Frostbitten: The Complete Series (37 page)

CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
MAN UP

Andrew’s eyes were fixated on the roof of his quiet bedroom. The silent hum of the baseboard heater was as loud as a revving motorcycle, and the faint light from the alarm clock was as bright as a Broadway stage light.

No matter how hard he tried, Andrew couldn’t sleep.

There was only one thing on his mind—one face that refused to let him drift into a peaceful slumber—one voice that endlessly echoed against the inside of his tormented skull…

Andrew couldn’t stop thinking about Brittany.

At first, Andrew simply thought Brittany was a nice, cool person. But with every passing day, he was becoming more and more infatuated with her. It didn’t take long for Andrew to like Brittany as more than a friend. It didn’t take long after that for him to develop strong feelings.

As Andrew stared at that dark bedroom ceiling, he realized his standing had changed yet again—He didn’t just like Brittany.

He loved Brittany.

The decision was made when he realized that he felt a strong, overwhelming desire to protect the beautiful young classmate. He cared more about her happiness than his own. He knew that, if he could have her, he would make her the happiest girl on the planet. But he was a realist, and knew that he might not have that luxury. Regardless of whether she was his or not—he wanted what was best for her.

His mind ran through fantasy scenario after fantasy scenario. He had an incredibly clear image in his mind of him and Brittany together—and it was perfect.

Andrew sat up in his bed. He knew that Brittany was the kind of girl who wanted to be in a relationship. He also knew that he wasn’t the only guy who liked her—he knew that Kane wasn’t finished trying. If he was going to man up and make a move, he was going to have to call sooner rather than later—knowing that Brittany was currently single.

He picked up the phone and took a deep breath.

“You can do it Andrew,” he told himself. “You have nothing to lose and everything to gain.”

He looked down at his phone and pulled open his contacts.

“Just do it. Just bite your tongue and do it,” he told himself again.

He dialled the number and held the phone up to his ear. Then, he waited—and he waited. He took a long, deep breath.

And then, after a moment—the ringing sound cut off as someone on the other end picked up.

“Hello?” a female voice said.

“Hey,” Andrew said.

“Who is this?”

“It’s Andrew.”

“Do you know an Andrew?” the woman asked someone.

“Yeah,” Andrew heard a faint voice say in the background.

“One second,” the girl said.

Andrew waited, nervously tapping his foot while the people on the other end passed off the phone.

“Hello?” a familiar voice said.

“Hey—Eric?” Andrew asked.

“Yeah, man. What’s up?” Eric replied. His voice was groggy as if he’d been woken up.

“Not a lot. What’s up with you?” Eric asked.

“Not a lot,” Andrew said.

There was a silence.

“Is that what you called to ask?” Eric asked.

“Um—No,” Andrew said.

There was another silence.

“So what did you call to ask Andrew? You know that it’s past two in the morning, right?”

“Oh—Did I wake you up?” Andrew asked.

“No—I was out playing a round of tennis—yes, you woke me up.”

“Oh, sorry.”

“What is it, Andrew? Come out with it.”

“I need your help,” Andrew said.

“With what?”

Andrew nervously tried to gather the courage to ask.

“Andrew—You have five seconds, then I’m hanging up.”

“I want to ask a girl out, but I’m scared,” Andrew said.

“The black girl in your class?”

“No—I mean Yeah. I don’t know why I said no.”

“Okay. Why are you so scared?” Eric asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Are you scared that she will hit you? Is she a scary person to you? If so, I don’t recommend asking her out.”

“No—I’m not scared like that. I’m just…”

“Scared of rejection?”

“Just scared,” Andrew said. His face was red and he was anxiously moving his legs as he admitted his flaws. He’d never confessed his fears of expressing his emotions to anyone before.

“I just don’t understand why you’re scared, dude.”

“I don’t know. What if she tells me that she doesn’t like me? What if she just goes silent? What if she starts to laugh?”

“Why would she do any of those things?” Eric asked.

“I don’t know…” Andrew said awkwardly.

“Look—The Andrew that I know wouldn’t fall for some dumb bimbo who goes silent when she’s asked a simple yes or no question. He wouldn’t go for a girl who would ever laugh in someone’s face. The Andrew that I know would never settle for anyone less than amazing. Let me ask you this—is she amazing?”

