The Highway West Andrew 25
Chapter One: Murphy's Law
As far as we can discern, the sole purpose of human existence is to kindle a light of meaning in the darkness of mere being.
-C.G. Jung
The vampire plucked her black sunglasses from her face to peer into the murky neon lit night. The moon dilated through the haze of smog emerging slightly red. After two years of roaming around the country, the vampire was returning to the one place she could remotely call home. Despite the various dream scenarios of a large white house, complete with a white picket fence, a dog, and a tree house in the back yard; Sister Mary's Home for Children was the reality. Marguerite Sanchez almost smiled. She learned a long time ago not to dream; dreams never came true. But that didn't stop the nightmares.
They were walking down the desert road. The sizzling sun sauntered across the sky beating down upon the black asphalt. It felt like the entire world rested on their shoulders. In the distance, she heard the blast of a mighty trumpet. Scared, Marguerite did not want to continue but knew that if she failed Sister Mary's Home for Children would be destroyed.
Now that she had driven across the country, Marguerite was not impressed. The colossal Victorian home looked as though it hadn't been painted for twenty years. The chain-linked fence surrounded the grounds providing moderate protection, which was never enough in downtown Los Angeles. The unnaturally bright green grass was still kept orderly, cut, and fresh with life even during the sweltering summer months. "Sister Bertha wouldn't have it any other way," Marguerite thought with a wince, remembering the old nun's favorite punishment.
To the right of Sister Mary's, an abandoned, rotting house used to be the monstrosity of the neighborhood. Sister Bertha must have demanded the owner to clean up the house at least a thousand times a year. Even though it looked like the house from the movie Psycho, Marguerite used to hide in its dark hallways whenever Sister Bertha ran down the warpath. Over the last few years, the owner finally listened to Sister Bertha and tore it down. Of course, the owners replaced it almost immediately with a thriving Zip-in-Go. Marguerite wished she could have seen Sister Bertha's face when she found out. A huge cinder block wall divided the Zip-in Go's parking lot and Sister Mary's fence.
"Still trying to keep the world out, Bertha?" Marguerite whispered with a grimace.
Marguerite restarted her van, shifted, and drove into Zip-in-Go's parking lot. After parking, Marguerite locked the passenger doors and pulled the curtain closed behind her. Not many people could see through the black tint of the windows from the outside, but Marguerite didn't want to take the risk. She slid out of the seat, slammed the door of the lime green Dodge van, locked the driver's door, and tasted the putrid L.A. air.
A large mural of the Virgin Mary had been painted on this side of the brick wall with the inscription: Learn the secrets of Eternal life. Call 1-900-875-7711. Next to the Virgin Mary was an advertisement for Pacific Bell, except that someone had spray-painted the letter H over the B.
Marguerite chuckled. It was almost good to be home.
As soon as she opened the door to the Zip-in-Go, Marguerite knew everyone stared. As a little girl, Sister Agatha must have told her a thousand times that she was as beautiful as a princess. That was before Sister Agatha left her to marry a Southern Baptist minister and moved to Butte, Montana. That was before Brad decided to do the horizontal tango with some cheerleader bimbo in the back seat of his Firebird. That was before she went to New Orleans for Mardi Gras. That was before her Assimilation.
Now, Marguerite looked more feral than beautiful. Her long, dark brown hair looked wild. Her dark almond eyes possessed an unnerving quality that forced others to look away. Marguerite wore a scruffy black leather jacket that she bought at the Salvation Army. On the jacket's right collar hung a yellow button with the black inscription "Life's a Bitch and so am I." Under her jacket, she wore a large plain black t-shirt. Her Levi's were tight and faded to a light grayish blue. She wore frayed black Doc Martins. Even through her Assimilation, her skin retained its brown, earthy tones from her Mexican heritage. Around her neck, Marguerite wore the only gift she had received in her entire life: a small gold Catholic crucifix from Sister Agatha. Her body looked thin and delicate, but her walk and mannerisms suggested she knew how to handle herself. Few people would now call her beautiful in the classic or fashionable sense.
Despite constantly searching in her travels, Marguerite had met few of the Blood. The few that she did meet were disgusted with the fact that she still ate. As she pulled the lever for the bright red slushy, Marguerite sighed. Although she no longer needed to eat, it fed a part of her desire to remain human. It was better to drink a slushy than what she really craved.
"Hey, Baby. What's say you and me go and make ourselves a memory." The voice was male, too close, and behind her.
Marguerite snapped around to confront the voice. He was a little taller than Marguerite, but definitely had more visible muscle. His skin was slightly darker than hers, but was covered with oily hair. His lusty, light brown eyes contemplated her body's form. His black hair was cut short and covered with a blue bandanna. He wore loose fitting slacks and a dirty white undershirt. Marguerite could almost taste the cheap wine on his breath.
"Let's not and say we did."
"Don't bitch out on me now, hoe."
"What did you call me?"
"Hoe!"
Hellish gleaming scarlet eyes flamed from Marguerite's sockets. Her voice turned deep, animalistic, and barely human. "Don't fuck with me or I'll tie your balls around your neck for a bow tie!" she growled softly.
His intuitive response was to instantly release his lower abdominal muscles, wetting the floor. "Is there being a problem over there?" The cashier asked with a heavy Middle Eastern accent.
