Teeth: Vampire Tales

All Smiles by STEVE BERMAN

Drowning felt like a real possibility. The cold rain came down hard, soaking Saul through each layer of clothing: the faded peacoat he’d stolen from Cotre Ranch, the Red Caps T-shirt he’d bought at their Philly concert, the waffle-weave long sleeve, and the boxers and jeans he’d been wearing for too many days and nights. His socks and sneakers were saturated sponges; every step down the shoulder of the highway made him shiver.

Every time Saul heard a car approach, he would turn back into the force of the wind, letting the rain sting his face. He would squint and, if he didn’t recognize the car from the ranch, he’d raise an arm, thumb out for a ride. And the cars swooshed past, and he’d walk on.

By nightfall, the air might freeze him. But he’d been on so many forced marches the last few weeks, he imagined his corpse would keep walking.

A car stopped yards ahead of him. The passenger door opened wide. Saul blinked away the water running into his eyes. A dark sedan, sleek, with tinted windows. A New York State license plate. How he missed the East Coast! The Statue of Liberty beckoned, reminding him of that speech of hers, welcoming the poor and downtrodden.

He ran up to the car. Warm air seeped from the interior. From behind the steering wheel, a dark-haired girl in her early twenties leaned over and patted the passenger seat, now speckled with rainwater. “Need an ark, Noah?”

A giggle came from the backseat as Saul climbed inside. The vent near his face gushed hot air, a forgotten piece of summer trapped within the car. Saul slammed shut the door just as the girl stepped hard on the gas pedal.

He noticed the glove compartment hung open and stuffed with maps, folded wrong so they accordioned, and papers.

“Introductions,” she said. Saul noticed she had the most dazzling smile he’d ever seen. Perfect, expressive, expensive. He caught himself staring at her smile a bit too long, which only made her grin wider.

Saul brushed back the wet hair along his head and offered his name.

“I’m Dutch, and back there,” she said, stabbing behind her shoulder, “is Marley.”

Marley leaned forward and offered Saul a smile that matched Dutch’s in brilliance and intensity. He also had dark hair, though his was just shy of stubble compared to her longer tresses. Both wore matching white button-down shirts and black slacks. Both had the topmost buttons undone to reveal plenty of smooth skin.

Siblings, Saul was sure. Both good-looking and with the confidence that meant if they weren’t rich, they had once been so.

“What’s a night like this doing to a boy like you?” Marley asked, followed by another giggle that belonged to a toddler.

“Running away,” Dutch said. “Well, aren’t you? Only someone on the run would be hitchhiking in this weather.”

Saul nodded. Cotre Ranch might tell parents it was an “outdoor behavioral health care facility,” but it was really a gulag to help kids kick their drug habits through hard labor and obstacle courses. Punishment for doing a little herbal and a couple bumps of crystal meth — how else could he entertain himself? His parents hadn’t asked him if he’d like to move from Jersey to Iowa.

The motion of the car and the intense heat made him sleepy. As an inmate of the ranch, he’d been rising at dawn only to collapse on a stiff bunk every night. And even then, sleep wasn’t a guarantee: Every so often there were random night checks when a “counselor” would try to sneak up on a sleeping kid. If they could do so without waking him, it meant an hour’s worth of scrubbing floors. Saul learned fast to wake at the slightest creak.

“You’re not ax murderers, are you?” he asked.

Both siblings laughed. Dutch, at least, had a normal laugh. “No, no. Nothing like that.”

Saul’s right arm itched. He rubbed it through the peacoat. He was covered in so many bruises and scabs from all the tough love. His hands were either all blister or callus.

“No hobo bag?” Marley tugged at Saul’s wilted collar. “I always loved those cartoon hobos.”

“You’re traveling light,” Dutch said.

Saul felt too tired to shrug. “Nothing to hold me down.” Truth was, the goon staff had locked away most of his things after his parents had dropped him off at the ranch. He wasn’t sure if he should be missing things. What did empty pockets say about a guy?