Andrew was coyly silent for a moment. “Yeah,” he said.

“And would an amazing girl tell you that she doesn’t like you?”

“I guess not.”

“If this is a girl that you picked, and for some weird reason she doesn’t like you—she’s not going to make it awkward or hard on you.”

“You think so?” Andrew asked.

“Here, let’s do an exercise to get you thinking straight—Tell me one thing about yourself that you think she might not like.”

“I’m short.”

“And tell me one thing about yourself that you think she might like.”

Andrew thought. “Um—I listen to her. I’m a good listener.”

“Okay, good—Now—Answer honestly—Do you think that this girl is a superficial enough person to dismiss you because of how many inches you extend from the ground?”

“I don’t know—No. I guess not.”

“No, of course not. I know you well enough to  know you wouldn’t go for that kind of girl. Besides, if she dismissed you because of that, you wouldn’t want to be with her anyway. Who needs a shallow whore like that?”

Andrew laughed shyly.

“And do you think that she might give you a shot, because she knows that you’re a good listener?”

“Maybe.”

“Do you see how your negative quality was just a dumb superficial trait, and your positive quality was a real feature?”

“Yeah—Yeah I guess so,” Andrew said as he thought about it. Eric was right—Brittany was a smart, sensitive person. She knew better than to dwell on superficial attributes. She herself was looking for someone who could look past her own looks—which she just so happened to be self-conscious about as well.

“Take a minute to think of all your negative qualities, and all of your positive ones—and you’ll see it’s the same thing.

Andrew bit his lip as he thought hard about what Eric was saying.

“Look man—I’ve been in long-term relationships. I’ve even been married, as you know.”

“What?” the female voice asked on the other end.

“After a couple of months, you don’t even see physical qualities. It’s like they just disappear. I’ve dated supermodels, and I broke up with them when I started to see them for who they really were. There would be no divorces in Hollywood if all people cared about was looks. Those would be the happiest mother fuckers on the planet, but they aren’t. They’re all miserable people, getting divorced every ten God damned seconds.

“Some people have the ability to just see through people’s exterior. You are one of those people. And as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been drawn to the same kinds of people. If you like her, then I know that she won’t care about how tall you are. You’re a wicked cool person, you’re funny, you have tons of great stories, and yeah—you’re a good listener. If she’s the kind of girl you think she is—the kind of girl that you want to date—then she will see those qualities. If she’s not, then who cares. Why would you want to be with that kind of girl anyway?”

“Thanks, man,” Andrew said.

“No problem. I’m going back to bed now,” Eric said.

Before Andrew could get another word in, Eric hung up.

Andrew was pumped up—feeling on top of the world. Eric’s pep talk was a success.

He looked back down at his phone and located Brittany’s number. He stared at it for a moment.

“You can do this,” Andrew muttered to himself with confidence.

He pressed dial and waited.

He waited and waited, but Brittany didn’t pick up. Instead, her phone redirected him to her answering machine.

“Hi, you’ve reached Brittany! If it’s important, shoot me a text or leave a message here. Whatever you want,” Brittany’s recorded voice said, followed by a beep.

“Uh—Hey, Brittany. This is Andrew from class. What’s up? Hope you’re doing all right. I hope that I’m not waking you up, or anything. I was just wondering if maybe—if maybe you wanted to meet up sometime. You can—I don’t know—vent some more, and I’ll be a non-judgemental listener. Or, you know, we could maybe grab a drink or something.

“But—uh—not like a date. Just as friends,” Andrew said, chickening out. Andrew’s hands were trembling with nerves as he thought of what to say next. He took a deep breath.

“No—Like a date. I’d like to go out on a date with you,” he said, manning up. “So, um—call me back and let me know. I really like you, Brittany.”

Andrew hung up the phone.

“Holy shit,” Andrew said to himself, realizing what he’d just done.

Every single second that followed that phone call lasted an entire lifetime as Andrew stared at his phone, waiting for a reply. Every single passing minute burned, worsening Andrew’s trembling nerves.

Unable to relax and unable to bare the crippling anxiety, Andrew stood up from his bed and retrieved his coat. He quickly put on his boots, and flipped his hood up onto his head. He needed to see Brittany,
face-to-face.

“We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.”

