Night Prayers (26 page)

"Strengthen my spirit that I may not fall victim to the temptations of the mind.

"Strengthen my heart that I may not fall victim to the temptations of the flesh.

"Shield my eyes with Sights of Your Glory Everlasting that I may not fall victim to the… the…"

What?
… to the memories and million kindnesses Mrs. B had done for him over the years? That didn't seem fair.

Even if he had to destroy her body to save her immortal soul it didn't seem fair to just forget all the good times they shared together — just so he could jam a stake through her heart.

"You don't make it easy, Lord, do You?"

Nope… He sure didn't.

Mica took another long swig off the
Stolichnaya
he kept for medicinal purposes (when he had trouble sleeping) and slumped back against the headboard. He ran his thumb over the sharpened point he'd carved on the makeshift stake
— testing it — and took another swallow.

It wasn't fair.

"But then it wasn't fair for Jesus to get nailed to the cross either," he said, tipping the half-empty bottle at the black-velvet portrait of The Son hanging above the refrigerator. "But He saw His duty and did it without question. Just like me, Lord, don't you worry.

"I know I'm weak and a backslider, Lord, I know it and I'm ashamed that You had to see me like that. I
know
I should have gone out there and faced them down… faced my enemies the moment they tried to get in. But I was afraid, Lord. Even with Your Love and Glory protecting me."

I was afraid.

The look in Jesus' painted amber eyes hardened to Holy disgust.

"Yes sir," Mica whispered, hugging the stake and bottle to his chest. "I'm sorry… I failed. Maybe if I hadn't waited, Mrs. B would still be
—"

Stop it
, he told himself,
feeling sorry for something is just another way of admitting you screwed up
.

Again.

"Forgive me, Lord?"

And the eyes softened. Forgave him.

Again.

"Thank you, Lord. I am Forgiven." Mica squirmed off the mattress, scattering wood chips to the floor, and stood up
— raised both the bottle and stake toward the picture… then thought better of it and tossed the bottle away. "I am Mica, Your servant, Lord, do with me what You will. Into Your Hands I commend my spirit.

"Now let's go kick some Vampire ass."

Stumbling to the small window over the sink/range top, Mica used the sharpened point of the stake to lift one corner of the dusty curtain. The early morning sun was sparkling across the rutted black-top like diamonds. Mica ducked down and squinted at the almost-blue sky and nodded.

It was the kind of day Mrs. B loved.

Mrs. B

Gypsy had kept him busy talking while Luci had…

Mica's hands tightened on the stake. The undead bitch had corrupted the old woman instead of killing her to taunt him
— to lay down a challenge against his Faith.

Good against Evil.

Mica could feel himself smile as he picked up the hammer from the counter. Just finding it, buried beneath the other crap in the "catch all" drawer, had taken him almost an hour
— but what good were stakes without something to pound them in with?

It was another of Mrs. B's gifts… thin handled, pitted striking surface, chipped left claw and a passionate purple
Hooray for Hollywood
handle.

The smile tipped downward as Mica wrapped his fingers around the plastic grip
— and wondered if driving a stake through the old woman's chest would feel the same as pegging a
Jesus Saves
flyer to a wooden telephone pole.

God, he
hoped
so.

"Mrs. B?"

Mica had come through the
unlocked
back door like one of L.A's finest
— back to the wall, stake low on his left side, hammer cocked and held high at his right shoulder, ears straining, heart thumping.

If anything jumped out at him, he planned to stake first and ask questions later.

"Mrs. Berkovich, are you awake?"

Mica slid his rump along the edge of the kitchen counter, then darted the last yard to the wall next to the door leading into the rest of the house. It was too dark to see anything and all he heard was the Felix the Cat clock ticking away in Mrs. B's front room.

"Mrs. B? I thought we'd go out for coffee and muffins. My treat."

Nothing.

Taking a deep breath (and saying a silent prayer) Mica stepped out into the open doorway and followed the sounds of the clock deeper into the curtained gloom.

"You left the back door open, Mrs. B," he said as casually as he could through the constriction in his windpipe. "That's real dangerous, you know… especially in this neighborhood…"

Where any ol' Undead critter can just wander in for a late night snack.

Mica lifted the tip of the stake a degree higher as he passed the closed bathroom door and licked the sweat off his top lip. Part of him wished he'd finished off the vodka
— part of him wished he hadn't started drinking in the first place.

He'd walked the narrow hallway a hundred… a
thousand
times before
— but not knowing what was waiting for him made it feel like he was trespassing into uncharted territory.

Lucky he tucked the small, pocket-sized "map" into his back pocket before leaving the trailer.

I'm still ready, Lord… but if there's ANYway to take this cup away from me… I'd be more than grateful.

Something thumped in the cozy, mildew-scented living room just ahead of him.

Yeah, okay, Lord… Gotcha.

Squaring his shoulders, Mica tightened his grip on the stake and inched forward into the possible
valley of death
.

"Mrs. B? Is that you? C'mon… answer me. Please?"

There was another thump, then the sound of a rocker slowly being put into motion
— back and forth, back and forth against the worn carpet.

Mrs. B's big maple rocking chair.

The stake angled itself toward the rhythmic creaks as if another hand was controlling it.

Which it probably was.
Praise be to His Name
!

Mrs. B's throaty giggle almost made him wet himself.

"Mrs. B… shit, you almost scared me to —"

The old lady's giggle dropped into a low predatory growl as Mica stepped into the curtained living room. Mrs. B was a dark lump hunched low into the ruffled cushions
— the rocker keeping time with the steady beat of the clock.

Mica lowered the stake slowly, tucking it and the hammer behind his back — as if it were a surprise present.
Surprise, surprise… Happy RE-birth day, Mrs. B
!

