The Twilight of Lake Woebegotten (25 page)

“They helped me,” I said. “Even though they know I’m close with you. I think you don’t give them enough credit. But then, I know they don’t give
you
enough credit. I can’t help but think it could be worked out if you could sit down and talk a while.”

“The fact that if they get angry in our presence they turn into giant bears makes negotiating a bit fraught,” Edwin said. “I think our current state of détente is the best we can hope for.” He nuzzled me.

“Are you sorry Gretchen’s dead?” I asked. “I know you must have cared for her, once.”

He sighed. “Gretchen was… passionate. Fiery. She had a lot of appeal to me at one point in my life, but she was, hmm, all sizzle, no steak? There was nothing
there
, underneath—just emptiness, need, hunger. Even when she was alive. That became magnified when she turned. She was intolerable, really. I regret what she did to herself, what she became, but no, I wouldn’t say I miss her. The woman I cared about never actually even existed. She only
pretended
to be what you truly are, Bonnie: my truest of true true loves.”

Given that my entire life is a series of carefully constructed masks, that was kind of funny, but the thing was, I loved Edwin, as well as I could, as much as I was able, more than I’d ever imagined loving anyone else—so I’d keep on the mask he saw when he looked at me forever, if I had to. Maybe eventually it would become my true face.

“So this vampire who turned Gretchen,” I said, trying to sound only vaguely interested. “Is that something you guys
do
? Turn people in exchange for cash or prizes?”

“Vampires are like people. Some of us are monstrous and avaricious. I’m not acquainted with the one who turned her. It wasn’t either of the ones she traveled with, at any rate. I gather he lives back east, somewhere.”

Hmm. Not exactly the name and phone number I’d been hoping for. Ten years of hellish service didn’t sound fun, and going that route hadn’t worked out well for Gretchen, but I’m all about contingency plans. Now that I knew I
could
become a vampire, there was no way I wasn’t going to at least
try
, whatever it took. “What happened to Queequeg and—Jimmy, was it?”

“Jimmy isn’t a bad sort. For a man-eater, that is. He seemed intrigued by our lifestyle, and took no part in Gretchen’s revenge hunt. We sent him up to Canada, where there’s another group of vampires like us, way out in Newfoundland—it’s easier to be a vegetarian there, as there are scarcely any
people
. He says he’ll give our lifestyle a try. And Queequeg, well. Hermet was quite cross about Gretchen eluding us, and I’m afraid he took it out on Queequeg.”

“Wow. Is he dead?”

“Indubitably. I’ll spare you the gory details.”

I
like
the gory details, but I didn’t say so. “So we’re safe now?”

“Yes,” Edwin said. “Safe, and together, which is all I want, ever. Oh, Bonnie: I have a surprise for you. This Saturday night, I’m taking you somewhere.”

“Where? Our long-awaited trip to the mythical palatial Twin Cities?”

“It would hardly be a surprise if I told you, now would it?”

I might have tried to pry it out of him, but I got the sense he was chafing a bit at his utter lack of control—the fact that he hadn’t
saved
me, that I’d been forced to (gasp! horror!) save
myself
—and wanted to assert some manly prerogative, so I smiled like a good little girlfriend and said, “I can’t wait to find out!”

Going back to school after Gretchen’s dismemberment and so on was fairly surreal. I kept expecting to see bears come trundling through the parking lot, or to be scooped up and rushed through the halls at 70 miles per hour on foot. Mundane life was both disappointing and kind of a relief. I like excitement, but mostly only when I’m somehow directing that excitement. Edwin wasn’t the only one who liked being in control sometimes. Aren’t you impressed by my level of self-awareness?

I hung out with J and Kelly and Ike and the others more than usual—Edwin missed a day or two of school because of excessive sunniness. They were all atwitter about going to the Fall Formal. School dances are so lame, and I’d seen their dresses during our trip to Bemidji, so I knew it wasn’t going to be a fashion extravaganza.

Then Saturday afternoon came, and when I got out of the shower, what should I find stretched out on my bed but… a formal gown. Not an ugly sequined mess, at least, but a very elegant, white, long dress with delicate beading and a low neckline. It was a
little
bit too close to the wedding dress end of the continuum for my taste, but pretty. “What in the heck?” I murmured, having picked up the not-quite-swearing mannerism from my dad and just about everyone else in this town.

