Chapter 2

Chapter 2

            I had a few drinks before work. I find that the shift goes more smoothly that way. I was actually on time, which is something of a shock, and now I’m just biding my time hoping no one wants anything. Mostly I’m wondering what time Sindee is going to show up. I’ve been toying with the idea of not being there; that I way I could just get rid of her painlessly. Or, when she shows up she could find me in bed with another girl. That would do the trick just as well. Of course, either of those scenarios means that I don’t get to fuck her again. That would suck. Whereas if I just wait for her like a good boy it’s very likely that she’ll suck.

            I really hope that her parents aren’t calling the police to report the statutory rape of their baby girl. Firth gave me an odd look when I came in, and I've been trying to avoid his gaze since then. 

            I lean against an end cap displaying bad teen comedy movies (American Pie and such crap) and wish that someone would show up to rob the store and accidentally shoot me through the face. That would solve most of my problems. 

            Do you have Glitter? I didn't even see the guy walk up to me.

            Yeah, probably. It'll be in the crap you shouldn't watch shelf.

            What?

            Never mind. Over here. I lead him over to the right rack and find the shitty movie that he wants to buy. Here, I say shoving the DVD toward him. He takes it and walks out of my life forever. Or at least until another over-hyped committee designed piece of shit flop comes out on DVD. Whatever. People have no fucking taste and that's all there is to it. I loathe the customers almost as much as I loathe me.

            I go back to leaning against a shelf and wait for my shift to tick away. The hours aren't bad in this job, but the minutes are a real bitch.

            Sometimes I dream of water. Deep, green, cool never ending bottomless water that washes me and carries me limp and helpless on and on toward land that never appears. I can see shapes moving around just below the surface and I know that they aren't fish but I can't make them out clearly enough to know what they really are. I'm afraid. But I can't do anything about it.

            Then something pulls me down, deep and deep and deep and fathoms and miles below the surface until no light penetrates and no sound reaches me. I can breathe. That shocks me every time I have the dream. Further and further down I am pulled until eventually I realize that I've passed through the center of the earth and am now being pulled to the surface on the other side of the world. As I break through the water and into the light I awake.

            It isn't a very interesting dream, really. Freud might have made something of it, but I can't. I just told it to waste some time while I wait for the day to end. I want to get home and see if Sindee actually shows up.

            I was telling you about Carol. Like I said before, she started flirting with me the first time I met her. I guess that she sensed something in me: like I was a bad boy or something; like I was trouble. I guess she was right.

            The third time I saw her we were at this big old farm house. It was, of course, a church thing. We had had a dinner and some preaching and such then people broke into groups. Kids were playing different games; some inside some outside. It had gotten dark and Carol and me were outside in the cool night air at the edge of a circle of kids preparing to play hide and seek or some such and I took her hand.

            Come on, I said. She giggled as I led her out behind the house to an old barn that had a hay loft in it.

            What are we doing? She asked even though she must have had some idea what I had planned. 

            I want to be alone with you. To talk. That was half true. I tugged at her hand with a bit more force and she came easily along. In the barn I said follow me and started to climb the ladder to the loft. She did as I told her.

            I pulled her down to the soft bed of hay and started kissing her. She opened her mouth to me and wrapped her arms around my body. She felt hot, and she had started breathing heavy. I started to slide my hand under her shirt and she pulled back from me.

            It's okay, I said. I just want to touch you a little.

            We shouldn't.

            But you're so pretty. I need to touch you. Please.

 

            He eyes widened. Then she lifted her shirt for me. I reached behind her and started trying to unhook her bra. It took both hands, but eventually it came loose and fell down from her shoulders. Her breasts were extraordinary. Her nipples were very large and quite erect. She had the biggest tits I had ever seen on a girl her age. I immediately leaned in and started to squeeze on of them, then to suck her nipple. I was getting really turned on and I started to try the lift her heavy skirt (fucking denim weighs a ton). Carol grabbed my hand and pulled it back to her breast.

