Читать книгу Barry and the Vampire in the Rosedale Encounter - Darrell Bartell - Страница 5

Barry McElroy’s heart couldn’t keep up the pace, but he had to keep running. “Be home by eight for dinner,” his mother had told him. He should’ve listened.

The three goons chasing him down Rosedale Street were older than the high school junior. For Barry, this was a matter of life or death. To them, it was sport.

“Gotcha!” yelled a man with a Spanish accent as he grabbed Barry by his shirt collar.

“Let me go! Let me go!”

The others laughed when they caught up with him. “Did you think you could outrun us?” asked the second thug, dressed in a blue jean jacket with the sleeves cut off. The man’s right bicep displayed a Tasmanian devil tattoo.

“I didn’t do anything to you,” Barry screamed. “Somebody help me!”

“Somebody help me! Somebody help me!” mocked the third punk, wearing a red bandana around his head. “Hombre, you in the wrong neighborhood.”

“Yeah,” confirmed Barry’s captor, still holding his shirt collar. “And that means you gotta pay a fine. Give us your money.”

“I d-d-don't have any,” Barry stuttered with fear, trying to catch his breath.

“Empty your pockets,” barked the punk with the red bandana.

His house key fell to the ground when Barry turned his pockets inside out.

“Check for a wallet.” They couldn’t find one.

“This your unlucky day. What we do with him, Chico?”

Barry watched as the older man in the jean jacket produced a Bowie knife. “What do you think we’re gonna do? Little pendejo don’t have the dough. So we carve a little reminder in his hide.”

“No!” Barry struggled to get away, but was held firm by an arm wrapped around his windpipe. He had heard about these guys from his friends. They called themselves the Rosedale Gang and terrorized people for money so they could buy beer and drugs. Chico appeared to have had a little of both already. He grabbed Barry’s right arm, the blade of the knife glistening from the streetlight’s reflection.

“Don’t move. This won’t hurt. Much.”

Barry grimaced in pain as the blade cut a gash into his forearm.

“Stop squirming, you little pussy,” Chico demanded.

“My, oh my. Three against one? Hardly seems fair,” a soft voice spoke out.

The group looked around for the interloper, while Barry prayed for a hero.

“Over here, boys.”

The thugs turned around to see a young woman sporting a chestnut-colored Victorian blouse, Wrangler jeans, and Tony Lama boots. Her brunette hair was tucked underneath a Stetson hat.

Where’d she come from? Barry wondered.

“What do we have here?” Chico smiled, licking his lips and grabbing his crotch. “Looks like we gonna party tonight!”

“A party?” inquired the young woman. “I thought you were part of the neighborhood watch program.”

“Yeah, well, we’re a new kind of watch program. Vega, bring her over here,” ordered Chico to the man wearing the red bandana. “I want her on her knees so she can watch what’s coming to her.”

As Vega reached out to grab her, she gave a quick roundhouse kick to his head, breaking his neck. Vega died before he hit the ground.

“Vega? Vega, get up!”

“I don’t suppose you want to reconsider your options?” the young woman whispered.

The captive watched in horror as Chico, holding the knife high above his head, charged the woman in a drunken rage. He attempted to thrust the blade into her ribs, but she grabbed his wrist and squeezed, causing him to howl in pain when a spear-shaped piece of broken bone protruded through his skin. She plunged her free hand under Chico’s breastbone, deep into his chest, and removed his beating heart, cutting short the screams. After letting go of his wrist, she grabbed the Bowie knife before it could fall to the ground. The second lifeless corpse lay at her feet in a pool of blood.

Barry shivered with fear as her attention turned toward the final thug, who used him as a shield.

“I’ll give you five seconds to let the boy go and another five to run before I come after you,” she offered.

The terrified punk threw Barry in the mud and started sprinting down Rosedale Street. Barry lay there looking at his savior taking aim with the knife as she counted down the final moments. “. . . eight, nine, ten.”

Her third victim collapsed face down in the middle of the pavement thirty yards away from them, the knife impaled in the back of his head.

“Are you all right?” asked his new friend.

Barry nodded. “Who are you?” His voice trembled as he watched her pose like a model, Chico’s heart still in her hand, and his fear grew as she licked the blood.

“Gross!” she said, spitting out the crimson fluid and tossing the lifeless heart aside. “Marijuana. I hate marijuana. And tequila? Doesn’t anyone live a drug-free life?” The woman bent down, tore the jean jacket off Chico’s corpse and used the cloth to wipe her hands.

Barry’s fear turned into shock when he saw her extra-large incisors. “You’re a . . . a vam . . . a vamp . . .”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, throwing away the jacket. “You say the V-word and you’re on the menu.” Her eyes narrowed. “Say, do you do drugs?”