“Do you like it?” Edwin stepped out of my closet, dressed in an elegant black tuxedo. He looked like the lead in a historical drama, the one all the ladies would desperately want to marry. “Pleasance helped me pick it out.”

“It’s beautiful,” I said. “I just hope this isn’t your way of proposing?”

“If I were biologically capable of blushing, I would do so now,” he said, smiling. “But, no, Bonnie—when I propose marriage to you, it will be far more direct than laying a dress out on your bed.”

When
you propose
, I thought. Well, well. Wasn’t that an interesting choice of words.

“For now,” he said, “I would be delighted beyond reason if you would agree to accompany me to the social event of the season—the Lake Woebegotten High Fall Formal.”

“Maybe,” I said. “Depends. Did you get me a corsage?”

“I did.”

“Will we be going somewhere fabulous for dinner first?”

“Insofar as the dining establishments of Lake Woebegotten will allow.”

“Is there a limousine?”

“Of course there is.”

“Will there be booze?”

“I brought a flask just for you, as I, myself, do not partake, and of course, the punch will almost certainly be spiked at some point.”

“Sounds like the closest thing to fun I’ve heard about yet in this town,” I said. “Then I agree.”

“I’ll pick you up at six,” he said, and kissed my cheek, and disappeared out the window. It’s not every day you see a guy in a full tuxedo leap right out of a second-story window. Life sure is hard to predict sometimes.

I feel like I’ve built up certain expectations here: including my being kind of a catty bitch. Well, and why not? Most people don’t deserve my notice at all, so in a way, they’re lucky to even get my mockery. So part of me is tempted to give you an avalanche of snark: about the cheesy high-school-gym party atmosphere; about the girls and their ugly dresses; about the ridiculous “family restaurant” where we had our oh-so-fancy dinner, because nothing goes better with ball gowns than paper napkins; about the lousy band and the hideous dancing by the chaperones, almost all teachers from the school. And if I did that, it would all be true.

But it’s not the important truth. Because every day of life is full of petty stupidities and abominable crassness, and those are commonplace, and thus unworthy of notice and mention (unless they’re especially funny stupidities).

But it’s not every night you get to dance with your true love, the most beautiful and enthralling being on Earth, just days after consigning his horrible ex-girlfriend to a miserable and violent death. On a night like that, the moonlight seems like a spotlight from heaven shining down on you. On a night like that, every song that plays is your song (even when it’s, say, “Open Arms” by Journey or “Cold as Ice” by Foreigner.)

On a night like that, when you kiss that boy, and he holds you in his arms, it’s possible to feel like the world doesn’t deserve to be burned to ashes, the soil sowed with salt, and the survivors hunted down like vermin.

So, yes: the dance was a beautiful dance, and life was a beautiful life, and I don’t have a bad thing to say about it, because nothing bad was bad enough to even slightly diminish the good.

At least, not until I went outside.

I’m going to tell you about my conversation with Mr. Levitt, and in some detail, because it turns out, even though I thought he was just a sadistic bastard, the things he said to me in the parking lot were also actually foreshadowing, and since this journal is just as much a work of literature as the diary of some Dutch girl in an attic, or those people Henry Miller and Anaïs Nin from that Jewel song, or some crazy reclusive millionaire from a million years ago, I might as well have some literary stuff in here too.

Edwin was the most attentive date ever, but he got to talking to his quasi-sisters—they came to the dance with Hermet and Garnett in, like, a gesture of solidarity or something—and my only options were to talk to Kelly about her drunk date or flee into the open air, so I chose the latter. I stepped out of the gym, pulling a shawl around my bare arms, because the reason they call it Fall in Minnesota is because that’s what the temperature does: brrr.

“Why, if it isn’t Miss Grayduck.” This dry old reptile voice came rasping from the shadows by the side of the gym, and I jumped a little, because it’s tough to get the drop on me; I usually know when somebody’s there, it’s called situational awareness and I totally rock at it. Pretty much the only people who didn’t ping my “somebody’s there” sensors were vampires and were-bears, and I was pretty sure
this
wasn’t either of those. More like an unwrapped mummy or a ghoul or something, going on how old he looked.