Marguerite looked at him with her normal eyes. "No problem," she said sweetly.
Quickly, she returned her beaming scarlet gaze at her would be suitor. "No problem at all."
After paying for the slushy, Marguerite took a long, hard, slurp from her straw. There were a lot of things she missed about being a mortal, but being part of the Blood did have advantages. One of them being that she no longer got headaches from drinking a slushy too fast.
"Can I be helping you, sir?" the cashier asked someone behind Marguerite that she had not noticed before.
"No thank you, sir. Just browsing."
The deep voice made Marguerite think of James Earl Jones. Heeding the call of the voice, Marguerite glanced behind her to discover Iron John.
Although Iron John had to be nearly forty, his bulging muscles were still impressive. Few could gaze at his six foot seven and two hundred and eighty pound body without feeling fear and awe. The fear lasted only until Iron John smiled revealing his wide smile, complete with a gap in the middle of his teeth. His ebony skin was tanned to the color of the blackest night after years of working construction in the blistering California sun. His broad nose defined his face like an untamed mountain. His black hair was cut short in a military fashion. As he walked towards Marguerite, she could hear his large boots stomping on the floor.
"Hi!" Marguerite greeted him, excited for the first time since she crossed the California border.
Iron John glanced down at her. For a brief second he wrinkled his brow trying to remember Marguerite. "Ah! Marguerite you've grown up!"
"It's been a few years. When did you get back?"
"Around a week ago. Do you remember the stories I used to tell you children?"
"Yeah," Marguerite answered.
In the years before Sister Mary's could afford a television, Iron John would visit after work to tell stories. Although she loved the stories, it was the descriptions of far away lands that enticed her. When he spoke of Delilah betraying Samson, and the Philistines gouging his eyes out, the characters became more than mere facts to memorize in Sister Bertha's Sunday school class. Around Iron John, she could almost believe in God.
"Do you still like to walk?" he asked her.
Iron John was famous for his walks. During slow construction periods, he would walk for days to no place in particular. Sometimes he took Marguerite with him. "I usually drive now."
"That is too bad. People forget the value of the feet the good Lord gave them."
"As long as I get from point A to point B, I don't give a shit."
"That is too bad. You depend too much upon the machine to get what you need and as they say, 'getting there is half the fun,'" Iron John informed her.
Iron John laughed. To his surprise, Marguerite joined him. "You haven't had a real belly laugh in a long time. Am I right?"
Marguerite quickly replaced her smile with a scowl. "Not that long."
"It's been too long."
For a second, Marguerite scrutinized him. She thought about asking how he knew so much about her, then decided against it. "Maybe it has," she admitted.
"It has been good to see you, again. Will you walk with me?"
"I can't. I have some business at Sister Mary's that I have to deal with."
"I know. You have friends to meet. Allies. A new family. One of them needs your help now. When you are finally free, you can walk with me. I'll be around. All you have to do is look, you'll find me," he said.
Marguerite knew better than to argue with the large black man. He always seemed to know things about people. Things that shamed people. Still, he always loved them. "Thanks, I will."
Iron John bought a large loaf of wheat bread and a box of fish sticks, thanked the Arabic cashier, then strolled out of the store whistling a hymn. Marguerite was not sure, but she thought it was Walking Across Egypt.
Glancing at the clock, Marguerite discovered that it was one o' clock in the morning. "Shit!" she cursed.
Everyone in Sister Mary's would already be asleep, even on a Friday night. If she wanted to visit the orphanage, she'd have to wait until tomorrow night. Visiting during the day would be uncomfortable to say the least. It was going to be a long night.
"'And He took a little child and had him stand among them. He said to them 'Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me; and whoever welcomes me does not welcome me, but the one that sent me.' Lord, I know that ya have a plan, but I am worried about the children. Please protect 'em at the concert. I've only been in L.A. for a few weeks, but I've heard about the dangers. I've seen COPS on T.V, I know what it's like out there. Please protect 'em with your love and guidance and bring 'em home safely," Ruthie prayed. Her sweet, energetic voice possessed a distinct Southern Accent.
Ruthie Jones hated Los Angeles as much as she would allow herself to hate anything. If she had it her way she would run back home to Alabama without ever turning back, but this is where God called her to go. In Los Angeles, as Sister Bertha was fond of telling her, anything could happen. At least with her ex-husband Keith, she could prepare herself.
She tried for hours to get Sister Bertha to tell the older kids they couldn't go, but Bertha refused saying that they were old enough to make their own decisions. Somehow the kids had gotten free concert tickets. Ruthie was afraid to ask from where.
Steve, who was seventeen and the eldest living at Sister Mary's Home for Children, worked hard last summer at Jack in The Box to save enough to buy a used station wagon. Since then, he and Sylvia had been spending a lot of time together alone. Ruthie tried to preach the Gospel and convince them to wait for marriage, but they laughed at her. She was divorced, what did she know about love?
Sometimes, Ruthie wished she had kept a picture of Keith, if only to remember him. Late at night, she missed him. A year later, she could only remember the good times. Maybe he wasn't so bad. Maybe if she had tried harder. . .
She sniffed trying to stifle a tear. She was married to him even if he did. . .
BOOM! Boom! Boom! BOOM! The windows started to rattle. "Earthquake!" Ruthie thought.
