Something That Matters: Part Five

>You are Anonymous

>A human male of eighteen years

>And pretending not to notice the obvious is a skill you’ve honed to a fine edge

>So, you buckle your seat belt and start the car, pretending that you don’t smell the soap and body wash on the two anthros, waiting with you for the boys to return from your house

>You definitely don’t notice Sam in the passenger seat, his hair still drying, all doe-eyed behind brown tangles…

>…even though you like it when he does that

>You pretend not to notice or care when you finally spot Mike and Alex working down your driveway, cases of beer and Dr. Bepper under each arm, the last of the supplies from your pillaging run

>You choose not to notice or care – or at least appear unbothered – because you think you’re the only one who can see what’s at the other end of your block

>A rusted, white sedan that doesn’t live here

>You think the car was idling for some time while you explored your home; sipping on cheap gasoline and oil, its body humming like a wold animal, stalking prey

>Something isn’t right

>Mike and Alex finally throw themselves into the back of your car, howling with laughter over an inside joke

>Without hesitation, you throw the rustbucket into drive and flip a u-turn

>You press on the accelerator in what you hope is a ‘natural’ cadence

>Don’t want to alert whoever may be watching

>“Yo,” Mike says, leaning over the center console again, “you’re going the opposite direction from where the main road is, bro.”

>Your eyes flick between the neighborhood ahead and the sedan in your rear-view mirror, shrinking by the second

>You hope that if you put some miles between you and that car, your problems will disappear

>Something about ‘out of sight, out of mind’?

>The rusted sedan crawls behind you from a distance, its busted headlights glowing like faint candles

“We’re taking the long way out of my neighborhood,” you say, trying to split your focus

>“You mean the exit that’s on Juniper Lane?” Mike groans. “C’mon, don’t go the long way – I wanted to hit the Shop N’ Save one more time while Comrade Alexi can still get us that proletariat’s discount.”

>You can’t confirm you’re being followed, but that sedan is for sure going the same direction you are

>Your grip tenses anxiously on the wheel; you feel like you could rip the steering column out entirely

“I need to clear my head a little; I thought a drive would be good for me. Finding out my house was violated like your sister made me a bit uneasy,” you say

>Sam riding shotgun steals a concerned glance

>“Hey!” Mike says, now leaning back over the center console, flush and indignant. “My sister may be a whore, but she wasn’t ever ‘violated,’ you creep. I’d kill the man who did to my sister what Sam’s dad did to your house.”

>You white-knuckle the steering wheel and hang a right out of your neighborhood, onto a larger road peopled traffic

“Whatever dude. We’re not going to the Shop N’ Save,” you reply, trying to negotiate traffic and also watch for the sedan

>Mike is about to issue his searing retort, but Alex cuts him off

>“I think it’s a good idea if we stay away from that place. That little gold mine is exhausted now,” Alex says, shaking his head solemnly. “Apparently, they terminated me at the Shop N’ Save after the rescue. I’m a free man.”

>In your mirror, you watch as the white sedan turns left, its headlights burnt out like dead stars

>You breathe an audible sigh of relief, and catch Sam looking at you for a moment

>He’s concerned as well – but only because you are

>You try a shaky smile

>Sam’s lips turn up in response, and he turns his focus back onto trying to see over the dash

“Was that the shopping cart thing Jenna told me about?” You ask Alex, trying to maintain an even, casual tone

>The human fastens his yellow beanie to his head, and stares out his window like an anime villain, his expression and tone darkening in kind

>“I was fired because… I thought my boss would be stronger,” he says in an icy tone. “I outstripped my former master. Upon his defeat, I took his blade. I saw his customers driven before me; heard the cries and lamentations of his women. I smote ruin upon his produce secti-”

>“You dropped him with a folding chair, right?” Jenna says casually

>Alex looks at Jenna for a moment, as if confused by his own retelling of the events

>He blinks twice

>“Oh, right. Yeah. He didn’t train in parrying at all with his sword. Dude missed one slash, and then I bonked him in the head.”

