Haven, Part 1
By ElsaF
The road screams beneath his wheels. The engine roars between his legs. Faster. Must go faster. Outrun the pain.
The broken white line merges into a continuous stripe out ahead to the horizon. The empty dessert spreads out to either side. The wind rips at his clothing and hair, and dries his eyes. Must go faster. Outrun the pain.
A faint, pearly blush spreads up over the eastern horizon. Find shelter. Who the hell cares? Let the sun come. Must go faster. Outrun the pain.
Then, when the world is changing from black to blue-gray, he sees it up ahead. Low buildings. Four corners. A motel on one side of the highway, a gas station on the other. A cafe. A couple of houses set back from the road. Then just before he arrives, a sign: Haven, Calif. Population 14. Someone's idea of a joke. Must go faster -- no, time to stop and take shelter.
------------------
The motel has seen better days. It says "Heated Pool" on the sign, but the pool is empty, the cement bottom cracked and the garish blue paint peeling off in sheets. There is dust drifting in the corners. The word "Motel" is legible, but not the name. The No-Tell Motel...
The office is dark. The only reason to believe this place is in business is the buzzing neon sign in the window that says "Vacancy." It flickers and sputters. The sun is almost up. He goes inside.
He flips the light switch inside the door.
The clerk is sitting on a stool behind the counter. She's been sitting in the dark. She has dark brown, shoulder-length hair and gray-blue eyes. She's wearing a faded blue UCLA sweatshirt and jeans. He looks at her and knows -- she's like him. And he knows she knows what he is as well.
"Can I help you?" she asks.
"A room," he says.
"No problem. We have rooms."
She points to the register. There's a ballpoint pen next to it on the counter.
"How long will you be staying?" she asks.
"I'll be off tomorrow night."
She nods.
"Room 101. Next door. Put the do not disturb sign on the doorknob."
He nods and takes the key.
"Are you hungry?"
He turns back to the clerk.
"Little late to go hunting, love," he says. "Sun's coming up."
"We don't do that here," she says evenly.
He gives her a puzzled look.
"Population 14," she says with an ironic smile. "Eight vampires and six humans. We don't hunt them, they don't stake us."
"And you don't eat the customers..."
"Bad for business," she says.
There is a small refrigerator behind the counter. She goes to it and takes out a Mason jar of blood and pours him a mug.
"Thank you."
"No problem."
He takes the mug and the key and goes to his room to sleep.
----------
He wakes with a start. The dream again. The world drenched in blood. The sobbing. The screams. How long since he's slept without waking up an hour later -- with this dream, no this nightmare, echoing in his head? A month? Six weeks? A movement catches his eye.
She's standing near the window. He can see her silhouette against the curtains. The desk clerk.
"I put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door, love."
"Did I disturb you?"
He growls and turns over, pulling the pillow over his head.
She comes over and puts a cool hand on his bare shoulder.
"I can help."
He rolls onto his back.
"What's your name, love?"
"Marielle."
"You want ..." He reaches out for her.
"No."
He's confused. She's sitting on the edge of his bed. Looking at him. What does she want?
"Relax," she says. She puts her hand on his forehead. Cool fingers. Not like ... no, don't remember that.
"You can sleep. The dream won't come back -- today."
"How?" he asks, but he doesn't hear any answer. Sleep enfolds him in dark arms.
------------
He wakes again, but this time gradually. The light filtering in through the curtains has an orange tinge. Sunset. Good timing. He sits up and looks around. He's alone. Marielle has gone. Of course, pillock. She's not going to sit here and watch you lie here like a rock.
Feels good to wake up after sleeping -- really sleeping. How long has it been?
He gets up and dresses. Black jeans, black T-shirt, short black jacket. He feels his pocket. Out of fags. He can get some at the gas station across the highway.
He crosses the road in the gathering dusk. The sky is deep turquoise with rose streaks. The fluorescent lights are on over the pumps and moths are beating themselves against the fixtures. There's a guy working on a beat-up pickup in the garage. He's wearing a vest and ragged jeans, but no shirt. There are tattoos on his shoulders and the top of his shaven head. He stands up and waves a casual greeting. There's a scar that extends from his forehead, across one of his eyes, down his cheek, to the point of his jaw. This guy is a gang-banger. But there are no gangs out here. Only six people and eight vampires.
"Jerry," the mechanic says, extending his hand to shake. "What can I do you for?"
"Cigarettes."
Jerry nods. "Sure. In the office." He wipes his hands on a greasy rag.
"You talked to Richie yet?" Jerry asks as he opens the cabinet where the cigarettes are kept.
"Who's Richie?"
Jerry shrugs.
"Staying for the barbecue tonight?"
"Nah. Gettin' back on the road."
