Chapter 72 Chapter 72

Towns insisted on taking Terrance and me out to celebrate, but he chose a hooters-like all-boys nightclub that reminded me of the bar where Dani danced the other night, and thinking about her made me depressed.After a round of drinking, I said my arm was uncomfortable and got up to leave.Walking out of the nightclub, I called Maurice, stopped by his house, and his boyfriend, Gary, made me an amazing pho: kind of like my mom's stewed chicken breast, but with rice noodles , Basil And Red Pepper.After eating, I went home and lay on the sofa watching TV. But I can't sleep.I changed the channel twice, got up and walked into the office.I checked my e-mail to see if I had heard from Claire.No.There were only two vampire-related emails forwarded from the publisher's website.One was a fan letter from a teenage girl in Dallas, and I responded with a standard cut-and-paste "Thank you for writing me."Another was from the local area, inviting me to a vampire-themed party at a goth club in Brooklyn every Monday night.It's Monday—well, it was just now, and it's past twelve o'clock.

The invitation was sent not to me, of course, but to Sybilline, and of course they expected her to read aloud or answer questions or God knows what—like landing on bat wings and biting a few people's throats.I fidgeted, and I confess I was afraid to be alone.Also, I have to admit, I vaguely think Teresa will make an appearance.So I changed into what I thought was a sinister black overcoat with the collar turned up. I found the club without much trouble, at the end of a street under the Manhattan Bridge.The sky was purple, the river was black, and the bridges and buildings shone white and yellow.This building looks like an old factory building, the windows are tightly closed, and it is dark, only a light bulb illuminates the small sign that says "Go to the graveyard".The arrow points to the slope leading to the basement entrance; go down the throat of the basement entrance, and behind the shadows and garbage hides another small light.As I walked down the slope, the sound of the road faded away, and all I could hear was the heels of my shoes hitting the concrete.The slope was a bend, and as I approached the bend, panic gripped my heart like a small fist.I almost turned around and ran away.I stretched out my hand to hold onto something, but my fingers touched the cold and slippery wall, and I shrank back immediately.I took a deep breath, trying to fight off the feeling of an anxiety attack, thinking how could I not put my head between my legs.I don't want anyone to find a body like this. "The shit writer's dead body in the black street, with his head stuck upside down in his own ass".I forced myself to walk forward, looking around the corner.

I saw an empty parking garage with white paint marking the parking spaces and a metal door on the wall at the other end, and a big black man was sitting on a stool by the door.He turned on the flashlight, waved it at me, then turned it off.I walked over pretending to be beaming, and he was staring at me with sunglasses on, motionless.He checked my driver's license, handed me a flyer, and pulled open the thick metal door. I walked into a long, low room with a bar along one wall, a wine table in the middle, and a dance floor, dimly lit in red and blue.The stereo was playing stomping music with beeps and bangs. The facilities were poor. I heard the ceiling buzzing with the bass, and felt the floor vibrate with the music.The store was half full, and everyone was crowding into the back room.I started looking for Teresa as soon as I entered the door, but the light was dim, and for a while I couldn't see who was who.Not to mention that the vast majority of people are dressed in black, occasionally a touch of red can be seen, and from time to time one or two girls in long white dresses walk among the black crowd, and the cotton lace is dyed pink by the lights.I thought of Marie Fontaine's house, the white siding and mud and snow stained pink by police lights, her room upstairs blood red.

I chased away the image, with my hands in my pockets, weaving through the crowd, scanning their faces, all the way to the opposite wall.Teresa is not there.It didn't matter, I started to wonder why I came, and suddenly it felt a little strange, because two women were dancing next to me.They were all dressed alike, long black dresses with high lace collars covering their throats, one in gloves, the other in a hat and veil.Both of them had dark hair and heavy makeup, one had a pale face covered with foundation and bright red lips, the other had dark skin and black eyebrows, and her lips were purple under the light.The pale girl was shockingly thin, taller than me, and the fishnet stockings couldn't cover her stiff, protruding knees.Her companion was overweight, with fleshy arms protruding from sleeveless gowns, and astonishingly large hips.But there was something special about them that kept me from looking away.Another woman passed by, an older woman with blond hair, also in a long black dress with a lace high collar, a wide-brimmed hat and a veil.They were all dressed like Sybilline.Exactly like my mother.Exactly like me.

Dressed in clothes like the ones I dug out of my mother's closet, in makeup like the heavy makeup Claire used to hide my stubble, these women were imitations of my mother I'd impersonated.To be honest, I felt creepy and I turned around quickly, feeling absurdly exposed, afraid that someone would recognize me.As I walked across the dance floor, I finally saw the whole store: the girl in the white dress was Sasha, my half-vampire heroine.The man in the black suit and the cane is Aram, the Grand Duke of Vampires, and the one in the white wig is his nemesis Faberge St. Jermain.The slutty woman in tattered black is Ivy, the queen of the vampire world.Jack Silver, of course, in a black coat with the collar turned up (like me!), the vampire hunter who couldn't help but love young Sasha.I looked down at the piece of paper the janitor had handed me—"Bloods Monday," which read "This week we pay tribute to Sibylline Lorindo-Gold."

The panic attack was real, and I breathed deeply, smelling perfume, sweat, and beer, and couldn't help but stare at the faces that came and went.Sweat glistening in the lights, yelling to drown out the noise, these young men and women—makeup worn off, ill-fitting suits and ready-to-wear, pimples, ugly hair, prom masters Sopping armpits of skirts, dandruff glowing in the blue light - here for a black party, all together for a bad-selling garbage horror series, on such a hapless night A boring bar in search of not blood, immortality, or sinister rituals, but the most mysterious of our dark desires: a simple connection with another human being.

I got home that night, checked my e-mail—nothing, and opened up the chum chat room.Bloodline T3, my only close friend, status is "Leave".She said on the vampire blog that she was leaving New York to visit relatives and friends, so she would not be online anytime soon.