            Just touch these she said.

            Okay, I said. For now, is what I thought. 

            The next time we were together would be in the same barn, but that wouldn't be for two weeks, and I'll have to tell you about it later because now I'm clocking out to go home.

            Somehow the shift has ended. I’m still alive, but I’ve lost my buzz. I’ll want a drink before Sindee shows up.

           

****

            Home again home again jiggity jig. I feed Quetzal and lock him in the spare room. Then I pour a drink and start looking through my DVDs for something to watch while I wait for her to show. I settle on Debbie Does Dallas staring Bambi Woods. It may be the best and worst porno of all time. The structure is genius: the whole point of the movie is seeing Debbie get fucked and they make you wait until the very last scene for it. All the other cheerleaders are banging everybody with a cock, but sweet Debbie holds out until the very end. Then when she does get banged, it’s great. Bambi Woods was fucking hot.

            I pop in the DVD and settle back on the couch. Normally I’d pull out my dick and jerk off while watching this, but I don’t want to spoil my evening. If I get off now I may not have the energy to give Sindee what she needs.

            Debbie’s just about to finally get a good pounding and someone is knocking on the door. I don’t bother pausing the movie; I know how it ends. When I open the door I see that Sindee is sucking on a lollipop. That really does something for my bad intentions. She looks like a little girl with an oral fixation, which I suppose is exactly what she is. 

            Beyond the sucker she’s wearing a baby doll T-shirt and tiny little shorts that leave very little to the imagination.

            She walks past me, pausing just long enough to grab my crotch and give it a squeeze. I haven’t decided if I’m fucking tonight or not, she says. Hey, is that porn?

            Yeah. It’s Debbie Does Dallas.

            Start it over. I wanna watch it.

            So I start the movie over. This is killing me, but there doesn’t seem to be that much I can do.

            Hey, where’s you snake-bird thingy? She asks looking around the room.

            He’s asleep. Other room.

            Oh. Okay. Is your dick hard?

            Yeah.

            take off your pants. But don’t touch me.

            I slide my jeans and underwear off. At least I try. I’ve forgotten about my shoes and have to pause to take them off. That done I get my pants the rest of the way off. Sindee grabs my cock and holds it tightly as we watch the movie. She doesn’t stroke it though; she just holds it. This is painful. 

            After a while she says Make me a drink. I do. When I sit back down she gulps down her drink and tells me to get her another. Again, I do. Back on the couch she grabs a hold of my cock again. She holds the head of it in her hand and squeezes several times, then gives a few up and down strokes. Then she settles back in to just holding it.

            We wait out the movie this way. When it’s over Sindee leans over and starts sucking my cock. After about ten seconds she sits up and says I’m not going to fuck you tonight. You can sleep next to me though, if you want.

            Okay. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. 

            Let’s watch another movie.

            Okay, I say, but no porn. This is going to kill me.

            Maybe that’s what I want. Let’s watch something really dirty. Lots of girls. I like girl on girl stuff and I like seeing girls get gang banged. Pick something good.

            I start to put my pants back on. She shakes her head at me. I let the pants be and start looking for something that will satisfy her. God knows I’m not going to be satisfied.

            We start the movie and I try to get her to talk.

            How old are you?

            What do you care?

            I just want to know. How old?

            Twelve.

            What? I jump up.

            I’m screwing with you, dummy. I’m sixteen. Almost seventeen.

            Oh god. Don’t do that. You scared the fuck out of me.

            I can put the fuck back in you, if you want. 

            Oh yeah?

            I’m not fucking you, but I’ll get you hard and keep you hard all night.

            No thanks.

            Okay. Your loss.

            I get up to get a drink. When I come back she has her shorts off and is masturbating to images of two very skinny girls going down on each other. I just stand and watch her. She comes in a matter of seconds, then pulls her shorts back on.

