The Stake

“My Dad killed him about ten minutes ago. I don’t have time to tell you about it now. The thing is, you can go on home.”

“Damn it!”

“You oughta be glad.”

“I wanted to...”

“I know, I know.”

“Maybe I’ll burn the fucker’s house for him.”

“No, don’t do that. There might be some kind of evidence.”

“Oh yeah, there’s plenty of that, all right.”

“Really?”

“Hey, the fucker’s got a regular museum here in a closet — pictures on the walls. You, Jessica, half a dozen...”

“Me?” Lane asked, feeling as if her breath were being sucked out.

“Sure as shit. Must be thirty, forty of ‘em. He’s got a darkroom here, all kinds of cameras, telephoto lenses, you name it.”

“My God.”

“A lot of girl’s stuff, too. Panties, bras, nightgowns. Fuckin‘ pervert. Looks like he used ’em to...”

“Just leave everything the way it is. For godsake, don’t burn the place. The cops’ve gotta find that stuff. It’ll help keep my dad out of trouble.”

For a few moments there was silence. Then Riley said, “I don’t know. Some of the shots he got of Jessica... I don’t want a bunch of cops seeing her like that.”

“They have to know what Kramer was doing.”

“Yeah? Bet you wouldn’t be saying that if you saw what he’s got on you.”

“He couldn’t...”

“He was following you around, Lane. He was out to your house, too, from the looks of it. You better start learning to shut your curtains better.”

“Jesus,” she muttered.

“Still want me to leave everything?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she groaned.

Pictures of me on his walls. Taken through the windows? Her skin went hot and crawly.

“Leave everything,” she said. “Please. You’ve got to.”

More silence. At last Riley said, “I’ll leave some of it. Enough so the cops get the idea. Okay? I’ll take the worst ones of you and Jessica and burn ‘em.”

“All right. Thanks.” She heard the front door bump shut. “Look, I’ve gotta hang up. My folks just came in. I’ll be in touch. You get out of there.” She hung up the phone and hurried to the hallway.

* * *

From his hiding place behind a cactus cluster across the street, Uriah watched the lair of the vampires and wondered what had happened there.

Everyone else in the neighborhood must’ve been wondering, too. He counted more than twenty rubberneckers wandering around the street and sidewalks, all of them strange in the flashing lights of the police cars and coroner’s van.

After a long time a couple of gurneys were rolled down the driveway. As they were being loaded into the coroner’s van, Uriah caught glimpses of bulky dark bags.

A lot of the gawkers cleared out, once the meat wagon was gone.

One by one the police cars left. The last of them stayed for quite a while. Only a few neighbors were still hanging around by the time a pair of cops stepped out of the front door, went to the remaining car and drove away.

Uriah sat down on the gravel behind the cactus, wrapped the blanket around himself to keep off the chill, and waited.

Whatever had gone on across the street, he still had to go in and carry out his mission. The cops hadn’t taken care of any vampires, he was sure of that. Cops might be good at some things, but they didn’t know beans about Satan’s bloodthirsty children.

That’s where I come in, he thought.

* * *

“Guess that’s that,” Pete said, and yawned. He was reclined in the easy chair, wearing one of Larry’s shirts over the bandages that had been applied in the emergency room. “Score one for the good guys.”

“I just wish you would’ve told us,” Jean said, looking at Lane with weary, sad eyes.

“Let it go, honey.”

“I was just so scared,” Lane murmured.

“It’s all right,” Larry told her, and stroked her hair. “It’s over now.”

She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his shoulder. “Is it okay if I go to bed now?”

“Sure, go on.”

Lane got up from the sofa. She said good night to Pete and Barbara, kissed Jean, came back to Larry, whispered, “Night, Dad,” and kissed him. Then she walked out of the living room, moving slowly, her head hanging.

When she was gone, Barbara said, “Poor kid. The hell she must’ve gone through...”

“You got the bastard, Lar.”

“With a little help from my friends.”

“Man, you nailed him good.”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” Jean said. She slumped forward until her elbows met her knees, and seemed to stare at the carpet.

“Come on, Pete,” Barbara said, getting up. “Let’s go before you pass out.” To Larry she said, “They doped him up pretty good at the E.R.”

“I’m fine.”

She took his arm and helped him out of the chair.

“I’m okay, I’m okay.” Pulling away from her, he staggered toward the sofa. He shoved a hand toward Larry.

Larry reached up and shook it.

Pete held on. “So I guess we did good, huh, pardner?”

Larry shrugged. He didn’t feel as if he’d done good. He felt dazed, sick and weary and sad.

“Too bad old Bonnie didn’t perk up for us.”

“Just as well,” Larry said.

“Still got us a hell of a book, though, huh?”

“No book,” Larry said. “Not about this.”

“Hey, man...”

“We never had a vampire, anyway. Even if we did, I couldn’t write the truth. I couldn’t write about Kramer. About Lane. I won’t.”

Pete stared down at him, eyes still blackened from his encounter with Uriah’s rock. He stared for a long time. Then he sighed. His grip on Larry’s hand tightened. “Good man,” he said.

“You, too. We’ll do a different book together.”

A corner of Pete’s mouth tilted up. “All right. I’m full of ideas. We’ll...”

“You’re full of Darvon,” Barbara broke in, putting an arm around him. “Now, come on. Let’s go home and get some shuteye.”

When they were gone, Larry turned off the lights and walked with Jean toward their bedroom. At the end of the hallway a glowing band showed beneath the bathroom door. He heard water running.

“I’ve gotta take a shower, too,” he mumbled.

“Don’t be long,” Jean said. “I don’t want to be alone.”