My Pleasure, Darling

8: Always did like Trees

I speed walk down the pavement, and have to remind myself to consciously slow down. I must appear as though I have done nothing wrong. I know of course, deep down, I have done the most basic thing that anybody with half a heart would have. But this is now illegal. Vampires are now illegal. I am committing crimes just by owning Bablets, in all likelihood. My ankles strain a little, and I have to really slow down, as if I'm taking a leisurely stroll with all of my bags. I forget about the breakfast I promised. My intuition requires priority.

I see the van before I'm in the parking lot. I'm stunned, silent and still. It's a big black van, covered in the HURS symbol. It's not parked neatly in the lot; it's rolled up on the steps at the door. Inside, there's a ruckus, a series of loud noises I can't understand from where I am.

Andrea. Felix.

Three men come out. Big. Burly. Thick. Muscular. Two are bald, all three tattooed, heavily. One has a HURS symbol tattooed on his cheek. I've never seen anybody wear their hatred so proudly before. It takes me a moment to notice they are all armed, and one also has a baseball bat and a crowbar.

Andrea. Felix. Oh, God.

I watch, concealed behind a bush, as the van screeches out from its parking place and drives away, right down the road. It takes me a moment. They didn't take anybody with them. So either they didn't find who they were looking for, or -...

Or they're not in the business of taking prisoners.

I don't drop the bags, even though part of my head says I probably should. I walk into the lobby on the least stable legs I've had in my adult life. The old clerk is there, a very fat wad of cash in his hand that he is counting. He glances at me over his glasses, unperturbed by whatever it is that just happened in his establishment.

I know I am betrayed. It's plain on my face. He shrugs at me, as if he is totally innocent.

"I have no problem with you, of course," he says, as if this redeems him.

I'd be enraged if I wasn't so concerned. I don't give a fuck if you have a problem with me. Believe me when I say I now have a problem with you, and you're going to regret it until the end of your very, very short life.

I dump the bags and run. I just sprint. He already knew. He already knew, that at least Felix – at least Felix was a vampire. I don't know how. I don't care if I give myself away anymore.

The door is open, paint smashed, wood splintered. I kick it in, and it swings with ease.

The room is trashed. Furniture is smashed, clothes flung to all corners. There's a light flickering in the bathroom – they've lit towels on fire in the bathtub.

Andrea's little shoes are still here, as are Felix' boots. Neither of them are here.

My knees buckle. I hit the floor. For a moment, all I can do is inhale, inhale until it feels like my lungs are burning. Then I sit in the middle of the floor, and for the first time, I cry.

I really, really cry. My throat hurts and my face is burning and I simply sit there, legs awkwardly folded under me, sobbing in fear, pain, and utter relief.

They got out. If the HURS didn't take them, and they're not lying here bleeding out on this gross carpet with their skulls smashed in, then that means they got out. They're safe. Felix has taken her away and they are safe. I plant my face in my hands and scream.

It's too much, it's all, too too much. I can't do it. I'm grateful and pained and terrified and so, so relieved and so, ever so scared.

My head hurts. It's ever so achy. I can feel the blood swirling in it when I move. I look up.