—OSCAR WILDE, LADY WINDERMERE'S FAN

CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
THE MOST EVIL OF MEMORIES

Andrew was pumped up—feeling on top of the world. Eric had successfully managed to build up Andrew’s confidence with his pep talk. Eric was right—Everything he said made complete sense.

“Some people have the ability to just see through people’s exterior. You are one of those people. And as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been drawn to the same kinds of people. If you like her, then I know that she won’t care about how tall you are. You’re a wicked cool person, you’re funny, you have tons of great stories, and yeah—you’re a good listener. If she’s the kind of girl you think she is—the kind of girl that you want to date—then she will see those qualities. If she’s not, then who cares? Why would you want to be with that kind of girl anyway?”

Andrew had practically memorized Eric’s speech as his brain mulled over it, again and again.

Andrew deserved Brittany. And as far as Andrew was concerned, Brittany deserved Andrew.

Without skipping a beat, Andrew looked back down at his phone and located Brittany’s number. He stared at it for a moment.

“You can do this,” Andrew muttered to himself with confidence. “She’ll be so happy. You’ll be so happy. You’ve got this.” Andrew’s confidence was through the roof. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt since he had taken off from India to travel the world by himself—A sense of adventure, an incredible challenge, and an incredible sense of excitement.

He pressed dial and waited.

He waited and waited, but Brittany didn’t pick up. Instead, her phone redirected him to her answering machine.

“Hi, you’ve reached Brittany! If it’s important, shoot me a text or leave a message here. Whatever you want,” Brittany’s recorded voice said, followed by a beep.

“Uh—Hey, Brittany. This is Andrew from class. What’s up? Hope you’re doing all right. I hope that I’m not waking you up, or anything. I was just wondering if maybe—if maybe you wanted to meet up sometime. You can—I don’t know—vent some more, and I’ll be a non-judgemental listener. Or, you know, we could maybe grab a drink or something.

“But—uh—not like a date. Just as friends,” Andrew said, chickening out. Andrew’s hands were trembling with nerves as he thought of what to say next. He took a deep breath.

“No—Like a date. I’d like to go out on a date with you,” he said, manning up. “So, um—call me back and let me know. I really like you, Brittany.”

Andrew hung up the phone.

“Holy shit,” Andrew said to himself, realizing what he’d just done.

Every single second that followed that phone call lasted an entire lifetime as Andrew stared at his phone, waiting for a reply. Every single passing minute burned, worsening Andrew’s trembling nerves.

Unable to relax and unable to bare the crippling anxiety, Andrew stood up from his bed and retrieved his coat. He quickly put on his boots, and flipped his hood up onto his head. He needed to see Brittany, face-to-face. 

As Andrew began to walk down the snowy late night streets, he was unaware of the pair of eyes watching him from afar.

Kane sat in his rusty old black mustang, a block away from Andrew’s house. Keeping his headlights turned off, Kane fired up his engine and began to quietly follow his classmate from afar.

Kane liked Andrew. Never before had he had any moral dilemma killing a vampire—but he’d never befriended one either. Andrew was a nice guy—sympathetic and funny. Kane had never stopped to think that vampires were essentially humans—they still had emotions, personalities and lives like anyone else.

But, if Andrew was the vampire responsible for killing over a dozen local townspeople, then he had to be stopped. No matter how funny, nice or sympathetic he was, his life was not worth more than the lives of the more than a dozen killed.

Kane didn’t enjoy killing. He didn’t get any pleasure out of it—not like some twisted freaks did. But Kane couldn’t bare the idea of innocent people being victimized.

Kane hated the victimization of the innocent because he was once the innocent one being victimized. He was the victim of a monster worse than any vampire.

Kane was just fifteen years old when it happened—a foolish, naïve child.

When Kane was put into juvy, he was still runty looking, fresh faced kid—not a wrinkle or a facial hair on his innocent looking face. The other kids in the youth correction facility on the other hand, were anything but “innocent” or “fresh-faced”. It also didn’t help that Kane was half the size of the other kids.

Kane’s arrival was met with glaring eyes—an easy target for the kids looking to display their dominance.

Kids who went to juvy weren’t like Kane. Kane was an introvert—he was independent. He was a victim of naivety. When Kane took his father’s car out onto the street, he never stopped to think he was breaking any rules—at least, not any serious ones that would get him locked away.

