Bob Marley poster I had up on my wall? Did I care about the threadbare green couch which Wally and I had gotten from Goodwill for 35 dollars - and then spent an additional 40 bucks on the rental truck to get it home. I had books, but the ones I hadn't already read I probably never would. I had clothes, but they were just things to put over my body. I had friends…
Did I really have friends?
I had acquaintances. People I saw every month or so. Coworkers, who I sometimes went to a bar or a movie with. And I had Wally, who was really my crutch against loneliness, my new and improved Jimmy Weaver, and who was less than three feet away from me now. Looking down at him, I realized that I really didn't have much to go back to.
Wally would want to go home at least. He had his game group. My game group. A promise is a promise. Wally wouldn't forget that I'd agreed to be, what was it? Healer or something?
"What are you smiling at?" Wally asked.
"You," I said and I really wished we weren't in Rod's trailer. I didn't dare even kiss him for fear that Rod would spot us through a window and kick us evil-government-loving-queers out on our rear ends. Looking out the side window at the house, I thought I could see someone staring back through the bathroom window.
Then exhaustion hit and without another word or thought I lay down, pulled the covers up to my neck and went to sleep.
I don't know how long it was that I slept. I do know it was the need to pee that got me up again. We'd left the RV's lights on, we were that tired. Now I found that convenient. I looked over and saw Wally on his back, mouth open, snoring very softly. Sleep had taken the worry lines off his face and he looked innocent and sweet and untroubled. I slipped my shoes on without lacing them, then gingerly got up, trying not to wake him. The floor seemed to shift just a little under my weight as I walked back through the passage to the door and climb down into the side yard. The air was brisk and dry and the sky was brilliant with stars the way it can only be deep in the countryside. I opened the side door to the house and found the bathroom without trouble.
When I finished, I almost turned to head back to the RV but I stopped. Down the hall the light under Scott's room was still ablaze. I stood there a moment looking at it, then the door opened and Chuck stood there, barefoot in the doorway.
"Come here," he said.
I walked to him. Something nagged at me and I felt apprehensive, but Chuck looked more at ease than he had since we'd left Ruth's house. It was as if he'd come to a happy decision about something.
"You forgot to give us the computer to look up our new patron."
"I know," said Chuck. "It's okay. I'm sorry I was so gruff with you earlier." He smiled and his face returned to the handsome lines I'd noticed the first day. I was aware of his smell, nice, almost floral, and became self-conscious of my own. I'm sure I smelled funky despite the shower. I looked down at my off brand slacks and shirt, rumpled, baggy, streaked with dirt. I looked like a bum.
"Don't worry about that," said Chuck, his voice soft and seductive. Comforting. He held out one deeply tanned hand invitingly.
But I didn't -- I stiffened and stepped back, as profound horror hit me in the gut. Suddenly so many little things clicked together in my mind: a cascade of facts and images, the past and present, coalescing into one cathartic revelation.
For the first time, I felt like I was really seeing Chuck. Why had he ever reminded me of Jimmy Weaver? The age was wrong. The build was wrong. Jimmy was tall for his age, and Chuck short. Chuck's hair was a dark brown and smooth. Jimmy had curly, almost reddish hair and freckles! Chuck looked Indian or Pakistani. And yet, if anyone had asked me to describe him even moments ago, I'd have sworn he was Caucasian. How could I have held such a wrong impression?
I wasn't alone. There's no way Racist Rod would have invited a minority so easily into his house. I remembered Chuck stalking the couple in the Salt Lake sex club. They'd been surprised to see him. And then not. No one questioned him. Not even when they should. Just a sack of garbage, he'd said and Wally bought it. Chuck knew it wasn't garbage. He could see Gregory. He ran him over deliberately.
My mind whizzed. Chuck didn't like coffee. He didn't like chicken salad sandwiches. He didn't like steak. I'm hungry as hell. The Subway bag, the plate of eggs. It all implied eating, but I'd never actually seen him take a bite.
Yes, I had. Once. I saw Wally on the sunken couch draped in a post coital haze on the man beneath him. I saw the man's eyes over his shoulder, his teeth sunk into Wally's neck. Go back to sleep. Those eyes were black, and the hair was dark and straight and the skin a nutty brown. Chuck.
Oh god. Chuck. Vestalar. The head of the resistance who I was relying on. He wasn't a Green, or Red, or a Black like I'd once thought. He wasn't any color.
Chuck was a goddamn vampire!
