CHAPTER 2

 

 

I took double the recommended dose of NyQuil and slept like the undead guy in my coffee table. The next night I woke up on the right side of the bed and promptly fell off when my alarm buzzed. I never could sleep through it. That thing was loud enough to be heard in my next life.

I groaned and lifted my stuffed head off the floor. The head cold had made headway during my sleep and was now marching proudly through my upper nostrils drumming the sounds of victory.

I slithered into my waitress outfit and shuffled out into my living room. The un-living stood in my kitchen warming up something in pot that wasn't his hot soup. I slipped into a chair at the table and let my forehead slam into the tabletop.

"How are you feeling?" Roland asked me.

"Kill me now," I pleaded.

Roland slopped a bowl full of whatever he had concocted and slid the stuff over to me. I raised my head and glimpsed what I could only describe as whitish snot dribbled with the dark boogers. I wrinkled my nose and pushed the bowl away.

"This isn't fit for humans," I told him.

"It's oatmeal. It will help you to feel better," he assured me.

"Then it still isn't fit for humans. Oats are meant for horses," I argued.

He pushed the steaming bowl back under my face. "It's healthy."

I pushed the bowl away. "I don't want to live forever."

Roland pushed it into my chest and folded his arms across his chest. "You have no choice but to eat it."

I glared up at him. "Why's that?"

"Because I've hidden your other breakfast foods," he informed me.

I narrowed my eyes. "I'm starting to wonder if I'm not on the side of evil dealing with you."

"I can assure you I'm good, and so is the oatmeal. Just try some," he insisted. He lifted the spoon and held it out to me.

I grudgingly swiped it from his hand and dug a spoonful of the stuff from the bowl. I held up the spoon, tilted my spoon and let the oatmeal slide back to its brethren. "I knew someday our relationship would end, but I never thought you'd poison me," I quipped.

Roland leaned down and caught my eyes. I felt myself falling into his mesmerizing trick. "You will eat a spoonful of the oatmeal."

I didn't eat the oatmeal. What I did was wrinkle my nose and sneeze. The snot projected into his face and gave his pale skin a speckled look. It also ruined his control over me. I shook my head as he straightened and wiped my snot off him with his hand.

I grinned, lifted a spoonful of the oatmeal, and raised it to him in his honor. "You're right, this stuff is making me feel better." I chomped on the spoon and grudgingly admitted to myself that it tasted pretty good. The dark snot was actually cinnamon and-

I set my spoon hand on the table and glared at him. "Why didn't you just tell me this was covered in chocolate?"

Roland finished wiping the snot off his face and pursed his lips. "It was meant to be a surprise."

"Well, I am surprised," I agreed as I dug into the stuff.

The oatmeal bowl was finished in no time, but I had less than that to get to the diner.

"Damn it, late again. . ." I muttered as I flung on my coat and grabbed my purse.

I paused with the front door open in front of me and glanced over my shoulder at Roland. The vampire stood in the kitchen and held my empty bowl in his hand. He had a long face on his pale mug and his shoulders drooped. For the first time I got a glimpse of lonely, long immortality. Maybe eating oatmeal wasn't so bad.

"Think you can have that soup ready for me when I get home?" I called to him.

Roland glanced up from the bowl and showed off his sly smile to me. "I'd be glad to."

I grinned. "Good, because I have a feeling tonight is going to be a long night," I returned. I waved to him. "See ya."

I hurried outside and to my car. The drive was quick, and so was the return of my aching head. The head cold was like some sort of bad horror movie sequel. Revenge of the Returned Son of Snot. The tagline would have been 'just when you thought it was safe to blow your nose.'

I stumbled past Ralph in the kitchen. He stood over a boiling pot of bubbling acid that he described as 'chili.' The rest of the world, and the regulars, described it as a crime against nature. I walked into the busy front of the diner and saw Candy standing by the cash register. The trucker across the counter held his credit card in one hand and his stomach in the other.