"Too bad. Rosa's barbecue sauce is not to be missed. Why don't you stick around?"
He looks at the mechanic and wonders if he'd be getting this invitation if he had any idea...
"Gotta keep movin'"
"Suit yourself."
He reaches for his wallet, but Jerry the mechanic stops him. "On the house, friend."
"Thanks."
He walks back across the road wondering why a free pack of cigarettes seems so significant.
Marielle is sweeping out the office.
"Hey, Blondie. Sleep well?"
"Yeah, like the dead." He pauses. "Thanks. Don't know what you did, but..."
"No mas."
"I guess I'd better pay up and scarper."
"Nothing to pay."
He frowns. "Why?"
"Don't worry about it. Richie wants to talk to you. Can you stick around a bit?"
"What's this? The Hotel California? You can check out but you can never leave?"
Marielle laughs. "You can go any time you want. But why not stay a little bit? We're having a barbecue tonight. You'll be welcome."
"What is this place? Why does everyone want me to stay?"
"Everyone?"
"The guy across the road, he already invited me."
"Jerry -- you've met him then."
"Yeah, seems an OK bloke."
"He used to be in a gang -- down in LA. A real bad ass. Says he lost track of how many people he killed. Then, one day, he goes on a hit. Drive-by. There were some kids playing in the yard near the guy they were supposed to whack. Jerry blew the guy away with a shotgun -- and got a 3-year-old, 5- year-old and 7-year-old in the deal.
"Then he came here."
He's afraid now. This isn't right.
"What about you?"
"What do you think? You know what I am."
"Why are you here?"
Marielle smiles. "Almost three hundred years of hunting, and killing, fighting, struggling, hiding. Finally, I just got tired. Couldn't do it any more."
"Somebody put a chip in your head?"
"Chip?"
"Never mind."
"I met Richie. He said I could stay. And that's all there is to it."
"Oh God, don't tell me. I lost track of time out there on the highway. The sun came up and I dusted. This is hell."
"Is this what you thought hell would be like?"
"No... no, where I come from. That was hell."
"Well, this isn't hell. And you're still alive -- as alive as our kind ever is."
"What is this?"
"A place where you can rest. Why don't you stay another night? Rosa's barbecue sauce is really worth the trouble."
"And Richie wants to talk to me."
"Yeah -- but later."
"OK, I'll stay -- tonight."
"Good." She smiles.
By ElsaF
The road screams beneath his wheels. The engine roars between his legs. Faster. Must go faster. Outrun the pain.
The broken white line merges into a continuous stripe out ahead to the horizon. The empty dessert spreads out to either side. The wind rips at his clothing and hair, and dries his eyes. Must go faster. Outrun the pain.
A faint, pearly blush spreads up over the eastern horizon. Find shelter. Who the hell cares? Let the sun come. Must go faster. Outrun the pain.
Then, when the world is changing from black to blue-gray, he sees it up ahead. Low buildings. Four corners. A motel on one side of the highway, a gas station on the other. A cafe. A couple of houses set back from the road. Then just before he arrives, a sign: Haven, Calif. Population 14. Someone's idea of a joke. Must go faster -- no, time to stop and take shelter.
------------------
The motel has seen better days. It says "Heated Pool" on the sign, but the pool is empty, the cement bottom cracked and the garish blue paint peeling off in sheets. There is dust drifting in the corners. The word "Motel" is legible, but not the name. The No-Tell Motel...
The office is dark. The only reason to believe this place is in business is the buzzing neon sign in the window that says "Vacancy." It flickers and sputters. The sun is almost up. He goes inside.
He flips the light switch inside the door.
The clerk is sitting on a stool behind the counter. She's been sitting in the dark. She has dark brown, shoulder-length hair and gray-blue eyes. She's wearing a faded blue UCLA sweatshirt and jeans. He looks at her and knows -- she's like him. And he knows she knows what he is as well.
"Can I help you?" she asks.
"A room," he says.
"No problem. We have rooms."
She points to the register. There's a ballpoint pen next to it on the counter.
"How long will you be staying?" she asks.
"I'll be off tomorrow night."
She nods.
"Room 101. Next door. Put the do not disturb sign on the doorknob."
He nods and takes the key.
"Are you hungry?"
He turns back to the clerk.
"Little late to go hunting, love," he says. "Sun's coming up."
"We don't do that here," she says evenly.
He gives her a puzzled look.
"Population 14," she says with an ironic smile. "Eight vampires and six humans. We don't hunt them, they don't stake us."
"And you don't eat the customers..."
"Bad for business," she says.
There is a small refrigerator behind the counter. She goes to it and takes out a Mason jar of blood and pours him a mug.
"Thank you."
"No problem."