            Tell me about your pet, she says.

            Let’s talk about something else. Did you get in trouble for being out all night?

            Naw. My parents think I’m spending a few days with a friend. I guess that’s true.

            Okay. You know I’m too old for you, right?

            Shut up.

            Do you have a boyfriend?

            Yeah. You.

            No. No no no no no. Get that out of your head.

            Okay. But you’re not going to say no if I ask you to fuck me.

            I might do it one more time, but then it has to be over.

            That’s what you think. You got any pot?

            Why?

            I need to smoke pot before I get fucked in the ass.

            You want me to fuck you in the ass.

            No. But you want it. I can tell. Just tell me that you want it.

            I do want it.

            Say it.

            I want to fuck you in your tight little ass.

            Do you want me to scream?

            Yes.

            Tell me.

            I want you to scream when I fuck you in the ass.

            I’m not gonna let you.

            Christ you’re mean.

            Tell me about the bird-snake thing.

            Quetzalcoatl.

            Yeah. Tell me about Quetzalwhatthefuckal.

            Not now, I say. Maybe later.

            Okay, she says.  Tell me something else. Tell me about your first love.

            No.

            Tell me your name, then.

            So we get to that. I’m fucking this underage girl and I haven’t even told her my name. How rude is that? Then there’s you. How long have we been together now and you have no idea who I am. You must deserve at least that much.

            So I tell her my name.

            She repeats that she’s not fucking me tonight. Then she takes off her clothes and climbs into my bed. I have no idea what to do here. I’m fucking lost. Is this an invitation or what?

            I guess not. She’s already asleep when I walk into the room. She’s lying on her stomach on top of the covers. I give her bottom a light pat and a lighter squeeze then go back in the living room to watch a movie and calm down. I decide not to whack off.

            First, though, I need something else. I get the sewing kit from the kitchen (fuck you, there's nothing weird about keeping a sewing kit in the kitchen, so shut your mouth) and find a needle. I hold the tip of the needle in the flame from my lighter to kill all the nasty little micro-organisms that are breeding there like so many angels dancing to the sex hot rhythms of Barry White. Then I get to work.

            I place the tip of the needle against the tip of my index finger and apply a small amount of pressure. It barely dents the skin, so I press harder. More insistently. It creates a tiny break in the skin. Harder now and it goes a bit deeper. I pull the needle out and look at the tiny bubble of blood rising from my flesh. It grows for a minute. Then I look at the back of my forearm. That's a good spot. I jab fast and the metal penetrates muscle. Again. Look, stab, repeat if necessary. I play it out several times, then put the needle back in the sewing kit and put the sewing kit back in the kitchen. Now I can relax.

            I watch Lady From Shanghai and drink Scotch until I feel the room swim. I’m sick of us both. Then I fall into bed next to the little girl and doze off.

            I dream that I’m made out of unfired ceramic and will melt if I get wet. I’m in a big fancy hotel, but there’s dripping water everywhere. I have to work very hard to keep from being destroyed.

            When I wake up Sindee is already fucking me. I guess I was lying on my back and pretty well out of it. By the way my dick feels I’d say she found the lubricant in my bedside table. I awake to her coming. As she finishes she climbs off of me, leaving me about to explode and says I’m going to shower, then you can take me to breakfast.

            My balls feel like they weigh ten pounds. I’ve felt that before.

            That reminds me of Carol. 

            This part of the story gets a little, well, unpleasant so I need a drink before I tell you about it. I pour a double scotch, gulp it down then pour another double to get me through this. My stomach is empty, so this should be enough booze to get where I need to go.

            So anyway; Carol. It was about two weeks after the night we

 made out. We were back in the hayloft and I already had her shirt off. I had worked her skirt up over her hips and she let me rub against the outside of her white cotton panties. She was moaning and lifting her hips a little as I did this. Then I pulled her panties aside and started to rub her labia. She still didn't complain. 