>Mike starts to laugh, curling in on himself

>“Your ex-manager – of a grocery store – pulled a katana out on a highschooler, and got his skull cracked in one swing… with a folding chair?” He says, fighting for air

>Alex nods solemnly

>“One swing was all it took to fell my former master. I know not of what his fate is now, but I do know this: he swore vengeance against me, un-ending.”

>You motor on in the dusk, aiming for the sweep of hills near the edge of town, searching for safety in dead trees and rotted oak timbers

>Maybe you’re seeing things, but you swear, that rusted sedan is everywhere on your way to the white oak door church

>Only, it’s never behind you – at least for long

>A few times, you spot the neglected sedan car turning out of a gas station, only to conveniently shuffle through traffic behind you

>With headlights glowing from tired orange lights, you catch the white sedan idling by the Chinese food place on the way to the hills

>It turns onto the road behind you, and moves with little grace

>That car then follows you to where the traffic thins out, and the street lamps are spaced further apart

>Those old orange flames pursue you through the hills, your lone, silent companion on the winding roads

>Whenever you look in the mirror, you see them:

>two weak headlights – circles of heat – chasing you through the dark, always just a few hundred yards behind

>And then, once the night finally takes hold, just as you approach the turn-off to the church…

>…the headlights behind you are gone

>You hang a right at a gap in the trees, passing a bent stop sign as your car rumbles into the old church’s deserted parking lot

>Your car’s headlights cleave through the settled night, striking and dying at the steps to the sickly old church

>Without night vision like that of Sam, Jenna, or Mike, your understanding of the world around you begins and ends with the damage your shitty headlights can inflict on the night

>The three sitting in the back pile out of the car, Mike and Jenna holding a lively conversation about their plans for college

>Alex follows in tow, katana eased through one of his belt loops

>Their pace is sluggish as they cross into the beam of your headlights

>Mike pauses at the church steps

>He can’t yet go inside the church, so he lingers, trying to hold a conversation with Jenna as she moves inside

>She works in kind

>How cute; they’re trying to keep their conversation alive

>Eventually, however, the cold is too biting, so Alex and Jenna head inside

>In response, you keep the engine ticking, feeling its reliable hum beneath your seat

>You take one more look in your rear view mirrors – even if you don’t think your shitty human eyes will make a difference

>Settled by a gap in the trees cut through with cracked asphalt…

>…lurking near the crooked stop sign like some kind of predator:

>Nothing!

>Wait

>Really?

>Maybe the white sedan kept going when you turned left onto the church road?

>Or…

>…maybe they followed you here, and they turned off their headlights in the dark

>Now they watch

>You feel like you’re being watched

>In response, you cut the rustbucket’s engine, silencing your headlights still blasting Mike

>Mike, who was sitting on the steps to the church looking bored, is suddenly plunged into absolute darkness

>All that’s left of your pale friend are his eyes – two smoldering rings that flick around in an impossibly black void

>To your right, Sam mewls in exhaustion, uncurling from himself, his maw stretched by a yawn

>He looks clean, but tired from the day, once-damp hair sticking out all over his scalp

>“W-We’re already a-at the church?” He says, honeyed eyes absorbing the pittance of light you have to offer in your car

>Sam tries to stick his head over the dash to get a look, starting with his goofy ass…

>…EARS!

>You’re quick to suppress Sam’s movement, palming the rabbit’s head like you’re Michael Jordan

>You press the rabbit down into his seat like an empty soda can

“SAM,” You hiss, trying to suffocate your own desire to yell or run, “stay low. Okay? Don’t sit up. Not for any reason. Not until I tell you it’s okay. Got it?”

>Somehow, the rabbit’s eyes fight through his tangles of hair to meet yours own

>And you read him loud and clear:

>‘Understood’

>The rabbit’s body slackens back into the seat

>You lean back in your chair, trying to flatten yourself into the seat

>Gotta remember to keep breathing

>There’s something waiting for you on the road leading into the church – some shadow that doesn’t belong with other shadows

>In your mind’s eye, you see the white sedan, draped in black, like a coffin for an evil person

>An inconsistency in the dark, memorizing your car’s license plates

>The location of the white oak door church, too, no doubt

>You know it’s there, but you have no way to be certain without investigating

>Just remember to breathe

>The resounding pulse of your wild heartbeat drills its meter into your skull

>Your eyes flicker to your rear view mirror again, begging for the anatomy required to parse the dark

>“Hey Anon, Sam,” Mike calls, rapping his knuckles a couple of times off the driver-side window, “save the ‘intimate encounter’ stuff for the end-credit scene.”