He takes the mug and the key and goes to his room to sleep.
----------
He wakes with a start. The dream again. The world drenched in blood. The sobbing. The screams. How long since he's slept without waking up an hour later -- with this dream, no this nightmare, echoing in his head? A month? Six weeks? A movement catches his eye.
She's standing near the window. He can see her silhouette against the curtains. The desk clerk.
"I put the 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door, love."
"Did I disturb you?"
He growls and turns over, pulling the pillow over his head.
She comes over and puts a cool hand on his bare shoulder.
"I can help."
He rolls onto his back.
"What's your name, love?"
"Marielle."
"You want ..." He reaches out for her.
"No."
He's confused. She's sitting on the edge of his bed. Looking at him. What does she want?
"Relax," she says. She puts her hand on his forehead. Cool fingers. Not like ... no, don't remember that.
"You can sleep. The dream won't come back -- today."
"How?" he asks, but he doesn't hear any answer. Sleep enfolds him in dark arms.
------------
He wakes again, but this time gradually. The light filtering in through the curtains has an orange tinge. Sunset. Good timing. He sits up and looks around. He's alone. Marielle has gone. Of course, pillock. She's not going to sit here and watch you lie here like a rock.
Feels good to wake up after sleeping -- really sleeping. How long has it been?
He gets up and dresses. Black jeans, black T-shirt, short black jacket. He feels his pocket. Out of fags. He can get some at the gas station across the highway.
He crosses the road in the gathering dusk. The sky is deep turquoise with rose streaks. The fluorescent lights are on over the pumps and moths are beating themselves against the fixtures. There's a guy working on a beat-up pickup in the garage. He's wearing a vest and ragged jeans, but no shirt. There are tattoos on his shoulders and the top of his shaven head. He stands up and waves a casual greeting. There's a scar that extends from his forehead, across one of his eyes, down his cheek, to the point of his jaw. This guy is a gang-banger. But there are no gangs out here. Only six people and eight vampires.
"Jerry," the mechanic says, extending his hand to shake. "What can I do you for?"
"Cigarettes."
Jerry nods. "Sure. In the office." He wipes his hands on a greasy rag.
"You talked to Richie yet?" Jerry asks as he opens the cabinet where the cigarettes are kept.
"Who's Richie?"
Jerry shrugs.
"Staying for the barbecue tonight?"
"Nah. Gettin' back on the road."
"Too bad. Rosa's barbecue sauce is not to be missed. Why don't you stick around?"
He looks at the mechanic and wonders if he'd be getting this invitation if he had any idea...
"Gotta keep movin'"
"Suit yourself."
He reaches for his wallet, but Jerry the mechanic stops him. "On the house, friend."
"Thanks."
He walks back across the road wondering why a free pack of cigarettes seems so significant.
Marielle is sweeping out the office.
"Hey, Blondie. Sleep well?"
"Yeah, like the dead." He pauses. "Thanks. Don't know what you did, but..."
"No mas."
"I guess I'd better pay up and scarper."
"Nothing to pay."
He frowns. "Why?"
"Don't worry about it. Richie wants to talk to you. Can you stick around a bit?"
"What's this? The Hotel California? You can check out but you can never leave?"
Marielle laughs. "You can go any time you want. But why not stay a little bit? We're having a barbecue tonight. You'll be welcome."
"What is this place? Why does everyone want me to stay?"
"Everyone?"
"The guy across the road, he already invited me."
"Jerry -- you've met him then."
"Yeah, seems an OK bloke."
"He used to be in a gang -- down in LA. A real bad ass. Says he lost track of how many people he killed. Then, one day, he goes on a hit. Drive-by. There were some kids playing in the yard near the guy they were supposed to whack. Jerry blew the guy away with a shotgun -- and got a 3-year-old, 5- year-old and 7-year-old in the deal.
"Then he came here."
He's afraid now. This isn't right.
"What about you?"
"What do you think? You know what I am."
"Why are you here?"
Marielle smiles. "Almost three hundred years of hunting, and killing, fighting, struggling, hiding. Finally, I just got tired. Couldn't do it any more."
"Somebody put a chip in your head?"
"Chip?"
"Never mind."
"I met Richie. He said I could stay. And that's all there is to it."
"Oh God, don't tell me. I lost track of time out there on the highway. The sun came up and I dusted. This is hell."
"Is this what you thought hell would be like?"
"No... no, where I come from. That was hell."
"Well, this isn't hell. And you're still alive -- as alive as our kind ever is."
"What is this?"
"A place where you can rest. Why don't you stay another night? Rosa's barbecue sauce is really worth the trouble."
"And Richie wants to talk to me."
"Yeah -- but later."
"OK, I'll stay -- tonight."
"Good." She smiles.