"It wasn't a whole night," Ovid protested.
"It was long enough to qualify as a whole night," Henri said calmly, "Now we know your maker was Khay. Can we delicately broach upon the subject of your coven's kills?"
"They burn money," Christov murmured amazed.
"Oui," Henri said patently, "While it does not behoove us to instruct you on the nature of your kills of young girls."
"They shouldn't burn money. Why do you burn money?' Are you whacked? What kind of antisocial perverts are you?" Chirstov said stupefied
"There is of a course a thrill in a bloody kill I suppose," Henri said calmly.
"But to burn money," Christov said shaking his head.
"We were having fun with our victim last night. I would 't call our kills bloody or the stuff of torture. At least not overt, drawn out torture," Ovid said puzzled.
"Son, what do you call a decapitating human being? I would tend to call it overt, overly showy torture. Oui, I found a girl decapitated at the warehouse district. Now, I could tell she had been killed by other means other than simply feeding off of her. Ovid, the waste of blood, and to terrify someone so weak and defenseless. You may as well have burned a cat, or stomped on a puppy. Such cruel acts are unnecessary in our underworld."
"I didn't decapitate a young girl. Asides from a homeless person who was dying of alcoholism anyway we only killed the girl who we captured. That is Pete killed her."
"Don't believe him. Anyone who can burn money," Christov warned.
"Stop making a mockery of my interrogation!" Henri said tensely.
"I'm not! I'm a character witness, he burns money. He has a bad character. Do you know how much ass I have peddled for the green stuff? Never mind. Like he's going to volunteer information about his coven being responsible for torture kills," Christov laughed.
"I am telling you the truth," Ovid cried nervously.
"Never mind let's get to important issues on hand here. You're madly in love with Pete and you want to marry him. Right?' Well, take a number!" Christov sneered.
"I hardly know the guy! I thought we could hang out together," Ovid protested.
"Bless me my son at last we're dealing with someone normal! It's a miracle!" Christov raised his voice in praise, "Except for the money burning part. That habit you'll need to drop."
"It's fun to steal," Ovid said stubbornly.
"Then steal. "Christov cried exasperated, "Just don't burn the money."
Knocking on the coffin lid, Christov said, "Wake up sleeping beauty and say hello or good buy to your little Prince Charming here."
"Hi," Pete said embarrassed sitting up right in the coffin.
"What to go to a Korn concert tonight?" Ovid asked.
"Just us? Like in a dating situation? Pete said suspiciously.
"No, not like in a date, Emil and Lena will be coming with," Ovid said.
"You understand about Josh right?' Pete said firmly, crawling out of the coffin, "Still want me to go?"
"If you want to come; come along," Ovid said leaving the crypt, "No one is begging you."
Hesitating for a moment, Pete followed Ovid out of the crypt.
"I didn't expect Pete to go," Henri said disappointed, "Poor Josh,"
"Poor Josh!" Christov cried exasperated, "Pete's only going to a concert, and if something happens to happen betwen the two of them, "Christov smiled "poor Josh. At least Josh's better off this way rather than going through a long break up."
"They won't break up," Henri said.
"Ten dollars say they do."
"Your on," Henri declared.
Running to a delapiated trailer, Ovid opened the door for Pete to dash in.
The trailer was filled with televisions, odds and ends, packaged food, money, designer dresses, liqour, check books, credit cards all spread out on a dirty carpet, CDs, DVDs, CD players, and jewelry.
"We keep our stash here," Ovid said, "it attracts people. It's our ginger bread house. People break in and slam their trapped." Ovid said, showing Pete the ingeniously set spring traps on the windows, and doors, "it's kind of nice for our prey to come to us. It's how we trapped our little girl last night. She easily opened the window, once she was in she couldn't pry the windows or the doors open. Once someone's caught the shutters slam on the windows so no one can see the victim inside."
"What if the police come here?" Pete worried.
"No police comes to this part of town," Ovid declared, lazily plopping on a expensive leather chair.
"Do you mind if I borrow a shirt?" Pete said, "I've been wearing this one for nights."
"Sure go in the back dig through the bags."
Going into one of the bedroom, Pete dug around. Everything smelled of mildew.
He pulled out a oversized blousy shirt from the bundle. It was the cleanest thing available. Shrugging he put it on. Pausing he, noted a vanity with a broken mirror. On it was eye liner, eye shadow, and mascara.
Taking the clotted up mascara brush from the container he carefully did up his eyes. Then he brushed his eyes with the cracked, dried up brown eye shadow. He dropped the brush wondering if he was using the trailer's former occupant's makeup. He had a pretty good idea she was not alive to complain about him touching her things.
Leaving the bedroom, Pete found Ovid sitting in his kingdom of luxury.
"Come on and sit on my lap," Ovid said, patting his thigh. "it's getting cold."