>You and Sam both jump in your seats

>Sam squeals like… well… a girl

>But that’s to be expected out of Sam at this point

>Heart hammering, you roll your window down just a crack

>Mike stands by your driver-side window like an impatient cop

“Get in the back. Now,” you say, voice low, shaking with tremors

>Mike rolls his eyes, but in a flash he’s already in the back seat, slamming the door shut

>Sam – still trying to stay low and out of sight, waves politely at the vampire in the back

>Mike stretches out against the seat, enjoying the warm air trapped in your car

>“You know what? You made me realize the worst part of being a vampire – so far,” he says, body relaxing into the seat. “Having the ability to hear all of your heartbeats now is so fucking gay.”

>He raises himself from the seat and leans forward, towards the dash

>A smug, clueless grin plays across his otherwise sickly appearance

>“Because every time you two do something with each other, I have to hear about it, whether I want to or not. Like right now,” he laughs. “I could hear your ‘private moment’ from outside the car. In here? It’s like a drum show-”

“Mike!” You hiss. “Shut the hell up for a second!”

>The vampire stops, his expression shifting like a mask

>“What’s up?” He says, lowering his body beneath the top of the seat like you and Sam

“Remember the crooked stop sign?”

>Mike nods

>You look at Sam to your right, trying hard to make himself stronger than he already is

>You summon a courageous breath on his behalf

“Do you see any cars we don’t recognize, waiting by the stop sign? I can’t see in this dark; and Sam can’t be seen if there’s someone there,” you whisper

>The vampire pokes his head over the seat, heat-soaked eyes glowing in the dark cab

>A few seconds pass

>To the metronome of your heart, ticking away like a bomb inside your chest, it feels like hours

>“Someone was there,” Mike says at last, turning back to face you and Sam, “I saw this big shadow ease past the stop sign and take off that way.”

>Mike throws a thumb over his shoulder, roughly north…

>…through the small, church side road…

>…and back down the hill

>“It could have been a car with all its lights turned off; maybe it was some kids looking for a private spot to get high. Even vampires don’t get perfect night vision,” he says, his tone heavy. “Something was definitely there, however. That much I’m sure of.”

>You know, it’s also possible that you encountered someone trying to skirt traffic

>They took a wrong turn, and got curious about the old white oak door church

>That’s all

>That’s… all

>Sam unlatches his door and pulls himself out of your car, nose leading as he scents the air

>“S-Smells like burnt o-oil,” he remarks, eyes flicking rapidly between shapes in the woods and deactivated street lamps on the asphalt

>A light breeze drifts between the timbers, feathering his hair across his face, lightly tousling the strings of his hoodie

>A shock of brown hair falls across his face, almost like a veil

>It’s uncanny how feminine this boy is

>You could watch him in the breeze for hours, studying his features like an artist studies a model’s…

>…beauty

>You blush, almost as bright as Sam is right now

>…That was a little gay, Anon

>“T-Thanks for letting me s-s-shower. I f-f-feel a lot better,” Sam says, poking his head back into the vehicle through the passenger door

>Then he smiles at you, all amber-eyed and crimson, bashful, but willing to be brave for you

>“And… t-thanks for listening t-to me,” he says, still smiling, but now staring directly at his own feet in the most Sam-fashion

>Mike, surprisingly, does not snicker like a thirteen-year-old boy

>He sits like a bored audience in the back, no canned laughter

“No problem, bro. Any time you need to talk. Now c’mon, let’s get inside and set up the sleeping bags,” you say, unbuckling your mostly worthless seat belt

>It’ll be good to get out of this car, you think

>“Hang on a moment, Anonymous,” Mike says. “I need to talk to you about something – in private.”