Quickly, she jumped off her bed, still wearing the clothes from the day before. It was not until she passed her window that she realized that although the windows were shaking she couldn't feel the earthquake. Ruthie looked out the window to see a purple Cadillac parked on the other side of the brick wall, in the Zip-n-Go parking lot, blasting music. "Can ya feel it? Stalk'n and talk'n in the darkness! Rap'n and tap'n on the chamber door. Quote the homey, say never fuck'n more!" a male voice rapped with the technofunk beat.
"O' my Lord," Ruthie cried as she blushed.
"Can't ya feel it? Shadow's jump'n! Heart's thump'n! It's time the get the fuck out of dodge city!"
"Ruthie!"
"What is it, Tina?" Ruthie asked as she opened the door.
"I can't sleep. The music is too loud," Tina complained.
"Go back to bed, it'll be okay, honey."
"Okay, but they're saying words you said was bad," Tina reported.
Ruthie grabbed her Bible, put on a sweater, left her room, and marched down the hall. "Ruthie, where do you think you're going?"
Ruthie looked over at Sister Bertha, who was peeking her head out of her bedroom. "I am going to ask them to turn down their radio."
"I already called the police. They said to stay indoors."
Sister Bertha looked at Ruthie. Although she was nearly twenty seven, in a lot of ways, she was more innocent than most of the children that lived at Sister Mary's. Her hazel eyes looked determined. Her shoulder length, light blond hair looked perfectly combed even at one o' clock in the morning. She wore an old pair of jeans and a Disneyland sweatshirt. Even at this late hour, in old, wrinkled clothing, Ruthie looked like she could be a Barbie doll model.
"There's no reason ta call the police. I'm certain that once they realize that children are sleeping, they'll understand."
"This isn't Alabama, girl. Not everyone has respect here. You go back to your room."
"I'm going down there. If we don't start trusting these people, then they'll never trust us."
"Ruthie, there's a reason I try to keep us separated from the community. If you go out there, they might kill you and maybe do something worse. Iron John isn't going to be there to protect you this time."
"When God is for us, who can stand against us?" Ruthie asked as she marched down the stairs.
Marguerite strutted out of the Zip-in-Go as the mauve, low-rider Cadillac swerved into the parking lot. Sparks danced into the air as its muffler hit the curve. Five people, Marguerite couldn't see who, piled out of the Cadillac and passed around a bottle wrapped in a dirty brown paper bag. Unfortunately, they parked next to her van. Marguerite hoped they wouldn't be any trouble.
Glancing into the car as she strolled towards her van, Marguerite noticed huge speakers in the back seat. She was impressed that five people fit in the car with those speakers. Two of them were the generic seventeen year old gang bangers that Marguerite had seen since she was old enough to understand. Around this neighborhood, you joined a gang when you got old enough. Either that or you were alone against the world. Each one had a younger girl hanging on them. Marguerite felt sorry for them. Unless you knew how to take care of yourself, you either got gang banged or joined a gang. She watched as each girl fawned over one of the boys.
Their only status was being someone's hoe. They were walking meat waiting to be consumed and they knew it. Most of them tried to make the best out of it and package themselves to get someone with status. High status or not, all of them had to go through the blow line. All of the guys in the gang line up and drop their pants. If girls want in, they have to satisfy every guy on the line. In high school, Marguerite had a friend Rosa that went through initiation. She didn't talk for three weeks afterwards.
It was the fifth person that attracted her attention. He looked about thirty, which was old for this crowd. Dark black skin highlighted the dark purple velvet trench-coat he wore. His Levi's shorts were acid washed. Long dreadlocks partly covered his beautiful brown eyes. His facial features looked as though they had been carved out of stone and his bare chest boasted a large set of pectoral muscles. Marguerite was not one to fawn over an attractive man, but he seemed to empathically reach out to her. Around his neck, he wore a dried chicken foot attached to a silver chain. The necklace looked familiar, she had seen one just like it; the night she was Assimilated.
While the vampire mentally ran through her options, a white woman, in her early twenties, marched across the parking lot carrying a large green book. Her blonde hair was shoulder length and looked like a model from an underwear ad, except that she was wearing wrinkled jeans and a Disneyland sweater. "What the hell does she think she's doing?" Marguerite muttered to herself.
Marguerite looked around for Iron John, but he was no where to be found.
Ruthie stopped a few feet short of the Cadillac. "Excuse me," she said. No one could hear her over the music.
The gang stared at her blankly. The large black man smiled. "Excuse me! Could ya please turn the music down? We have children sleeping!"
"What?!" one of them asked, yelling over the music.
"Could ya please turn the music down? We have children sleeping!!"
The trenchcoat man looked over at one of the girls and nodded. She turned the music down. Now that the music was turned down, Ruthie could almost hear normally, except for a slight ringing in her ears.
The large black man sauntered over to Ruthie. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Murphy. And right now we're experiencing what is known as Murphy's Law. I make the law and everyone else follows it," he whispered with a deep voice into one of her ears, standing uncomfortably close to Ruthie.
"The Bible says to do unto others as ya would have them do unto you."
Slowly, Murphy reached over and caressed her cheek. Frigid fear froze her body as her knees began to buckle. Memories of Alabama died inside her. She forgot the time Mother had that one black boy punished for following her home. She forgot the hours Mamma punished her for praying at the Black Southern Baptist church across town, the wrong side of town. She remembered that fascination of being different from the Gardener's son and waiting, wanting to learn more.