            She started to complain when she realized that my pants were down and I was trying to climb on top of her. She told me no and pushed me back but I tried to keep going. Then she screamed and pushed harder. I was off of her and she was up. I grabbed her and tried to pull her back down to me but somehow I slipped and she fell and she fell right off the edge of-

            I'm ready to go. Sindee is out of the shower and dressed. I guess I'm taking her to breakfast. She sure as shit better be satisfied with Denny's.

            She doesn't like my car. I don't guess that I give a fuck about that. I'm starting to get really pissed at this chick. If I didn't need to fuck her again so bad I'd cut her loose right now.

            I turn on the radio and pull out into traffic. There isn't too much to deal with. Normal people are already at work for the day, and people that work nights are sound asleep. She doesn't talk much as we drive. There are a few jabs at small talk, but they don't go anywhere. Now we're in the parking lot and she looks at me sideways.

            Denny's? Really, Denny's?

            Yup. It's the best your gonna get right now.

            Okay.

            It takes a few minutes to get a table in the smoking section. We fall into the booth seats and she looks through the menu as if there may be something surprising in there.

            I don't look at the menu. I know what I'm getting. The waitress, one of those ancient women who call everyone honey or darlin', takes our order, then brings two cups of coffee. I light a cigarette while we're waiting for our food.

            Can I have one of those, she asks.

            I pass the pack across the marred table top and she takes it, shakes one out and lifts it to her lips. I pop my Zippo open and roll the wheel back with a smooth motion causing a small blue/yellow tongue of flame to burst to life. I lift the flame to her cigarette. She inhales deeply and as she lets it out she asks where were you born?

            I don't quite think I understand the question, so I tell her to repeat it.

            Here. I mean, not here, not in Denny's. In a hospital, but here. In the city.

            When?

            Okay, she's trying to figure out how old I am. Like maybe I'm too old for her, which I already told her was the case. I don't wanna play, though. I want another drink. Maybe I want to burn myself.

            I don't remember. I was just a kid when it happened.

            She laughs at that. It's an easy, real laugh and it lights fires in her eyes. I just now notice that they are green. Okay, maybe I'm not as sick of her as I thought.

            I ask her a question. Where were you born?

            I know it's stupid. I'm just repeating the same question she asked me, but it seems like fair play as far as I can tell. It looks like she's about to answer, or say something, but the waitress is here with the food. We fall into eating our food and talk doesn't seem all that important.

            You don't want me to describe our mastication's and salivary effusions. I won't bore you with that.

            Fish don’t have a limbic system. Neither do reptiles or insects. The limbic system, if you care, is a structure of the Neo-Mammalian brain. It’s a fairly new structure, evolutionarily speaking. It’s also the part of the brain that creates our emotions, and our ability to form bonds with others. Empathy as well. Love is a chemical reaction. So is lust.

            The brain of an addict is flawed. It doesn’t create enough chemical reactions on its own, so the addict has to find external stimuli to replace those reactions. Mostly we’re talking about endorphins here. The object of addiction is rarely what the addiction is really about; it’s simply a means to an end. The junky doesn’t need heroin; they need their body’s reaction to heroin. The sex addict doesn’t need pussy (or asshole, or mouth, or hand, or sheep, or latex doll) they need the endorphins their body will pump out in reaction to pussy (or asshole, etc, etc, etc, etc and so on). The cigarette smoker needs the rush and gentle ebb of nicotine, not the cigarette. I’m addicted to a variety of things. Mostly I’m addicted to the burn, the pain, the let down after it’s after. I’m starting to understand that what I really want isn’t the pleasant endorphin rush, but the void as the endorphins wash away. I get hot thinking about Hell. Fuck you and your puritan reaction.

            She is pushing her empty plate forward and wiping her napkin across her thick, pouty lips. DSL. that’s what we call it. When a girl has full lips and a nicely shaped mouth we say that she has DSL: Dick Sucker Lips. Angelina Jolie has major DSL. You see lips like that and you can’t help imagining coming between them, around them, on them.