>Mike cracks a beer with his nails and-

>-wait, does Mike have beer hidden around your car?

>Fuck

>This seems important

>“Sam?” Mike jerks his chin up at the rabbit and takes a long swallow of beer. “Can you go wait with Jenna and Alex inside? Maybe help them get set up? There’s something I want to talk with Anon about.”

>The rabbit looks up at you, as if seeking your approval

>Because you get the sense that this is serious, you nod at Sam and paint on a quick smile

>“Go on – I’ll be there in a few minutes. Jenna and Alex don’t bite. Well, Alex stopped doing that years ago, anyway,” you say

>With a final look of deep longing, Sam tears his eyes off of you, and bounces up the steps to the church

>You and Mike watch the little rabbit disappear through the heavy oaken doors, weak candle light flickering from within

>Mike sighs a tired, world-weary sigh

>“He’s got it bad for you, dude,” Mike says after some time

>You purse your lips, staring ahead at the church doors, half-expecting Sam to reappear to talk to you again

>Almost…

>…wishing

“That’s what everyone keeps telling me – and to be honest, I see what you all mean. But I’m not…” you trail off, fighting a blush

>Your eyes turn down into your lap, lost in thought

>You can’t believe you’re having this conversation with Mike, but your friend looks on, steady and waiting to hear you out

>The sound of a train rolling by at the bottom of the hill punctuates the silence while you search your empty hands for words

“…I’m not gay, Mike. I’m just… not,” you say with finality, almost like you’re admitting to a crime. “Believe me, I know why you guys make the jokes about me and Sam. But what am I supposed to do? You’ve seen the way he looks at me – how he acts around me.”

>There’s a long pause as the vampire mulls over your words

>“I appreciate the honesty, but I’m not here to talk about Sam’s sexuality – or yours, either,” Mike says, casually

>You flip Mike the bird, but his reaction is steady, his hypnotic eyes never leaving yours

>“Do you think we’re safe at the church?” Mike says plainly, before sucking on his beer

>Your eyes once again find the rear view mirror

>You wonder the same thing

“I don’t know that for certain,” you admit. “But it’s safe to assume that if Sam’s dad know about my house, than he has an idea of where the rest of us live. Where else can we go?”

>“That’s also what I was afraid of,” Mike says in an annoyed breath

>You can hear the beer bottle in Mike’s grip screaming under pressure

>“If Sam’s dad messes with my house, or my parents, or my whore sister, I swear to-”

>The bottle explodes in a shower of amber glass, popping like a cheap balloon in Mike’s hand

>You blink, hardly phased as glass shards cover your back seat

>Mike seems more surprised than you are, unable to compute that he can now break bottles with a good squeeze

“Happen a lot?” You say, casually

>“A lot more than you’d think. Shit, I’ll get another one later,” Mike sighs and levels his gaze ahead, staring at the church doors

>“You realize that Sam is a liability, right?” Mike says, as if – like you – he’s waiting for Sam to show up on cue, and burst through the doors

>‘Liability’

>You hate that word

>It makes Sam out to be some kind of burden to your group…

>…or to the fate of the world itself

>Sam is no longer dead weight, so you wince when Mike describes him as such

“We’re lucky he’s with us. Otherwise his dad would have killed him, or Vanessa’s merry band of retards would have captured him by now,” you say, watching Mike fish for another beer

>The vampire snorts with laughter as he searches

>“God, the goths really are cringe, aren’t they? They take themselves so fucking seriously.”

>You smile

“You talk a lot of shit for a kid who is literally now a vampire,” you shrug

>“Right,” Mike says, examining his ghostly-white arms. “I’m gonna need blood soon, now that you mention it.”

>In the dark, Mike’s eyes glow with a predatory haze

“W-What, like right here?” You stammer

>“Relax, gay boy. I didn’t mean your blood. I just meant-”

“You know you want some,” you snicker, motioning towards the bandages around your wrists, once slit when summoning fire

>Mike rolls his eyes

>“Sometimes the gay jokes just write themselves, bro,” he says, tone flat and unimpressed

“Okay, what if we got some really fresh beef from the store?” You say

>Mike deflates at the mention of the store

>“I%apos;m banned for life, remember?”

