Walking Home with Strangers

Excuse me? Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you. I just wanted to ask for a lighter, if you've-great, thanks.

Mmmm, nothing like the taste of a slow suicide, right? Heh, now that's Marlboro country.

I guess you're new to this neighborhood. I'm very good with faces, and I've never seen yours. When did you move in?

Ah, good, probably still haven't unpacked anything but the essentials yet.

So what do you do? Oh, a nurse! That's great! Well...yeah...yes, I would think so, with all that blood and needles. Just-brrrrr. But still, it's a good job, something you can be proud to tell the family about.

I'm...well I'm between careers right now. I've just recently left my old profession behind, and I'm still not sure what to do with myself.

I don't know. I'd be reluctant to tell you, since we've just met. Hahahaha! A gigolo? That's very flattering, but no...I was a thief.

Ah, see? Now you're looking around. You're more alert, like you expect me to do something. Well you can relax. I gave up the habit, and I'm just walking home right now.

No, it wasn't an easy job. Being a good thief means keeping up on the latest security systems, and every job required meticulous planning.

Yeah, I did all right. If I gave you my name, you wouldn't find a record for me, which I think speaks volumes about my credentials.

Heh, no, I never whacked anyone. I rarely worked for the mafia. You pull too many jobs for those guys, and they think they fucking own-

Sorry, I'll watch my mouth. But no, I didn't like dealing with other criminals, except the guys who fenced stuff for me. And I didn't trust those guys as far as I could throw them.

I suppose I retired for a lot of reasons...no, that's a lie. I quit over one vampire, and the rest of the pack have made...oh, that's amusing?

I see. Well, given your logic, you've never seen a thief until meeting me; ergo, thieves don't exist. You want proof I'm a thief? Okay, see that door over there? Now look at me. Is this your wallet?

Oh relax! Here, you can have it back. Heh, is this your driver's license and credit card? See? Now you believe me. Calm down, I gave it back. Yes, your money is all there! Stop counting it in the open like some backwoods rube. You can get mugged that way.

Yeah, I didn't believe in the vamps myself until just a few months ago. Nah, never mind. I see you already think I'm crazy.

You don't really want to hear this. You don't even believe me.

Well...if you're sure.

Four months ago, I moved into Dallas. I moved about once every six months to work new cities. It kept me off the fuzz radar, and I could fence most of my stuff on the internet. No, not Ebay. Don't you know that place is only for scammers and collectors? I was a thief, not a scammer. Of course there's a difference.

It doesn't matter how I sold my things. Besides, we aren't talking about the working lives of thieves.

I was getting settled in for a job. The mark was a jewelry store downtown with a vault that a four year old could have broken into. I was in the alley behind the building, and I was just about to unpack my toolkit when-

My toolkit? Uh, well it's like a fanny pack; but instead of a pouch, the pack unrolled to give me access to lock picks, my drill bits, a battery-powered Dremel hand tool, and a stethoscope. I kept other tools in a backpack, but those changed depending on the job. Just then, I was carrying a bigger drill, a handheld acetylene torch, and several rods of thermite. That's a special mixture of rust and aluminum which burns hot enough to eat through carbon steel.

The thermite was my last line of attack if I wasn't able to crack the safe using my toolkit. I was just about to start working the door when I heard a startled cry. A second later, I heard feet shuffling. From the voice and the scrape of the heels on the pavement, I guessed it was a woman in high-heeled shoes.

I looked to the end of the alley, and this woman staggered around the corner of the building. She was hunched over, and she looked drunk with the way her legs kept wobbling.

She passed under a light, and I thought she was barfing wine, because red liquid was gushing from her. It looked like she had her hand over her mouth.

Then she raised her head, and I saw she clutched her throat. Blood poured between her fingers and coated the back of her hand before rolling down her chest to stain her dress.

Behind her, a pale skinned man walk around the corner. I thought he had a dark birthmark or some kind of makeup over his eyes and nose.

I ducked down behind a dumpster, and I didn't think he'd seen me. His attention was focused on the woman, giving me time to get to know his face.

When he stepped under the light, I saw a violet streak painted on his face. By the time he grabbed the woman, I'd pieced together what happened. The woman walked to her car with her pepper spray key ring in her hand. She'd been spun around and cut before she could react, but she'd managed to get off one burst of tinted pepper spray in his eyes.

I wondered if I was watching a hit, or if the woman was just another random victim of a serial killer.

My attention moved to the man's hand, where I expected to find a knife. He didn't have one, and I wondered if he dropped it until he grabbed a handful of the woman's hair and yanked her head up. His other hand clutched her wrist and pried it down to expose the gaping hole in her neck.

Then he opened his mouth wider than any human being possibly could. I heard his jaw pop twice, and I saw the row of pointed fangs in his mouth just before he latched onto the wound.

His black eyes rolled back in his head while he drank, and the woman whimpered before she went limp. She didn't have that much blood left, so I think she was a light snack.

What? Yes, of course I was terrified. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I'd clapped both my hands over my mouth. Whether it was to muffle my panicked breathing or keep me from vomiting, I can't say. I couldn't even think straight, and when I did, my first thought was,

This can't be real.

But as scared as I was watching the woman die, it was nothing compared to the terror I felt when he dropped her body and his eyes rolled down to look directly at me.

In the vampire movies, vampires always wear some kind of suit, you know? I remember thinking as a kid how that was bullsh-malarkey. Their dry cleaners would spot the bloodstains, and then the vampire would be caught, right?