"You — you…" Mica cleared his throat and forced himself to relax… reminded himself he was still under Protection. "You left the back door open."

"Oh, dear. Isn't that just like a silly old lady… I'd probably forget me head if it wasn't nailed on."

It was still Mrs. B's voice —
Oh God
— but it was the memory of that voice from the night before that hardened Mica's heart.

Finding the edge of the wall with his heels, Mica side-stepped deeper into the room
— keeping his eyes trained on the rocker and feeling her eyes trained on him.

Hungry
eyes.

The hammer and stake felt as slippery in his hands as if he'd dipped them in motor oil.

Mica shook off the need to wipe the fear-sweat out of his eyes and concentrated on where to take his next step. Like every other old lady he'd ever known
— his own aunts and mother included — Mrs. B had enough "collectibles" littering the floor to make walking a hazard. And the one thing Mica didn't want to do was take his eyes off her for even a moment.

He'd grown up reading Famous Monster magazines. He
knew
how fast a Vampire could move when it wanted to.

"Sure is dark in here," Mica said. The rocker was still a good ten feet away… too far to try and lunge. He
had
to get closer. "I thought you
loved
sunlight."

An embarrassed laugh floated up to him. "Oh, I was up late last night watching Casablanca again
— you know how much I love Bogie — and I sort of strained my eyes. Silly of me. Just like leaving the door open. Real silly."

"Yeah," he said, "real silly."

Mica could see her now — frumpy old pink bathrobe, fuzzed out slippers, thin hair wrapped so tightly around curlers it made his head ache. Mrs. B looked just like she did every morning.

Nice.

Normal.

A little old lady vampire in a rocking chair, waiting for her breakfast to take one false step so she could tear his throat out.

Give me strength, O Lord. And put it all into my right arm.

But he still had to be sure. Gypsy could have been lying…
wanting
Mica to think they'd done something to the old woman just to get a rise out of him.

Maybe.

and 9/10 of him
prayed
that was so.

"So… I guess you don't want to go out for coffee and muffins, huh?"

Mica saw her smile. She wasn't wearing her false teeth, but that was okay… the two long, curving fangs more than made up for her lack of dentures.

"No, thanks…
Preacher-boy
, I think I'll just grab something here."

The magazines had been wrong. Vampires moved a
lot
faster!

Mica managed to get off one startled gasp when Mrs. B sprang out of the rocker and dug ice-cold
(dead)
fingers into his throat.

"I've been eating my Wheaties," she whispered, jerking Mica's head to one side… exposing the veins in his neck. Her breath smelled like raw sewage that had been cooking in the hot summer sun for a month. "See what a little fiber can do?"

Mica could already feel his blood spilling down the front of his
Jesus is my BEST friend
tee-shirt… could already hear the Heavenly Choir singing him Home. Could already feel the wooden stake sinking into her chest.

Mrs. B forced his head back into a semi-upright angle and glared at him.

"Now
that
wasn't a very nice thing to think," she said. "Who the fuck do you think you are? One of the
Fearless Vampire Hunters
?"

Mica expected to die at that moment, instead he found himself tossed across the room like a used Kleenex.

His left shoulder shattered the glass front of the old woman's beloved china cabinet. Mrs. B had told him it once belonged to Carol Lombard
— even though he couldn't imagine the one time Movie Queen owning
anything
as gaudy as the six-foot high, red-lacquered and gold-leaved monstrosity he'd just reduced to kindling.

Brass baby-shoes, blown glass trinkets, the few
good
pieces of wedding china and the full set of Elvis commemorative dinner plates tinkled around him as Mica tried to sit up.

His hands were empty.

Mica groaned at the sharp pain in his back as he swept the debris immediately in front of him. The hammer and stake weren't there.

Lord… this is now getting serious.

"Problem, dear?" Mrs. B asked as her slippers scuffed along the carpet toward him. "You look worried but you shouldn't be… this is real kick ass stuff. I haven't felt this good since back in '69
— but what a year that
was
."

She came at him cackling like a chicken that just laid an ostrich egg. Mica made a blind grab and snagged something hard and round. He saw what it was the instant it left his fingers. It was the Snow Globe he'd bought Mrs. B last Christmas… their
last
Christmas.

Mica watched the plastic snow swirl around the Baby Jesus as it flew across the room.

She caught it without breaking stride and crushed it like a soap bubble.

"Strike one,
Preacher-boy
."

The dust-layered pair of baby shoes went next. These she just batted out of the way.

"Strike two… once more and I'll have to bench you. For
life
."

Mica's fingers found something long and hard and grabbed onto it like it was a life-preserver.

"You can't fucking
do
anything to me, you God damned old
bitch"
he growled. "I have the Lord's Protection. You can't harm me… you can't fucking even touch m—"

She not only could, but she did.

Mica could feel the flesh tear behind his left ear as the dead woman wrenched his head back.
Now or never, Lord —

"PROTECT ME!!!"

The cylindrical object in his hand practically flew forward on its own — burying itself into the hollow between Mrs. B's sagging breasts.

A geyser of cold blood accompanied her ear-shattering scream and hit Mica full in the face.

The feet of the hand-carved, wooden statuette of the Virgin Mary Mica had brought back from his trip to Tiajuana sizzled in the dark blood like a hamburger cooking.

Mrs. B's scream rose another octave as she lurched backwards, taking five strips of Mica's flesh along with her. She got as far as the slabbed redwood coffee table before going down.

It was only her body that writhed on the floor — screaming, thrashing like a
catfish in the bottom of a boat —
only
her body. Her soul was already making the slow journey back from the edge of the Pit. Mica
knew
that… but he kept reminding himself as he crawled over to her.