The Tear Collector (20 page)

“That’s enough stalling,” Maggie says. “I want to know about Alexei.”

“Nothing happened,” I mumble.

“Don’t lie to us,” Mom says.

“What do you mean?” I reply.

The three women around the table look at each other, then back at me, until Maggie speaks. “Cassandra, dear, don’t be embarrassed. We are your family, you can tell us anything.”

I’m staring at her; she’s looking straight through me. “I don’t have anything to tell you.”

All three look confused and fall silent, then Mom says, “So you have not been with Alexei since Friday afternoon?”

“No, I told you that,” I say. “I told you where I was. You didn’t believe me?”

“I didn’t want to believe you,” Maggie says in a voice part ice, part fire.

“The traditions in this family are very old, and Cassandra is young, so—,” Veronica starts.

“She has a duty,” Maggie says, cutting her off; her eyes flash with anger. “A duty to this family.”

“Alexei is evil,” I say. “Do you know what’s he’s been doing? He’s torturing children.”

“That’s not true!” Maggie shouts back.

I stare at her, then say, “It’s a fact, and if you want me to show you the proof, I have news articles—”

“Stop it!” Maggie says. “It doesn’t matter what he’s done. It matters what you need to do.”

“I won’t do it!” I shout back.

“If this is because of one of your immature infatuations with a boy, then—” Mom starts.

“It is not that,” I say, cutting her off. I don’t tell her that “infatuation” isn’t the word I’d choose.

“Cassandra, this is our way,” Maggie says, but stares at Veronica with a level of anger I’ve never seen before. “It’s time for the next generation. It is your duty to mate with Alexei and—”

“Mate! I’m not some animal!” I shout, but bury the words I really want to say:
“I’m not like the rest of you anymore. I’m done living in between.”

“Your duty is to your family, not yourself,” Maggie says to me, but she’s still looking at Veronica. There’s something going on between them that I can’t begin to understand.

“If you have not been with Alexei, then where is he?” Mom asks, but I don’t answer.

“No one has seen Alexei since Friday afternoon,” Maggie says.

“Everyone is looking for him,” Mom says.

“I don’t know anything,” I say.

“Did he call you?” Maggie asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know. I lost my phone.”

“I know,” Mom says. “Lillith found it at the park. Now you see why I don’t trust you with a car, dear.”

I let that remark go. She doesn’t trust me, not because she thinks I would have a car accident. Instead, she fears that I would drive away, never to return. That fear became even more real to everyone in the family since Siobhan showed us that there was a way out.

I get up from the table and start toward my room. The instant I plug in my phone, the message signal comes up. Starting around two o’clock on Saturday afternoon and lasting until just an hour ago are regular messages from Scott’s mom, mixed in with a few from Samantha, Becca, and frantic calls from Mom and Maggie. Scott’s mom’s messages start out calm, but by Saturday night they escalate to thunderstorm status. In this evening’s messages, his mother is in tears, no longer angry with me, but worried about her missing son. The final message is simple. “Cassandra, I’m calling the police.”

No sooner do I hear the last message than my phone
rings. The innocent sounds of “Love Me Do” by the Beatles seem odd after listening to Scott’s mom’s accusing messages.

“Scott, where are you?” I ask, but there’s nothing but endless silence on the other end.

“What’s going on?” More silence.

“This isn’t funny.” More silence.

“I’m going to hang up unless you tell me what’s going on.” I hear deep breathing.

“Scott, are you okay?”

“No, he’s not,” is Alexei’s unnerving answer.

I pause for a second that seems closer to forever.

“Alexei, where is Scott?”

“He is where
you
should be,” Alexei hisses. “Right next to me.”

“Let me talk to him!”

After he’s done laughing, Alexei says, “He can’t speak right now.”

“Let him go!”

“He’s got a lot of sadness in him,” he says. “But not much fear. Fear’s the best because it produces the strongest emotion and most powerful tears. That’s why the males in our family will always dominate. We’re willing to capture and, if needed, create tears using terror and fear.”

“Let him go!” I repeat.

“Not yet.”

“I want to see him,” I say. I move over to my desk and unlock it.

“Good, because I want to see you.”

