“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he told her.
“Very much.”
“I suppose it can be arranged.” He straddled the coffin and smiled down at her.
It was confusing. He hadn’t pulled the stake yet, but she was already alive, naked and beautiful and talking to him.
“How come you’re already alive?” he asked.
She gave him a playful smile. “Vampire magic.”
“So you area vampire?”
“Never said I wasn’t.”
“I don’t know.”
“You want me, don’t you?” Her hand reached up from inside the coffin and stroked him.
“It’s not as simple as that, Bonnie.”
“You want me, don’t you?”
“But if you really are a vampire...”
Bonnie lifted her legs, spread them apart, and hooked her knees over the sides of the coffin. “You dowant me,” she said.
“I know, but...”
“And I want you.” Her hands went to her breasts, caressed them, squeezed them. “Take out the stake, and I’ll be yours.”
He didn’t want to pull the stake. He ached for her, but she had as good as admitted that she was a vampire. If he freed her, what would she do?
“I won’t feed on you or your family,” she told him, as if reading his mind.
“How do I know that?”
“Trust me. Pull it.” Then her head lifted. It came up off the bottom of the coffin. As she writhed and massaged her breasts, her neck grew longer. Slender and white and curving forward. It lowered her head toward the jutting stake. Her tongue slid out, long and pink, dripping, and curled around the wooden shaft. Slid down to where the wood entered her chest. Cheek resting against the smooth skin above her breasts, she looked up at Larry and smiled. “Pull it,” she urged him, somehow able to talk in spite of her extended tongue.
Larry watched, breathless, his heart slamming.
Bonnie’s tongue, wrapped around the shaft, wound its way to the top. Her head followed. She drew in her tongue. And then she stretched her lips wide and lowered her mouth over the blunt end of the stake. She sucked on it.
She’s going to suck it right out of her, Larry thought.
It’s okay if shedoes it. As long as I’m not the one...
“Cop out!” A stranger’s voice.
Bonnie’s head jerked up, fluid spilling down her chin, her eyes furious. With her long neck, she reminded Larry of a cobra rising to the tune of a snake charmer. Her head swiveled toward the sound of the voice.
Larry looked, too.
The stranger wore the dark robe of a monk. Its hood hung low, hiding his face.
“Uriah?” Larry asked.
“Do not be deceived by the evil one,” the stranger said.
“Kill him, Larry,” Bonnie said, her voice low and calm, coaxing. “That’s Uriah, all right. He’s the one who did this to me.”
“Get thee back to Hell, demon!”
“He’s a madman,” Bonnie said. Her voice sounded farther away. And different. There was nothing sly or seductive about it. She sounded very much like Lane. Larry felt his chest tighten. “He murderedme. And it hurt. It hurt so much.”
Larry looked away from the stranger.
The coffin was empty.
For a moment, Larry thought, It’s too late! She sucked the stake right out and she’s alive!
Then he saw her. She stood on the other side of the coffin. Tears gleamed in her eyes. Her chin trembled slightly. There was no stake in her chest. Somehow, she now wore Lane’s white sweater, jeans and boots. But she was Bonnie, beautiful and innocent and weeping softly.
Larry suddenly realized he was naked. He looked down at himself and sighed with relief. He now had his robe on.
“He killed me,” Bonnie said, her voice trembling.
“Vampire!” Uriah bellowed. “Hideous slut!”
“Shut up,” Larry snapped at him.
“I’m no vampire,” Bonnie said. She sniffled. “Uriah’s crazy. He... he murdered my friends and me. We never did anything.”
Larry scowled at Uriah.
“She’s lying, you fool.”
“Oh yeah?” Larry snapped. “You goddamn maniac, you...” And he was suddenly rushing the man. “I’ll kill you, you fucking maniac!”
Uriah hurled the severed head of a coyote at him.
The eyeless head rumbled through the air, blood spraying from the stump of its neck, its maw wide, fangs dripping. Larry flung up his arms to block it. The teeth snapped shut on his forearm. He yelped and flinched and woke up.
The house was dark and silent. He lay uncovered on the bed, trembling, his skin tingling with goose bumps and bathed in sweat. He sat up. The bottom sheet peeled away from his wet back. Looking past the vague form of his sleeping wife, he squinted at the alarm clock. Almost one. He couldn’t have been asleep for more than half an hour.
Not even closeto morning.
He ran his hand through his drenched hair. The muscles along the sides of his neck felt tight and cold. They seemed to be squeezing pain into his head.
He climbed out of bed, stepped quietly to the closet and put on his robe. It clung to his damp skin. Knotting the belt, he went into the hallway.
He passed Lane’s open door on the way to the bathroom. Her light was off, but he wondered if she was asleep. He didn’t stop to check.
It doesn’t matter, he told himself. I’m not going to look at the pictures.
What willI do? he wondered.
He knew what he wouldn’t do — go back to bed. Not right away, at least. He felt wide awake. Besides, there was no point in trying to sleep until the headache subsided. And he didn’t want to risk another dream. Not like that one.
At the end of the hallway he entered the bathroom. He shut the door but left the light off, knowing it would hurt his eyes. The mellow glow from the night-light was enough. As he stepped toward the medicine cabinet, he breathed deeply of the scents that still lingered after Lane’s shower. Feminine, flowery aromas from her soap or shampoo or body powder... who knows what? But they filled the bathroom with her presence, and Larry felt himself relax a little.
He took two aspirin, washing them down with cold water.
He returned to the door. He took hold of its knob.
He realized that he didn’t want to face the dark, silent house beyond the door. He didn’t want to lie in bed and wait for sleep. He didn’t want to sleep. He didn’t want to sit alone in the living room and try to read or watch television. He didn’t want to sneak into his office and slide open the file cabinet and take out his pictures of Bonnie.
I’m just fine right here, he told himself.
He thumbed down the button in the middle of the knob. The door locked with a loud ping.
He lowered the toilet seat and sat down. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on his knees. He stared at the bath mat. Even in the faint light he could see where Lane’s wet feet had matted down the nap.
He breathed through his nose, savoring the comfortable, familiar mix of aromas.
Bonnie can’t get to me here, he thought.
A knock on the door startled him awake. The bathroom was gray with morning light. “Dad, my teeth are floating.”
“Just a minute.” He pushed himself off the floor, picked up the bath towel he’d used to cover his legs, hung it on the rack and straightened his robe. He flushed the toilet. Then he lifted its seat and stepped to the bathroom door. “What’s the secret password?” he asked.
“I’m gonna pee on the floor!”
“That’s it.” He opened the door.
Lane rolled her eyes upward. “About time.” As she sidestepped past him, she stopped and frowned. “Are you okay? You’re looking kind of weird.”
“Rough night,” he said.
“Case of the trotskis?” she asked.
“Just a headache.”
“Good. So you didn’t stink the place up.”
“Smells fine in there.” It smells like you, he thought. He rubbed her mussed hair. She stepped past him and shut the door.
In the bedroom he found Jean still asleep. He closed the door, hung up his robe, and crawled into bed. The sheets on his side were cool. He rolled, and curled himself against Jean’s back. He slipped an arm down across her belly. She was warm and smooth. He eased his face against her hair. The smell of her was like those that had kept him company through the night.