Seventeen: Monster in the Closet
***
The room became hot during their violent sex, but soon relaxed to a pleasant warmth that was easy for sleeping. Next morning Keltie awoke. Peering out through a tunnel in the quilt, she could see the snow had stopped. She got up, wincing a little at the soreness between her legs, and found a towel. The bath she’d needed to take last night was still in need of taking. Now more than ever. With body wrapped in cotton, she slipped into the hall in search of a washroom.
An hour went by before her return. By then Marty had come around. She kissed him and told him good morning. He bid her the same before slipping away to make use of the bath himself.
There was a breakfast room downstairs, decorated with bright, pretty tables and gleaming silverware. The complimentary consisted of two pancakes with coffee, eggs, and juice. Keltie tried her hardest to be dainty about the way she ate, but the fact that she was ravenously hungry didn’t help matters. It took every bit of willpower not to wolf the entire meal like a truck driver. Marty, for his part, did exactly that, not seeming to care in the least whether his companion took offense (she didn’t). At any rate, neither of them spoke until their plates were empty. Draining the last of her coffee, Keltie looked across the table.
“How was it?” Marty asked.
She gave him a wide smirk. “Awesome. Better than awesome.”
“All food tastes that way when you’re really hungry.”
“I wasn’t talking about the food.”
Yet the fun times couldn’t last and they both knew it. It was Tuesday morning. If Bolt didn’t already know about Vera’s death, he was sure to find out tonight. Then the hunt for her blood would continue. The time had come to plot out what to do next. Trouble was, Keltie had no idea where to begin.
“We could keep looking for Unsichtbar,” Marty suggested, “but I don’t think it’s wise.”
“No,” Keltie agreed, wadding the idea up in her mind like paper. “That guy’s a bust.”
“What then?”
Suddenly she thought of the bald man from last night. Hadn’t he said something about a library?
“Let’s hit the books,” she said to Marty.
He looked nonplussed. “I’m sorry?”
“No need to be, my dear boy, no need to be. But I’d love another coffee before we start.”
***
Howling Manor’s library was small, cozy…and all but devoid of books about vampires. Keltie found only one among its leather-bound shelves: The Penguin Book of Vampire Stories, by Alan Ryan. Between its covers she found a list of exactly what the title promised. Tales dating back two hundred years, along with the dead authors who’d penned them. She found a seat next to the window and delved in.
The book’s introduction did not flood her heart with confidence in destroying Bolt. Many of its passages were written in a tone that almost praised or flattered vampires. One line even suggested that, deep down, humans wanted to be just like them. This was far from the way Keltie felt.
Nor was Alan Ryan’s opinion challenged by the stories themselves. The ones she skimmed were all written from the vampire’s point of view, and contained little by way of surviving a violent confrontation with one of the beasts.
What do you need to know about that anyway, girl? You killed two of them in violent confrontation.
Yes, she thought back at that inner voice. Yes, I did. But that was luck and you know it.
The worst part came when she stumbled across a scene at the end of Richard Matheson’s story, Drink My Blood, which featured a young boy reading an essay to his school class:
***
“When I grow up I want to be a vampire.”
The teacher’s smiling lips jerked down and out. Her eyes popped wide.
“I want to live forever and get even with everybody and make all the girls vampires.”
***
Keltie closed the book. Outside, Howling was shoveling itself out from last night’s storm. Old men in parkas, some of them with blowers, others with nothing more than the muscles God gave them, cleared sidewalks for postal carriers who clapped them on the back and said Howdy-do? She wondered morbidly how many heart attacks were going to occur before nightfall.
“Hey.”
Her head jerked to find Marty sitting at the other side of the table.
“Sneaky,” she said. “I didn’t even see you come in.”
“I couldn’t find Unsichtbar’s name in the phone book. The owner here’s never heard of him. That goes double for his wife, along with a couple of old geezers I found playing chess in the game room.”
Keltie shrugged. “Like I said, he’s a bust. But why would Vera give us his name?”
“Maybe he died or moved without her knowing.” His eye dropped to the book. “Anything interesting in that?”