He looked out the window, scratched at the cheap, tinted film with a dirty thumbnail. The thought of freedom was intoxicating. “I could go anywhere,” he muttered. His original plan had been to make his way back to Jersey, but that now seemed as empty of promise as knocking at his parents’ door. There was nowhere he had to go, which left him troubled. He couldn’t imagine himself anywhere in the world, as if the cold rain had washed away his ability to daydream. When the siblings let him out, all he would do was wait for the next ride. And then the next.

“We’ve been anywhere.” This time Marley’s fingers, which felt like icicles, moved to Saul’s matted hair. “And everywhere in between.”

Saul stiffened. When you’re gay, you always wonder about every guy you see. What if Marley was too? But when you’re right, it’s still a surprise. It had been too long since another guy had even touched him. While being trapped in a bunkhouse filled with teen rough trade might seem like a wet dream come true, actually no one had the energy after the first few days to do more than brag about past lays. And by the third week — a week of digging holes six feet deep — everyone looked and smelled so scroungy and raw that the thought of even approaching a horny straight boy was too damn hazardous.

“Relax. We want to like you,” Dutch said. She ran one finger along the front of her teeth, as if checking to make sure they were clean. Saul noticed she didn’t wear any fingernail polish or rings, something he’d expect for a rich girl. She needed only her smile.

As Saul scratched at his arm, Marley’s cold touch slipped under his collar. “Are you one of those shy boys?”

Saul didn’t think “shy” was the right word for how he felt. Maybe curious or anxious. When a total stranger started stroking the side of your neck, how were you supposed to act?

His right arm more than itched. It felt as if ants had crawled under the skin. Angry ants that tore at the nerves with their mandibles. He tried pushing up the sleeve of the coat, but it wasn’t enough. The arm burned as if soaked in acid. He began stripping off the coat and ripping at his sleeve.

The siblings laughed. “So eager,” one of them said, but Saul didn’t pay attention to which one.

When he finally bared his forearm, the pain ceased immediately. The skin looked so pale compared to the black, curvy Hebrew lettering of his tattoo. He had thought it so clever to get that line referring to tefillin inked on his arm. And you shall bind them as a sign upon your hand. As a boy, he’d often watch his zaydie, his grandfather, on Saturday mornings, wrap his arm with the phylactery’s straps, which filled the room with the smell of leather. Zaydie had told him that the small animal-hide box held magic words.

Of course, as he’d planned, his parents were appalled. He remembered his mother crying, “You can’t be buried in a Jewish cemetery. You can’t go to shul.” He thought her reaction was so hypocritical; after Zaydie died, they only went to synagogue for the High Holy Days. The only bagels in Iowa must be frozen in the supermarket.

Saul had expected the staff at the ranch would mock him for the Hebrew, but Phelps, the head counselor, had admired his tattoo and actually suggested Saul get more ink, so that it would resemble leather bands coiling all the way down to his palm.

Saul looked at the siblings. Dutch had her eyes on the road, but her face had become drawn, the lines of her jaw clenched tight. “His arm,” Marley groaned from the backseat.

“I know,” Dutch muttered. She glanced at Saul, and the look was one of disgust. Instinct made his hand edge toward the door latch, but he realized that she was driving too fast to make rolling out of the car a safe option. It didn’t matter. She pressed a button and the locks came down. He heard them echo awhile.

“Remind me that you’re not ax murderers,” he said weakly. He never wanted trouble.

The last few days had been weird at the ranch; the counselors seemed distracted and kept talking in hushed voices. Some of the older boys were on edge, as if too much testosterone malice had built up in their veins. Saul was sure they planned on a game of Smear the Queer any moment and decided he had to get out of there as soon as possible.

That night, he feigned sleep in his bunk. His ears strained to pick out the whispers among the many snores. He hid his face under the crook of an arm and watched as some of the boys rose from their bunks. Saul tensed. He told himself there’d be no shame in kicking another guy in the balls if he meant to brain you. But the boys didn’t even look in his direction as they opened the door (which should have been locked!) and slipped out of the bunkhouse.

He counted to a thousand. Well, he aimed that high, but somewhere after two hundred, he crept to the door. He held a breath and was rewarded when the handle was unlocked. The grounds were dark, except for the amber glow seeping from the slotted windows of the large storage shed, off-limits to all but the staff.

