"MAX loves DEAD FAYE"

One night I got my drunk ass jumped down in the Bowery, near Bleeker Street.

It was 3am. I was about to be raped and probably worse. I totally expected to wake up in Hell for my troubles, when the guy that was pulling down my jeans was yanked off of me. I heard an outraged squawk cut off by a sickening crunch and quickly struggled up into sitting position.

One of the guys that was pinning me ran, the other one . . . died.

How he died—

I fainted.

I woke up to a pale face burning over mine. Cold, hungry eyes looked me over contemptuously, huge in the pallid face. The mouth was sneering and cruel, surrounding teeth, sharp and incarnadined.

True to form, I passed out again. From fear, shock, or injury—I don't know.

I came to in an ambulance, disoriented and aching all over. But I wasn't too badly injured. I was released from the hospital the very next morning with nothing worse than two black eyes, and broken nose, and a split lip.

Since the police weren’t asking me about two bodies, I assumed that the thing had made the bodies disappear. But how on Earth does anything make the mutilated bodies of two grown men disappear?

I tried not to think about it too deeply. Which was easy, once I put the right kind of spin on the whole thing. I told my lie of amnesia and disorientation to the cops, and they seemed to buy it

Maybe I'd hallucinated. Maybe the residue of all the acid I've done over the past ten years had finally cooked my brain enough that it was affecting the way I saw reality.

But who gave a shit, right? I was alive, and that was all that mattered, right? I had gotten a second chance to stop screwing up my life. I would take it, and not look back.

Right?

*

A week later, I was in the Bowery again, only sober.

My face was still a mess: bandaged broken nose, fading shiners, stitched up lip. My ribcage was all sorts of interesting colors and my arms bore bracelets of hand-shaped bruises.

"Christ, Maxine, you're still a fucking wreck!"

That was what my best friend Chaz said. I was on the hunt for the anything that could tell me what had happened that night. Chaz was back-up (at his own insistence). He thought my little fact-finding expedition was ridiculous and dangerous. He was just along to make sure I didn't get jumped a second time.

I didn't know whether I was glad he was there or not.

"Come on. If these two guys were killed, they woulda been found, Max." He stopped me from edging my way into a stinking, garbage-strewn alley, and turned me to face him. His baby blues were worried. "You were on God-knows-what and got beat down. They got antsy and ran. They were not killed by a—a vampire."

"Fuck you."

He grinned wryly. "Promise?"

"Don't you wish." I grinned back, hard and humorless, turning back to the alley. Again, Chaz stopped me—jumped in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders. His face was lined with concern. "Look. Even if—and this is purely if—there were such things as vampires, we'd be stupid to look for one at all, let alone at night!"

"If it wanted me dead, Chaz, I'd have been muerte a week ago," I said, suddenly knowing that was true, and in knowing it, regained my certainty about my hunt.

"Isn't it at least possible that you were hallucinating? I know how frequently you use, Max." There wasn't even disapproval in his voice when he said that. He always used to sound disappointed in me for using. That night he just sounded resigned. I'd wanted to tell him that I hadn't touched anything harder than aspirin since the night I got jumped, but I doubted he'd believe me about that either. So there really seemed to be no point.

"Go or stay, but stow the lecture. I'm gonna find that thing, and—"

"And what, Max?" Chaz sounded exasperated.

"I don't know." I started walking again, deciding to forget the alley for now. When it comes to Chaz, I know how to pick my battles. "Get some answers."

"Wait—"

"No. I waited a few days at your suggestion. To 'heal up'. And now the trail is cold—"

"What trail?"

"—and my best friend is giving me shit about a few hours of his time—"

"That could be better spent than looking for figments of your drugged imagination!"

"Fine." I smiled despite the pain in my face. "Let's go back to my place and fuck."

Chaz's mouth fell open and he stopped walking. "Uh—for real?"

I kept walking. After a few seconds Chaz caught up, muttering and cursing me under his breath.

Half an hour later: "Max, you're crazy!"

"Maybe. But you like me that way." I was staring at a dark shape that looked like a crouching person. It turned out to be a potted plant.