“Principal Levitt,” I said, smiling.

He stepped forward, holding a cigarette in his hands. Funny, I hadn’t seen the glow of the cigarette in the deep shadow—had he been
hiding
it, like behind his back or something? So I wouldn’t see him, or…? That seemed like… well, something I might do, if I were stalking someone, and if I smoked, which I don’t, because, ew.

“Don’t tell,” he said, smiling through yellowing old teeth. “Smoking is my only vice.” He wore a somber black suit he’d probably worn to the funerals of everybody he’d ever known (because he was so old they must all be dead already).

“It’ll be our secret,” I said. Coming outside to get away from Kelly’s blather had seemed smart, but what if I’d walked into the midst of another blather-anche? Old guys could be boring like nobody else.

“Mmm. I bet you have a lot of secrets.”

I thought about that. “I get kind of a gay vibe off you,” I said finally, “so I’m going to assume you weren’t, like, trying to flirt with me.”

“Ha.” He coughed. “Gay? Not exactly. Not anything, anymore, not at my age, but even in my youth my orientation was probably best described as… ha… ‘opportunistic.’”

“Okay then. This just got pretty creepy. I’m going back inside.”

“Do you think she screamed?” Levitt said thoughtfully.

I should have gone inside. But I said, “Who?”

“That girl. When her car went over the cliff.” He made a long low whistling sound, like a bomb dropping in a cartoon, then said, “Splash. Boom.”

“What do you want?” I said, crossing my arms.

“Just for you to know that someone knows what you are, little bird.” He flicked the cigarette away. “Now, don’t get me wrong. I don’t care that you sent some girl to her death—I made some calls, I know some people out west, did you think they didn’t even
suspect
you? They just couldn’t prove anything about the car wreck. Or prove that you drove that other girl to kill herself. But I don’t want you to be too complacent.”

“There’s nothing to prove,” I said lightly. Then I paused. “What, are you hoping to blackmail me? You want me to fuck you?”

“I’d sooner stick my todger in an ice machine,” he said.

I took a breath. “Okay. Here’s what happened. I came out to the parking lot. You came on to me, said some really inappropriate things, and I just tried to laugh it off, because you’re the principal—you’re in a position of power over me. Then you
touched
me, and I pushed you away, and then you tried to grab my tit, and that’s when I screamed for help. See? This is me screaming.” I opened my mouth to demonstrate, but he held up one finger.

“This is what happened,” he said softly. “They found you cut to pieces in the woods. Pieces here, pieces there. An anonymous tip to your grieving father, the chief of police, said a pale young man was witnessed fleeing the scene. The police searched your boyfriend Edwin’s locker at school, and what do you know? The murder weapon was in there. Along with your bloody panties. His life got… unpleasant.” He gave me a smile, like he’d just told me a joke, and my scream died in my throat. “Here’s the thing, duckling,” he said. “What you
want
to be? Always in control, always a step ahead? That’s what I really
am
. And what I
have
been, for longer than your daddy’s been alive. And I’ve
never been caught
. Never had to run away from home to live with relatives to avoid the heat, neither.” He lit another cigarette. A thousand years old or not, his hands didn’t shake a bit. “Now, people like us, we don’t get along with each other so well. Product of our intense narcissism, I guess. And this town is only so big, you see? You can’t have two tigers hunting in the same territory. Sure, our approaches are different—you kill classmates with
social media
, while I, ah, prefer a more direct approach, with transients and travelers. But still: we’re both tigers. So know I’ll be watching you. When you graduate next May, you
go
. Leave town. Stay with Mom for the summer, then go to college. But you don’t stay here, or life gets bad for you.”

“If you really know what I am,” I said, “you know you shouldn’t threaten me.”

“What, you’ll sic your boyfriend on me? His family doesn’t eat my kind anymore, which is the only reason I tolerate
that
bunch of man-eaters in my hunting range—they don’t count as murderers anymore. So what’s your pretty boy Edwin going to do, drain all the blood out of my pet
dog
?”

I stared at him. He knew. He knew about the Scullens and the Scales. Was
this
the human Edwin had talked about, the one who did favors for them? If so, maybe I could have Edwin punish him—but no. Not without telling Edwin about
this
conversation, and risking Levitt revealing things I wanted to keep secret.