Kane quickly learned that juvy had a hierarchy. There was an unwritten leader-board, and Kane was at the very bottom of it. The unspoken point system was misguided at best. Physical fights were as regular as mealtime, and usually served no real purpose—like a pack of rabid, misguided wolves.

Within hours of arriving, Kane’s nose was broken, and he’d received two black eyes, as well as a split lip. The reason: a group of older kids wanted to make sure Kane knew that they were above him in the cruel micro-society. The next day, Kane’s face was pushed into a cement wall—re-breaking his nose, re-splitting his lip and scraping the skin off of one of his cheeks. The reason: one of the kids “hated his boyish face”.

The staff at the facility turned a blind eye to the youthful violence. They were all jaded from years of unsuccessful rehabilitation. Whenever someone was released from juvy, they found themselves in prison within a year. Liberal pressure from activists forced a change of regulations on the youth correctional facility. The staff were no longer allowed to put kids into isolation cells, or even use force in self-defence. As a result, they had zero respect. Kids knew that they could walk all over them, and the staff couldn’t do jack-shit about it.

After a few days in the facility, Kane had lost count of how many times he’d been beaten. On a number of occasions, he was beaten so badly that he should have been sent to the hospital. But the facility staff didn’t let him go. Sending someone to the hospital almost certainly would have gotten the activist’s attention—which meant more protesting and more negative media.

Instead, Kane received medical attention from the facility’s medical supervisor—an old lady with absolutely no formal medical training.

Kane was a strong kid—but daily beatings would get to anyone. One afternoon, during a recess, Kane found a spot far away from the other kids—behind a back stairwell, near the facility’s dumpster. He sat down, planted his face into his hands, and he cried.

That afternoon, Kane learned a lesson no child should ever have to learn.

A pair of brothers—Peter Riley and Kyle Riley found the crying Kane. Out of every kid in that facility, the Riley brothers were the most brutal, and the most unsympathetic. They were also the most feared—the top of the twisted juvenile food chain.

Peter and Kyle were the twin sons of bank manager, Philip Riley. They were the vilest, most disgusting children to ever grace the planet earth.

When they were born, they were seemingly normal. Philip and his wife Deborah were both very loving people. They’d read every single book on parenting, and they’d attended every single parenting class. Philip, who was an incredibly successful day trader at the time, even quit his lucrative job for something more casual—so he could spend more time at home, being a parent.

Philip was the way every rich person should be. He gave what he didn’t need to charities, and he didn’t weigh the quality of his life with dollar bills. He was happy taking a step back for a chance to spend more time with his family, even though he did keep a chunk of his fortune to keep the things he enjoyed in life, like a good cigar, or a nice steak.

Philip grew up in a poor, but happy family. When he first moved out, he worked his ass off to make a career for himself. After a few years of hard work he made his first million dollars. The day he looked at his bank balance and saw that seventh digit was the same day he realized he was a happier person when there were only a mere four digits on the screen.

Philip was blessed with intelligence—the real kind of intelligence—not the textbook kind. He never actually finished high school. But he knew his way around life—and he knew his way around the economy. When he started giving to charities, he cleverly involved major corporations—gaining public support and urging the companies to match his donations. He knew exactly what to say to big-shot CEOs to get them on board. When Philip Riley donated one hundred thousand dollars to a charity, his persuasive influence turned it into a million.

Philip and Deborah were happy, wealthy and kind people. When the baby twins, Peter and Kyle turned two, Deborah gave birth to their third child—Vanessa.

Then, the recession hit.

Half of Snowbrooke lost their jobs. The bank Philip worked at was hit hard—but managed to stay open. The CEO of Philip’s bank pressured him to let a few employees go. Instead, Philip hired three more, including my father. He kept the hires secret, and he paid them under the table with money he made trading stocks from his personal computer—and money from his savings.

Philip and Deborah assumed they would be fine—but the recession was worse than they’d expected, and it didn’t seem to end.

When Peter and Kyle turned five, the Rileys found themselves pinching every penny they could—using coupons to buy cheap food. Deborah wanted to tell Philip to let his secret hires go, but she knew that Philip would have rather gone himself than to have to fire good, hard-working people.