            What do you want to do today? I’m a little shocked that I’m the one asking. The thing is, I’m pretty sure that I’m fucking her at some point today no matter what. Draw whatever conclusion you want from that.

            Let’s hang out at your place and get drunk.

            Sounds good.

            So we drive back. We chat a bit on the drive, but it isn't too heavy or anything. I know what you’re thinking: this has turned into one of those tedious love stories that are so popular these days. I assure you that that isn’t the case at all. There’s no love here.

            Where were we? Carol had slipped (or I had pushed her, I’m not too clear on that. Humbert Humbert was the very epitome of the unreliable narrator, and maybe that tells you something worth knowing or maybe it doesn‘t ) and fallen from the high hay loft. It probably would have been fine, but she caught her head on an exposed beam on the way down. I think that she was very likely dead before she hit the hard floor. Maybe I’m wrong, though. It’s not like I’m a doctor or anything. I climbed down the ladder and looked at her. Her eyes were open. I didn’t expect that. Those eyes, which a few minutes before had shone and flickered, had turned to glass. They stared at something four parsecs away and did not deviate from their target. 

            I knew that she was dead. I also knew that I had to get out of there. If this is a confession, and it almost certainly is, I guess I have to admit that I inserted my finger into her dead pussy for just and instant before I started taking care of things. I climbed back up the ladder and retrieved her shirt. Then I put it on her. I tried to arrange her so that it would look like she had fallen accidentally. Then I ran. No one knew that she was with me. In fact, none of the adults there even knew who I was. Into the night and gone.

            The death of Carol was not even remotely the strangest thing that would happen to me that night.

            It’ll have to wait though. I’m pulling up in front of a liquor store to get some stuff for Sindee. She wants vodka; expensive vodka. So I run in and buy it. I also get orange juice, coke and 7-Up. Like I said before, I’ve got lots of other stuff to drink at home.

            Okay, back in the car and on our way. In profile she is a child in need of love and resolution. She has a face that could make any man ache not just in his crotch, but probably in his heart as well. Or at least in his limbic system. I figure that pedophiles have been noticing her her whole life. I, by the way, am not a pedophile. You’re smart enough to figure that out on your own, though.

            I used to be in love with a girl named Heloise. We called her Sleeping Beauty because she was always taking naps at the oddest times. That girl could sleep anywhere, with anything going on. What really turned her on, really made her happy, was to get fucked while she was sleeping. If you tried to get in on while she was awake she’d just lie there and let you finish then take a nap. But, if you fucked her awake she’d ride you like the world was about to end and come fifteen times in an hour. It didn’t matter if she had been pissed off, or sick, or exhausted when she went to sleep. It didn’t matter who was doing the fucking. That’s just the way Sleeping Beauty was.

            We never technically lived together. We both had our own places, but never went there. We spent all of our time at my buddy Henry’s place. That’s where we lived because that’s where the drugs were.

            Quetzalcoatl was around too. I’ll get to how I ended up with him eventually, but for now suffice it to say that for a time he was with me, then he left for years. By the time me and Heloise were living at Henry’s place Quetzal had become a regular part of my life. And of Her’s and Henry’s too. When you're living with people you can't really hide something like that.

            I was trying to write. Screenplays mostly. I still had this retard idea that I was going to get famous in Hollywood like Kevin Smith or something. I was also banging out the odd horror story now and then.

            One night something odd happened. I'm gonna keep it in the present tense, just to keep things light. So here goes.

            “So it’s  a vampire story, right?” Henry leans back and stretches his legs out along the length of the couch. He takes a slow pull from the bottle of beer that he has been nursing for the last half hour, and rubs his head.

            “Yeah. It’s a vampire story.”