"Come again," Candy told him. The man groaned and shuffled out of the diner.

"The chili?" I asked her.

She nodded. "I tried to warn him, but he said he wanted a whole bowl." I cringed. He was lucky we weren't mopping up his puddled remains. "Oh, and two of the guys had a fight over the urinals. They broke the soap dispenser," she added.

I groaned. Ralph bought the cheapest soap money could buy. The stuff oozed out of the dispenser slower than the tectonic plates and left a slick wax on everyone's hands. When it got on the linoleum it created a floor wax that threatened to murder anyone who dared face its wrath and step on it.

"How bad?" I asked her as I sidled up to the cash register.

"I tried cleaning it up for an hour and gave up," she replied.

My shoulders slumped and I sighed. That meant the soap had time to conquer at least a half dozen tiles around the dispenser, creating a hazard that could only be avoided by placing one of those orange cones on it and hoping the guys wouldn't dare each other to step on the mess. There was one time where the dispenser spilled across half the floor and the guys got a betting ring going for who could slide across the whole floor without killing themselves. I had to admit I got in on the fun until I lost five dollars on a sure-win. He crashed into a urinal and fell backwards on the floor. The guy hit his head hard enough to knock him out. The sudden silence in the usually boisterous group brought Ralph on the scene. I had no idea a lot of those trucker guys could run like that, but they beat it out of the diner faster than kids on the last day of school before summer break.

Candy looked me over and frowned. "You sure you're up for work? You look awful."

"And I feel worse, but I'll make it," I promised.

She shrugged. "All right, but don't croak on the job. I look terrible in black. Later."

"Later," I returned.

Candy left me to man the front counter and the usual trucker traffic. I went through all the stages of grief starting with regret that I'd ever come to work. My nose ran fast enough to break the sound barrier and my head throbbed like a high school band filled with only drummers played between my eyes.

The unforgiving truckers, oblivious to my slow descent into a lower state of being, came and went in a steady stream of hungry humanity. By the time my shift ended I had entered the acceptance stage. I accepted that I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible and reacquaint myself with my bed. The quitting hour struck, and I shuffled out to my car and slipped into the front seat. The dark, cool fall night wrapped itself around me like a wet blanket, and I was a cat.

I started the car and put it into reverse.

"We may have a problem."

I screamed and spun around to find Roland seated in the back seat of my car. In his lap was his soul box.

"What the hell are you doing back there!" I yelled at him.

"Waiting for you," was the mundane answer.

"So you can what? Dig me an early grave?" I growled.

Roland leaned forward and pressed his cool hand against my forehead. I started back at the cold and surprising touch.

"Your illness has worsened," he stated.

"No, my illness is getting better, I'm getting worse," I corrected him.

"Perhaps this is a bad time for such a discussion. We should get you home," he suggested.

I sighed and ran my hand through my hair. My hot anger had cooled some of my illness. I still felt like shit, but at least I was warmed shit.

"You might as well tell me what the problem is," I told him.

"I spoke with Ned about the sightings at the industrial park in Northton," he revealed.

I held up a hand. "How'd you talk to Ned without scaring him silly?"

"The same method I used to nearly have you eat your breakfast," he explained.

"Ya know, hero's don't extract information from a guy that way," I argued.

"A hero must bend the rules occasionally, and his weak mind wasn't injured," Roland defended himself. "He also gave me further information that a child's laugh had been heard."

My face fell. "Child's laugh? Like a creepy vampire child?"

"Perhaps. The only way we can be sure is to investigate the matter," he insisted.

I groaned and slumped in my seat. "There you go with that 'we' thing."

"I would appreciate your assistance," he pleaded.

"Why? Why should I feel appreciated?" I asked him.

He held the box through the gap between the two front seats. "Because I trust no one else with my soul box, and I would like to protect the ones I trust."

I sighed and unfastened my seat belt. "Fine, but this better not take too long. And you're driving."