7: Abandon All

Days flew by in Dullsville. My father restored his old job as an art dealer, and my mother went with him. At first, I was starting to wonder why it hadn't happened yet. Why they hadn't left to visit a gallery in Paris or something, I mean. They didn't need to stay here in my self-imposed purgatory. Finally, it happened. And the worst part about it was that it happened at breakfast. You can bet that sure put a damper to my evening.

My mom, dad and I were sitting in our antique Victorian dining chairs, on opposite ends at the old, Frankenstein-sized table. It was unusually quiet, due to my silence oath. The clock chimed. One, two . . . I counted up to six. Breakfast at six o'clock in the evening. Yes, sir. We were undeniably freaks.

My dad cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. If it was a way to gain my attention, I disappointed him. I went on spearing my eggs with my fork, not looking at him, but becoming suddenly engrossed with the bottle of blood in front of me. Hmmm . . . so that's how many calories were in my diet.

"Alexander, we have some bad news," my father approached the subject cautiously.

I gave my toast the death glare. "I don't have another fiancé, do I? I'm out of ideas for hiding places." Damn. Broke my oath.

"No!" My father assured me. I popped some of the raw bacon into my mouth.

"No, it's about my job . . . ." He trailed off, no doubt hoping for me to speak again. I wasn't going to take the bait just yet.

"Your father has to go back to Romania," my mom said quickly, as if by saying it fast it would come up with a different, less depressed result.

Take me with you!

"And, honey, you're old enough to be in America yourself, and you have Jameson with you."

I was almost insulted. I certainly was old enough to watch my own back in another country without parental supervision. It wasn't like I was the party-throwing, frat boy type.

But what she said confirmed my suspicions. They were taking off together.

I nodded my head for her to get the message that I knew.

She looked surprised. "You're taking this well," she observed.

I nodded and swigged the bottle in front of me. Blech! Too cold! I guess I waited too long to drink. Blood's always better when it's warm.

"Well, then it's settled. Your mother and I are going to Romania!" My father grinned. When I looked up glumly and saw my mother give him a withering glance, he looked sheepish. "But I'm very sorry we can't bring you. It's just that bringing you to Romania now isn't the very wise," he finished lamely. Yeah, yeah Dad; if you wanted to screw Mom so bad you didn't need to flee the country for my benefit. I'm grateful that you were thinking how much that would affect my subconscious, being trapped in a house with super hearing while an act like that was being committed, but you didn't have to pull drastic stunts like this.

A lead weight was forming in my chest, smothering my black heart. I was going to miss them, but they deserved to live the life they wanted, not hiding with me.

"We're leaving in a week or so," my mom said brightly.

Yippee. I could barely contain myself.

And yes, that was sarcasm you just read.

"May I be excused?" I asked woodenly. Without an answer, I grabbed my plate and escaped to the kitchen.

A week. Or more. That's all I had left with my parents before they vamoosed to the only place I would ever truly consider my home.

I sprawled myself out on the roof top, which was conveniently located right next to my bedroom balcony window. Stars twinkled at me, furtively attempting to soothe my aching heart. I really did love them. It might not have seemed like it to most people, but I cared the most about them. And Jameson too.

The wooden shingles were both comforting and uncomfortable at the same time, if that made sense. It was nice to know something solid was beneath me, but the shingles were poking into my back. Not wanting to live out the rest of eternity as a cripple, I sat up.

I never really mentioned it in detail before, but the view was amazing. Well over forty feet below my perch was the weedy lawn, brown with age. The gates were rusty from disuse, but impressive and overpowering still. Oaks, pines, weeping willows and various other species surrounded the Mansion like a jungle. An occasional car whizzed by on the dirt-path-road thing.

A pickup truck made its way past my house as I watched from above. My muscles tensed and I nearly fell four stories. I may be immortal, but that would hurt. A lot.

It had to be that car; I would recognize that front bumper anywhere, considering the fact it tried to make me road-pizza a week ago.

But it wasn't the same car, so I loosened my tightened muscles. Maybe I was suffering from a bizarre car phobia? A car phobic vampire. The irony was amazing. When vampires drive, we tend to surpass the speed limit immensely.

I would have to remind myself to attack that horrid blue pickup. Possibly slash a few tires; nothing flashy.

I had finished the painting of Grandma's monument the day before, and my creativity inspiration was yet to be found. If I could, I would paint the clearing in the woods, but it had disappeared like a mirage in a desert. And I certainly wasn't going to paint her.

I was ignoring her. Goth Girl never existed. She was a figment of a very lonely Goth Boy's imagination. Nothing more, and possibly less. I forgot her.

At least, that's what I urged myself to do. It's what I should have done.

But I couldn't help it. Her face was permanently tattooed into my memory.

Well, hopefully by the time my favorite holiday rolls around ---tomorrow--- I would completely forget her. After all, Halloween was said to be magical.