Suckers and Spitters - Ch.5

Chapter 5:
Everyone Has Rituals

    Truth be told, I hadn't expected to wake up.
    I half expected the attacker to return and finish the job. He could have come back at any time. He could have waited until he had calmed down—assuming he could. Myself unconscious, he simply could have taken up the shovel and driven it into my neck. A couple chops and I would have been finished. Then he could have proceeded to do… whatever it was he was going… to…
    Ebenezer!
    My eyes shoot open.
    Panic overlaps before subsiding into confusion. Instead of staring up at a clouded, starless night sky, I find myself looking at a dark, spackled ceiling. My eyes shift around, looking for unfamiliarity. I pan around to see a room corner, a long burn mark stretching from half way up the corner to the ceiling where it spreads out into a black pool.
    Our room?
    I sit up in bed. It's cold. No… I'm cold.
    I'm so confused. Is it possible that we never made it to the Blood Ball? Did I simply collapse on the bed and sleep through the night? What a cliché if it's all a dream.
    My head hurts. I bring my hands up and gently massage my temples. I have such a headache. There are shooting pains pumping away from my brain and my nose. When I touch the bridge I recognize a bandage on it—the same type of bandages I've worn when I've broken my nose. As if testing for the sake of my own scepticism, I give the bridge of my nose a little poke and immediately regret the decision as a fresh surge of pain shoots through my face. I swear lightly under my breath.
    Yelling from downstairs brings me back into reality.
    I can hear aunt Amelia. She sounds annoyed.
    Groggy and stiff, I manage to pull myself to the side and dangle my feet over the bed. Looking down, I'm wearing the outfit from the Blood Ball. My boots have been taken off and are strewn on the floor. My jacket is lying at the end of the bed. There's crusted blood across my fingers and palms. Looking down at my hands, it takes me a moment to register that the blood is my own, or even that it's there, but once I do I start to pick away at it with my fingernails.
    The process is slow and I have no patience this morning. I shakily stand and head for the bathroom, stubbing my toe on Ebenezer's suitcase, which has been left out in the middle of the room. Swearing and stumbling about, I finally manage to struggle my way into the bathroom.
    Looking at my reflection in the mirror. I must have been sweating during the night because my hair is greasy and matted together in disorganized clumps. My face is shining and oily. The bags that had been under my eyes are almost gone but the purple ringlets, hardly noticeable under my lower eyelashes, still remain.
    Running the water now, I pull back my fishnet sleeves and rinse my hands under the water. The dry blood is hesitant to come off. I take a washcloth from the sink and start to scrub it away. The process is slow but not nearly as much as it would have been to scrape it by hand. Yelling from downstairs is still audible past the running water, but only somewhat and I still can't make out what's being said.
    I put the cloth back on the sink counter just as a fresh burst of screaming erupts from downstairs. I catch my name a couple times. Then I catch Ebenezer's voice. He and Amelia are arguing!
    Disregarding the pain, the stiffness and the constant shivers running up my spine, I exit from the bathroom's hallway entrance and follow the wood boarded walls, the paintings and the long hall carpet.
    Grabbing the staircase rail so I don't trip over my own feet, I take the stairs two at a time, jumping the last four at the base and losing my footing, slipping on the front hall carpet. Finally managing to scramble to my feet and ignoring the now unkempt carpet, I turn to the pass under the stairs and run into the kitchen.
    Maurice is the first person I see. He's sitting at the counter on one of the black stools lined there. Probably having noticed me coming in from his peripheral vision, Maurice turns to me, his moustache twitching with bemusement. I must look a sight, still in my sweaty clothes from the night before, my nose broken, my hair a greasy mess.
    "Abner, you're awake…"
    I turn to aunt Amelia. She's standing close to the fridge, looking over at me like she's seen a ghost. She looks somewhat relieved.
    "Way to point out the obvious."
    At the sound of his voice my arms finally relax at my sides and my locked knees unlock. I feel myself breathe out, probably louder than I would have liked.
    Ebenezer stands by the backdoor, a drink in one hand, a bottle of what looks to be headache meds clutched in the other. He looks pale. There are purple and blue marks all over his face—bruises. He's wearing a black turtleneck and brown shorts. His sunglasses are casually sagging on his face as he glances in my direction—he doesn't look happy.
    Amelia turns to Ebenezer, throwing her arms up in the air. "Oh, would you give the snide remarks a rest! Everything you've had to say today has been negative!" From what I can tell, aunt Amelia has become just as tired with Ebenezer's attitude as our parents. Five days. A new record.
