Chapter 15

15

“Wh-what?”

“Eternal life. Eternal youth.”

“What are you talking about? Are you—are you really not going to help us? What’s wrong with you? Fuck you!”

“It’s a simple choice,” Henry says. “To live forever or to die as you are.”

“Easy-peasy,” Ilie says. “We party, have good time.”

Naomi gasps for breath. My hand is slippery with her blood, and it keeps sliding out of position. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe this is real. It must be a dream. I must be dreaming. I…

I’m back in the hospital after my fall, slowly sobering up, thinking, This must be a dream .

I’m thinking about Patsy Cline. Don’t worry about me, hoss. When it’s my time to go, it’s my time.

Is this it? Am I about to watch Naomi bleed out on the floor of this dirty lake house? What are these psychos going to do to me afterward? They’re not going to let me go, let me leave.

If I could accept any of this, maybe I’d be afraid. But it’s impossible to accept, so I’m not scared, just angry. Really, really angry. And tired. I’m so tired of fighting for a life that’s mind-numbingly dull when it’s not punching me in the face.

“I don’t care!” I say. “I don’t care what happens to me. Just do something. Call an ambulance!”

Henry stands, circles us. “You won’t leave her, and she can’t leave you. The decision needs to be made for both. And she will die if you do nothing.”

He’s so matter-of-fact about it. It’s brutal, and I’m tempted to tell him to fuck off just to spite him, but Naomi’s going cold in my hands.

“Fine! I’ll do it. Whatever you want. Anything. Just help her. Please.”

Elisa jumps up and down. “Oh, so exciting! New friends!”

“Finally,” Costel says.

Tatiana huffs. “You will see.”

“Good choice,” Henry says. He reaches up to his neck and pulls the chain out from under his sweater. At the end is something long and silver. It looks kind of like a whistle.

Whatever’s about to happen, I wish I didn’t have to be here for it. I rest my head on Naomi’s chest. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t…” she says.

“Nay?”

“Don’t…forget to say I told you so .” She smiles, and there’s blood in her mouth, all over her teeth.

—

The men carry us outside. If I could walk, maybe I would run.

It’s probably for the best that I can’t, because it’s dark and we’re surrounded by woods, and who knows how far we are from the nearest house? I’d have to jump the fence, or the gate. Not freeze to death. I think about the Carolean Death March, all those bodies in the snow. Hundreds of soldiers frozen on the Tydal mountains, retreating from a war they couldn’t win.

Naomi was wrong. I’m not obsessed with tragedy. I’m obsessed with choice. How one decision can lead to catastrophe.

What if the Carolean general had decided to go a different route? Not travel through the mountains.

What if Buddy Holly had decided to tough it out on the tour bus, not charter that plane?

What if the engineers never ran that safety test at Chernobyl? What if the plant was never built in the first place?

What if I never fell off that curb sixteen years ago?

What if I never got into the car tonight?

I’m sure it’s cold out, but I feel nothing. Not even when Henry and Ilie drop us in the snow.

They form a circle around us. Ilie, Costel, Miri, and Tatiana are all still naked. Aren’t they cold?

What is their deal ?

Elisa holds two cups. Wooden goblets.

At the sight of them, I turn to the side and get sick.

What are they doing with those?

What did I agree to?

What choice did I make?

“Don’t worry,” Ilie says. “Just relax. This part will be over soon. In some years, you won’t remember.”

Is this a sex thing? A torture fetish in action? That would be my assumption had I not just witnessed Henry decapitating that skeleton man with his bare hands. There’s no logic here.

“I would tell you that it doesn’t hurt,” Henry says, pulling me upright, “but I swore I’d never lie to you.”

He holds the silver whistle. Only it’s not a whistle. It’s a spile. Like what Canadians use to harvest sap from a tree.

“Be still,” he says, leaning close to me. “You may not trust me yet, but someday you might. I have no illusions. I know I’m not saving you, but I’m giving you all the time in the world to save yourself.”

With that, he gently sweeps the hair from my neck and shoves the spile in under my ear.

The sound is merciless, but my shock must protect me from feeling the insertion. There’s no pain. Only an uncomfortable warmth.

Henry gestures for Elisa, and she brings the cups. They fill one of them with my blood.

I think I’ve done this before. Not exactly in this way, but there’s some recognition as I sit here. This is what it is to surrender. To be bled dry. You hold still and you let it happen, because the harder you fight, the harder you lose.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Elisa press the other wooden cup to Naomi’s neck. Elisa doesn’t need a spile, because Naomi’s already open, already bleeding, but Ilie holds Nay upside down so it happens faster.

I want to ask her if she’ll wait for me in the dream mall. If we can finally meet there.

If that’s where she goes, that’s where I’ll go. I’ll follow her. I’ll follow her anywhere.

Just wait for me. Wherever you are, wait for me. I’ll be there. I’m coming.

She says, Only Jersey girls would think heaven is a mall.