Suddenly, I felt as crazy as Chaz thought I was. I mean, I knew I wasn't, but I also suddenly knew that I was crazy to think I'd get my answers this way.

"Ah, fuck this. Let's go." I looked up at Chaz. He sighed.

"Where to now?"

"Your place," I said, taking his hand. His eyebrows disappeared under his hair, his baby-blues round with disbelief. "I thought you were kidding. . . ."

"About my place, yeah. My roommate's parents are here from Korea. I doubt they'd appreciate their daughter's roommate fucking someone while they're there. Of course, if you don't want to—"

Chaz pulled me against him and leaned down, kissing me tentatively. He avoided my broken nose. My mouth still hurt, though not as bad as it had. Not bad enough to make the kiss feel anything less than pretty damn good. But I couldn't help wincing as he put his hands on my waist.

"What's wrong?" he breathed.

"My damn ribs. Never mind." I kissed him again, hard, pulling his arms around me, his lean body against mine. Like magic, we were in meltdown mode. When we came up for air, we grinned at each other, then hugged. He even lifted me up so I could put my arms around his neck.

"Wow." His breath was warm in my ear. "Totally worth the wait."

I'd known he had a crush on me for the past year—he'd never bothered hiding it. But I suddenly found myself wondering if he been crushing for even longer than that. "And how long have you been waiting?"

"Forever?" he laughed, another warm puff of air in my ear. "Or maybe it just feels that way."

His hands slid down to my ass, squeezing and pulling me even closer. "Be serious."

"I am." The laughter was gone from his voice. "Since the day we met."

Five years, then. I couldn't imagine wanting something for five years . . . and actually waiting that long for it. I'd either go after it harder, or lose interest before the first year was out. "Jesus. What would all your new med school buddies say if they could see this?" I joked uncomfortably, wondering if I was making a mistake in sleeping with him. "You, making out with the likes of me on Bleeker Street at 3:30 in the morning?"

"They'd say: 'Way to go, Freshmeat.'" He laughed again, kissing my neck. Over his shoulder, I saw a flash of white across the avenue. It disappeared between a couple parked cars almost faster than my eye could see. And yet I knew I had been meant to see.

I shivered, worried more for Chaz's safety than my own.

"You chilly? Want my jacket?" he asked as he put me down. Always the gallant gentleman, Chaz. I suddenly wanted, more than anything to get him away from there. To protect him the way I would never have considered protecting myself.

"Not chilly . . . horny. Let's go."

*

Later that night, when Chaz had fallen asleep, I lay beside him, smoking and staring at the ceiling, content and half asleep myself.

Why are you looking for me?

I sat up, instantly wide awake. The sleepy contentment had gone, baby, gone. That thought had not been my own. It was as cold and alien as an icicle to the brain, and I knew just whose it was.

Breaking out in a flop sweat, I thought back at it, as hard as I could:

Why are you looking for me, Vampire?

Silence. Then:

I could have killed you tonight. A hundred times over.

Yet still, I draw breath. I doubted my bravado was convincing, but it was all I had, at the time.

For now, the invading thought drifted across my consciousness like sinister smoke.

I'm intrigued by you, I thought into the void.

You're terrified.

That, too. I admitted, and admitting, found it to be no longer true. Not precisely.

Nothing, for minutes.

"I would like to meet you," I whispered. Chaz stirred next to me, mumbling in his sleep. For long minutes there were no thoughts that weren't my own.

Please, I begged silently, shamelessly. Don't go!

Let me guess. You want to be like me, came the scornful thought. I shook my head.

"No." No. I just want to know about you. Everything.

A mental snort. Human, I am not an Anne Rice novel.

Then what are you? Tell me! Let me see you! If you were gonna kill me, I'd be dead. If you weren't curious, you wouldn't be here. If I weren't curious, I'd be at home festooned in silver crucifixes and garlic.

A mental laugh, now. You've grown a pair since last we met.

There came a vivid flash of my face, bloody and fear contorted. Me, just as I passed out that night.

I blushed.

What can I say? I've never been brave. I'm a lover, not a fighter.

