Without Fear

The other day, a friend of mine asked me what I know now, if I had it to do all over again.

I had started, as I meant to continue, without missing a beat. "I'd pay more attention in math, I said.

My friend looked at her plate, then again at me. "I think that's an alternate reality, she said, not the real one.

"No, I swear," I said, "isn't it? You could've passed calculus just by taking the extra credit, but you opted out. And then you had to take it in the summer."

"It's not an alternate reality, she said.

"It is, I said, "because if it weren't, you'd have the certificate to prove you'd passed the class. I smiled at her expression of disbelief. I know, I know, I said. I'm just making stuff up. What about you? What would you do again?

"I wouldn't take the job in New York, she said. I wouldn't have decided to take it, if it wasn't for what happened later.

"I don't get it, I said. "What happened later? You should've just gone to New York.

The look on her face made me wish I hadn't said that. "My boyfriend," she said. "He died. In my arms."

I stared at her. You hadn't gone to New York yet, I said. "How do you know he died in your arms?

"Because even though I broke up with him, I had still been talking to him like I used to, online or by phone. And he called me a few days before he disappeared. He said he had something to tell me, and I thought maybe it was that he was going to New York with me. I even let him know it was okay if he had already found someone else to go with, because I wasn't going to hold that against him.

She sighed. "And then I heard about the bodies on campus, and I called him. And he said he'd been attacked. And even though I couldn't see anything in the background, the tone of his voice, he sounded terrified. Terrified of whatever had done this to him. I didn't even ask how he was, if he'd be okay, because I could tell, I knew that he wouldn't. I could tell just by his voice.

I looked away. "So what did you say?" I said.

"I said that I would stay on the line with him, that I wouldn't hang up, no matter what. And then I heard the sounds in the background. I heard the screams. I heard the thumping of something heavy being dropped. Then I heard the bloodcurdling scream. The scream I heard over the phone when I was begging him not to do what he was going to do."

"And that's when you hung up," I said.

She nodded. "But I called back. I called back over and over again."

"And he never answered," I said.

She shook her head. "No," she said. "They found the body the next day. He was dead. They'd drained him and left him in his bedroom. His neck was snapped, and he lived up to the end. He lived, knowing that that was how he was going to die."

I stared at her, my mind whirring away fast. "And then why did you still go to New York?" I said.

"Because I wanted to," she said. "Because I'd already promised I would. Because the police found out that the killer was a vampire, and that's what got me thinking. Because I needed to know why my boyfriend had called me to tell me for the last time that he had something to say. I needed to know what he wanted me to know, I needed to be there. So I went to his apartment to talk to his roommate.

I had thought he just wanted to go to sleep, but when I mentioned New York, I found out he'd been planning to go with me. But I didn't ask him why he hadn't gone. I knew he couldn't. He had some answers, though. I don't think he knew that the killer was a vampire, but he knew something was wrong.

Like he said, he had meant to tell me what he knew, but then he heard me on the phone, and he waited until I hung up before he said something. He said it was creepy, what was happening. He said that he was going to have to move out of his own place before long. He said, I hope my roommate's ready.

"I know he meant it to sound funny, but it was more than just funny. It was what he had said. I know now that he was being serious, that he was leaving his own place. That night, he didn't sleep, that I know because I was up in the room above and I could hear him. But he was thinking, I hope his roommate's ready.

I couldn't sleep, and I couldn't fall asleep, because I knew he couldn't. That he was going to die and I would never see him again. I couldn't stand not knowing why he'd called me, why he'd said to wait for him because it was urgent. He would never get to say what he had to say. I would never know.

"The next day, I knew that I had to come up with a plan, but I didn't know how to go about it. I figured that if the killer was a vampire, there was really only one thing I could do. I figured that since the police knew the killer was a vampire, that maybe I could convince them to let me drive him there.

I figured that I could gather my courage and call him and tell him that I would go with him if he let me. But then one day, as I was in the room above, I looked over at the poster of him on the wall.

It was just as he had left it. The posters that I had cut out, the posters of him standing there, kissing me. I don't know why, but I looked at that poster, and I could see his face. I could sense his presence, what he was thinking, what he was feeling when he had left that poster of me there.

And I thought, maybe I could do the same. I could tell them the truth. I could get him to let me go with him, and I could tell him he shouldn't be afraid. I would get him to let me go with him, and I would tell him I would make it up to him."