Saul knew he didn’t have time or the luck to afford being curious.

As he passed through the parking lot, he considered letting air out of the tires, but there were too many cars. He crept down to the end of the driveway and looked over the metal gate. Tugging at the chain that fed the motor reminded him of all the bike chains he’d broken as a little kid. He hunted around until he found a palm-sized rock, and then smashed the chain off. He tossed the rock over his shoulder, muttered a thanks to the counselors for teaching him to climb anything, and scurried over the rain-slick bars. He didn’t stop running until he reached the highway.

“What do you want to do?” she asked. Saul knew she wasn’t talking to him.

“I don’t know. I’m hungry, though. And we were promised food.” The last words came out of Marley as a whine.

Dutch nodded.

Saul leaned against the car door. Now alert, though sweating from the furnacelike heat, he didn’t know where to look. Staring at the road left him feeling helpless, but eyeballing Dutch might antagonize her, like an angry dog. He risked a glance and realized she wasn’t sweating. Not a drop. His own forehead felt slick, feverish. He remembered Phelps mentioning he would never trust anyone who didn’t sweat.

They drove too fast past a road sign for him to read it. “There’s a gas station up ahead,” she said.

“We need to stop. I can’t think when I’m hungry. I need to think about his arm.”

Saul wondered if they were some crazy anti-Semitic pair. Just his luck to find the only New Yorkers on vacation who hated Jews. He tried to cover the tattoo with his fingers, but the skin beneath began to ache again until he removed his hand. He didn’t understand what the hell was happening.

Dutch barely slowed down to pull into the gas station. She came to a screeching halt in front of a pump. A pregnant woman filling her gas tank nearby gave them a sour look as she covered her stomach with one arm, as if that might keep her safe from injury. “Looks like we need some gas.”

“I need a refill.” Marley’s usual giggle was brief and pained.

Dutch turned to Saul. “You fill the tank. We’ll be inside. If you run, we’ll kill her.”

Saul nodded. The flatness in Dutch’s voice was more chilling than the threat. No, not a threat, but a promise of murder.

“C’mon, bro,” she said, and unlocked the doors.

Saul’s legs felt hollow as he stepped out of the car. He moved slowly. Marley flipped him the finger under one eye before following after his sister. Saul noticed that neither of them wore shoes, and their bare feet were dark with grime.

Saul hissed at the pregnant woman to catch her attention. She ignored him. He stomped his foot, splashing a puddle. Nothing. Then he noticed the white cord around her neck. Damn iPods. Would serve her right if he ran.

But he wouldn’t be so easy to kill. He’d discovered something about himself at Cotre Ranch. Through all the hiking with heavy backpacks, the hand-over-hand rope bridge over mud puddles, the old brick wall they had to climb, he might have stumbled, but Phelps’s goons had made sure he kept going. They would yell at him, insult him, and shove him forward. And he was tougher for it.

The liquid crystal display on the pump came to life. He lifted the nozzle. He needed a distraction. On the island beside the pump, a metal drum served as a trash can. The crumpled fast-food bags, empty soda cans, and discarded oil bottles would ignite fast with a little gasoline. He pulled the nozzle’s trigger and splashed the top of the trash.

The pregnant woman finished and drove off. Saul turned to see if the siblings could see him through the gas station’s windows and found himself face-to-face with Dutch. He jumped back. She was sucking on her index finger. The look of excitement on her flushed face dropped when she smelled the gasoline.

She popped the finger from her lips and then kicked at the drum. The trash spilled out all around the island. Saul silently cursed.

“Inside,” she told him, and pushed him toward the gas station door.

Marley stood at the back by the refrigerated shelves, juggling cartons of milk. His lips looked ruddy, as if he’d been kissing someone hard. He’d be gorgeous if not for the smirk. It was the sort of smirk that made you want to punch him before kissing him.