This guy wasn't wearing a suit. He was wearing an old, creased, black leather jacket. It was only shiny where the woman's blood had smeared into it. He wore black jeans and combat boots.

He stepped toward me, and my brain screamed at me to run. I turned and bolted.

While I ran, I thought of every vampire movie I'd ever watched, trying to think of some way to defend myself.

I decided church was my best bet. I ran out of the alley and headed for one of those megachurches. You know what I mean, right? Big white building with a massive cross and not much in the way of personality. Say what you will about the Catholics-at least they build churches with style.

Not the place I was headed. It was just a white box. Without the cross, it could have been an office or a store. For me, that was a good thing, because the doors of the church were glass. I unclipped my toolkit as I ran, and when I reached the door, I slammed the kit into the glass.

Huh? Oh, this is your place? All right, it was nice to-

No, I couldn't keep going unless you wanted to sit out here on the steps and listen. Yeah? All right then.

I dipped under the metal handle and backed away from the door. I imagined the vampire would scowl at the door awhile before he went to seek another victim. Instead, he went to a locked door and pulled it open.

The sound of the lock breaking was hideously loud, and I heard a pop as a fracture opened across the glass.

And then he was inside the church lobby, and I was feeling very foolish. I dropped my toolkit and started backing up before I whispered, "So...churches don't work?"

The son of a-of a gun laughed at me. It was a warm sound, like he was in high spirits after having to chase his food down. He said, "No, churches don't work, nor do crucifixes."

I backed into the open doors of the church. Stalling for time, I asked, "How about garlic or holy water?"

He grinned at me, and I could see his teeth were growing longer. He asked, "Do you have any holy water or garlic?"

I had a thought then, so I said, "I don't know, let me check."

I pulled off my backpack and unzipped it, and acted like I was rummaging my hand around. But the instant my hand was in the bag, I'd already grabbed the torch and one of the thermite rods.

I said, "No, I guess not. Does spitting in a church make it holy water?"

Again he laughed, and even if it sounded warm and friendly, waves of shock rippled down my back. He held out his hand in invitation and said, "Try it and find out."

So I did, and he slapped that goober right out of the air. He laughed again and leapt at me so fast he almost blurred. I dropped my bag and let it fall away from the thermite rod and torch. I don't think he even saw the rod until it was sticking out of his chest. I'd punched it up into his ribs while sidestepping the lunge.

No, he didn't explode. Thermite doesn't explode anyway. You light the magnesium tipped end of a rod, and the thermite powder ignites as it's poured out on your working surface. Just to get the magnesium tip to burn, you have to use a torch about three or four seconds, so obviously, my plan wasn't to burn him up. I just wanted to wound him, and the rods were all I had.

It did slow him down, and I mean a lot. I'd pushed the rod through one of his lungs, and his blood was dripping on the carpet fast enough to make a small puddle. I picked up my bag to retrieve another rod, and then I ignited the torch.

At the sound, he looked at me, and all the false good cheer was gone from his rapidly distorting face. His mouth was so full of pointed teeth that his lips were stretched in a wide O shape, and his brow furrowed down before it bulged out. His eyes were lost in a deep pocket of shadow, and something about that nearly stopped my heart. Even now, I'm not sure why. I think it had something to do with how he looked like his eyes were gone, and yet he was still staring at me.

He spoke, but his words were so slurred through his grill of teeth that I had no idea what he'd said. Then he waved his hand, and I understood. He'd said, "Try again."

My mouth went dry, and I shook my head, moving the torch to the tip of the rod. I said, "Nah, I'll go with a new trick."

I had two plans forming at the same time. If he leapt at me and the rod ignited, I was going to sink it into his shoulder and let the white-hot slag burn a hole through him. If he stood there waiting, I was going to fling the rod, sending a burst of slag at him.

But as soon as the magnesium lit up, the bright white light made him throw a hand in front of his face. He leapt, but he went up and over my head instead of coming at me. I pivoted around on my heel, and when he landed, I flung out the rod.

My plan's flaw was exposed when inertia emptied the hot slag out and sent thermite powder out across most of the arc. A ball of the white hot metal made contact with the side of his shoulder.

His jaw unhinged down to his throat, and he roared in agony. His cry was so loud that I fell to my knees and dropped the torch.

Luckily for me, he didn't want to press his advantage. Then again, it might have been the thermite carving a blackened trail of flesh down his upper arm. He attempted to reach for the slag, which resulted in another pained roar.

Then he turned away from me and ran out of the church, bellowing the whole way like a beast in his death throes.

I knelt in stunned silence until the crackling sound of fire alerted me to the two rows of wooden benches which were starting to burn. I cut off the torch and took out another rod, just in case he came back for round two. Then I ran to collect my toolkit and get out of the church before the cops showed up. With that guy's roaring, I knew someone was going to be arriving soon.

I made it back to my car and drove home as fast as I could. Then I spent the next two days making my peace with God. And when I didn't get killed, I realized I might have to make good on my promises.

See, the whole time I was praying, "God, if I live through this, I promise I won't steal anything else."

Hey, can I borrow that lighter again? Thanks.

So, that's my story. Pretty crazy, huh? What did he look like? Well, if you look causally to your left back the way we've come, you'll see him standing by a streetlight. I said casually.

No, he isn't following me. He was following you. You should get upstairs and bolt the door. Once you're inside, he won't know which apartment is yours. That's why I asked you to sit out here instead of trying to invite myself in. Oh, and you're welcome.

See you around.