On to Chapter 28
Back to Chapter 26
RATING: NC-17 (This chapter PG-13)
SUMMARY: Thus begins the most miserable day of George's life.
Word Count: 6730
Chapter 27
I woke with a start to the smell of frying bacon. Sitting up, I looked around and saw that I was lying in a bright orange sleeping bag in the middle of someone's living room floor.
Morning light came in through a set of floor to ceiling picture windows. Outside, beyond a wide wooden deck, was a beautiful view of a shallow valley filled and beyond that a line of snow crested mountains. Two feet away Wally yawned and absently reached out a stretched arm, hitting the runner of a nearby rocking chair and causing it to creak forward. His entire body jerked with surprise, he stared at the chair, then around the room, then finally over to me.
"Morning?" he said in a way that meant, Where the fuck are we now?
"Morning." Fucked if I know. At least we weren't paper bagged anymore.
I crawled out of the sleeping bag and stretched. My spine cracked and snapped in an alarming way. My eyes canvassed the room, looking for clues to where we were. Not a hotel for certain. The room was very clean and rustic, with hand made quilts covering the furniture and the walls, and a large quilting frame set up in the corner. Searching my memory, I had only the vaguest recollection of arriving at this house, sometime in what must have been the small hours of the night. Dimly, I recalled some old lady leading the way to the sleeping bags and I think I'd crawled in and passed out again without so much as thanking her. That had been rude of me.
After a quick trip to the toilet off the back of the room, I was distracted by a slight clatter and some conversation going on down the hall. I wandered in that direction, padding down the hall in my stocking feet, driven partially by curiosity, partially by hunger. There were good smells coming from that direction.
"That was delicious," I heard Chuck say. "No, I'm stuffed, save it for the boys."
I gingerly opened a door at the end of the hall and entered into a light and airy looking kitchen. Chuck was pushing back a plate with the remnants of scrambled eggs on it while an elderly woman in blue polyester pants slid a panful of bacon onto a platter with careful taps of a spatula.
"Oh, there's timing. Look they are awake." Chuck turned in his seat to give me a warm smile. He looked tried but relaxed. Evidentially nothing too horrible had happened in the night. "Did you sleep alright?"
"I slept fine," I said. "Did you get any sleep at all?"
"Not a wink," said Chuck, grinning as if it were a joke. "I've been monopolizing our host's phone line all night. I don't know how she lives with dial up."
"Very easily, since I don't own a computer! I'm very low tech. My daughter was trying to get me to buy a cell phone, but what's the point, there's no reception." The woman at the stove wiped her hands quickly on a towel and held one out to shake. "Hi there, by the way, I'm Ruth, an old, old friend of Chuck's." Her skin was crinkled and creased in that papery way typical of a person past 70, but her bones looked strong. She had dolled herself up with a trace of make-up around the eyes and I could still see a bit of the prettiness that she must have had in the past.
"Hi," I said and took her hand, which was surprisingly rough and firm gripped. "Thanks for letting us crash at your place."
"No problem. A bit of a surprise, I don't get visitors that often up here. But I'm always happy to see Chuck. What's it been," she said, turning to him. "Three years since you last visited?"
"Kendra was living with you last time," said Chuck.
"Oh, my, that'd be closer to eight years then. Time goes so fast."
"How's her Patron treating her?"
"Really well, in fact he retired her early four years ago. She and her husband have a baby and they are expecting another in September. Thought for a bit I'd never have grandchildren." She transferred three strips of bacon onto a plate and held it out to me, "You aren't a vegetarian are you?"
"No, ma'am."
"Good. Had to entertain one of those a couple of years back and I couldn't find a thing to feed the poor waif. Now, how do you like your eggs then. I can do them any way you like so long as it's sunny side up or scrambled. My wrists don't flip a pan like they used to. And hello to you, too!" she said brightly as Wally entered the kitchen. "Same for you. I'm making eggs and the bacon's already done."
"I'll get this washed up for you," said Chuck taking his plate to the sink. A few minutes later Wally and I were tucking in while Chuck and Ruth cleaned up and gossiped about people I didn't know. They seemed oddly intimate. I could have sworn Chuck was flirting with her, and I didn't have to imagine that Ruth was flirting back. I was torn between the normal disgust that comes when contemplating sex in the older generation, and a bit of admiration at Ruth's cougar daring.
"So I hear you all are going to Portland," said Ruth over the roar of the sink water. "I love that place. Lived there for forty years out in Ceder Mill. You are from Beaverton?" We nodded. "Kendra went to Sunset High, but she's quite a bit older than you, so I imagine you never met her."