But she doesn’t really say it, because I’m pretty sure she’s dead.

I’m woozy. The scene dissolves; everything fades away.

When it comes back the cup is gone, and I feel Henry pull the spile out. And then he kisses me. He kisses my neck.

Not kissing.

Biting. Licking. Sucking.

Because that’s what he does, because that’s what he is. What they all are.

Vampires.

Fucking wild, Naomi says, but only in my head.

Ilie and Elisa and Tatiana take turns at her wound. I look down, and Miri and Costel have my leg, my blood smeared all over their faces.

There’s a faint sensation at my wrist. It’s Henry. He’s chewing through it. Down to the bone. Down to the…

There’s darkness, and then there’s Henry holding metal between his teeth. The plate from my wrist surgery.

He spits it into the crimson snow.

“This one’s sweet but the other one’s sweeter,” Tatiana says, having switched places with Costel. She glances up at me. “Don’t give me that look, ma chérie . It’s too soon for me to regret you.”

“We’re close,” Henry says. “Sloane, I promise this is a favor.”

He wraps his hand around my chewed-up wrist, and he squeezes, snapping the bone.

When I scream, a geyser of blood shoots from my mouth.

“There’s more,” Miri says. “Should we ration?”

“No. No more,” Henry says. “We’re done.”

“But—” Tatiana starts.

“I won’t risk them being weak for the sake of gluttony. It’s done. It’s time to finish.”

He presses his face to my neck and takes a final lick. Then he speaks directly into my ear.

“See you in another life.”

—

I fade out again, and when I come back, it’s with the taste of blood in my mouth. My eyelids are too heavy to lift. I can’t see anything. I can’t feel anything. I can’t hear anything—not voices, not the wind, not the beat of my heart or the whir of blood swimming through my veins. I can’t smell the snow. I can’t smell the lingering of incense in my hair or sweat on my skin. I can’t smell Naomi, her signature vanilla perfume.

There’s nothing except taste.

It’s all there is.

The taste of blood.

I recognize the flavor. It’s familiar but it’s new. The texture silky. Light on my tongue. Warm as whiskey in my throat.

It’s all there is and that’s okay because it’s all I need.

And then it goes away. The taste is gone.

I open my eyes.

Tatiana holds the wooden cup to my lips. That’s what I’ve been drinking. My own blood. The blood Henry siphoned from me.

But I’m not horror-struck. Not sickened or afraid. I’m not at all upset.

I’m thirsty.

As soon as I understand this, the thirst becomes excruciating. It’s louder than a fire alarm, sharper than knives. My skin is bubbling off; my bones are splitting, scraping, grinding my insides; my teeth are exploding, my brain shuddering, and it’s going to rocket out of my skull, seep through my ears and my nostrils, push my eyes out. I know it is. I know. This is unrelenting, to the point where nothing else matters. I’m trapped in the agony.

I’m hot. I’m burning. I’m not imagining it. The snow melts around me. I’d scream if my throat weren’t so dry.

“Let her sweat,” I hear Henry say. “It’s going to be a long night.”

“This one is still cold,” Costel says.

I struggle to keep my eyes open; it’s like I’m pressing them into sand. But I see Naomi half-submerged in snow. She looks hollow, like a deflated balloon. She’s not moving. Not drinking. Elisa’s got the cup and she’s trying to help Naomi drink, but the blood is just spilling out the sides of her limp mouth.

“Careful. Don’t waste it,” Tatiana says.

“Keep trying,” Henry says. “Put her head back. Pour it down.”

My guts are seething, and my skin can’t contain it. I start convulsing, clawing at my throat. My left hand flops loose, my wrist barely held together by whatever remains since Henry destroyed it.

Am I most attracted to the people who are destined to do me the most harm?

I’d forgive him for it, for all of it, forgive anyone for anything, for everything, if I could just get a drink. Just one drink.

I need it.

“I still remember how it felt,” Henry says.

“She’s fiending,” Miri says. “Sweet baby.”

“Look,” says Tatiana.

I can barely see, my eyes too dry to focus, but I can feel the fresh misery of my wrist re-forming. Splintered bone stitching back together. It’s so inexplicably terrible that I’m screaming despite the fact that the screaming is almost as painful.

“I’m not listening to this,” Tatiana says. “I’m giving her another sip.”

She doesn’t wait for Henry’s permission.

It’s just a drop, but it’s enough.

It goes beyond satiating; it unleashes stars. A pleasure and a peace like I’ve never known, so pure, I could cry but I laugh instead.

“She’s prettier when she smiles,” Tatiana says.

I consider saying thank you, but the dumb-happy feeling doesn’t last, and the blood in my system has granted me enough clarity to realize that Naomi still isn’t moving.

She’s slouched against Ilie’s leg, and he holds her head back as Elisa drips blood between her lips.

“Nay?” I croak. Naomi!”

Her eyes pop open.

I’ve never been so grateful to hear her scream.