Page 124 of Blood Lovers

I shall not find it because I am in ‘those days.’

And it’s only been sixty-five years.

But there is a way to die. Paul said as much. He said I was dying and I have to drink Syrsee to live.

Well. I chuckle as I close my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. I won’t be doing that. I will not drink her again. I will just… stay right here. Let the storm come. Let it wash over me. Let it kill me. Let it…

My world changes as I slip into the purple. It’s a bright, sunny day in the middle of summer, but the air all around me has been tinted to the color of a fresh bruise.

I’m standing outside a garage pumping gas for a man in a gorgeous coral sand Ford Skyliner. He’s talking excitedly about his weekend and even though I can’t hear him, I find myself interested and smiling as I nod.

Because this is me, and this was my life, and whoever this guy is, sitting in this work-of-art car in nineteen fifty-seven, he is my friend. Probably someone I hung out with. Drank with, went on vacation with, and spent holidays with.

Then I hear someone calling… calling for…

The guy in the car nods his head, indicating I should look behind me.

And there is a voice there, a sweet, sweet voice. A woman’s voice.

It’s in this moment that I realize my wait is over. Because this voice belongs to her.

My wife.

My Jane.

And all I have to do is turn my head and…

I can’t. I can’t do it. If I see her, I will want to die. And I won’t. I’ll be stuck here, as this man called Ryet—who is not Ryet—and I will be in Hell forever.

“Riah!” She’s calling me. “Zechariah! Your lunch is getting cold!”

Turn, Ryet. Turn and look at her. See her! That’s what you’ve wanted! That’s what you’ve been begging for all these years!

But I can’t. I just… wake up.

A blanket of white has covered my windshield, inches thick. My truck is still running, but I didn’t have the heat on, and it’s freezing. My body is so hot that when I press a palm up to the windshield, the snow melts around it and in a few seconds, I can see the road and the mountains through the murky haze of late afternoon snow.

Zechariah.

He changed my name when he turned me into this monster.

No! Paul’s voice is loud in my head, almost like he’s here with me.

But the rejection is correct. He didn’t change me. I was made this way.

I get out, grab a snowbrush from the back seat, clean the snow off my windows with no gloves and no hat, and then get back in the truck and look at my bright red hands.

They are ice, and they feel good, but only for a moment. Then I am hot all over again. And when I pull back onto the road, convinced that I will never see the man and his family in that RV again, I am dizzy too.

I need that blood or I’m going to die. And even though I want to die, I head in the direction of Paul anyway.

Because that’s where she is. Waiting for me.

And I know, with a hundred percent certainty, that I’m going to drain her dry. I’m gonna suck that blood down and I’m gonna like it.

Because it’s just too late for me.

Death is not coming for me.