            “There’s lotsa vampire stories, man.” Henry lights a cigarette, and takes a long drag from it. “I mean, hell, everybody writes vampire stories. Since that chick, what’s her name, wrote all those vampire books, everybody’s been doing it.”

            “I know. But this one’s different.”

            “Okay,” Henry starts, “explain it again.”

            “Well see,” I say, “this vampire has insomnia.”

            “So?”

            “It’s not like he can get up and walk around, or read a book, and drink warm milk. He’s a fucking vampire. He can’t get out of his coffin. If he goes out, the light will burn his fucking skin. It’ll kill him.” I am starting to get annoyed that he isn’t getting it.

            “I still don’t like it. I liked that other thing you wrote. That cannibal thing. Now that was cool. Kids eating people. I’d never seen a story like that before. But vampires. Man, everybody does vampires.”

            I take a long slow breath. “Look, he’s trapped in this tiny little coffin every day. He can’t sleep, and he can’t get out of the damn thing. After awhile it starts to drive him crazy. See?”

            Henry sits up. “Crazy?”

            “Yeah man. Fucking crazy as a bag of weasels.”

            “Okay. I get it. Crazy vampire. Cool. Now, are you gonna pass that joint, or what?”

            I pass him the joint. I am thinking about explaining the story in greater detail, but don't think it will help. Quetzalcoatl has no opinion on the subject. He just crouches in the corner, his wings beating silently against the air. He rarely has much to contribute to the conversation.

            “Hey. What we got to eat?”

            I shake my head, and give my eyes a bit of a roll. His grammar is starting to break down. If I pressed him on it he would blame the weed. That was bullshit, though. He was just being lazy. Henry had a terrible habit of letting his sentence construction fall apart when he thought no one was watching.

            “I think there’s some coke in the fridge. There might be a few lemons left.”

            Quetzalcoatl had been hanging around a lot lately. He really didn’t do much except hover and look slightly creepy. I can’t for the life of me figure out why anyone ever worshipped him. Some people will pray to anything.

            Henry gets up and makes his way to the fridge in search of a coke. I wander into the bed room. Sleeping Beauty is sleeping, natch. I touch her arm lightly and she half wakes. Sleeping Beauty smiles up at me, her cold blue eyes partially lidded; she rubs her brow lightly and yawns. I can’t help smiling back. “Go back to sleep, sweetie.” From the other room I can hear Henry rummaging through the ice box, looking for food. Quetzalcoatl has followed me into the bedroom, but Sleeping Beauty doesn’t notice him. I lean in close, and let my lips brush hers. Then I begin the slow trip back to the couch. As I go I can hear her mutter “Love you, Honey.”

            Henry has dozed off. I walk back to the bed and climb in next to Sleeping Beauty.

            When I wake I’m not in bed anymore. I am lying in the soft, dew wet grass along the side of an empty dirt lane. It takes me a moment to register this. Quetzalcoatl is hovering above me, looking down with pitiless eyes. So I get up. No one else is around. There are no cars; no people; no houses; not even a telephone pole. I roll my head around and let my neck pop in every direction, then follow Quetzal up the dark dirt road. It isn’t quite light out, but its not really dark either, and we have no problem navigating the terrain.

            The road bends to the left, and we follow it. After a time the road makes another sharp turn and we are at a cul-de-sac.  The ground is barren, and dry. The earth is cracked and blistered, and nothing grows. In front of us is an array of houses standing at regular intervals. Each house is the same as the one next to it. They are modeled on the Victorian style, and they are huge. Not big in the regular sense, but truly giant. Each front door stands fifteen feet high, and every other aspect of the houses is in perfect proportion to those doors. The houses are old, paintless, crumbling, but the windows are perfectly intact. Between two of them there is an empty space where another house should stand. Instead there is a huge gaping hole where the earth has caved in and swallowed the building that stood there. I notice for the first time that there is a similar cave-hole forming in front of another of the houses. It seems poised to pull this one down just like the other one that is already gone.