"Wouldn't have anyway," I said. "I went to Oregon City."
"Aloha High," said Wally.
"Aloha! That's actually where I first met Chuck. He used to live out in Aloha for a time. That was his haunt. You still there?" she asked.
Chuck was drying his hands. "I'm not really anywhere these days, Ruth."
"Chuck's an Oregonian, too, so you picked the right guy to help you get back home." Ruth swooped in to take our plates before we had a chance to lift a hand to help. "I've known Chuck since before the war, would you believe. Long time."
"Long time," agreed Chuck but his smile had slipped a bit.
Ruth looked a little confused for a moment, then shrugged. "Well in any case. I'm letting Chuck borrow the Taurus. And I'm using 'borrow' in the loosest possible way, I don't care if you bring it back. Donate it. Toss it off a cliff. It's all good to me. He went out there this morning and managed to start it, so that's good. It's old, but it's reliable. It may need a new battery though, so beware of that. I keep some jumper cables in the trunk just in case. Oh, and the tires are a bit bald so watch it if it's raining. You might also want to check the oil when you get gas, not that I think it's leaking, but just as a good idea. The transmission can be a bit rough at times so be gentle accelerating on hills." She paused. "The brakes are sound. Mostly."
"Won't you need your car?" Wally asked.
Ruth laughed. "Oh no, I'll use the truck. I've been meaning to get rid of the Taurus since Jed died, but somehow it just hasn't happened. Damn thing isn't worth anything and it's too expensive to tow it anywhere. So, no it's yours."
"We are going to be doing things a bit on the sly here," said Chuck to us. "Because none of us can pass for Ruth and my hacker is still trying to run down the ID tracker for her car."
"I have no idea what its number is," said Ruth. "I'm sorry. I've never had to keep track of that sort of thing."
"It's alright," said Chuck. "My guy will know it as soon as we've gone through a gate. I just need to be somewhere where my cell phone works so I can tell him the time and place. But until then, we are really going to need to be careful not to run into any police. To be truthful, this makes me really nervous."
"You run things all the time," said Wally.
"Even if Ruth is giving this car to us, until the papers are filed, it is still technically theft in the eyes of the law. And human law is not like running afoul of vampires. Vampires are a synch, they forget, they can be reasoned with, or bargained. Human law does not forget about things, it's relentless. It'll bite me in the ass years from now." He gave a little ironic chuckle. "You know, guys. When it comes to my business, I'm far more frightened of humans than I am of vampires."
"Go team human," I rahed.
"Yeah, really," Chuck shook his head and looked suddenly grim. "I've got us a place to spend the night near Pendleton. From there it's just a few hours drive into Portland Protectorate."
Wally frowned. "If we are where I think we are, we could probably make Portland in one push. It would be a long drive but definitely doable."
"No. You boys still need to make your decision, and I need to do work." Chuck layed out the map across the end of the kitchen table and Wally and I got up to look at it. The red line was all over the place, randomly jogging East at times South at others. I looked like a route a 5 year old might plot out. "Anyway, I think this leg's going to be longer than you think as it is."
"No kidding," said Wally. "Why?"
"Just being damn careful. We can't afford another Salt Lake City. Our best bet is to keep off the main thoroughfares as much as possible. Vampires can't set up traps everywhere."
Ruth was already putting waxed paper bundles into the familiar blue cooler. "I don't drink soda, but I have quite a bit of bottled water. I hope that will be adequate."
"Absolutely fine," said Chuck. "You have enough food to tide the boys past dinner time."
"Unless they have bigger appetites than my son in law, which from the size of them isn't likely."
"Then we better be heading out." Chuck gave Ruth a quick kiss on the cheek and hefted the cooler. We followed Chuck through the kitchen door to the large wooden deck. The air was very crisp and clean and earthy. There was a shaft of sunlight breaking free of the cloud cover and hitting a distant hill in a painting-perfect display. Feeling uplifted by the scenery and the breakfast, I was pretty pumped by the idea of getting on the road again.
We followed Chuck down a flight of stairs to a garage tucked into the hillside under the house. In there was nice looking late model Ford 150 which made me smile and a twenty year old, faded black Taurus that took the smile right off again. It was a homely looking piece of metal. I noticed pockets of rust around the wheel wells and a dent in the back bumper where Ruth must have tapped a post. Chuck put the cooler in the trunk, where I noticed our sack of clothes had also been stowed. Any desperate hope that this wasn't the vehicle we'd be taking for our next multi-hour drive was dashed.