You're a fool in love with self-destruction. And crazy as a shithouse rat, to boot.

When you're right, you're right. Will you let me see you? We could meet somewhere and talk?

Like a date? Came another scornful thought. I couldn't think of a reply to that.

The Lyric Diner, then. Tomorrow, at midnight.

I'll be there, I sent quickly.

I may decide to kill you, yet.

Before I could think anything in response, I was once again alone in my own head.

*

In the morning: "Promise me you won’t go walk-about again unless I'm with you, Max."

We'd just had a morning quickie against the kitchen counter. Now, Chaz looked down into my nervous eyes with his earnest ones. I sighed. "I promise I won't look for vampires anymore. How's that?"

Chaz searched my eyes intently, then smiled. He seemed so relieved, I almost felt guilty. "I don't want you to get hurt again, Max." He caressed my cheek. "I nearly went ape-shit when I found out what happened to you, you know?"

I groaned. "I was fine, though. So don't go getting all boyfriend on me because I got beat down, or 'cause of last night, either. Or just now, amazing though it was."

Chaz frowned down at me like a pouty little boy. His curly brown hair was mussy and his face flushed, especially his ears. I laughed and kissed his frown away, then bent to pull up my jeans, smiling a little.

"Want anything while I'm down here?"

*

Midnight.

I'd been sitting in the Lyric Diner chain-smoking, too nervous to eat. Every person that walked into that dingy hole was the vampire.

Then not.

Around ten after, a nondescript woman in jeans and an ancient Live Aid t-shirt strolled in. She was pale, tall. Her features were vaguely European, her hair was a medium brown. Her eyes—

Her eyes were the color of frost on dirty cement and just as warm. They were steady on mine, never blinking. Intense.

I stood up as she approached me. It seemed the thing to do.

"Hey." Maxine, at her blandest. She smiled just as blandly, sitting down.

"I'm here. You've gotten what you asked for. Now," she spread her hands and leaned back in her chair. "What will you do with it?" Her low, breathy alto had the barest traces of some accent I couldn't quite make out.

"What's your name?" I asked, my voice cracking. I swallowed.

"You may call me Dead Faye."

"Cool name. You should be in a band or something," I said stupidly. Dead Faye raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. I cleared my throat and took a drag on my cigarette. I was so nervous, you'd think I actually was on a first date.

There was silence for nearly a minute, then she said: "You know—I don't have all night, child, merely eternity. If all you're going to do is smoke and stare at me—" Dead Faye stood up.

"No—wait! Please!" I reached out as if to touch her arm, but I didn't quite dare. "Please just stay and talk to me. Say anything you want, huh? Just—stay."

"Why should I? What's in it for me?" she asked, pinning me with her hard, frosty gaze.

I thought desperately. "Free therapy. Tell your woes to a non-judgmental ear. A place to hide out if you ever need it, uh. . . ." I bit my lip. "Money, I guess. I don't have a lot, but I could find—" Dead Faye stopped me with a gesture.

"None of those things interest me. I don't need any of that. There's only one thing I ever need or want these days." Dead Faye glanced pointedly at my neck.

"It's yours." I immediately started unbuttoning the top buttons of the shirt Chaz'd loaned me before we parted company.

Dead Faye's eyes widened with fake approval. "Wow. Color me impressed," she mocked, then turned to leave.

"I'm serious!" I called after her. My voice sounded more anguished than I would have thought possible.

"Then follow me," she tossed over her shoulder like a casual lifeline.

*

Tompkins Square Park.

After dark, there's never anyone around but dog walkers with a death-wish and decrepit junkies.

Dead Faye led me through to the most deserted section of park. Her pace had been brisk from when we'd left the Lyric, down the next fifteen or so blocks to the park. I was huff-puffing like the smoker I was.

When Dead Faye finally stopped and turned to me, her smile was not at all reassuring.

"You realize that if you try to run, I'll kill you. And that I'll probably kill you anyway."

I nodded once and swallowed. Dead Faye's eyes were drawn by that slight motion.