"Listen Ovid I'm not some mindless, trigger happy, leaky penis," Pete declared.
You convinced me of that wearing that get up," Ovid snorted.
"The make up?" Pete giggled, "I like to play around some times with my so called gender."
"So sit on my lap, and we'll all get to play around with your your so-called gender," Ovid urged.
Sitting Indian style at Ovid's feet, Pete was surprised how thirsty he was to talk with another night walker as young as himself. "Don't get me wrong I'm not a transvestite." Pete said seriously " I just like to mess around with make up."
"Like a Goth boy likes to mess around," Ovid suggested.
"Exactly, I mean just for events like Mardi Gras or tonight's concert. I don't really try to draw attention to myself. Josh hates it when I put on make up. I thinks he has a phobia against femmes. It's called effeminophobia."
"Lucky for me I have no such phobia," Ovid said, leaning down pressing his lips against Pete's.
His nerves going taunt, Pete savored the intense demand of the boy's mouth, Pete pushed Ovid away before the kiss could go any further.
"What's the matter with you?' Ovid cried out exasperated.
"Ovid I was asexual all through high school. I did everything I could not to appear masculine, or feminine. Masculinity frightened me because I was so attracted to it. I didn't think I could ever possibly measure up to being a popular, male jock. Femininity was even more scary because I thought if I liked boys maybe I was too much of a girl for my own good. I didn't think I was an attractive boy, and I didn't think of myself as a girl. I didn't seem to fit into any category. I didn't feel like I was queer. I mean I didn't flip around my wrist, or talk in a shrill voice, or camp around like the actors playing queer guys in movies and television did. I didn't want to be an interior decorator, a dancer, or gourmet cook. All I knew was I liked guys and there was no way in hell they would like me, not the way I wanted to be liked. So, I started to not think about it. Just deny it as something that was unhealthy, and needed to be prayed over, or I'd out grow it someday. That I was confusing the admiration I had for good looking guys with desire. And my so-called desire all boiled down to a sick kind of jealousy to one of them. I felt mixed up, stupid, and confused without any real sexual identify. So I was this dorky sexless nerd who hung out with the Christian kids. I think they felt more sorry for me than anything else."
"You still are a dork. As for sexless We can remedy that," Ovid said stroking his cheek.
"Just bend over and say ah, and I'm a hunk, and all my dreams will come true, right? It was an accident my being put into this world of night. My maker had every intention of killing me. At the last second of my life on an impulse she gave me the blood. When she saw what a weak mistake I was she became frightened of the responsibility of caring for me and she abandoned me. I wished she had killed till I met Christov. Christov taught me how to be what I am And I wanted to live because I was to afraid to die."
"I know what I like about you and despise about you. I like your sensitivity, but the same time I find it contemptible. I do not know how to take you. Part of me wonders if your not on the verge of insanity with your insistence on being humane to mortals."
"We all have our own ways of keeping our ties with our human personalties. Christov making a huge show of fretting over money. Henri's insistence on good manners," Pete shrugged. "Why do you have to make such a freak show out of killing your meals?"
"At least we're being honest with our victims. We're killers. They are supposed to be afraid of us. Afraid that they're going to die. They're not supposed to love or revere us."
"I'm not tying to make anyone love me."
"You being humane to victims. Deluding them into dreaming their deaths away, robbing them of the experience of dying. You thinking you're a hero for it. You're lying to yourself. When you lie you become confused, distracted. You have no idea who you are. You become the sorrowful one, the vain one the wise one, and you spend your immortality wasting your time, carefully living up to your self ascribed reputation. And your clue less."
"Why would I try to live up to a reputation?" Pete said smiling at him
"To protect yourself from the fact your a cold blooded killer. To make yourself feel better about it all. Look at me," Ovid said with sarcasm, "I'm so sorrowful about killing my victims so I'm not totally evil, or I only kill people who go after ankle biting kids for sex so I'm really a benefit to the human race--please love me. Bullshit! I don't need to protect myself. I exist without the justification of a reputation. You're trying to live up to the reputation of being a gentle guy. A tragic innocent who can't help himself so don't blame me folks. A guy who wants to feel less responsible about the impossible fact you kill people and you can't get around it. Drop the reputation you'll live better. Just be a killer and do it."
"I do not consider myself to be a gentle guy or compassionate. My being humane is my way of holding on to the boy I was for eighteen years of my life. So is is my belief in prayer, and that things were meant to be. The only thing different is now I know what I can't change has to be coped with and dealt with by trying to give as little pain as I can to others and to myself. It would hurt me to torment a person into being afraid of me. I'm too familiar with that kind of pain myself when ever bullies would make fun of me. I also believe in the power of skateboarding to make me feel good," Pete said, leaning away from Ovid's searching hand, "Why are you attracted to me? Most boys like the buff types."
"Why does Michael want you?"
tbc