“Uh, no, I don’t. My mom would kill me.”

“Really?” she stood up and smiled.

Barry realized his mistake and started to wheeze. “I mean, yeah. I do drugs. I do lots of drugs, lady. You have no idea how much weed I smoke a day.”

The woman threw her head back and laughed, showing her fangs. “Relax, boy. You’re safe.”

Barry reached into his shirt pocket. “Now, if you show me a crucifix,” she warned, “we could have a problem.”

“It isn’t. I promise.” Barry brought out a small yellow inhaler. He took off the top, gave it a couple of shakes and took a deep breath after squeezing the container. “I have asthma attacks when I run too fast or when I’m terrified. Like right now.”

The wailing of a police siren in the distance was getting closer. “They’re playing my song. We have to get out of here,” she said, helping the youth up off the ground.

“What are you doing?” Barry was still shaking.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be fine,” she consoled him. “Hang on.”

In an instant the pair rose high above the ground, gliding through the air, the cool breeze brushing over Barry’s face. His eyes widened as a pair of black grackles nearly flew into them. “Sorry about that,” she apologized, landing on the rooftop of an abandoned apartment building nearby. They looked over the ledge to see a police cruiser arrive.

Barry observed one officer checking the bodies for a pulse, while the other radioed for backup.

“Oh no!” he said suddenly.

“What is it?”

“My house key. I dropped it down there.”

“You mean this?”

Barry saw his keychain dangling from her index finger.

“Thanks.”

“Not so fast, kid.” She grasped the object in her hand. “We have a problem.”

“And that would be?” he asked the question, already knowing the answer.

“I can’t have you walking around town telling anyone about this.”

“Are you kidding? Who’d believe me?”

The seventeen-year-old felt his heart slowing down as his savior glared at him. Her words vibrated in his head. “Look into my eyes. Look deep into my eyes. You will remember nothing of this night. You were on your way home and forgot about the time. You saw nothing. You know nothing. Do you understand?”

Barry relaxed and took a deep breath, his fear replaced with confidence. “You have the prettiest green eyes I’ve ever seen.”

“Huh?”

“Your eyes. They’re green. I mean they’re really green and they’re so pretty. You don’t get that a lot, do you?”

The question stunned her. “Hey, work with me here, okay? I haven’t got all night.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Go ahead.”

“Let’s try this again.” She tilted her hat toward the back of her head.

Barry saw her eyes narrow. She attempted to place him under her control again.

“You will forget what happened tonight. You were walking home alone and forgot about the time. You will not remember me. You will forget about the ones who attacked you. Do you understand?”

“Yes, master.” He closed his eyes and dropped his head forward.

Suspicious, the woman folded her arms across her chest. “Are you jacking with me, kid?”

“Sorry.” Barry opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at her. “I’m a little nervous. After all, this is my first time.”

“Oh, very funny.”

“Has this ever happened to you before?”

“Once,” she answered. “You must be a resistor.”

“A what?”

“A resistor. Someone who can’t be hypnotized or mentally controlled.” Barry saw a concerned look cross her face. “What’s your name?”

“Barry McElroy.”

“And what were you doing out here? Alone?”

Barry didn’t like being interrogated. “I was doing some research at the Texas Wesleyan University library for a paper I have to write. I’m trying to get a scholarship.”

“You don’t look old enough to go to college.”

“I’m not, but because of my IQ and since I’m a dual-credit student, I can attend college next fall as a freshman.”

“Where are your books? Your notes?”

“They’re in my backpack. I had to ditch it when I ran into those guys. Which reminds me, thanks for saving my life. Bet you don’t get that very often, either.”

She smiled. “You’d be surprised. Where do you live?”

“An apartment on Lancaster. It isn’t far from here.”

“I’ll take you home.” She moved toward him.

“Wait. What do we do about . . . you know?”

“It looks like I’ll have to trust you.”

Barry didn’t know what to think. “You mean it?”

“I can’t make you forget and I don’t make a habit of killing the people I save. But so help me if I hear so much as a whisper about tonight—”

“You won’t. I swear,” Barry promised.

“Let’s get going.”

“What about my books?”

“I’ll find your backpack. It shouldn’t be too hard to track down, especially with your teenage hygiene.”

“You can do that?”

“Kid, I can do a lot of things.”

“Wait a minute.”

“What now?” she asked impatiently.

“What’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know.”

“Will I ever see you again?”

“For your sake, I hope not. Now be quiet. I don’t want our fan club down there looking up,” she said, referring to the other police cars that had arrived, along with a television news crew. Barry’s heroine grabbed him underneath his arms and they flew into the night sky, leaving the confusion on the ground behind them.