The register drawer was open and empty. Maybe they’re just thieves, Saul thought. And they’re getting off on scaring me. Then he thought he glimpsed a foot sticking out from behind the counter, and he felt the scream building within him. A scream at their madness, a scream of shock and fear. But he knew if he let the scream loose, he’d be rooted to the spot and never escape. So he swallowed the scream, as he had the aches and pains he’d earned at the ranch.

Marley tossed the smallest carton to Saul. Heavy cream.

“The Masai drink blood first and then milk.” Marley let one carton drop. It smacked the floor, and milk spilled all over the stained linoleum. “Oops, don’t cry.” He smiled and Saul shivered, frightened and, embarrassed to realize, aroused. There was something powerful about their Cheshire cat grins.

Saul glanced around him. He stood in the midst of an aisle with chips and snack foods along one side, soda on the other. Six-packs of root beer caught his attention.

Their smiles had some sort of hold over him. He needed to break that hold, break their smiles, and glass bottles were promising. He’d always thought those scenes in the movies when a guy broke a bottle over someone’s head looked hilarious. In real life, though, it had to be effective.

Marley opened the carton with his bared teeth and drank. Not a drop ran down his shirt despite the greedy gulps. Behind Saul, Dutch laughed.

Saul opened the heavy cream and lifted it as if to drink. With one swift motion he turned around and splashed Dutch full in the face. She stumbled back. When she opened her mouth to call out, Saul had already grabbed the nearest root beer by the neck and slammed the bottle into her upper jaw. A couple teeth went flying.

He didn’t wait for Marley to react. That was the biggest mistake fresh meat made at the ranch. During a run, they’d look back to see how much of a lead they had and would lose ground. Or they started to trash talk. So Saul was already climbing up and over the metal shelving like he’d done so many times at the obstacle course. Bags of chips popped and crumpled beneath him as he scrambled and landed on the other side of the aisle.

But his shoes were still wet. Saul skidded on the floor. He pulled down a spinning rack of travel maps to block the way behind him.

All he had to do was make it outside. He was sure he could lose them in the woods behind the gas station.

His mistake was noticing the surveillance camera by the ceiling. The barrel turned toward Saul, who, surprised, hesitated.

From behind, a strong hand grasped his shoulder and pulled him backward. Ice-cold nails stabbed through the fabrics to bite his flesh.

“We’ve been too kind to you.” Marley’s fingernails dug deeper into Saul, making him cry out. Marley slipped his other hand beneath Saul’s shirts to stroke and scratch his stomach. “We’re no better than magpies. Pretty things distract us.”

Saul heard Dutch scream, “Kihl im!” though the words were blurred by her ruined mouth.

He felt Marley push his cold fingers down the front of his jeans. Marley nuzzled his ear, and the stink of curdled milk made Saul gag.

“That mark poisoned your blood, but I’ll enjoy — ”

Saul suddenly sprang backward, slamming Marley into the ATM. They struggled near the coffee station, but Saul couldn’t reach one of the hot pots. His fingers closed around the handle of one yellowed ceramic mug stacked in a pyramid on the counter. Its fellows tumbled noisily to the floor. He slammed the mug into Marley’s side and gut. The guy went down, clutching his abdomen.

Saul glanced at the mug, dusty and cracked, a relic older than him. Black lettering on the side said IOWA, YOU MAKE ME SMILE. He threw the mug at Marley’s crotch and ran.

Before he reached the door, his peripheral vision spotted the mop, its wormy head tangled and dripping, before it struck his chest. He stumbled into a shelf, the metal raking his back, cans and shrink-wrapped goods spilling around him. Dutch shrieked as she slammed the mop against his knees and sent him to the floor.

She stood over him with a slack jaw filled with broken teeth. But no blood; delicate strands of saliva webbed her lips and hung from her chin. She reversed the mop in her hands, so the blunt end hovered over his neck. Saul could see her struggle with her lips to make a smile.

Fresh light played over Dutch. When she raised her head to look out the glass panels, Saul grabbed at her leg, pulling hard. She lost her balance and fell, her head making a sickening smack as it struck the linoleum.