"So… who wants to drive first?" Chuck asked.
I've driven many cars in my life. Practical cars like my parents Civic. SUVs when work took me someplace last minute and all the cheap cars were already rented out. I've driven trucks and sports cars and, thanks to Chuck, a hybrid. The Townie had been quite an experience. But none of those cars presented nearly the adventure that Ruth's Taurus did. The thing was an absolute nightmare.
It hated hills with a passion, making noises that made me think the transmission was going to physically drop out the bottom of the car onto the road. It didn't like to idle at lights. Its tires spun every time it hit a soft spot. It noticeably pulled to the left. And it smelled. In some ways that was the worst. As spotless as Ruth had kept it, she hadn't been able to stop it from having a mildewy odor. By hour three I had a headache that lasted the entire rest of the trip. I went from thinking that Ruth had done us a nice favor to wondering if Ruth was nursing some deep seated resentment against Chuck.
We managed as best we could. I solved the left leaning problem by putting more air in the tires at the same stop that Chuck installed a new battery and Wally pumped some fresh gas into the tank. We each coped in our own way: me by swearing and complaining. Wally by being silent and broody. But even Mr. Positive had serious problems with the vehicle.
Chuck seemed to consider it to be his job - and no one else's -- to make sure the stupid car ran smoothly and several times insisted we pull over so he could tinker about pointlessly under the hood. He was deaf to second opinions and irritable if we even approached him while he was leaning over the engine. Wally and I gave up after the second stop and simply hung around stewing and staring at traffic for ten or fifteen or however many minutes it took before Chuck figured he'd fondled the car guts enough. It was a pure waste of time: we didn't have any proper tools, and in any case, nothing short of a week in the shop was going to make the thing "reliable". Ruth's car was a hunk of junk and a surly one at that.
"Stay in the car," Chuck snapped at us as he stomped out of the vehicle. "I'm going to check the transmission fluids."
"Christ, not again," said Wally under his breath, and covered his face with both his hands.
"Leave it!" I called out to Chuck. "Just leave it. It's not the transmission fluid."
"It's something."
"Yeah, It needs a rebuild!" I opened the door carefully, checking to make sure that there wasn't a car coming up on me, and stepped out around the car to see what the hell he was doing this time. "You already checked this Chuck."
Chuck looked terrible. Pale and sweaty and exhausted. "I told you to stay in the car," he said replacing the ATF dipstick.
"Are you okay," I asked him. "You look like you are getting sick."
"I'm just tired." Chuck looked up at the hot, naked sun as if it were somehow offensive to him. The morning clouds had burned off long ago and it looked like it was going to be a nice day. "Fuck this. I'm exhausted. I'm taking a nap."
"About time," murmured Wally softly to me as Chuck threw himself into the back of the car and I took his place behind the wheel. I just shook my head. Maybe now we'd make some headway. Half the day was gone and we'd barely put a hundred miles behind us.
Unfortunately, Chuck clearly didn't find the duct taped back seat nearly as comfortable as the Prius's and his sleep was fitful. He woke every fifteen minutes when the Taurus backfired or issued one of the thousand other random unhappy noises it made. Every single time he demanded to know where we were on the map. We'd tell him, then he then humphed in a cartoonish way and went back to sleep. Wally at least found him funny, but I couldn't laugh.
I was too worried about the insane route Chuck had chosen for us.
Because, while all this was going on, we were driving through some of the most desolate and lonely territory we'd come across the whole trip - and I'm including Wyoming here. Half the routes were nothing more than single lane paved roads, and more than a few weren't even paved. My hands were sweating and numb from the vibrating wheel. My lower back twinged from being jarred by the poor suspension. There was no here, here. Just endless, tumbleweed dotted nothing, with a smidge of painted desert in the distance. If we were lucky, we saw one of those weird circular irrigated patches, and knew that there was some civilization out there somewhere.
Christ, I knew we were trying to avoid population centers, but this was just insane. Absolutely batshit insane.
Oh baby, don't break down on me now, I thought when the car bottomed out on a pothole.
"Where are we?" came Chuck's gruff voice.
"Somewhere North of Highway 24 - still," replied Wally.