    She continues with, "can't you at least act happy when your brother turns out to be fine? If things had gotten out of control—"
    "But they didn't!" Ebenezer bellows at her, his fingers gripping the cup in his hand hard. "I already told you! We went out to an underground dance! Shit like this happens! If anything, coming back with a couple bruises is a training session."
    He's lying to them!
    For a moment I stand there, confused beyond belief. There my brother stands, lying straight through his gritted teeth. He was attacked and he's lying about it. Just like everything else, he's lying about it as though it were nothing.
    No… Maybe I was right before. Maybe a lot of what happened was just a bad dream. Not everything. But the attacker—he could have been a dream. Maybe I broke my nose another way. I'd broken it in stupid ways before, so why not last night? Maybe I tripped while dancing with that girl and someone stomped on my face—big boots on a big guy could have broken an arm! Maybe Ebenezer's bruises are from dancing. There was a lot of body contact with other people. For all I know, I dreamt everything else up.
    But that growl! The stranger's voice… I couldn't have dreamt that. There's no way I could have dreamt that.
    Ebenezer pops the cap off the meds and turns away from us. "Now could you please stop yelling? I've got such a migraine from the music." He pours a couple pills out into his handle—it looks like more than he should have—and downs them with the rest of his drink in one swig.
    Sighing, I watch Amelia lean against the countertop and rest a hand on her hip. "Look." She says, obviously trying to lower her voice for his sake. "I understand that you're teenagers. And, of course, you want to assert your independence. I wanted to do the exact same thing when I was your age. But your situation and mine are very different. I'm trying to listen to you and you're shrugging me off. I really would prefer if you had told me, or even Maurice, about this. Perhaps I would have given you a curfew, but I wouldn't have stopped you from going."
    Ebenezer puts his empty glass on the counter. He sneers in annoyance.
    I feel bad for Amelia. Even I know Ebenezer's showing bad form. It annoys him that she's so understanding about this. People usually get mad at us. We can handle that.
    "Sneaking out in the middle of the night is certainly fun. Lord knows I did an awful lot of it in my time. But I don't want the two of your getting yourselves hurt like this. I mean, look at Abner!" She points in my direction, making me the centre of attention. I see—feel—everyone's eyes on me. "You come home with him nearly unconscious and with a broken nose! You're the older brother. You should know better."
    "I'm only older by an hour!" Ebenezer screams. "I don't see why I have to accept all the responsibilities. We're the same age! And have you seen that thing!? Abner breaks his nose all the time!"
    "That's not the point!" Amelia yells back at him, clearly still trying to keep her voice down. "And if you don't want me to yell at her then you'd better bloody not yell at me." Do I make myself clear?"
    Silence. Ebenezer rests his hands on the counter and glares off at nothing, biting down on his bottom lip.
    "Just promise me," Amelia says. She's pleading now. "Just promise me that you'll tell at least one of us if you want to go out to some place like that. I don't want to control your life… But I do want to know where you'll be for neat time. Or leave a note. Just promise me that." She turns to me. Her voice is so gentle and clam, but I can't help but notice the authority she commands. This is her house. We're the guests. "You too Abner. I want this promise from you as well."
    I don't answer but I nod. I catch Maurice glancing at me and giving me a look like 'oh, you've done it now.' It's the same thing I was thinking: busted.
    Ebenezer storms off and mutters angrily under his breath, "fine."
    As he passes out of the kitchen he grabs my collar, spins me around and drags me along with him.
    We come out into the hall before I manage to struggle his hand away from me and have him stop.
    "Ebenezer, what the hell was that?" I ask.
    He turns to me and groans. Shaking his head he says, "I'm so not in the mood to fight right now. Can we please save this for later?"
    I can tell he's annoyed. I can even tell he wasn't lying about the migraine. Up close, the bruises look very painful and I can hear the strain in his speech. He's certainly in no mood to talk. But I want to know! I want to know what happened last night. Was everything a dream? Or were we really attacked?
    Amelia doesn't give us the chance to discuss the situation. We notice her come out of the kitchen before she crosses her arms and leans against the wood.
