Page 29 of Blood Lust

Something about her, something quiet, coiled, unreadable, grabs me by the spine. She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t notice meat all. But I feel her like a storm rolling in.

I don’t know her name. Not yet. I don’t even know what she is, not really.

But I know this much:

She’s not like the other people here.

And it all started in an AOL chatroom for ‘vampires’...

***

The AOL chat window glows in the dark like a portal into my hopes and dreams. My fingers hover over the keyboard, but I don’t type anything, not yet.

MoonDance77 is online.

She always logs in around this time. Late. Quiet. The kind of hour where the air feels thinner and the weirdos come out to play. I’ve been one of those weirdos for a long time. But she’s different. Funny, sharp, mysterious. She gets me. Or maybe I just want her to get me.

We met in a chatroom calledAfter Midnight,a forgotten corner of the internet where insomniacs, goths, and wannabe witches spill their souls. I’d posted some bullshit question about whether immortality was worth the price. Half-joke, half-truth. She replied.

MoonDance77: Immortality’s not what they say it is. You don’t get stronger. Just more alone.

That line hits like a bullet even now. And it rings with truth. Only someone who experienced that would even think to say something like that.

She plays coy, but I’m starting to piece it together. The “wine-only diet,” the daytime migraines, the cryptic references to “nights that end in cow blood and regret.”

Once, she said she worked the night shift in a city with a giant anchor statue located in its downtown; pretty sure she meant Fullerton. And yes, there’s a Heroes in Fullerton. Bingo.Another time, she joked about knowing a bartender named Rico with a ponytail and a bad Led Zeppelin addiction. Said the jukebox in his bar “only played heartbreak.” I called Heroes, asked for Rico. They said he wasn’t in, that he worked the night shift. Bingo #2.

It’s all there, if you’re paying attention.

I am; I was.

I haven’t told her who I am. Not really. Online, I’m justFang950, some anonymous guy with a taste for vampire lore and late-night chats. I drop a few fake details, toss in some honesty to keep it real. But mostly, I listen. I collect notes on her.

The way she writes. The timing of her replies. The way she hesitates before answering anything too personal. She slips up sometimes. Leaves a crumb trail.

Little did she know she was being stalked by a Grade-A psychopath.

Chapter Twenty-five

I often think of my first “meeting” with MoonDance. You could say it left an indelible impression.

Unfortunately for me (or fortunately), I’ve never been good at first impressions.

Too skinny. Too pale. Eyes too twitchy. Weird teeth hanging around my neck like they belonged in a shark tank. But the infamous Rico had hired me anyway. Didn’t ask many questions, just nodded once at my fake ID and fake social security card and said, “You break up fights, you get paid. You start one, you disappear.”

Fair deal.

Heroes Bar & Grill is a dive with delusions of nostalgia. Wood-paneled walls, neon beer signs, and a jukebox stuck on Led Zeppelin like it’s a religion. The crowd’s a mix of tired regulars and couples clinging to each other like it’s their last night on Earth.

On that fateful night in question, I stand near the entrance in my new security shirt, trying not to draw attention to myself. My arms are crossed. I don’t work behind the bar, not yet. Soon, Rico had said.

And suddenly, just past 10 p.m., she steps inside.

My throat closes up.

She’s so… normal-looking. Ridiculously normal. Jeans, sneakers, a dark fitted jacket. No makeup that I can see. Her hair’s loose, hanging just past her shoulders, straight down like she wasn’t trying too hard. Like she never had to. Her face hits me like a forgotten dream suddenly remembered. When déjà vu suddenly becomes reality.

The sketch! Bruce’s drawing from all those years ago, now faded at the edges from how often I’d unfolded it and looked at it. The same arch of eyebrows, the same slight tilt of the chin.

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