"This is crazy," I said to Chuck. "The car can't take this route." In the far distance I could barely see the highway paralleling us. Cars like little dots whizzed along at 80 miles an hour, while we were stuck doing twenty on a dirt road covered with, oh fuck this ATV tracks. What the hell was Chuck having us do here? We were still channeled back through the gates when we came to them. Which was rare. These rural protectorates were massive.
"Wanna go turn yourself in to nearest police station? Fine by me." He rolled over and went back to sleep with his arm over his eyes.
Oh Goddamn it. That's it. Fuck this noise.
I gave Wally a look. Then at the next unmarked intersection, I turned the wheel of the car and took us off the red lined route and back to the paved highway again. Maybe I was risking getting caught by vampires, but that was better than risking being stranded in this god forsaken desert. If Ruth's Taurus broke, our next ride would certainly to be in the back of a police cruiser. Wally didn't say a thing. We both sighed with relief when the wheels blissfully met pavement again.
Whatever Chuck thought would be wrong with the main highway wasn't. For the next six hours we didn't see so much as a state police cruiser, much less a Salt Lake style drunk trap. Either the vampires hadn't figured out this leg of our route, or maybe, the ones around here just didn't care to get a piece of me. Salt Lake City was looking more and more like a fluke with every steel trussed gate we calmly drove through.
And Chuck actually got some needed sleep, which saved everyone's sanity.
Even as one headache resolved another raised its head. Today was the first truly warm day I'd experienced since I went on the run nearly 2 weeks ago. There had been no sign of a cloud for hours and the sun shone down, bright and pitiless in a bald sky. The ground around us seemed to pick up the heat and throw it back. Naturally, the Taurus did not have air conditioning. Of course not.
"Bah!" I said and peeled my designer long sleeved shirt off my body. I immediately felt a shock of coolness as the air from the window buffeted my sweaty chest and arms. Offhandedly I tossed the disgusting shirt behind me into the back seat.
"Geo!" rebuffed Wally, and took his eyes away from the road long enough to glance back. "Christ, man."
Oh shit, I'd forgotten about Chuck. He'd been so quiet the last three hours. I rolled on one hip and levered myself up to glance over my seat back. Chuck was still curled across the bench, one arm draped over his eyes. My shirt had nailed him squarely on the chest. Without waking, Chuck felt down and snagged the shirt. I thought he was going to toss it off of him but instead he pulled the smelly thing over his face and settled back into sleep again.
Wally and I could say nothing about that. It was just too fucking weird. We laughed a little in that uncomfortable way that covers up shock. Then we kept our heads forward and tried to ignore it. I understood trying to keep the sun out of ones eyes but that was just disgusting. It was jarring that he hadn't been angered by what was as offhandedly rude move on my part as a teabagging. Most of the time Chuck seemed like an upfront normal sort of guy, but every so often he did creepy things like this.
But soon enough we forgot about Chuck again. The temperature just kept climbing, past comfortable and all the way to unseasonably hot. Wally doffed his shirt not long after I did and we both cranked the windows down as low as they would go, but the heat kept coming. Even with the wind, it was like sitting next to an open oven door. By five pm, the temperature had to be 90 in the shade, and there wasn't any shade, just a dark metal box absorbing it all. I was considering taking off my pants as well. Instead I sucked down water and sweated it out again. My back sticking to the fake leather seats time I shifted or moved arms.
At least we were making good time. This was one of the most exhausting drives I'd ever been on. I hoped wherever Chuck was taking us would have a nice cold beer waiting.
Chuck woke just after sunset, tossing my shirt off his face without comment. "My turn to drive," he said, curtly. "Pull over."
"You okay," Wally asked, pulling the car into the breakdown lane.
"Hungry as hell, but fine," said Chuck. We all got out to play musical chairs again. Chuck suddenly stiffened and looked out at the road, then frowned. I could tell he was not liking the view of Boise's wall not 5 miles behind us. Yeah, we'd driven right through a crowded city. No one had stopped us. And for heaven's sake why should they? Every ping our car sent out said that it was being driven by a little old lady who had no connection whatsoever with me or Wally. Vampires weren't clairvoyant, thank God.
"I'll get something from the cooler," I offered, in part to distract Chuck from the fact that we were not following his route anymore. "There should be another chicken salad sandwich back there."
"No thanks," said Chuck, tearing his eyes away from our trail. "I can last until we get to our destination."
"You sure?" I asked.
"I'm not a mayo person." He looked at me in a way that ended the conversation. "Did the two of you decide yet?"
Decide what? Oh that. Wally and I looked at each other and gritted our teeth. We hadn't so much as cracked open the laptop. "We've been too busy driving."
