Page 35 of Burn Falls
He shook his head.
“Is he a criminal like you?”
He nodded.
“How?”
“Armed robbery.”
And there was the answer I was looking for the entire time. “Where is he now?”
“Home, I think.”
“What’s the address?”
He rattled it off while I set it to my memory.
“Thank you. Now,” I pulsed my eyes again, “you will not remember I was here, and you will never sell or do drugs again. You will go to one of the community colleges Seattle has to offer, and then you will get a real job. You will not follow in your father’s footsteps. Do you understand?”
He nodded, and I let him go. Then I turned and moved to each kid, compelling them all to forget and do better with their lives before I moved back to Martin and called for a cab.
The yellow taxi pulled up to the address thirty minutes later. Martin wasn’t as drunk as before, but he wasn’t sober either.
“What we doing here?” he slurred as we stood on the sidewalk after the cab pulled away.
“Hopefully getting you closure.” I bit into my wrist, drawing blood. “Drink.”
Martin’s green eyes widened. “What?”
“I thought you wanted me to turn you?”
His heart started to beat faster in his chest.
I chuckled. “Relax. I’m joking with you. Drink my blood so you can sober up and then we can find the man who killed your mother before the fucking sun comes up and I burn to death.”
“Always so dramatic,” he mumbled but didn’t hesitate before latching onto my wrist. My blood had healing powers for humans, and with just a little I knew it would sober Martin. After a few seconds, I stopped him and licked my wrist to close the open holes.
“This is really going to sober me up?”
“Will also cure all your ailments.”
“My ailments?”
“Like your back you’re always bitching about.”
“Shut up. Just because you can’t age—”
“See, you aren’t slurring anymore. Let’s go.”
He groaned and followed me up the sidewalk until we were in front of a chain-link fence. “You just going to knock on the door?”
I looked over at Martin. “Yes, I have to be invited in, remember?”
“Right.”
The blue glow of a television was casting through the bay-style window, and I knew someone was home. I knocked and waited then knocked again. No answer. I knocked harder. Then I heard the cocking of a gun.
“He’s armed,” I whispered.
