The Stake

“Come on,” Pete whispered.

He opened his eyes. He followed Pete. Though he kept the coffin lighted, he avoided looking at it.

Crouching, Pete reached the end of the coffin and grabbed its edge. He gave it a yank. The coffin moved toward him, scraping on the floor. Larry stepped out of the way, and Pete dragged it past him.

Dragged it out from under the staircase and into the lobby. Larry followed it out.

“What are you doing?” he blurted in a loud whisper.

“Don’t like it under there,” Pete said.

“Christ.”

Larry, himself, was glad to be free of the enclosure. But this was going too far. Way, way too far. The thing didn’t belong out here. It belonged under the stairs, for godsake, not in the lobby.

“We’ve gotta put it back.”

Instead of responding, Pete took a photo.

The white of the flash hit the sandy floor, the coffin, the feet and face of the corpse, its blond hair, the blanket.

The blanket.

Larry’s chest tightened. “Pete.”

“Stop whining, would you?”

“The blanket.”

“What about it?”

“We didn’t leave it that way.”

“Hey, you’re right.”

Sunday, Pete had flung the blanket carelessly onto the corpse, leaving it heaped on the chest and belly. Barbara had pulled a corner down to cover the groin. Now the blanket was spread out smoothly, shrouding the body from shoulders to ankles.

“Must’ve been the same guy who did the landing,” Pete said. He sounded pretty calm about it. Even without the gun.

“That means he knows we found the body.”

“He doesn’t know wefound the body. Just that someone did.”

“I don’t like this.”

“He’s not here, is he?”

“He might be.” Larry pointed his light toward the top of the stairway. He saw no one.

“He shows up, we can ask him about this.”

“Right. Sure. What if he doesn’t like the idea of a couple guys messing with his vampire?”

“You got any idea what a .357 does to a person? Just wing him, he’ll think he got hit by a Mack truck. So don’t shoot unless you have to.”

“God,” Larry muttered.

“Keep me covered while I get some skin shots.” Pete bent down and tossed the blanket off the corpse.

Larry’s eyes and flashlight went straight to the stake protruding from the center of its chest.

Pete wandered around the coffin, snapping half a dozen pictures. Then he faced Larry and lowered the camera against his belly. “Okay, pal. Time to see if she’s for real.”

Cold streaked up his spine.

“Don’t.”

Pete grinned, raised his eyebrows. “You said we don’t want her if she’s a dud.”

“For Christsake, it’s night.”

Pete stepped toward him. He lifted the camera strap over his head. “Maybe you should record this for posterity.” He slipped the strap over Larry’s head. The weight of the camera pulled against the back of his neck.

Pete stepped to the far side of the coffin and sank to his knees. He wrapped a hand around the end of the stake.

“Don’t. I mean it.”

“Don’t be a pussy, man.”

Larry aimed the revolver at him.

Pete’s smile fell away. “Jesus Christ.”

“Take your hand off it.”

The hand jumped off the stake as if burnt. “It’s off, it’s off. Jesus!”

Larry lowered the gun.

He shook his head. He couldn’t believe he’d actually threatened his friend with the magnum. He felt sick. “I’m sorry. God, I’m sorry, Pete.”

“Jesus, man.”

“I’m sorry. Look, we’ll take it with us. We’ll take it home. We’ll do the book. Okay? And you can take the stake out, but not till the right time. We’ll do it in daylight. We’ll cuff her first, or something, like you said. We’ll do it right, so nobody gets hurt. Okay?”

Pete nodded and got to his feet. He stepped around the coffin.

Larry met him beside it. “Here, you’d better take this thing.”

Pete took the revolver from him. “I oughta stick it in your face and see how you like it,” he said. “Goddamn, man, you know?”

“Go ahead. I deserve it.”

“Nan.” He holstered the weapon. He clasped Larry’s upper arm and looked him in the eyes. “We’re partners, man. We’re gonna be richpartners.”

“I shouldn’t have pulled down on you, Pete. I don’t know what... I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

“No sweat.”

They shook hands. Larry felt his throat go tight. He knew he was close to tears.

“Okay, compadre,” Pete said. “Let’s haul this bitch out of here and head for home.”

Seventeen

“Don’t do it! I’m warning you!”

“Ah, don’t be a pussy.” Pete started to pull the stake from the chest of the corpse. It slid slowly upward.

Larry fired. The slug punched Pete’s forehead. A spray of blood and brains flew up behind him. As he tumbled backward, Larry saw that he still clutched the stake. It came all the way out.

“No!” Larry shrieked.

Hurling the revolver aside, he ran toward the coffin, toward Pete sprawled on the lobby floor, toward the pointed shaft clenched in his dead hand.

You bastard! he thought. You bastard, how could you do this to me!

Gotta get the stake! Gotta shove it back in! Fast! Before it’s too late.

But he couldn’t run fast enough. The sand sucked at his feet. Moments ago, it had just been a thin layer. Now the sand was thick, heaped like dunes on a beach. Had somebody left the door open? He looked back. The door was open, all right.

A man stood there, ankle deep in the sand, the wind at his back flapping his dark, hooded robe. A robe like a monk. The hood concealed his face. In his upraised right hand he held a crucifix. “You’re screwed now,” the stranger called. “Up shit creek without a paddle.”

Terrified, Larry turned his eyes away from the stranger and tried to run faster over the soft, shifting sand.

I’ll never make it in time, he thought.