The Traveling Vampire Show

Chapter Forty-six

Rusty and I trudged through the woods, staying away from the dirt road. With no path and very little light, it was slow going. And painful. We kept bumping into things, falling, getting scratched.

After a while, I muttered, “We should’ve gone with the girls.”

“It’s gonna be worth it, man.”

“That’s what you think.”

“Just wait’ll you lay your eyes on Valeria.”

“Sure,” I muttered. No matter how beautiful Valeria might be, she couldn’t compare to Slim. I wanted nothing more than to be with Slim, but there I was—tromping through the woods with Rusty.

We were both out of breath, panting for air. The night was hot, the air heavy and moist. No wind at all seemed to penetrate the forest. Sweat poured down my body. My sodden shirt and jeans clinged to me. Without the socks I’d given to Bitsy, my feet slid around inside my sneakers and made squelching sounds.

Why am I doing this? I kept thinking.

Not so I could lay my eyes on Valeria, that was for sure. Not really so I could keep Rusty company, either—though that must’ve been part of it. The real reason was Lee.

No telling where she was or what had happened to her.

Maybe she was okay. If so, she would find the note we’d left in her kitchen and come to the Vampire Show. I needed to be there to meet her.

Maybe she had already arrived—if that had been Lee in the red pickup truck.

Or maybe she’d been taken there earlier. She’d given Stryker the check with her address on it. Would’ve been so easy for him to pay her a visit.

Then again, maybe her disappearance had nothing to do with the Traveling Vampire Show.

Maybe she wasn’t even missing.

If nothing happened to her, I thought, she’ll see the note and drive over. One way or another, Janks Field was where I stood my best chance of finding Lee.

At last, we saw a pale glow of lights through the trees ahead of us.

“That’s gotta be it,” Rusty said.

“Guess so.”

The grandstands of Fargus’s Folly were always brightly lighted at night to prevent the sort of mischief that often happened in the dark. But the grandstands weren’t straight ahead of us. Also, their lights didn’t move. Our way seemed to be illuminated, instead, by the headbeams of cars cruising Janks Field in search of places to park.

I thought about how smart it had been to park Slim’s Pontiac off Route 3.

I wished I were there.

Slim and Bitsy had probably reached it already. If I were only with them… and if Bitsy weren’t, so it could be just Slim and me sitting together in the front seat, waiting for Rusty….

But Bitsy is there, I reminded myself. If I so much as kissed Slim, Bitsy would want me to kiss her, too.

Maybe I’m better off here.

Soon, Janks Field came into sight through the spaces between the trees. Cars and pickup trucks were moving about. headlights pushing through the darkness.

We crept closer and closer. With nothing more than a bramble between us and the field, we stretched out flat on the ground, side by side, our shoulders almost touching.

Off to our right, a stream of vehicles poured into Janks Field from the dirt road. They were met by black-shirted members of Stryker’s crew who directed them toward the area of field in front of us. The place seemed to be filling up fast, but in an orderly way. Stryker’s gang knew how to do their job.

I suddenly pictured them surrounding the one-eyed dog, poking it with spears.

They had no spears now—only flashlights. Watching them, though, I felt chills crawl up my spine.

Slim was smart not to come here, I thought.

Cars and trucks kept lining up, stopping, shutting off their headlights and engines. Doors opened. People climbed out. Doors banged shut. In couples and small groups, people walked away from their vehicles and headed for the brightly lighted bleachers. I could hear their voices, their laughter.

People I know, I thought.

I had to know plenty of them… any who’d come from Grandville, at least.

And they’ll know us.

But I couldn’t actually recognize anyone because of the darkness and the distance.

I nudged Rusty with my shoulder. His head turned. “See anyone we know?” I asked.

“Huh-uh.”

“Me nei…” I gasped and flinched as someone flopped onto the ground beside me. The heat of her body seemed to wash over me. She was panting for breath.

“I’m back,” she huffed.

I jerked my head toward her.

Bitsy’s hair was glued down with sweat. Her face was shiny and dripping… and smiling. She nudged me with her shoulder.

“Shit, no,” Rusty said. “What the hell is she doing here?”

Ignoring him, I twisted around and gazed behind me. No sign of Slim. “Where’s Slim?” I asked.

“Goin’ to the car.”

“Why aren’t you with her?”

“She said it’s okay.”

“Slim said you could come with us?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“She did not,” Rusty said.

“Did so.”

Fat chance, I thought. Keeping it to myself, I asked, “How’d you get away from her?”

Bitsy smiled. It gave me a creepy feeling. “I just said how I had to take a leak. That got her to let go of my hand, so then I ran away.”

“Slim could’ve caught you easy,” Rusty said.

“She did. And she ripped my dress and we fell down and I got hurt. So then she climbed offa me and said she was sorry.”

That sounded like Slim, all right.

“And I was crying and saying how all I wanted was to go see the Vampire Show like everyone promised, but she said I shouldn’t on account of I might get hurt and I said how I didn’t care. So then she was gonna make me come with her anyhow. She pulled me off the ground and I tried to get away again but she wouldn’t let go, so then I called her a name and she let go.”

“Called her what?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she muttered.

“What?”

Bitsy muttered, “A dirty whore.”

“You called Slim a whore?”

Her voice a quiet whimper, she said, “Yeah.”

Back in those days, you never heard the “c” word. I didn’t, anyway. “Whore” was the worst thing anyone ever called a girl, and you rarely heard that. It’s a commonplace word now, used in everyday speech, in comedy routines, all over the place. But not then. Back then, it was a dark, vile word. Calling a girl a “whore” was as lowdown as you could get.

I had a tight feeling in my throat—and an urge to punch Bitsy in the face.

“What’d you wanta call her that for?” I asked.

“Just to make her let go.”

“She’s always been your friend.”

In a stronger voice, Bitsy said, “I wanted her to let go of me.”

“That was really lousy,” I told her.

Softly, she murmured, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Real neat play, fatso,” Rusty said.

“So what happened after you called Slim that name?” I asked.

“She let go. She says ‘You wanta go with Dwight so bad, go. And go to hell while you’re at it.’ So then she let me have my ticket. I told her thanks and she said ‘Fuck you.’ ”

“Sure she did,” Rusty muttered.

“She did.”

I’d never heard the word come from Slim’s mouth. I doubted she’d said it to Bitsy, but the worthless bitch had just called her a dirty whore so maybe Slim had used that language back at her.

“What happened then?” I asked. “After she called you that.”

“Nothin’. I came looking for you.”

“Where’d Slim go?”

“I don’t know. Back to the car?”

I just stared at Bitsy. It was a good thing there wasn’t enough light for her to see the look in my eyes. Turning to Rusty, I said, “I’ve gotta go and find Slim.”

“Hey, no. Come on, man.”

“You can’t,” Bitsy whined.

I looked at her. “Wanta bet?”

“You’ll miss the show,” Rusty said.

“Screw the show.”

Bitsy went, “Dwiiiight.”

I pushed myself up to my hands and knees. As I started to back away, Bitsy clutched my right arm with both hands.

“Let go,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“Stay. Y’gotta stay.”

“Bitsy, let go!”

“No!”

I wrenched my arm out of her grip, then whirled around on my hands and knees. Just as I was about to scurry off, a hand tugged at a seat pocket of my jeans and Bitsy said, “What about Lee?”

I stopped.

“You gotta find Lee, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Rusty said. “You left her a note and everything. You can’t just not show up.”

Bitsy gave my pocket a couple of pulls. “Slim’s just going back to the car, anyways. She doesn’t need you.”