“Interesting, yes. Useful, no. Apparently all vampires are heroes.”
“Meaning what?”
“I don’t know,” she told him. “We’re on our own. That’s all I can think to say.”
“You sound frustrated.”
“I am.”
Sighing, Marty leaned back in his chair. “Well, there’s one more lead we can try. Trouble is, we’d need to get back to Norwalk first.”
“And what is that?” Keltie asked in a tone that lacked enthusiasm. Reading through the book had not only been a waste of time, but a waste of resources. She felt drowsy, despite the good night’s sleep and the coffee. Go back to Norwalk? She wasn’t even certain she could make it back upstairs to bed.
“Vera’s old bedroom,” Marty said, all oblivious. “At my house. There may be something there that could lead us to Bolt.”
She shook her head. “I doubt it. Otherwise she would have told us before…” Her lips pursed in awkward silence. “You know. That day.”
“Still, I’d like to try. We could drive back tonight if the roads aren’t too bad. That way the police might not see us.”
Here was a threat Keltie hadn’t thought of in awhile. “The police. Jesus. You think we’re wanted criminals by now?”
“I wouldn’t take it quite that far. But it’s a good bet they’ve been told we’re gone. And the credit card I used last night can easily be traced.”
“Dammit.”
“By the way, has your dad called or texted?”
Keltie took her phone out of her bag. “Still no signal,” she said.
“Okay. Well let’s go back to Norwalk. Check Vera’s room. Then face the music.”
The simple way he spoke made her almost incredulous. “Music from whom, Marty?” she demanded to know. “Bolt or Huron County Corrections?”
“Pick your poison, girl. One of ‘em wants to kill us and the other wants to lock us up.”
“Oooh,” she grimaced. “Tough choice. You want to let me think about it upstairs in bed for the rest of the day?”
And to her great excitement, he gave a grin that resembled lupine hunger. “Only if I can’t distract you with anything else.”
***
The day remained cold, not only on the outside, but inside as well. Howling Manor’s owners—the slim bald man and his wife—were brusque with Keltie in the halls, sniffing when she asked for an extra towel, frowning when she purchased a tooth brush and paste from the gift shop. At first she had no clue why; the bald man had seemed quite friendly when they’d checked in. Then Marty reminded her of how much noise they’d made in bed last night, and everything slipped into place.
“Oh my God,” she said, “they heard us, didn’t they?”
“Probably,” Marty replied.
By six o’clock they were back on the road. The signal on Keltie’s phone returned as they passed Wooster. Preparing herself for a long lecture on the prices of social recklessness and sexual irresponsibility, she dialed Cameron’s number. He answered after the third ring. His tone sounded worried at first (the storm had surprised everyone north of Columbus; reports of fatalities were all over the news), but mellowed once Keltie assured him she was okay.
“How’s Mom?” she asked.
“Stable for now. They’re sending her home in the morning.”
“Good, good.”
“Not good, Keltie,” Cameron retorted. “It’s like that doctor said. She needs a clinic.”
“Okay, okay.” There were stopped at a red light. Outside her window, Keltie could see two kids building a snowman. “Have you been to her trailer?”
“No. I’m actually about to head out for work.”
“I can go if you want. To the trailer I mean.”
“Why?”
“To clean it out. Get rid of the liquor.”
“Oh!” Cameron said, comprehending. “Yes! Yes. That’s a good idea.” A moment’s hesitation followed, during which Keltie could sense a weighty pronouncement on the rise. She was right. “The police asked about you,” he laid out. “Came right to my door.”
“I was afraid of that,” she moaned. “What did you tell them?”
“Well, I did my best to keep them cool. Told them this wasn’t the first time you’ve run off. Which is true,” he added dryly.
“Thanks,” she rejoined. “So they’re not going to arrest us?”
“I can’t speak for your boyfriend, but chances are they’re just going to slap you on the behind and send you back to school.”
Keltie let out a sigh of relief. She could live with that.
An hour later she called again to let him know they were back in Norwalk. It was 7:30. The town looked frozen and dead. Tired already with the week, though it was only Tuesday night.