Gently, he cupped her shoulders in her hands then slowly moved down to her waist pulling her closer to him. The touch was gentle and strong as steel at the same time. For the first time since Keith, Ruthie wanted more. Murphy moved a hand up past her stomach grasping a breast. The gates opened again, and Alabama swept back into her mind.
Slapping Murphy's hand, Ruthie attempted to break free of his grip. "What do ya think you're doing?"
"Doing to you what I want done to me."
Ruthie looked past Murphy, seeing the others forming a circle around her.
"Let her go." Marguerite ordered them.
Murphy glanced towards Marguerite. "Juan, she's yours."
Juan pulled out a switchblade from his jacket and smiled. "We're gonna have fun, hoe. If you're nice, I'll be gentle," he promised.
Her eyes blazed hellishly red as she bared her fangs. "But I like to play rough!"
Adrenaline allowed Juan, who nearly lost control of his bowel movements, to react before Marguerite. He slashed his switchblade across her face like an butcher cutting a slab of beef. The blade cut across muscle and bone, biting deep into her face. Blood should have painted the pavement crimson, but did not. "Wha?," Juan muttered, looking perplexed.
For an instant, part of her face, from her nose to her jaw, looked as though it was going fall off. Juan could see the muscles twitch and the veins dangle. Instinctively, the mystical blood collated around the wound, sealing it. Within seconds, her face molded into its former shape like a plastic doll. "You should have played nice, I would have been gentle," Marguerite snarled.
"My God!" Juan screamed as he stabbed into her chest, tearing through her shirt and left breast.
This time, Marguerite curbed the instinct to heal herself and forced her blood through her muscles and her hands. "I'm gonna need a refill, real quick!" Marguerite thought.
As blood seeped from her chest wound, deadly animal claws formed on the tips of her fingers like a malleable glove. The blood shifted through her body, ignoring her wound, giving her muscles hellish strength. Chuckling, Marguerite swiped wildly at his neck, ripping through it like wet paper. Blood washed across her body inciting her hunger. Quickly, the vampire let the body drop, so she wouldn't be tempted. If she fed now, the lady might get hurt.
One of the girls dropped to her knees, made the Catholic crucifix, and bowed her head. "O' father, who art in heaven!" she prayed.
"You are in Hell now!"
"Jesus protect me!"
Marguerite laughed mockingly. "God forgives. . .I don't,"
Murphy tugged Ruthie close to him, holding her arms tightly, and smiled at Marguerite. Shaking like an epileptic, the other ganger attempted to aim his machine gun at Marguerite. Savagely, she ripped her hand through his chest and let him drop onto the ground. Desperate, one of the girls charged Marguerite with a switchblade. Feeling an echo of pity, Marguerite only pummeled her to unconsciousness. Ignoring the remaining girl, Marguerite stalked closer to Murphy. After a few steps, her sensitive ear detected a click. The click of an automatic weapon.
She scanned behind her to see the Catholic girl, who Marguerite thought would still be praying, aiming a sub-machine gun at her. Quickly, she ducked behind her van. The spray of bullets pierced the old lime van. Several of them left holes in the back and the two tires on the damaged side were blown. "Not the van!" Marguerite muttered.
Silence. Marguerite looked under the van. She was trying to reload. Quickly, Marguerite pushed her blood again through to her muscles. She jumped on top of her van, and dove for the surprised teenager. As the girl took her next and last breath, Marguerite held her throat in her claws.
Blood! Marguerite could smell it everywhere. Like an animal, she sniffed the wind around her. She could feel the need to feed overpowering her. "I'm over here, sweetness." Marguerite looked to her left to see Murphy holding Ruthie close to him. "Let her go, or I'll kick your ass so hard your nose'll bleed."
Through her glowing eyes, all of the shadows of the night were gone. Her beast within begged, pleaded, and finally demanded to be let free. It took all of her willpower to maintain control.
"Oh, Childe! You do not know whom is it you face," Murphy said with a smile that revealed fangs.
"O' God!" Ruthie screamed at the top of her lungs.
Flinging Ruthie to the side, Murphy focused his mystical blood through his body and his nerves. Moving faster than Marguerite's senses could register, Murphy punched her twice and knocked her flat. Before she even realized she was flat on the pavement, Murphy pounced on her, holding her arms down with his superior supernatural strength.
"Listen to me Childe! Whom is your Lord?"
"Bite me, asshole!"
"I just might if you don't tell me who your Lord is. Speak or the blonde becomes dessert!"
"I don't know," she admitted.
"Where were you Assimilated?"
"New Orleans."
"You were not Assimilated in Los Angeles?" Murphy asked.
"No."
"Why did you interfere?"
"The chicken foot."
"You've seen it before?" Murphy asked, sounding a little desperate.
"Yeah."
"Where?"
"In New Orleans. The man who Assimilated me."
"He wore a necklace like mine?" Murphy suspiciously questioned her.
"Yeah," Marguerite answered. Murphy's glare unnerved the core of her being.
"Interesting to say the least, MacDuff is an excellent player."
"Who?" Marguerite asked.
"It is not important, there is much about our kind that you do not know. You have not yet learned your power, though your blood is older than mine. You are not yet my enemy."
"I've only been part of the Blood for less than a year," Marguerite told him.
