Zeke, a reporter with schizo-affective paranoia, gets caught up in a vamp-motivated murder.
Zeke's best work is drafted during "medicinal vacations," where he uses his condition to aid his writing process, short term memory be damned. However, the l...
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~25 years earlier~
Tap. Tap.
Zeke sat up in bed at the familiar sound. Even though it was dark, it only took him a minute to get his bearings. Kelly from Saved by the Bell smiled down at him. It was his favorite poster and a purchase he was proud of.
Tap.
Outside on the iron wrought patio, August held up something indistinguishable. However, his smile was unmistakable.
In return, Zeke grinned. The clock next to him warned him it was 1:15am. It was gonna be a good night. He leapt out of bed and slipped on a pair of sneakers.
"Let's go," August mouthed.
The something indistinguishable turned out to be a fistful of firecrackers. August led them to the perfect place down the street where they could light up and run off laughing. It was a dead-end alley, between two abandoned buildings. No one was around to complain at the continuous pop pop pop. Still, as soon as firecrackers were lit, run and laugh they did.
One block down, they stopped to catch their breath. The adrenaline of sneaking out had worn off, replaced with a weariness.
"I'm tired," Zeke admitted.
August didn't make fun of him. He nodded and said, "Me too."
On the short walk back to the apartment complex, they planned out how they would spend the lunch hour at school.
"I'll pay you five bucks to put a Listerine strip in your eye!"
"Done," Zeke said.
They shook on it.
Red and blue lights reflected off the cars parked along the street. Two cop cars sat in front of their apartment building.
Somehow, Zeke knew they were there for them.
He caught August by the arm. "My dad is going to kill me."
"Dude, I'll go with you."
August made the promise as if it were nothing. They both knew Dominick would hold none of his anger in check. August had offered himself up, and the sacrifice shook Zeke. He took several deep breaths as he climbed the steps to the door, hoping they weren't his last.
~*~
~Now~
Who knew vamps made for awful drivers?
As he trailed Lexa, er, Officer Campbell, he thought more about his first and last vamp crush. Now that he knew her story, his high school years made more sense. They hardly crossed paths because she hung around (ha, perhaps literally) a different crowd. Despite their shared age of thirty-five (though, bloodbags often lied about such things), they'd never had a class together. Campbell would've been assigned indoor rooms, with no chance of walking between buildings. No, no, the principal would've been in hot holy water had she allowed vamp students to be harmed.