Having begun their journey with a detour to Sunset Lane, they ended it with one as well. As always, their arrival set off every dog in the park. Filthy mongrels snarling and barking from ropes tied to whatever would hold them. Keltie walked to the door of Chloe’s trailer thinking that in any moment her head was going to be ripped off.
“Who the hell’s out there?” a drunken voice yelled.
“Fuck off!” she yelled back, sticking her key in the lock.
Once inside, she knew turning on the light would be a mistake, but what other choice did she have? Her fingers fumbled on the wall, found a switch, clicked it. Hell leaped into view. Dirty laundry on the floor, dirty dishes on the table. A sound of panicked scuttling from the kitchen that could only mean cockroaches.
“I should have cleaned it before we left,” Keltie said, eyeing the wreckage. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Marty said. “I know how it is. I grew up in a house like this.”
“Liar.”
Now he laughed. “Oh, come on! What gave me away?”
“Vera,” she answered immediately. “I could never see her here. Then again I could never see Mom here, either. She was always so clean.”
They set to work. The laundry turned out to be no big deal; it was a simple matter of using a hamper they found in the bedroom. The dirty dishes were a bit more difficult. Keltie found herself having to scrub the plates to get them clean, all while keeping an eye out for cockroach ambushes from under the microwave. Marty did the drying in between yelps as one of the bugs would dart over his feet.
They found two liquor bottles under the sink, one in the microwave, and three more in the toilet tank. Five others were hidden at various places in the bedroom. In a mixture of shame and horror, Keltie dumped them all down the drain. She turned to find Marty by the refrigerator, his eyes cast upward.
“What?” she asked, following his gaze.
Poking out from a light fixture on the ceiling was another bottle.
The shame and horror disappeared, to be replaced by pure disgust. “Oh for Christ’s sake,” she groaned. “How the hell did she get one up there?”
He stood on one of the kitchen chairs to retrieve it while Keltie went to find a vacuum cleaner. There was one in the closet, along with a can of bug spray that made her trigger finger itch. Resisting the temptation for now, she uncoiled the vacuum and took care of the carpets. Only as they were ready to walk out the door did she spray the kitchen, the bedroom, and the bathroom. Scurry to your god now, she thought, baring her teeth at a roach behind the stove.
The time on her watch read just after nine when they left. As he drove, Marty explained that he lived across town, on Woodlawn Avenue. He went on to inform Keltie that Vera’s bedroom had not been touched since her disappearance, a fact which deflated even further her hopes of finding anything useful.
“If she hasn’t been in there since she disappeared, we won’t find a single clue about Bolt,” Keltie huffed from the passenger seat.
“I didn’t say she never went in there,” Marty replied. “I said her room hasn’t been touched.”
Keltie fell silent, though her doubts remained strong. The car eventually stopped in front of a plain-looking house with plain-looking steps that led up to a plain-looking porch. Next door was a large cemetery full of whispering pine trees. Keltie got out. Her breath puffed; her boots crunched the snow.
“What did you tell your family before we left?” she asked suddenly.
Marty’s reply was as delicate as it was measured. “I told them I needed to borrow the car. That a friend of mine had a family emergency.”
“And they bought that?”
“I doubt it. But they don’t care very much about me. Since Vera died they don’t care much about anything.”
She gave him a nod. That was neat. Solemn but neat. The Calinga family had lost a daughter, and in so doing, became fine with losing the rest of their stuff in the bargain. Marvelous. Cool. Peachy keen.
“We’d better get inside before we freeze,” Marty said.
***
The Calingas apparently went to bed early as well—or what passed for early in these days of midnight double-features and twenty-four hour grocery shopping. Only one light—the kitchen light—glowed in the entire house. All the same, Marty led her upstairs with practiced ease, avoiding an end table here, dodging around a picture shelf there. Keltie did her best to follow his lead, until at last they arrived at the door to Vera’s old bedroom.
She’d been a teenager when Bolt snatched her. Evidence of this fact, even if Marty hadn’t already disclosed as much, lived everywhere on the other side of the door. Butterfly stickers decorated the light switch, which, when flicked, revealed a room of pink walls, white furniture, and red teddy bears.