            “Where the fuck are we?” I ask Quetzal. He just looks at me blankly, then glides up to the door of one of the houses. He beckons to me, so I follow. I climb the stairs onto the massive porch, and stand next to the hovering snake god. I reach out and knock lightly at the door. Nothing happens. I can’t hear the sound of my knuckles rapping against the wood. I try again. This time I pound on the door, and my knuckles hurt from the impact.

            The door swings inward. Sleeping Beauty is standing in the open door, her face haunted by the ghost of a smile. Her eyes don’t register me. It is as if I am not standing here, not looking directly at her. Quetzalcoatl half slithers half flies past her into the house. He turns in the air and I can tell that he wants me to follow him. I extend my arm and let my fingers brush against Sleeping Beauty’s face. She doesn’t react. Her eyes have gone cold, and empty. So I turn sideways and slip past her into the house. The room has high vaulted ceilings, and thick carpet. Crimson draperies hand around the windows and old tapestries cover the walls. The tapestries depict scenes of violence: crusades and wars and the Spanish inquisition.

            Quetzal leads me to a big staircase. I don’t want to climb those stairs, but I will. For some reason I feel like I should go where he wants me to. So I climb. I’m climbing for a long time, and now we are at the landing. A hallway stretches off to my left, and we head down it. There are doors lining both sides of the hall.  Quetzal stops in front of one door, and waits there for me. When I catch up with him I open the door and we go in.

            The room is familiar. In fact, it’s the very bedroom I fell asleep in last night. Sleeping Beauty is sleeping soundly on the bed. I cross the room to come to the bedside. Then I lean down and touch her sleeping face. She makes a contented sound, and half rolls over. Quetzal is already at the other end of the room, by another door. I follow him out into the living room, and see Henry nursing his beer on the couch. I move to him, and fall into my familiar spot.

            “So it’s a vampire story, right?” Henry leans back and stretches his legs out along the length of the couch. He takes a slow pull from the bottle of beer that he has been nursing for the last half hour, and rubs his head.

            “Yeah. It’s a vampire story.”

            “There’s lotsa vampire stories, man.” Henry lights a cigarette, and takes a long drag from it. “I mean, hell, everybody writes vampire stories. Since that chick, what’s her name, wrote all those vampire books, everybody’s been doing it.”

            “I know. But this one’s different.”

            “Okay,” Henry starts, “explain it again.”

            “Well see,” I say, “this vampire has insomnia.”

            “So?”

            “It’s not like he can get up and walk around, or read a book, and drink warm milk. He’s a fucking vampire. He can’t get out of his coffin. If he goes out, the light will burn his fucking skin. It’ll kill him.” I am starting to get annoyed that he isn’t getting it.

            “I still don’t like it. I liked that other thing you wrote. That cannibal thing. Now that was cool. Kids eating people. I’d never seen a story like that before. But vampires. Man, everybody does vampires.”

            I take a long slow breath. “Look, he’s trapped in this tiny little coffin every day. He can’t sleep, and he can’t get out of the damn thing. After awhile it starts to drive him crazy. See?”

            Henry sits up. “Crazy?”

            “Yeah man. Fucking crazy as a bag of weasels.”

            “Okay. I get it. Crazy vampire. Cool. Now, are you gonna pass that joint, or what?”

            I pass him the joint. I am thinking about explaining the story in greater detail, but don't think it will help. Quetzalcoatl has no opinion on the subject. He just crouches in the corner, his wings beating silently against the air. He rarely has much to contribute to the conversation.

            I decide to do it differently this time.

            “Okay,” I start, “what if Zombies had taken over the world?”

            “Zombies?”

            “Not brain eating zombies. I’m not talking about George A Romero, Dario Argento movie type zombies. I mean philosophical zombies.”

            Henry cracks his knuckles. “I’m not gettin’ you, man.”

            “You know. Philosophical zombies. They look like us, they act like us. But they aren’t conscious.”