"Such a long, pretty neck. Maybe when I'm done I'll crush it: like a beer can," she mused. I couldn't move at all. Her eyes were—hypnotic. They were my universe.

Her fingers on my collar bone were cold. My pulse started racing, but not from fear.

With one sharp fingernail, she sliced the front of Chaz's shirt open to the waist band of my jeans. She also sliced my bra to uselessness and left a shallow cut down my torso in the process.

Then she was embracing me, her cold breath searing the skin of my throat just before her fangs broke it.

There was intense pain . . . followed by the strange, almost unbearable pleasure of being emptied. The free-floating clarity that comes with the draining of your life's blood is . . . orgasmic. I could hear a rush of voices shouting at me, saying urgent things I couldn't make out over the labored beating of my own heart.

Dead Faye barely had to suck. My blood flowed easily, quickly to her mouth. My excitement was pumping my blood right out of me.

I swooned, but didn't lose consciousness. Dead Faye held me up, arching my back so extremely, I thought, Surely, my spine will give. . . .

Then I realized I didn't care.

This was my fate, my death. I put my arms around it, and lost myself in it. If I couldn't have anything to live for, I could at least have the next best thing.

As I embraced her, I could feel the body heat that used to be mine radiating from her. I looked up at the stars that burned over her shoulder.

There was a bright explosion behind my eyes that obliterated those stars.

*

I woke up on a bridge.

I was sitting in a window seat of a subway train, head banging against that window. I had no idea who I was, or why I was on a train.

The train took me over the bridge that I slowly realized was the Williamsburg. In the greyish-cold light of the dawn, my reason returned quickly. Though I suppose I should say my un-reason.

I remembered Dead Faye, and the park, and put my hand up to my neck. There were two irregular punctures, not even close to scabbing over.

I thought of my blood flowing through her veins, and—

If I wasn't so weak, I'd have thought I was turned on.

I looked down at myself, fighting dizziness. I was wearing the Live Aid t-shirt. Chaz's shirt and my bra were nowhere to be seen.

In another of those flashes of returning memory, I remembered that just as my blood ran through her veins, her blood also flowed through mine.

Not much, just a few sips only. From a small cut by her left incisor on her bottom lip. It'd been just enough to ensure that I lived through the next few days while my body tried to cope with the blood loss and make enough human blood to keep me alive.

Just enough to make the coming dawn a hell-bitch on wheels, and my irritated eyes and skin its herald.

I got up and changed seats. There were only two other people in my car. I turned my itching-burning face away from them, and closed my eyes on the gaudy, grey-yellow light that began to fill the car.

The shallow cut on my torso was seeping blood. I'd reopened the cut when I moved.

It didn't matter. Nothing did. Nothing except Dead Faye.

*

It'd been three days since I'd seen Dead Faye.

Or anyone else, for that matter. I'd managed to avoid Seunghee, my roommate, by being very quiet and hiding in my room when she came in. For all she knew, I left on Monday night, and never came home.

Chaz had left about hundred messages. The first bunch sounded annoyed, the second bunch sounded hurt. The most recent sounded worried and strained. He and Seunghee didn't particularly care for each other, and they probably hadn't spoken together but to ask if the other had seen me.

I hadn't the energy to feel guilty about anything, not that I ever have. I didn't even have the energy to get dressed beyond t-shirt and underwear. I hadn't eaten since Monday morning, or had anything to drink since Dead Faye.

I'll be dead by tonight was my only coherent thought. The only question was - will starvation and blood loss kill me, or will Dead Faye?

*

Seunghee had gone to her night class.

It was 6:58, just after sunset. I was waiting for her.

I wanted to see the monster that owned my soul one more time before I died. I wanted . . . I wanted her to kill me. I wanted to drift away in cold, dead arms that offered me no hope and no redemption.

Chaz had called again just after Seunghhee left. He sounded really worried. He said I may have been "experiencing psychological trauma" from being jumped ten days ago.

"Please, Maxine . . . I really care about you. I don't want anything for you but happiness. Even if that means you need to, I dunno, stay away from me for a while." His voice cracked. "If Monday night was something you don't want to happen again, just let me know. And let me know you're okay, I—I just want you to be safe and happy, kiddo. Let me know you're all right. Please."