That should take her out, he thought, but she was lashing out, trying to stab at him with the mop. He grabbed the nearest can rolling on the floor — an aerosol, some sort of air freshener — and sprayed her full in the face. She cried out, tried to wipe her eyes as the smell of sweet faux lemons filled the air.

Saul stood. A car had pulled askew of the pumps and its headlights were aimed directly at the convenience store.

He stopped at the counter — without any urge to peer over and see the body — to grab a lighter. The other stunt from the movies he’d always wanted to try was igniting an aerosol spray.

Outside, the rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. He could still smell the gas vapors from the spilled trash drum.

The driver’s side door of the idling car — no, a pickup truck, he saw — opened, flashing Saul the Cotre Ranch “endless trail” logo. Phelps stepped out.

He must have been searching the highway for me, Saul thought. He felt relief at being found. He was more battered and bloody from fending off homicidal siblings than from anything the ranch had thrown at him. And yet beneath that relief was a dismal emptiness at knowing he’d be taken back to the ranch. So much for finding a new life.

“Saul, get in the truck,” Phelps said, then reached across the truck’s seat for something.

Saul stepped into the headlights’ beam. “Two psychopaths are in there.” He held aloft the aerosol. Despite the drizzle, flicking the lighter would probably ignite the very air around him, but he couldn’t let Phelps get hurt because of him.

“I know,” Phelps said.

“Wait. You. you know?”

“Course.” Phelps hefted what could only be a crossbow. “Boys watching the closed circuit told me you did good.” He began walking toward the store.

“But — ”

Phelps carefully pushed open the door. “Shit, looks like I’m cleanup crew tonight.” He spit on the ground and chuckled. “Get into the pickup. And don’t be messing up my radio stations. They’re a bitch to program.”

Saul noticed that Phelps left the keys in the ignition. He told himself to count to a hundred while the man made the fatalities. If he wasn’t back by then.

But he was, with a grin, before Saul reached sixty-eight.

As Phelps smoked a cigarette and drove, Saul had to listen to Patsy Cline walk after midnight and Merle Haggard avoiding mirrors.

“You weren’t supposed to even know about their kind till Christmas.” Phelps flicked hot ash out the open window.

“Hanukkah.”

“Right. Hanukkah.” Phelps managed not to mangle the word.

“So the other boys at the ranch. ”

“Some know. We’d been luring that pair through the internet for months. The boys were supposed to go out hunting tonight. ’Cept someone messed with the gate.”

“Guess I’m in trouble.”

Phelps didn’t say anything but kept driving. The truck’s cab was bitter cold from the wind.

Phelps braked the truck to a stop in the middle of the road. “Minnesota is a couple miles north. Just follow the road. Truck stop not far over the border.” He pulled out a scuffed leather wallet. “Bounty on two of ’em — let’s say two hundred.” He held out four wrinkled fifty-dollar bills to Saul.

“I don’t understand,” Saul said.

“You’re the one who ran. Thought you wanted out.”

“But — ”

“The boys who know. ” Phelps crushed his cigarette into a crowded ashtray. “Well, they work extra hard ’fore they can go out hunting. What you went through before, that’ll seem like a Hawaiian vacation.”

Saul still had the aerosol can in his lap. He could never look at it the same way anymore. Tonight had transformed it from a cheap, lemon-scented air freshener into an aluminum trophy. And he could feel transformed, too. He didn’t want to step out of the truck and keep walking down a highway. Not after what he’d seen, what he’d done. He looked Phelps in the eyes. He knew the man was ready to pass judgment, depending on what Saul did next.

He fingered the top of the aerosol. “Ever light the spray? I mean, when you’re fighting one of them. Like a mini flame-thrower?”

Phelps slipped the money back into his wallet, back into his slacks. “Never wanted to burn my face off,” he said.

Saul knew he had passed the test. They’d turn around, head back to the ranch. And whatever grueling crap he’d face when he woke would be fine, because this time he’d been the one who chose the ranch, and this time as reward, not some punishment.

Still, he couldn’t resist leaning out the window as Phelps put the truck in gear. His hand was steady as he held the lighter to the can and squeezed. Saul found himself grinning as a tongue of blue-and-yellow flames licked the cold night air.