“Let him go, or else,” I say out of pure animal instinct to protect things that matter.

“Or else what?”

I pull out the folder of news alerts. “I’ll call the police.”

“The police?” he asks, then laughs.

“It was you. In Midland, and before that in Bay City. I’ve been tracking you.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

I open the folder and start reading the articles. Rather than cutting me off, I sense Alexei almost enjoys the listing of his crimes, since shame and guilt are just more human emotions he cannot feel. I end by saying, “How did you become this way?”

“What way?”

“Evil,” I say, and hiss.

There’s silence on the line. “You should join me,” Alexei finally says.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m not evil, I’m frustrated,” he confesses. “I’m tired of waiting.”

“Waiting?”

“Waiting for you to be with me. Waiting for father, grandfather, and Simon to die,” he says. “I want to be in charge of my family; I’m tired of taking orders. Aren’t you tired of it?”

I say nothing, since I cannot agree with Alexei. I cannot admit any similarity.

“What you call evil, I call necessity,” he says. “Evil is the existence we’re forced to live. Evil is not being able to feel love. If I can’t feel love, then all that leaves is hate. All that leaves is evil. You know what I’m talking about. Join me, Cassandra, it is your turn too,” he says.

“But,” I start, then I think not of myself or my family but of Scott. And then I know that I’m not like Alexei; I’m not evil—because I do feel love. “Enough! Let Scott go or I’ll call the police and—”

“No you won’t!”

“Why not?”

“Because unlike me, you won’t break our rules,” he says. “You won’t reveal us.”

“I broke the family rules on Friday when I left you with nothing,” I remind him.

“That’s going to change too.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll let Scott go in exchange,” he says.

“For what?” I ask, but I know.

“For you.” I feel his smirk snake through the phone and wrap like a cobra around my neck.

“This is wrong!” I say, but there is no wrong or right, just the power of his will.

“You won’t betray family. You will do as you’re told. And you won’t turn me in,” he says.

“I’ll tell Simon you’re the one breaking the rules,” I counter.

“I didn’t break any rules,” he lies.

“Yes, you did, Alexei. Yes, you did. We
feed
off human suffering, we don’t cause it.”

“We see the rules differently, you and I,” he says.

“We’ll see what Simon and Veronica say when I tell them what—”

He cuts me off. “Simon’s useless. Veronica’s time is up, and everybody knows it.”

“I won’t do it,” I finally say.

“Yes, you will, Cassandra,” he says. “Because if you don’t, then Scott will—”

I cut him off: “I don’t care about Scott.”

“But you do, Cassandra. You do and I know it,” he says.

“Scott’s just another boy,” I say tossing more lies on the fire. “There will be others.”

Again, Alexei tortures me with his laughter, as he’s probably tortured Scott with deeds. “I figured out what’s wrong with you. I know why you ran away from me on Friday,” he says.

“Oh really? Why?”

“Because you’ve changed,” he says.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re becoming human.”

I don’t deny it. If I’m human, then I can feel love. Humans
will make any sacrifice for love, Siobhan said. This is my test. “You win. I’ll do whatever you want to protect Scott.”

He laughs at my weakness, then tells me where he’s waiting back in the park. He assures me that Scott isn’t hurt physically. I don’t believe him, but I know there’s little I can do. If I’m to rescue Scott, I’ll need to tangle with Alexei. I’ll need strength. I’ll need Samantha.

“Samantha, I need your help again!”

Samantha answers with a yawn, like I woke her. “Why should I keep helping you?”

“Please,” is my nonanswer. I’m so used to giving help; I don’t know how to ask for it.

“No, Cassandra, I’m not helping you again,” she says. “I’m hanging up.”

“Tell me why?”

“Why what?”

“Why you won’t help me?”

“I’m hanging up,” she repeats.

“I know why, and I understand,” I say. “Because I’m using you, and I’m sorry for it.”

“You finally admit it. How brave,” she says with supreme sarcasm.

“It is not what you think,” I say. I know I’m in too deep. I’ll figure how to get myself out of this hole later, but I need her help now. “I’m not using you for just rides.”

“I don’t have anything else to offer anyone,” she mumbles, but her words shout that she was right the other night. It’s not like flipping a switch; change and healing both take time.