            “Okay.”

            “So, what if they had taken over the world? You know, like one was president or something.”

            “Yeah. I think that already happened. I’m pretty sure that the guy in the white house now is a zombie.”

            I can’t help but laugh at that. I go to the fridge for a fresh beer, and notice that Quetzalcoatl is gone. He must have slipped out for a minute, I think. When I get back to the couch Henry has dozed off. This time there is no chance that I will climb into bed. I start the coffee, and walk into the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror seems wrong, but I can’t put my finger on why. Oh well. I move to the toilet and urinate. Then I wash my hands. I grab a damp towel from the rack next to the sink, and begin to work it around in my grip. All the while I am looking at my strange reflection in the mirror and thinking that something is off; something has been slightly askew for some time now, but I can’t grok it. Is this what it’s like? Is this how people live?

            Looking in the mirror I can almost see past my reflection; almost see through myself. I can almost believe that I am real, that I am standing here in this room at this moment. I used to have this recurring dream: In it I would be standing in the rain at night. It was cold and dark and I could feel the air screwing into my ears, trying to get a real ache started. And there was this little girl, about five or six with long blonde hair and a flowered dress. She was running out into the street and the cars were slowing down. The drivers didn’t see her. I would try to yell at her to stop, but the wind picked up and drowned out my voice. So I started to run, to catch her, grab her and pull her back, but no matter how hard I ran, no matter how fast I went I never got any closer. I couldn’t save her.

            The other dream, the one that really got to me, was this: I was driving my car down a country road and something ran out in front of me. It was a deer, or an elk or something. I turned the wheel, and stomped on the brake but I was out of control. The brakes just made the car go faster, and the wheel seemed to work backwards. If I turned left, the car went right. Both of these dreams are really the same, I guess.

            So I toss the towel on the floor, and run some water in the cup that sets next to the sink. I drink it down, and flip the light switch. I walk out into the living room. Henry is still asleep. Quetzal hasn’t returned from wherever he slithered off to.

            So, I flop onto the floor and find the remote. Click and the TV is on. Some preacher in a shiny white suit and an impossible amount of gold jewelry is telling me that God is desperately low on funds. I change the channel.

****

            Not long after that Henry and me had a falling out. The details aren’t important. I left. Heloise stayed. That’s that.

            Me and improbably spelled Sindee are back at my place and I’m fixing some drinks. She’s leafing through my DVD collection looking for something good. She hasn’t seen anything. I mean, my god, this girl has no sense of the history of movies. If I say that I wanna turn my work place into the last scene from Scarface she just looks at me blankly. If I say that I feel like the Mathematician in Straw Dogs, thinking I’m one thing and being forced to learn I’m another, she’ll have no fucking clue what the hell I’m talking about. So what. 

            When I come back she’s settled on Apocalypse Now. The old cut, not that Redux thing. She’s never seen it. She’s never even heard of it. I don’t think she knows who Marlon Brando is.

            Is this any good? She asks taking the drink I made for her.

            No. It’s not good. It’s great. Maybe one of the best movies ever made. I fall next to her on the couch.

            You gonna put it in or what?

            Huh? I guess I’ve got an odd look.

            The movie. Put in the movie.

            Oh. ‘Kay.

            I take the DVD and walk it across the room to the player. Then I insert the disk and put the case on top of the television. Then I walk back to my place on the couch. Is this too much boring detail? Maybe I’m turning into Balzac.

            We watch movies and get drunk and eventually pass out in each others arms on the couch. I don’t dream. We don’t have sex. I never even try and she doesn’t offer.  How’s that for cutting back on the details?

            I wake up before her. It’s still fairly early and I’ve got a hangover. I gulp two big glasses of water and chew some aspirin then take a long, powerful piss. Since Sindee’s still asleep I’ve got some time.

            Where was I? Carol was dead and I had run away. When I look at it closely sometimes I think that I meant for Carol to fall.

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