"True, but your Lord is an Elder, and had much power. You share in his power."
"You know him?" Marguerite asked, surprised.
"I know him well. I owe him a favor. Tonight, I will let you live," Murphy answered.
"Why?" Marguerite asked, flabbergasted.
"Has no one told you of the rules?"
"Rules? What rules? After my Lord Assimilated me, I was released. Until now, I have never spoken to one of the Blood for more than a few minutes."
"L.A is ruled by a Lord that rules over our kind. He has decreed that no new vampires be assimilated here. You will have to greet him if you wish to live. Here is an invitation to a private party, make certain that you attend. Your life and the orphanage depends on it."
"The Orphanage? Why? You knew I was gonna be here. How? Why start tthe fight?" Marguerite asked.
Murphy smiled and considered telled her the truth. Ruthie turned and faced evil boldly for the first time. The wild woman that helped her was being held by that beautiful, evil man. "Lord, help me!" she prayed.
Ruthie darted towards Marguerite and Murphy. Stopping a few feet before them, she closed her eyes. She had seen this done on television, but never thought she would actually try to do it. "And Jesus said, 'Be Quiet! Come out of him!' and the demon was cast aside!"
Marguerite and Murphy felt a new presence. Something neither felt before: true faith. Murphy's blood rushed through his body with the knowledge of a threat. As much as he desired Ruthie, he could not bring himself to challenge her, not yet. "Remember the Viper Room, Childe." he warned Marguerite.
"Wait," Marguerite pleaded as Murphy's form morphed into a bat.
Quickly, the bat began flipping his wings, taking flight. For a silent moment, Marguerite and Ruthie watched the bat fly towards the moon until it merged with the night.
"Are ya okay?" Ruthie asked.
The van was in no condition to drive and her body could feel the lapse in blood within her. "Hide me," Marguerite pleaded.
Sirens sang in the distance. Mamma brought her up to help the police and respect the law. They had nothing to fear by staying, yet Marguerite clearly feared them. "Are ya in trouble?" she asked the vampire.
Although she could not find a single wound on Marguerite, blood dripped from her shirt and jacket. Around her neck, Marguerite wore a small gold cross. "Whatever else this poor girl is, she's a believer," Ruthie thought.
"Please! If you don't help me, I'm gonna die."
"The police can help ya, honey."
"If the police find me, I'll be locked up and horrible things will happen to me."
"The police are our friends."
"I can barely move, and if I don't get out of here soon, I never will."
"I don't know. . ."
"If you don't help me, you might as well kill me now."
"I can take you inside Sister Mary's," Ruthie offered.
"No. We can't let them see me. . .please. I can't explain now, we have to hurry."
Ruthie helped Marguerite up and together they limped around to Sister Mary's side of the fence. "There's a shed behind the other. . ."
"Side of the home. . .I know," Marguerite interrupted.
Once the police arrived, Marguerite was hidden safely under a couple of garbage bags in the storage shed. Ruthie locked the shed and returned inside Sister Mary's. Although she hated the idea of leaving Marguerite inside the dirty shed, it was the only option to which she would agree.
A small beam of light from a street lamp shot across the inside of the shed highlighting a spider web. Each of the threads were bound by another keeping all of them stronger. Marguerite hated the idea of spiders, even though they couldn't hurt her anymore. When she was about ten, a black widow bit her on the hand. While she couldn't remember the actual spider bite, the week stay in the hospital remained burned in her memory.
The smell of gasoline irritated her nose and eyes. Although her butt hurt from sitting on the lawn mower, she was afraid to move because she could hear the police all around her. Once she even heard a couple of cops talking right outside the shed. That was when the spider first began to crawl down her back. For nearly an hour, it danced across her body sending shivers everywhere it crawled. She would have killed it, but she was afraid the cops would heard her. When one of the cops banged on the shed to check to see if the shed door could be opened, Marguerite quickly killed the spider and sighed with relief.
"Is everything okay, Ruthie?" Sister Bertha asked, once Ruthie returned inside.
"There was a gang fight outside."
"I couldn't see anything because of that wall. Your room is the only one that has the view."
"You should settle the children down, I need to lie down."
While Sister Bertha calmed the children down, Ruthie walked to her room, locked the door, and stared out her window. Within a few minutes, police cars sectioned off the entire parking lot. Twenty police officers huddled together drinking coffee while the photographer took pictures and the coroner's assistant drew the chalk outlines of the bodies. The police tried in vain to question anyone they could find. No one had anything to say. Ruthie wasn't surprised. Even if she did tell the police what she knew, none of them wouldn't believe her. It was almost morning when the police finished gathering evidence and filing reports. Slowly, the police officers moved to other assignments. In the end, Marguerite's van and the purple Cadillac were towed away as evidence.
When Ruthie felt it was safe, she crept down the stairs and outside to the shed. She quickly unlocked and opened the shed.
"Are you okay?" she asked.
"Need to sleep. . .the sun. . .almost up," Marguerite mumbled.
"I can take you to my bedroom."
"No lights."
"There's a window, but we'll draw the curtains."
"No light at all."
"The only place like that is my closet."
"It will do."
"Okay," Ruthie agreed.
Although Marguerite's shirt was torn to pieces and blood was caked on her jacket, Ruthie could not find a single wound on her. Her skin color had turned livid. Dark circles underscored her eye sockets. Ruthie grasped Marguerite's hand to help her out of the shed. Her hand felt as cold as winter snow.