>Christ, where can you go?

“How long do you think you can hold out for, then?”

>“At least until Friday. Besides – I’m not helpless. If I need to, I’ll make a ‘trip’ to Ranchview proper. There’s probably some homeless guy I can feed off of wandering around, shouting at the sky.”

>You fold your arms across your chest, like a disappointed parent

“You’re not not spawning vampire fledglings, are you?”

>Mike then extends his open palm, waiting for you to drop the car keys

>“There’s no way to really know. Now, if you could PLEASE give me the keys? I have to sleep at some point.”

>You fish your keys from your pocket and drop them in his hands

>“Thanks bro,” he says. “The back seat beats the hell out of sleeping in the woods.”

“No less than you deserve,” you add with a half-chuckle

>Mike shoots you some dismissive, sarcastic finger guns, and you hop out of the driver’s seat

>You stop only a few feet from the car, right as Mike is getting comfy in the back

“One more thing,” you say to him

>Mike – already reclining the back seat – pops one eye open

>“What? You want a good night kiss?”

>You hesitate for a moment, unsure of why you’re even asking Mike this question

>Yet, it feels necessary, like a final check before Friday

“You’re with us, right? Like, until the end?”

>Mike’s one eye stares at you for a moment before before settling shut

>“Until the very end. The goth kids are trying to take my future from me. The least I can do is make them pay for it. Now goodnight.”

>You exhale a held a breath

“Goodnight.”

>The car door falls shut, and you shuffle towards the warmth of the church

>Inside, Alex and Jenna have candles running; weak flames of light that throw eerie shadows on the walls

>The two sleep on the floor in newly acquired sleeping bags

>You locate Sam, a few feet away from he altar, curled up into himself

>And aside from Alex, snoring like a diesel engine, the church is quiet

>You approach Sam with a light step

>The little bunny looks so peaceful while he dreams

>His nose wrinkles, chest delicately rises and falls; a subject of sleep’s gravity

>You don’t fight your tired smile

>It’s good to see Sam at peace; to see his face without worry or tension

>Another train roars by on the tracks at the bottom of the hill

>It’s so close that it rattles church foundations

>You can imagine how the holy water basin at the front entrance of this place would form lapping waves during every service

>Not even the word of God is louder than two-hundred tons of steel

>Sam’s body tenses

>Lines appear in his forehead like worried creases

>His legs kick and flutter – as if her were running from something in a dream

>You ease down next to him, body slacking from exhaustion

>As gingerly as you can, you bring the rabbit close against your body, curled up tight together

>Like an ampersand

>It’s not a good feeling to be feel so helpless as you watch Sam’s anxiety work him over in his sleep

>And he has every right to be scared

>Insane father

>Home life is a wreck

>His brother apparently died only a few years ago

>No mother in his life

>And he never had any friends…

>…until he met you, that is

>Pangs of guilt in your stomach like depth charges

>You feel horrible for how you used to treat Sam

>He never deserved it

>Your eyes feel heavy, like holding buckets of water

>And though the carpet isn’t comfortable, holding Sam while he sleeps is a greater comfort than any sleeping bag or bed

>Your eyes flutter shut

>You and Sam listen to the train rumble on through the night

Sam, Composite

A poem for Sam, by Oliver Hart

Brave chips of amber,
fleeing ever-downward,
like comets borne on
wings of silk
and lead.

Guts of a rabbit,
evasion by habit;
a negative number
that divides
two into
one.

A heart made of muscle
the size of your fist,
with fear in your lungs,
fire in your chest,
swing from the heel;
give ‘em hell, kid.
Until cowardice can’t tell
right hook
from left.

Oliver Hart

Author of Foxing, The Leaves of Fall, Liquid Courage, Beating the Heat, A Red Winter, Weber’s Gambit, and many other stories. He primarily writes hmofa, but dabbles in most genres. Interests include, writing, reading, technology, and music.

Stories: Foxing, The Leaves of Fall