“Yes, yes you do,” I say almost in a whisper.

“What are you taking about?”

“You have all this pain in your life that you don’t know how to handle,” I say.

“You’re just like Brittney. You want to be around other girls who have less so you can feel better about yourself,” she says. “I thought you were more mature than that.”

“That’s not it either.”

“Then I guess I’m too stupid to understand,” she says.

“You want to know the truth about me?” I ask. “You have your suspicions, right?”

“Yes.” But in those three letters, I detect a wave of emotions sweeping over her.

“Give me a ride and come with me,” I say, then take a deep breath, as if I’m planning on being underwater for forty days and nights. “Then I’ll reveal my true nature to you.”

There’s a pause, a sniffle, but no answer.

“Samantha, if you help me, I’ll trust you with a secret
you can never share
.”

Another pause, another sniffle, and then an answer. “I’ll be right over.”

“Is this about Robyn?” Samantha says as we pull back into the Holly Rec area.

“Not really,” I say. The ride’s been all death metal, not life secrets. “It’s about Scott.”

“Scott?” she asks, then turns the music down.

“Why do you think I want to hear this?” she says. “He dumped me.”

“Do you know why?”

“Because everybody rejects me,” Samantha answers.

“No, because you feel that way about yourself and because you say things like that.”

“It’s who I am,” she says, reaching to turn the music back up, but I touch her hand.

“No, it’s not,” I say. “Like I said the other night, you don’t know who you are.”

“Don’t give me your counseling bullshit,” she says. “I’ve been to enough real therapists.”

“And what do they tell you?” I ask as I let go of her hand.

“What do you care?” she replies. “What makes you think you’re so smart?”

“Don’t turn it back on me—that’s my trick,” I say. “What do they tell you?”

“A bunch of bullshit,” is Samantha’s nonreply.

“Fine, then you tell me,” I say. “Pull over, talk to me, and open up.”

“Why should I do that?”

“Because it’s the human thing to do,” I say. “And you’re human. You’re not a vampire. You’re a very special human being with a lot to offer, who for some reason doesn’t know that.”

“Fine, fuck you!” She pulls the car over. The car stops, and time seems to as well.

“So what do you want?” she asks. “The short story about how my mom’s a drugged-out loser? You wanna hear more about the druggie boyfriend who pushed me through that window? Or the other boyfriends who did worse? Maybe you want the long story about trying to fit in only to get smacked in the face and kicked to the curb. Is that what you want to know?”

“You can’t keep holding it in. Tears you don’t cry will rot your very soul,” I say.

“No, I won’t let people see that side of me,” she says. “I taught myself not to cry.”

“But that is part of who you are,” I say. “Just be yourself.”

“I hate myself,” she says, then rolls up her sleeves to show the pattern of crosses.

“No, you hate and are afraid of who you’ve become.”

“I’m scared of people judging me and rejecting me, which used to happen all the time,” she says. “I was the kid without a dad and with the stoned mom. The poor kid. The freak.”

“You’re not a freak!” I shout. “If you can feel like this, trust me, you’re not a freak.”

“It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks; this is how I feel!” she screams.

“That’s hard, Samantha, so hard.” I can tell her tears are rising to the surface. “Go on.”

“Scott, I guess he understood me in some ways, maybe too much,” she says, her voice softer now, less angry. “I don’t blame him. He deserves you, he deserves to be happy.”

“So you still care for him,” I say. The car is in park; my desperation is in overdrive.

“Of course I do,” she says. “He’s the first person I ever felt any connection with.”

“Would you help him if he needed it?” I ask, mostly sure of her answer.

She pauses, collects herself, then says, “Of course I would; I’m not a monster.”

“And neither am I,” I say, then move closer to Samantha. “You believe that?”

“Maybe,” she says, unsure of my intentions and moving back very slowly.

I put my hand on her face. “I’m not a monster, Samantha, but you were right.”

“About what?”

I whisper in her ear, “I’m not human either.”

“What do you mean?” Her voice is a mix of shock, wonder, and fear.

“I need something from you.” I move closer, almost touching her face.

“I was right. You
are
a vampire!” she says as she pulls at the neckline of her shirt.