"Goddamn it, you two," said Chuck rubbing his chin. "I need that name. I really do. Pick someone, anyone, or I swear I will pick for you, and I doubt you'll like my choice." There was an intensity to demand that scared me. This was the Chuck who went out and killed vampires.
He walked to the trunk of the car and pulled the laptop out of its case and handed it to me. Maybe I imagined it, but there seemed just the slightest hesitation on Chuck's part, as if he didn't really trust me with the thing. Chuck's nostrils flared with anger for a second, just as he let go of the computer, then he abruptly turned and yanked open the driver's side door and climbed in, slamming it shut behind him.
Wally and I both took the back seat. In part because we were supposed to be reading bios, and in part because neither of us wanted Chuck's attention on us. Chuck was beyond pissed, but honestly, what were we to do? That route Chuck planned wasn't just a little misguided, it was terrible. But Chuck's true face was really showing here. He was not the kind that thought he could ever be wrong about anything. We were still at his mercy if we were to hope to get back to Portland. It was time to do the eggshell walk.
You know how it is when you really, really need things to go smoothly, they refuse to? If there is any evidence of God out there, I think this must be it. Because this much fail has to have a divine sense of humor behind it.
"Oh damn it, not now," I whined as the little battery icon suddenly appeared in the corner of the screen. Then winced and wished I'd kept my mouth shut. We were through seventy-six out of a hundred and twenty-two files, we could probably pick one from those. Or we could if their names hadn't all mixed and blended in my head. The only ones that stood out were the ones I dismissed as being awful.
Wally glanced at me, then at Chuck who was driving us aggressively down I84.
"What is it," growled Chuck.
"The laptop is low on batteries," said Wally.
Chuck snorted. "Leave it. You can finish up when we get to where we are going."
Wally closed the cover on the laptop and I felt relieved. I was getting pretty carsick and my head was pounding. I leaned back and closed my eyes. Then opened them again when I felt Wally's hand on mine.
"It's going to work out," Wally said. "I know it will."
I shook my head. He'd obviously misinterpreted my need to throw up for worry, but it seemed too much effort to tell him otherwise. I tried to doze away the discomfort and managed to reach a kind of a redundant dream in which I was driving endlessly down desert roads, when the Chuck jarred me awake by taking me off the smooth paved highway and onto a gravel road.
Sitting up, I looked around. It was pitch black beyond the sweep of the Taurus's lights, fencing had sprung up to either side and the wheels clattered as they ran over a cattle grate.
"Almost there," said Chuck, sounding calmer than he'd been all day. "I can see it up ahead."
I have no idea what Chuck thought he was seeing. I couldn't see blasted anything. And then I could. A single story farm house, with its porch lights on. A shiny RV parked to the side connected to the house by a thick orange extension cord. Inside I could see the blue flickering of a television set, and I spotted the dish attached to the eves.
I got out of the car, my legs actually shaking from the long journey. The ground was still warm from the heat of the day and I smelled horses somewhere nearby. Chuck got out and lightly climbed the stairs pressing the doorbell just as the door opened up. An older man stepped out. "Hey, hey," he said. "Weren't expecting you for a couple more hours."
The owner of the house was named Rodrick and apparently he was someone that Chuck had helped out once, a couple of years ago. He'd run afoul with a vampire who was after his son, who had just turned 18. Rod and his son were fundamentalist Christian. The vampire in question was male.
Rod undid the top buttons of his plaid flannel shirt and showed Wally and me the back of his shoulder. Four parallel furrows of scar tissue and one spaced off to the side marred the sun-freckled skin. "Took me months to be able to use this arm proper," said Rodrick lifting his right hand. "Chuck got me out of that basement, out of that protectorate. It was a hard lesson to learn, but I did learn it."
"Not to anger vampires," I stated. Yeah, I'd figured that one out, too.
Rod frowned. "No, that vampires have a place in this world. That I was wrong."
For a second, I was stunned. Rod went on. "See, I went back to my scripture and I realized that the Devil can't create things. He can only tempt us to do wrong. Vampires must be God's creation then, just like the lions and the jackals. They have a place. And you know what that place is?"
"What?"
"To keep us humans humble." Rod smiled. "We were getting too big for our britches, so God set the vampires here to keep us in line. My son had a duty to perform and I interfered with that duty. Chuck helped me understand that. If he hadn't, my son and I would both be dead now. Though I admit it sure helps that our new patron is a really pretty girl." He chuckled.
