American Monsters

“Yes. My secret identity is secure.”

The waitress came over and Milo paid, gave her a smile that sent her away happy.

“That,” Milo said, once they were alone again, “was a hell of a night you had.”

“Thank you,” said Amber. “Yes, it was.”

“We should probably get going.”

She folded her arms. “I’d hate to make you rush your coffee.”

“Don’t worry, it’s not very good.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I wasn’t. It’s really not very good.”

They left the diner and got in the Charger. As usual, despite the heat of the day, the inside of the car was cool, and it welcomed Amber as much as Amber welcomed it. They pulled out on to the street, drove towards the highway. When they neared it, Milo glanced at her. “Which way?”

Amber closed her eyes, focused on her parents. Bill and Betty Lamont swam into her thoughts in all their glorious perfection, with their bright smiles and trim frames and casual attitude to murdering their kids. It didn’t take long for the compass that had grown in Amber’s gut to start tugging her in their direction. She pointed.

“East,” said Milo.

She opened her eyes, sat back in her seat. “Apparently.”

“No actual address?”

“That’s not how it works.”

He shrugged. “Just thought this time might be different.”

“Why would it be?”

“I’m an optimist, Amber,” he said, taking one of the on-ramps. “I think every time will be different.”

They took the I-10 out of California. It was nice being able to use the highways and interstates again. They weren’t the ones being chased – not this time. Amber wondered if her parents were feeling the same kind of desperation she’d felt when they’d been the ones in pursuit. She hoped they were.

It took a little under six hours to get to Phoenix. They arrived in the early afternoon and had lunch at the House of Tricks, right on the patio. Amber had the cheesecake for dessert. It was astonishing. Milo stuck a candle in it while she ate, and lit it.

“Happy birthday,” he said.

“Do I get to make a wish?” she asked.

“So long as you don’t expect it to come true.”

She smiled, and blew the candle out. She didn’t bother making a wish.

Milo had a non-alcoholic beer and they sat there for a bit, enjoying the breeze and the trees, until Amber’s gut pulled them back to the car and on to the road.

While they drove, she slept, and dreamed, and in her dream she was back at Stromquist’s Undertakers and Coffin Makers. She found her brother sitting with his head down. “I went to the police,” he said. “I told them. I thought they could help.”

Amber heard gunshots, and she ran to the corner of the building, saw a police officer in an old-fashioned uniform stumbling back, trying to reload his revolver. The tall man in the undertaker clothes stalked after him, tossing away the lifeless body of the cop’s partner.

The cop managed to fire once more, straight into the undertaker’s chest, before the undertaker smacked the gun out of his grip. Then the undertaker held up his hand, and his palm opened, revealing teeth, and he clamped his hand round the cop’s throat, and the cop cried out, tried to pull away, but the taller man was too strong. Blood ran down the cop’s neck, staining his uniform, and the undertaker stood there, eyes closed.

James walked up behind Amber. “He’s a monster,” he said. “Sucks the life out of people.”

“A vampire,” she said. “He’s called a vampire.”

James shrugged. “Don’t know the word. If you say so. He still has Molly, somewhere in there. I’ve been trying to get in. Yesterday I grew claws. I might be a monster, too.”

“Our parents are the monsters,” Amber said. “Not us.”

He shrugged again, and, while the undertaker was busy feeding on the cop, the door to the funeral home opened behind him. Amber’s demon-self beckoned James through, and he ran over and slipped in.

Her demon-self walked over to Amber.

“Is this real?” Amber asked her. “It feels … real. But not.”

“It’s a dream,” said her demon-self. “The Shining Demon’s blood is letting you latch on to the memories of your dead brother from 1914. Pretty freaky, if you ask me.”

“So that was him?” Amber asked. “That was really James?”

“No. It’s a dream of James. God, you’re stupid.”

“So why am I dreaming this?”

“Because you always dream of your dead siblings before you die,” said her demon-self. “Didn’t you know that?”

Amber woke suddenly. She was still in the Charger. They were still travelling.

“You okay?” Milo asked, without taking his eyes off the road.

“Fine,” she said, straightening up. “Just a dream.”

“You were talking in your sleep.”

“What’d I say?”

“Don’t know. Couldn’t make it out.” He glanced at her. “You sure you’re okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”

She frowned, and wiped tears from her cheek.

“Huh,” she said.

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THEY DROVE FOR THREE days, closing in on her parents with every mile they covered, before something new twisted in Amber’s gut.