"O' Lord. What's going on?" Ruthie asked.
Marguerite's blood could feel the sun starting to rise. "Get me inside. I'll explain everything tomorrow night. Please," Marguerite pleaded.
Ruthie remembered Marguerite as the wild woman that killed four people to save her. Now, she needed help. Although she wore the face of a demon, Ruthie could sense she had the heart of an angel. At the least, she had to figure out what had happened. In the end, Ruthie knew she had no choice. Her heart would never allow her to abandon someone who needed her, especially someone that had fought for her. Even a demon.
Ruthie and Marguerite snuck up the stairs and down the hall to Ruthie's room. To Ruthie's surprise, Sister Bertha did not catch them. Once they reached Ruthie's room, Marguerite recognized it. Sister Agatha used to live in this room.
Inside, the room seemed more like a giant closet than an actual bedroom. Several posters of Jesus covered the walls. Other than the bed the only other piece of furniture was Ruthie's scratched vanity dresser. On the far wall, Marguerite looked out of Ruthie's giant window to see the clouds turn amber in anticipation of the new day.
"I have a sleeping bag you can use," Ruthie told her.
"Thanks," Marguerite said as she grabbed it.
Wishing she could see one more sunrise, Marguerite walked into the closet. Before the first rays of sunshine pierced the smog in L.A., Marguerite totally wrapped herself in a sleeping bag and drifted to sleep.
Ruthie sat on her bed, clutching her crucifix. "Oh Lord, give me a sign!" she prayed.
Ring! Ring! Startled, Ruthie answered the telephone. It was her private line she had installed last week for her ministry service. "Hello," she answered the phone.
"Two of your flock have been led astray," a rich, deep voice told her.
"Who's this?" Ruthie asked.
"That is not important. One of them is already lost, but you can save the other by taking his place."
"What are ya talking about?"
"I am talking about the salvation of souls."
"Iron John? Is that you?"
"Some people call me that."
"I don't understand."
"You will. There is a darkness coming. A great, terrible war. You are a candle. So is the woman in your closet. Others will gather around you."
"Ya know about her? How? Is she really a vampire?"
"That is not important. For now answer your door."
A harsh dial tone cut off Ruthie's response. "Answer my door. No one has knocked," Ruthie told the phone.
Knock. Knock.
Shocked, Ruthie dropped her jaw.
Knock. Knock.
Frightened, Ruthie hoped whoever it was would go away.
Knock. Knock.
"Yes," Ruthie snapped, building a reserve of courage.
The door knob turned slightly, but seemed to be stuck. "The door's locked," a male voice reported.
Ruthie pushed herself off of her bed. She took a quick glance around her small room to look for any signs of Marguerite sleeping in her closet. After kicking Marguerite's jacket under her bed, she pushed back her hair and took a deep breath. Quietly, she opened the door to see a weary, handsome teenager who straddled the boarder between childhood and manhood.
"Yes, Steve."
Steve looked behind him as if someone was watching him. "Can we talk?" he whispered.
"Can it wait till morning?"
"I need to talk to you now. Sylvia's in trouble. Can I come in?"
Concerned, Ruthie motioned Steve to enter her room. "What happened?"
"Last night, after the concert all of us thought it would be cool to go a night club."
"Where did ya go?"
"The Viper Room."
"And?"
"Around three o' clock all of us were dancing."
"Who is 'all of us?'"
"I'd rather not say."
"Okay. . . you don't have to tell me, but God will always know."
"It was me, Sylvia, Allen, Tracy, and. . . Kathy."
"Go on."
"We were all dancing and this guy starts hitting on Sylvia. At first, I was pretty pissed and I was gonna tell him to leave her alone and that we were together, but Sylvia stopped me. We were seeing each other, y' know, but she didn't seem to remember me. She. . .she seemed to like him. They danced for a while then I looked the other way for a second and they were gone. I looked for her and asked around, but no one would tell me anything."
"And she never came back?" Ruthie asked, worried.
"I've been waiting for her all night. They finally threw me out."
"Do you remember what this man looks like?'
"A large black man. He had funky clothes," Steve explained.
"What kind of clothes?"
"A purple trenchcoat, Levi's shorts, and thongs."
"Weird hair?" Ruthie questioned him, dreading the answer.
""Yeah, dreadlocks."
"What?"
"Dreadlocks. Don't they have dreadlocks in Alabama?" Steve asked.
"Not in decent society."
"He was also wearing a chicken necklace."
"A chicken necklace?" Ruthie asked.
"Yeah, it was a chicken's foot. Real weird. Sylvia didn't even care. What are we gonna do? Who knows what kind of shit she could be getting into."
"I believe I know who this person is."
"You know him?" Steve asked in shock.
"Yes, I do. Is that so hard to believe?"
"Kind of. . ."
"Do ya think he goes to this club regularly?"
"It looked like it."
"Don't worry, honey. I believe I know how ta find her."
"How?"
"You'll have to have faith."
"Can't you tell me?"
"No, but have faith in God for as it says in the book of Romans, 'If God is with us, who can stand against us?'"
"I know. . .I know, I'm just worried."
"Go to your room and pray for Sylvia and yourself. I'll talk to someone I know who can help. Don't try anything. If ya do, ya could kill her. Do ya understand?"