"Where is Scott?" asked Chuck, coming back into the room in a fresh set of clothes and his hair towel dried into an odd looking mess. "I was hoping to see him."
"Yeah, I know. Sorry about that, Chuck, I meant to call you. His mother called this morning and said she needed him to help her move some things out of storage before Saturday. So he set out for La Grande soon as his permission cam through. I'd have gone with him if I didn't know that you were coming. We are divorced, my wife and I," Rod said for Wally and my benefit. "Nearly twelve years now. But it's been amicable and we still do each other favors. He will be back by Saturday afternoon, but I guess you'll be moving on by then."
Chuck looked frustrated but said nothing. The room seemed oppressive.
"I can give him a call," Rod said, hastily. "He should be up there by now. If you need to talk to him."
Chuck clicked his tongue and shook his head. "That's okay. It's not important. Scott's room's got a phone jack, I can work there. Don't disturb me." He gave me one last long irritated glare as if this, too, was somehow my fault, then headed down the hall like he owned the place and disappeared into one of the bedrooms. All three of us, including Rod, let out a sigh of relief as soon as the door was shut.
"That's quite a mood he's got on him there. Alright, I'm going to put the two of you into the RV," said Rod, amiably. I felt a wave of relief. "That way you can stay out of Chuck's hair while he does his business. The one thing I ask is that you use the bathroom in the house so I don't have to muck out the tank afterwards. The side door will be unlocked and I'll leave the porch light on."
He led us out to the RV. I've always been fascinated by how much stuff can get crammed into such a small place. There was a full kitchenette, a table and two upholstered bench seats, and three narrow beds arranged in a U that could be folded in to become couches. Wally and I would be back to sleeping like roommates again tonight. Probably just as well, I wasn't really feeling like having gay sex in an evangelical Christian's RV anyway. It seemed disrespectful.
We went back into the house where we took turns taking much needed showers and switching into slightly less disgusting clothes. Either we were going to have to hit a laundromat soon, or start washing our clothes in the sink. Meanwhile, Rod cooked us up some steaks for a late, late dinner. Half an hour later we gathered around the kitchen table to one of the most awkward, uncomfortable meals I'd ever eaten.
Rod quickly showed himself to be one of those guys who was extremely loud and opinionated, and not in a good-natured way. He kept peppering us with questions about religion and politics that there was no way in hell either of us could honestly answer without getting harangued. We prevaricated where we could, and outright lied when pressed. It felt like weathering an assault.
Rod filled in our uncomfortable silence with a string of horrifyingly absurd conspiracy theories and offensive slurs directed at every minority in existence. I understood perfectly why a vampire might want to rip him to pieces. I began to wonder if Rod might have some kind of mental illness, but as the evening went on it became apparent that he was perfectly sane - just completely irrational and bigoted as hell. In retrospect, Abram seemed like the model of reasonableness and practicality. How the hell could Chuck stand this guy?
"He can withhold the rain and wither the crops," Rod went on in an ecstasy of righteousness. "It's his way of telling us to turn away from sodomy and miscegenation get back on the His path, hallelujah. Until we remove the queers from government we are doomed."
Queer-as-hell Wally cleared his throat. "You a Beavers fan? Or Ducks?"
Off to the side, Chuck's steak sat on his plate, cooling, untouched. Occasionally one of us would look towards the closed door to Scott's room, but none of us had the guts to tell him dinner was ready. Occasionally we heard his voice, muffled through the door, yelling at someone over the phone. Chuck was having a bad day.
Wall and I ended up heading off to bed as soon as we could politely do so. All the gay bashing over dinner had frayed poor Wally's nerves. He simply couldn't hold the anger in anymore. Though he managed to bite his tongue, he couldn't keep himself from slamming the door to the RV shut.
"I don't know how he expects us to do what he wants," grumbled Wally as he shed his jeans and crawled into his cot. "He makes it completely impossible."
I was confused for a moment, then realized that Wally meant Chuck, not Rod. Once again we didn't have the laptop. Chuck was using it to do his business, and who knew how long that was going to take.
"It doesn't matter," I soothed. "We can pick someone in the car tomorrow. Or wait until we get home. I don't see why there's such a rush." I sat down at the edge of my bed and stared at my reflection in the RV's back window.
