Forever Dark: Book 1 of the Forever Dark Series

Chapter 15 - Fangs

I walked in the front of the library and out the back. Three blocks later, I was heading down Fifth Avenue. It only had one nightclub and a tavern, so it wasn't as nasty as Fourth. I passed the one screen theater that played nothing but foreign movies, a New Age massage parlor, and a vegan sandwich shop. They were all closed.

A bald punk in a ripped-up leather jacket leaned against a lamppost, smoke curling from the cigarette between his lips. He had to be at least thirty. The punk whistled and said, “Hey, baby! Lookin' for trouble?”

I clutched my backpack and hurried past him to Faith's run-down apartment building. The sign read OCEAN ARMS. The door was locked. I rang the bell marked WELDON.

Faith's voice crackled over the intercom. “Cin, is that you?”

“Yeah, let me in before I get raped!”

The door buzzed. I yanked it open, making sure it shut behind me. Inside the mustard yellow lobby, paint peeled off the walls and most of the mailboxes had been broken into. I climbed the creaking steps to the third floor.

"Rargh!" A corpse-faced creature dressed in black jumped from the shadows.

I screamed.

The creature laughed. It was Faith in full Goth mode, complete with Dracula cape.

“Damn it,” I said. “You scared me!”

“That's kind of the point.” Faith grinned, revealing a set of fangs. She opened the door to her apartment and did a sweeping bow, motioning for me to go in. In her best Transylvanian accent, she said, "Vel-come, my friend! Enter of your own free vill."

Faith joking about being a vampire had to be a good sign.

Her shoebox apartment was nothing like her old house. The white and gold fleur-de-lis wallpaper was faded, and the overhead light made the combined living room/kitchenette a sort of dim yellowy-orange.

“Guess who showed up?” Faith said to her mom.

Pam Weldon came out of the kitchenette to greet me. “Cindy! It's nice to see you again.”

I smiled back. “Hi, Mrs. Weldon.”

“Please,” she said, “you know better. It's Pam.” She gave me a big hug, overwhelming me with the smell of cheap perfume and cigarettes. Faith's mom had lost a lot of weight and her once-brown hair was fried blonde with dark roots. She wore a lot of makeup and her clothes were too young and tight.

“So how've you been?” I asked.

“Keeping busy,” Pam said. “We've been through some tough times,”—she eyed her daughter—“but some good ones, too.”

Faith's cape rustled as she threw an arm around my shoulders. “Mom's a bartender at Mack's Tavern. Between tips and child support, we do all right.”

“We'll do even better once Faith gets a job,” Pam said. “By the way, honey, did you fill out those job applications like you promised?”

“Well, I started to,” she admitted, “but I had homework and dinner, and Cin's here now. I'll finish 'em later.”

Pam sighed. “Fine, but I expect them done by breakfast. And tomorrow, after school, I want you to turn them in. All of them.”

Faith rolled her eyes. “Yes, Mom.”

“And wear something appropriate,” Pam added. “You can dress however you want on your own time, but when you work for someone else, you have to look the part.”

Faith practically pushed Pam toward the door. “That's really helpful and all, but you're gonna be late for work.”

Pam winked at me. “See what you can do with her for me, will ya?”

As soon as her mom was in the hallway, Faith shut the door behind her.

I grinned nervously. “Got anything to drink?”

Faith grabbed us each a beer. I popped mine and looked around the room. There was a beat-up, ugly couch in the center with a cheap wooden coffee table covered in homework and fast food wrappers. The only thing that looked new was a flat screen TV. Faith's horror DVDs and paperbacks were stacked in the open cabinet beneath.

I dug through her movie collection and saw a bunch of weird ones: The Fourth Kind, From Beyond, and Lifeforce. They were mixed in with normal stuff like Final Destination 5.

“You wanna watch something?” Faith asked. “I just got Cannibal Apocalypse."

“Sounds like a real gut-ripper.”

She flopped on the couch and cracked her beer. “Hell yeah! It's like a weird cross between vampires and zombies because whoever the cannibals bite start craving human flesh.”

I took a look at the box. The cover showed a man's stomach exploding and promised "Relentless Action . . . Brutal Terror . . . Savage Hunger!" I put the DVD back with the rest. “Maybe later. Can I see your room?”

“Sure. You're standing in it.” Faith patted the lumpy couch. “This is my bed.” She motioned to a door on the right. “My mom sleeps in there.”

“Wow. So this place must be pretty cheap, huh?”

“It's pretty something,” Faith said. “Your house is a castle compared to this.”

I shrugged and sat next to her. “It's all right, but my parents fight a lot. Mostly, it's my mom who starts it.”

Faith sipped her beer. “Some things never change. At least she's not bringing home strange guys.”

“Really?” I asked. “Your mom does that?”

“Not every night, but at least a couple times a month. The walls are pretty thin.”

I choked on my beer. “You mean you actually hear them doing it?”

“Yeah,” Faith said. “I put my earbuds in and go back to sleep.”

“Wow. And the guys just walk through your room?”

Faith clicked a purple-painted fingernail against her fangs. “The teeth scare off most of 'em.”

“What about the rest?”

She winced, and I could tell I'd struck a nerve. “There was this one guy, a real creeper. I woke up with him touching my boobs.”

“No way!” I said. “What'd you do?”

“What do you think I did? I screamed! The bastard said he was 'tucking me in.' I threw my alarm clock and busted him up pretty bad. And get this: my mom was mad at me!"

“What?” I said. “Why?”

“Because it's easier to think your daughter's trying to seduce your boyfriend than to believe you're dating a child molester.” Faith finished her beer and threw the can at the kitchenette. It missed the recycling bin and bounced off the wall.

“I'm sorry. That must be really hard.” I'd always liked Pam, but knowing what she'd done to Faith, I could never look at her the same. Maybe all Moms were selfish in their own way.

“I'm over it,” Faith said. “Well, pretty much. And my life's not all bad. Sure, this apartment sucks, and my mom's annoying, but in here,”—she tapped her heart—“I'm good. I've got peace. Hey, what do you say we crank some tunes?”

“Sure. How about some Bauhaus?”

“Nah, I've got something better.” She pulled out her laptop covered in Goth band stickers, clicked a file, and turned up the volume.“Everyday Is Halloween” came over the speakers.

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