"No, but I'm desperate. I'll do anything I can to help."
"You can help best my minding me, ya hear?"
Steve nodded. Ruthie knew that the wild woman sleeping her closet was the key to Slyvia's release and wanted to shield him as much as possible from the world of shadows.
The Five led the children out of Egypt on the Highway West. It was a holy quest. In the distance they could see the Tabernacle of God. Although the bright sun distorted her vision, she knew that Marguerite was one of the Five. In the distance, a prophet greeted them.
Ring! Ring! Ring!
By the time Ruthie shut her alarm off, she realized that she was no longer dreaming. After wiping the sleep out of her eyes, she looked at the clock; 4:30 p.m. Figuring that it would be at least three or four hours before the sun set, Ruthie decided she would put the time to good use.
After showering, getting dressed, and eating a small snack, Ruthie found the phone book in the kitchen. After looking up the number for the Viper Room and hoping no one would walk in on her, Ruthie dialed it and waited.
"Viper Room, how can I help you?" The voice was cheerful, polite, and feminine.
"I'm afraid I can't find a friend of mine, could you help me?" Ruthie asked in her best southern accent.
"Who is it?" she asked.
"I'm afraid I can't remember his name."
"If you could describe him, I might be able to help you."
"He's a beautiful black man with dead locks. He wears the coolest clothes."
Pause. Ruthie wandered if she asked too much. "Do you mean dreadlocks?" the voice asked sarcastically
"Oh yes, of course."
"What do you want with him?"
"He and I met last night and I'm supposed to find him for. . .business and I don't seem to remember his name or where he lives."
"Oh, you mean Murphy?"
"Yes. I remember now."
"He comes in every night, I can't give you anymore information than that."
"Then he'll be there tonight?"
"Yes, but tonight is a private party and I'm afraid you have to have a special invitation to get in."
"Thank you very much."
"Thank you for calling The Viper Room."
Ruthie slammed the phone down. "Lord how am I supposed to help this girl, if you aren't going to help me?"
Ruthie returned to her bedroom and sat down on her unmade bed. "I'm sorry Lord, I just don't know what to do!"
What were they? Demons? No, the girl was wearing a cross. If not demons, then what? Did she really make Murphy leave, or was it the police? How did Iron John know about Steve? Or Sylvia? How did he know about Marguerite? Did he know what she was? What that a dream? Or a vison? To find answers, Ruthie searched her blood smeared bible.
An hour after the sun set, Marguerite unzipped Ruthie's sleeping bag and slid out of it. "Girl, you are a mess." Ruthie declared. "Give me those clothes and you go take a shower."
"What if someone sees me?"
"It's almost time for dinner, we always eat late in the summer time. It gives the kids a chance to play outside longer, since Sister Bertha doesn't allow the younger ones out at night. When it starts, everyone will be at the dinner table. I already told Sister Mary Bertha that a friend of mine was visiting."
"She still here?"
"Yes she is. I'm going to dinner, do ya want something to eat?"
"Nothing you can give me."
"Now shower, cause we have to talk."
When Marguerite finished washing the blood, sweat, and grime off her body, she dried off and found a robe waiting for her. She wrapped the robe around her body and returned to Ruthie's room. She could hear everyone at the dinner table. From eight o'clock to nine o'clock, Sister Bertha insisted that everyone be at the dinner table who was going to eat that night. As a result, no one saw Marguerite.
When dinner was over, Ruthie returned to her room. "I would have told Sister Bertha your name, but we haven't been introduced."
"Marguerite Sanchez. It's just as well. Big Bertha doesn't like me."
"Have ya stayed here before?"
"About three years ago and you haven't told me your name."
"Ruthie Jones."
"Thanks for hiding me last night."
"Save your thanks until I find out what's going on," Ruthie said as she held her cross close.
"That doesn't really work."
"With the Lord as my Shepherd I shall not falter."
Marguerite forced herself to look away. The cross seemed to shine brighter. It was almost as though a bright light pierced her eyes. Her head felt light. "Are you of Satan?" Ruthie asked.
"No. Put that thing away!"
"You wear a cross yourself."
"Crosses never bothered me before. It was something about the way you held it."
"Then ya are a vampire!"
"What?"
"I saw your eyes turn red, and the claws. I saw how you did not bleed when you were struck. I saw the way you looked at the blood, like you were going to drink it off the street. And the Lord has said that 'any Israelite or any alien living among them who eats any blood, I will set my face against that person who eats blood and will cut him off from his people.'"
"That's crazy. I don't know what you're talking about," Marguerite lied.
"You can lie to me but you can not lie to God."
"Okay, fine! I'm a vampire! Is that what you want to hear? I am the boogybat of the night."
"Why did you help me?" Ruthie asked.
"I don't know."
"Please, I have ta know," Ruthie insisted
"I felt sorry for you. I know what it's like to be pushed around."
"How can the spawn of Satan feel for a child of God?"
"I don't know what mountain you crawled down from girl, but this is the real world. I didn't ask for this. I didn't make a deal with the devil, so catch a clue."
"You saved my life and almost lost. . ."
"I know. . .and you've thanked me so now I'll be on my way."
"I want to help you. Give up your evil ways."
"You can't help me and I have to leave soon."
"Why?"