I tried to remember my apartment. It seemed vaguer than ever and all the things inside it struck me as being utterly important. The things I missed most wouldn't be waiting for me even when I did get home: My job. My computer. My expectations of the future. Did I really care about that Bob Marley poster I had up on my wall? Did I care about the threadbare green couch which Wally and I had gotten from Goodwill for 35 dollars - and then spent an additional 40 bucks on the rental truck to get it home. I had books, but the ones I hadn't already read I probably never would. I had clothes, but they were just things to put over my body. I had friends…
Did I really have friends?
I had acquaintances. People I saw every month or so. Coworkers, who I sometimes went to a bar or a movie with. And I had Wally, who was really my crutch against loneliness, my new and improved Jimmy Weaver, and who was less than three feet away from me now. Looking down at him, I realized that I really didn't have much to go back to.
Wally would want to go home at least. He had his game group. My game group. A promise is a promise. Wally wouldn't forget that I'd agreed to be, what was it? Healer or something?
"What are you smiling at?" Wally asked.
"You," I said and I really wished we weren't in Rod's trailer. I didn't dare even kiss him for fear that Rod would spot us through a window and kick us evil-government-loving-queers out on our rear ends. Looking out the side window at the house, I thought I could see someone staring back through the bathroom window.
Then exhaustion hit and without another word or thought I lay down, pulled the covers up to my neck and went to sleep.
I don't know how long it was that I slept. I do know it was the need to pee that got me up again. We'd left the RV's lights on, we were that tired. Now I found that convenient. I looked over and saw Wally on his back, mouth open, snoring very softly. Sleep had taken the worry lines off his face and he looked innocent and sweet and untroubled. I slipped my shoes on without lacing them, then gingerly got up, trying not to wake him. The floor seemed to shift just a little under my weight as I walked back through the passage to the door and climb down into the side yard. The air was brisk and dry and the sky was brilliant with stars the way it can only be deep in the countryside. I opened the side door to the house and found the bathroom without trouble.
When I finished, I almost turned to head back to the RV but I stopped. Down the hall the light under Scott's room was still ablaze. I stood there a moment looking at it, then the door opened and Chuck stood there, barefoot in the doorway.
"Come here," he said.
I walked to him. Something nagged at me and I felt apprehensive, but Chuck looked more at ease than he had since we'd left Ruth's house. It was as if he'd come to a happy decision about something.
"You forgot to give us the computer to look up our new patron."
"I know," said Chuck. "It's okay. I'm sorry I was so gruff with you earlier." He smiled and his face returned to the handsome lines I'd noticed the first day. I was aware of his smell, nice, almost floral, and became self-conscious of my own. I'm sure I smelled funky despite the shower. I looked down at my off brand slacks and shirt, rumpled, baggy, streaked with dirt. I looked like a bum.
"Don't worry about that," said Chuck, his voice soft and seductive. Comforting. He held out one deeply tanned hand invitingly.
But I didn't -- I stiffened and stepped back, as profound horror hit me in the gut. Suddenly so many little things clicked together in my mind: a cascade of facts and images, the past and present, coalescing into one cathartic revelation.
For the first time, I felt like I was really seeing Chuck. Why had he ever reminded me of Jimmy Weaver? The age was wrong. The build was wrong. Jimmy was tall for his age, and Chuck short. Chuck's hair was a dark brown and smooth. Jimmy had curly, almost reddish hair and freckles! Chuck looked Indian or Pakistani. And yet, if anyone had asked me to describe him even moments ago, I'd have sworn he was Caucasian. How could I have held such a wrong impression?
I wasn't alone. There's no way Racist Rod would have invited a minority so easily into his house. I remembered Chuck stalking the couple in the Salt Lake sex club. They'd been surprised to see him. And then not. No one questioned him. Not even when they should. Just a sack of garbage, he'd said and Wally bought it. Chuck knew it wasn't garbage. He could see Gregory. He ran him over deliberately.
My mind whizzed. Chuck didn't like coffee. He didn't like chicken salad sandwiches. He didn't like steak. I'm hungry as hell. The Subway bag, the plate of eggs. It all implied eating, but I'd never actually seen him take a bite.
Yes, I had. Once. I saw Wally on the sunken couch draped in a post coital haze on the man beneath him. I saw the man's eyes over his shoulder, his teeth sunk into Wally's neck. Go back to sleep. Those eyes were black, and the hair was dark and straight and the skin a nutty brown. Chuck.
Oh god. Chuck. Vestalar. The head of the resistance who I was relying on. He wasn't a Green, or Red, or a Black like I'd once thought. He wasn't any color.
Chuck was a goddamn vampire!
On to Chapter 28
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