If I'd had the moisture to cry, I probably would have, though I'm not the crying type. I couldn't even think of Chaz for too long because it hurt me that I'd hurt him. Would hurt him, more. Was that guilt? I didn't know. All I knew was, the dark room spun around me like a top. I gladly lost consciousness for some unknowable span of time.

*

I woke up because of the rapping on my window.

The room was drenched in pale moonlight. Dead Faye was outside my window.

My third floor, fire escape-less window.

Her eyes glowed dark and cold. You are so beautiful, I thought. Dead Faye's smile was bone-chilling. Invite me in, Maxine.

I do, I invite you, I thought feverishly.

No, you must say it aloud.

"Invite you, Dead Faye. My room. . . ." I exhaled. It took a lot out of me.

The window opened without a touch from Dead Faye and she drifted in on invisible wings, still smiling. My heart flip-flopped. I had it bad, alright.

I'm yours, I thought, opening my soul to her. She nodded, crossing my room. She wore khakis and a Phish t-shirt. I moaned, wanting to touch her. Seeming to know this, she sat next to me on the bed, not quite within touching distance.

I struggled to sit up and Dead Faye watched me struggle for a while, amused, then helped me. Her hands were cold and gentle.

"You're a strange one, child. You invite your doom in and give yourself to it, happily."

'Beautiful and terrible, as the morning and the night. . . .' I smiled. I wouldn't have thought I had any quotes left in me.

"'All shall love me, and despair'." Dead Faye completed the quote and smiled at me. As scarifying as her smiles are, they're unutterably lovely to me. "I used to enjoy Tolkien when I was human."

My surprise must have shown.

"I was turned sixty-one years ago," she elucidated. Another surprise, that. I'd assumed that she'd been around for hundreds of years.

You don't look a day over thirty, I thought inanely.

"Thank you." Dead Faye took my hand and sniffed my wrist. "You'll die, whether I stay or leave. I won't save you twice. Yet if I leave, you die with a soul less than pristine, but still your own. And still un-Damned."

Stay, I thought softly, desperately, wanting nothing to do with salvation if it didn't mean her.

Dead Faye smiled again. More chillingly, this time, because of it's gentleness. It's fondness.

"If you'd chosen salvation, I would have made sure you lived . . . and you would have begged for the sweetness of damnation long before I was done having fun with you."

Her smile became a baring of suddenly distended fangs and she lunged for me. I thought she would go for my throat.

She kissed me, instead.

She opened the sutures in my lip and sucked on the wound. Then she nicked my tongue with her fangs. My mouth was filled with the taste of my own blood, like old pennies.

Dead Faye laid me back down on the bed, then lay on top of me. She parted my legs with her knee, drawing deep scratches down my thigh with her fingernails. The pain was dim and far . . . as if I was already more dead than alive. I knew I should be howling, but I was quite apart from the pain, apart from everything. I felt drowsy; my limbs were heavy and numb.

She kissed me hungrily—literally—her teeth raking and flaying my lips. Then she went for my throat. I felt her cold breath for a moment, and I heard—more than felt—her shredding the front of my underwear with her fingernails.

Then, the world was penetration and pain. I screamed, or tried to, and wrapped my arms around death.

I love you. I thought as she tore into me. I give myself to you forever and ever. Amen.

I felt her take possession of me in every sense with a cold smile.

And the light, climactically bright, took my soul and obliterated my self.

*

Charles Eckert opened the door to Maxine LaSelva's room expecting to find her there despite her roommate's reassurance that she was not. Had not been for some time.

What Charles found was an abattoir.

Blood soaked sheets and bloody hand prints on the walls greeted him, as did several bloody, inverted hearts.

In the center of the bed, was Max's large vanity mirror. It was shattered. Written on its once pristine surface in drying blood was:

MAX loves DEAD FAYE.

in a blocky scrawl that was nothing like Max's spidery script.

Charles hit the floor hard, in a dead faint. The sound was so loud that Seunghee came running from the kitchen.

END