"I can feel the hunger. The fight last night drainned most of my blood, I'm already really weak. If I get too weak, the nearest body becomes dinner."
"I can fix you something downstairs. What do you like?"
"I'm a vampire what do you think I eat?"
"I don't know what I think. I never believed in vampires before, but now. . .O' Lord, and Sylvia is missing."
"Sylvia. Sylvia Taylor?"
"How do you know her name?" Ruthie asked.
"She was a friend when I lived here."
"You look maybe a year older than her."
"How old is she now?" Ruthie asked.
"Sixteen."
"That's about right. What happened?"
"That black man you were fighting with kidnapped her at the Viper Room."
"When?"
"Last night."
"Shit! I have to follow him before it's too late," Marguerite cursed.
"We have to follow him."
Marguerite's eyes turned scarlet. "Look at me. Murphy is of the Blood, you don't stand a chance against him."
"I have to help."
"We can talk after I hunt."
"Hunt?"
"I need blood."
"The club is having a private party."
"I know. . .a costume party. I was invited."
"By whom?"
"Murphy."
Marguerite walked over to the window and looked for her van. "Shit! My van!"
"The police impounded it."
Marguerite's eyes turned normal. "Do you have a car?"
"Yes. I'll take ya."
"I'm the spawn of Satan, remember?" Marguerite ask sarcastically.
"You're trying to help. I can see that. And I have my own reasons for helping ya, but why do ya want to help Sylvia?" Ruthie asked.
Marguerite's eyes glowed scarlet. "I don't want her to be like this."
"What do ya mean?"
Marguerite's eyes returned to normal. "I lived here for all my life. I know what it's like to have no parents. I don't know what you think of Big Bertha, but she was the megabitch when I lived here. The only way I could get away was to hide from her. The only one who showed any kindness was a nun named Sister Agatha. She left when I was ten. Got married. Had a baby. Forgot I existed. When I was eighteen, I couldn't wait to get the Hell out of Dodge. So I used the money I saved up and bought my van and drove off. I got as far as New Orleans."
"I always wanted to go to Mardi Gras. I wanted to see the sights, but instead I saw this." Marguerite said showing her fangs.
"I was watching the parade when my Lord showed up. He was a lot like Murphy, even had the same kind of necklace. He wanted to take a walk with me, but I told him to take a hike. He found me later and turned me into this. So I am not the spawn of Satan."
Ruthie winced from the story. "You poor girl," she said as she moved to hug Marguerite.
"Don't get close to me, I'm hungry and in the mood for southern food."
"When you. . .feed does it hurt?"
"The victim you mean?"
"Yeah. Does it hurt?"
"No, some even like it."
"Do you kill. . . .?"
"No, I only take a little. What I need."
"Clubs don't open and get started until around nine o'clock."
"How do you know?" Marguerite asked, surprised.
"The children here have been asking to go to them."
"Oh."
"Could you feed from me and then we could go?"
"You'd feel weak."
"How long?"
"An hour or two."
Ruthie sat on her bed. "You are no more a sinner than I or anyone else. Romans 3:23. 'For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.'"
"I doubt that. What did you do, kill a fly?"
"I divorced my husband."
"That's all?"
"He made me do things. . . .did things to me. . . ."
Marguerite placed her hand on her shoulder. "You don't have to say anything."
"What will they do to Sylvia?" Ruthie asked.
"The Truth?"
"Yeah."
"Either drain her or Assimilate her."
"Turn her into a vampire?"
"Not something I would recommend, because normally, when a vampire is created, it's a virtual slave to its Lord," the vampire revealed.
"That didn't happen to you?"
"No, I don't even know why," the vampire admitted.
"Why did you come back?"
"No reason, just wanted to."
"Why did you come back?" Ruthie asked, insisting for an answer.
"Can you believe bad dreams?"
"About Sister Mary's?" Ruthie asked, surprised.
"Yeah."
"About a highway going west?" Ruthie added.
"And five people leading the way! How did you know?"
"I've had the same dream."
"There's something in the air. I don't like it."
"I don't either. Without blood, will you be able to save Sylvia?" Ruthie questioned the vampire.
"I couldn't even get in the front door."
"I'll give you some of my blood."
"Are you sure?"
Ruthie lay back on the bed. She closed her eyes. "Yes."
Marguerite gently approached Ruthie. Her fangs gleamed in the soft light. She brought her face to Ruthie's neck. Before biting, Marguerite sniffed for the exact spot. Gently, Marguerite kissed the neck jolting Ruthie. The last female kiss she had received was from the red-haired waitress before she divorced Keith. "Forgive me," Marguerite whispered.
Quickly, Marguerite bit into Ruthie. Ruthie felt a slight prick then pleasure as Marguerite sucked the blood from the wound. This sharing thrilled Ruthie more than she expected. She had never been close like this with Keith. This wasn't about one dominating over the other, power, or kicks, but sharing. Ruthie could feel Marguerite's heartbeat as she sucked life from her veins. Instead of hurting her, Marguerite gave her pleasure in a different way.
Instead of being invaded, like sex with Keith, Ruthie became the invader and pierced Marguerite. A wave of orgasmic pleasure washed over Ruthie as Marguerite licked the wound sealing it closed. Ruthie opened her eyes gently and smiled at Marguerite. "Thank you." Marguerite whispered, "Now we'll find Sylvia."