“Cute,” Keltie said to herself.
“Glad you think so,” Marty said, “because I don’t feel comfortable rooting through her intimate stuff. The dresser drawers, the vanity desk. You can check those.”
Without another word, he knelt to look under the bed. It didn’t take long. Seconds later he was back on his feet, proclaiming the space beneath empty. Next, he checked behind the door. Nothing there either. He looked behind the pillows and every stuffed animal. He inspected the curtains. This last maneuver Keltie watched in utter bafflement. What did he hope to find in the curtains?
Shut up. Just do what he says. He needs this.
She went to the dresser and dug through each drawer one by one. Old-smelling garments, neatly folded, lay in each. A broken blacelet. A few stray coins. In the bottom drawer she found a picture book of Little Red Riding Hood with an unusual cover. It showed a giant black wolf, snarling at a young girl who looked absolutely helpless and terrified. Keltie felt instantly certain that, if this picture existed in the story, the girl was dead meat. No one could escape from the situation depicted here. The wolf looked fast and hungry and insane beyond all hope. Intrigued, she put the book into her bag and searched on.
The vanity desk yielded nothing but some makeup and a jewelry box. There was also an unopened package of Extra, Classic Bubble-Gum flavor—Keltie’s favorite. This she pocketed (after a sniff of its sweet fragrance), before turning to Marty and saying:
“So far, no good.”
His shoulders were slumped. “I know.”
“Let me check the closet. Maybe we’ll strike oil.”
She crossed to the door, opened it—
And really didn’t know what to do next. Her legs froze; her back tingled. Through the corner of her eye she could see that Marty was busy with something on the other side of the room. She called his name.
Then the tall, dark man in the closet smiled and grabbed her throat!
“Oooh,” Bolt’s lips crooned hungrily. “What do we have here? A tiny little mouse in search of a cat.”
Keltie felt her boots lifted off the floor. Her hands leaped up to seize hold the muscles that were choking her almost too hard to breathe, but they were nowhere near strong enough to do any good. She tried clawing at them with her nails, which only made Bolt laugh.
“You’ve found your cat, mouse,” he said. “You’ve found your—“
A lamp was smashed to pieces on top of his head. Shards of glass flew in every direction as Bolt dropped Keltie and turned on Marty, who now looked very much like he needed a new plan, and fast.
“Good evening,” the vampire offered. “That hurt.”
“I’m glad.”
From her crumpled position on the floor, Keltie thought Marty’s retort sounded like a condemned man’s final words. Remonstrance hurled at the face of death and fuck whatever came because of it.
With one swipe, Bolt knocked the broken lamp from Marty’s grasp. He picked the boy up and threw him across the room into Vera’s vanity desk, smashing the mirror. Tubes of lipstick rolled under the bed. Keltie caught sight of one and gasped in—holy shit, that’s Brick, you can’t find that shade anymore! The thought lasted no more than a moment, for in the next, Bolt, with eyes glowing yellow as an owl’s, was crossing back to where she lay. A long black cloak billowed from his shoulders. Bolt reached inside of it…
And came out with a stake.
Not caring at all for what that signified, Keltie aimed a kick at the man’s groin. Her boots were leather, the toes hard. When the blow connected, Bolt instantly doubled over, dropping his weapon.
“Jesus…FUCK!” he moaned. “God damn, that hurts!”
“Welcome to my world, freakazoid,” Keltie told him as she got to her feet. Her eyes went to the stake. It was familiar. Dried blood (Vera’s) decorated it. “So you went to the school,” she said to Bolt, who still couldn’t uncurl himself from the floor. “Did you see what we did?”
In one hard swipe she kicked the stake under the bed. But her confidence was short-lived, for when Bolt at last found the strength to look at her, his eyes were more than yellow. They were an animal’s, with diamond-shaped pupils glowering under eyebrows thick and ragged enough to nest spiders. His teeth, a ravenous shark’s, jutted every which way, and when he spoke, it was with the voice of a gorgon.
“DEAD!” the beast growled. “DEAD! BOTH OF YOU! TONIGHT!”
Keltie retreated a step