The Stake

You know? This isn’t my thing, it’s yours. I’ve got my own problems.”

“What kind?..”

“I’m just saying,” she hurried on, “you shouldn’t let Pete or anyone else push you into doing something that you’re against. You’re the one who’ll have to live with it.”

“You think it’s morally wrong to pull the stake?”

“It is if she’s a vampire.”

“Of course, we know she isn’t.”

“ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than you’ve dreamt of in your philosophies.’ ”

“Hey, pretty good!”

She smiled. “I’m off to bed.”

“ ‘Good night, sweet princess. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.’ ”

“Oh, thanks. I’m not dying, I’m just going to take another nap. I hope.”

She left the room, wrote down the addresses of her friends, gave them to her mother in the kitchen, thanked her again for taking care of the matter, then returned to her bedroom.

Propped up against pillows, she tried to read. Though her eyes moved over the sentences, her mind kept straying, tormenting her with thoughts of Kramer. After a while she set the book aside. She snuggled down beneath the covers.

She wishedshe had her father’s problems. He doesn’t know how lucky he is, she thought. How nice it would be if the biggest worry in her life was whether or not to pull a piece of wood out of a corpse.

Dad had said the girl — Bonnie? — was the Homecoming queen. She must’ve been beautiful. Maybe just Kramer’s type.

Drifting toward sleep, Lane imagined getting all her friends together: Betty and Henry and George and Riley. I need your help, she told them. She explained her plan, and they all seemed eager to join in. So they crept into the garage and sneaked out with the corpse. They tied the coffin to the roof of her Mustang. They drove through the night across town to Kramer’s house. His station wagon wasn’t there. He was still out on his boat. While her friends waited on the front stoop, she broke a back window and entered the house. She opened the door for them, and they brought the coffin inside. They took it to Kramer’s bedroom. They lifted the body onto his bed and hid the empty coffin in a closet.

Lane volunteered to pull the stake. I’m not scared, she said. And she wasn’t. Not of Bonnie. Bonnie was not the enemy. Bonnie was her ally, her weapon. She drew the stake out of the girl’s chest. The hole melted shut. The cadaver began to expand like an inflatable rubber doll with air being blown in. Its dry, leathery skin uncrinkled, took on a healthy glow of life. Except for the bruised places.

Lane was startled when she realized that Bonnie looked like her own twin. No, she thought, she’s not a twin. She’s me. This is even better than I hoped. Kramer’ll think I came to him.

The Lane on Kramer’s bed opened her eyes. Don’t worry, she said. I’ll take care of him.

* * *

Lane woke up feeling as if a terrible burden had been removed. She didn’t know why, but she felt good. Then she remembered the weird plan of her daydream. It had only been a fantasy. Nothing was changed. Her spirits sank and dread returned to its nesting place in the pit of her stomach.

She looked at the clock beside her bed. Almost one.

She’d been asleep for a long time, and she was glad. If only she could just stayasleep.

But she was hungry. So she got out of bed, put on her robe and slippers, and left the room.

The house seemed deserted.

But the door to her father’s office was shut. She knocked. Opening it, she glimpsed a page of black and white photos as Dad swept a folder shut. He smiled at her, but he looked startled and his face was red.

She wondered what he’d been looking at. Whatever it might be, he seemed ashamed of it. She decided not to ask. “Sorry to bother you,” she said.

“No problem. Feeling any better?”

“A little. Hungry, though. Have you already eaten?”

“Yeah. We had lunch an hour ago. Do you want me to make you something?”

“No, that’s okay. I can manage. Where’s Mom?”

“She went to the store. We decided to ask Pete and Barbara over for dinner, so she had to pick up a few things.”

“Barbara’s recovered?”

“Apparently. Your mother dropped in on her. Sounds as if she’s a little embarrassed about her accident, but she’s eager to resume the adventure. Pete’s already picked up a new video camera.”

“Let’s hope Barbara doesn’t break this one.”

“She probably won’t get her hands on it.”

“If Pete’s smart. What time are they coming over?”

“Around six.”

“If I’m not around, make sure you get me up. I wouldn’t want to miss anything.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Absolutely. See you later.” She pulled the door shut and went to the kitchen.

While she made herself a grilled cheese sandwich, she thought back to the folder that Dad had shut so quickly. She tried to remember the look of the paper inside. Glossy, with two or three pictures on it.

Like a page out of Buford Memories.

“Oh, boy,” she muttered. He must’ve torn it from the 1968 annual. And there had appeared to be more than one in that folder.

Pictures of Bonnie. He’d been studying pictures of Bonnie. God, if ol‘ lady Swanson ever found out... I would’ve been in such deep shit... How could he do that to me?

Pete had called him “obsessed.” Right here in the kitchen, when Dad was talking about his weird dreams.

Obsessed, all right.

Lane slid her sandwich onto a paper plate. She took it to the table and sat down.

Dad just wanted the pictures for his book, she told herself as she started to eat. Nothing weird about that. He looked so guilty in there because he stole them from the yearbook, doesn’t want me to find out. That’s all.

Maybe that isn’t all. He’s been dreaming about her. Walking in his sleep. He went out there to pay her a visit.

Lane remembered the way she’d found him staring at the naked corpse. What if he isobsessed with her? Maybe he wants her to be a vampire, wants to see her change back into a beautiful girl, wants to...

Come on. This is Dad, not Kramer. Dad wouldn’t...

The things he was saying to her. But he was asleep. He was talking to her in his dream. Awake, he wouldn’t...

Awake, ten minutes ago, he was staring at her pictures. What was he thinking? Was he wondering what it might be like if she comes back to life tonight?

He’s just a man.

No, he’s not. He’s Dad. He’s doing this for his book, not because he’s horny over a high school girl.

Lane couldn’t finish her sandwich. She threw the remains away, took a drink of water, and hurried back to her bedroom. She shut the door. She tossed her robe across a chair. She kicked her slippers off. She drew the covers up around her neck, curled on her side and hugged her belly.

Dad isn’t like that, she told herself. He’s not a pervert. He loves me and Mom.

He even told Bonnie that he loves us.