    At her sight, Ebenezer turns away. Like a scolded puppy he rears on his heel and heads up the stairs, silent as the grave. He doesn't say a word, nor give either of us a second glance. A few seconds later I realise I've been abandoned and hurry up the staircase after him, taking them quickly but still only one step at a time. I keep mulling over the previous night—everything clear as though I'd been watching a movie a thousand times over. In the fact that it was so like a dream, it also wasn't. The smells in the alley. The feel of the shovel. The taste of blood in my mouth. The fear.
    Near our bedroom door I hear Ebenezer in the bathroom. Poking my head in through the open door, I see him standing by the mirror, his shirt off, a large white bandage covering his neck and some of his shoulder. He's starting to pull off it off to look at what resides beneath.
    "I knew it!" I yell unintentionally.
    My brother doesn't even move. He just rolls his eyes. "Don't you knock?" he mutters in annoyance.
    I come fully into the bathroom and close the door behind me, proceeding to close the second and then turning to face my twin. "So it wasn't a dream," I muse.
    "You thought it was a dream?" Ebenezer asks, looking as though I've lost my mind. He snickers and grins before turning back to the mirror.
    Only then do I realize—as he smiles—how foreign Ebenezer's frowning face is. He's always smiling, even when he's proven wrong, or getting on someone's nerves. His attitude is overwhelming, I know, but it's an egotistic, self-righteous attitude. Not an angry one.
    "No," he laughs. "You can't ever dream up stuff like that. That dude had serious issues. I was talking to him at the bar for a while—stupid stuff like bands and books we've read. He kept asking what cologne I use. Didn't believe me when I said I didn't wear any. Then he just flipped out! You can't dream up crack addicts like that. Plus, I don't think dreams can break a nose. Saw him hit you by the way. Brutal."
    I point to the bandage on my nose skeptically.
    "You break your nose so much, it's hard for me not to have picked up on how to fix it." He grins in my direction, the telltale signs of an idea flickering across his brow. "Oh! We could call the world record office and ask what the record for broken noses is!"
    I give him a discouraged look. I know I do. Whenever either of us does it our eyebrows furrow deep into our noses. It's rather noticeable.
    He just smiles. "Guess another broken nose isn't really going to help your snoring, huh?"
    "Oh my god! I don't snore!"
    "You totally do! You—!" Ebenezer stops for a moment, looking in the mirror, his eyes widening, his mouth agape in awe. "…Holy shit."
    I move from the door to stand next to him and look down at the mark on his neck. The skin around the area is raw and torn, as though some animal got to him. He must have washed the area because there's no sign of blood. In fact, the wound isn't even open any more. It's just twisted, raw skin. But what catches bth of our attentions are the two parallel holes, each ringed with purple bruising and the rims lined with red. Two puncture marks.
    "Dude…" Ebenezer breathes out, still looking at the marks on his reflection's neck. He keeps pulling at his skin, as if flattening the area around them will make the puncture wounds easier to see. But they're already clear as day against his white skin.
    "Does it hurt?" I ask, instinctively poking the swollen and bruised area.
    Ebenezer just shakes his head.
    "He… That guy I mean. He bit you, didn't he?"
    Then he turns to me, eyes wide as gold balls, mouth slightly ajar. "Abner…" he whispers.
    Our minds link together on the same thing instantly.
    "You don't think…" I trail off.
    There's an uncertain moment before Ebenezer lowers his hands from the skin around the markings. He doesn't break his eye contact with me and leans slightly towards me as he whispers. "I'm a vampire."
    We stand the bathroom, facing each other. Neither of us speaks and for what seems like a long time, we just stare at one another. The silence is interrupted when my lips tighten and a light snicker seeps through. I honestly try to hold myself back but another slips on by.  The tension completely shatters apart when Ebenezer blinks and snickers, set off by me. Then we both erupt into uncontrollable laughter.
    With each laugh I feel pangs of pain coming from my nose, but I'm not able to stop myself.
    Ebenezer approached me and grabs my shoulder, still laughing. I try to shy away but he comes closer and pretends to bite down on my neck, screaming, "nom nom nom!" as he does so.
   Pinned against the door and out of ways to move, I twist the knob and try to escape, but my exaggerated vampiric pursuer follows and we trip over each other, tumbling out the door into our room. I land hard and immediately roll over, clutching my nose tightly. Ebenezer rolls around on the floor, holding his stomach, exclaiming how much it hurts to laugh.
    "Dude!" I choke from behind my cupped hands.  My nose is killing me. "That to'ally hurb!"
    My failed attempt at communication only forces Ebenezer into another fit of laughter. It's a long time before either of us stops.