He reaches for the stake and moans in pain. "Pull it out."
"No. You'll bleed to death in seconds. I can take it out only when we reach the beach. You must hold on to me so that I can swim as fast as possible. Listen to me, Seymour!"
But he is already going into shock. "Help me, Sita," he chokes.
"No!" I slap him. "Stay with me. I'll get you to shore." Then, wrapping my right arm around him, I begin to swim as fast as I can with one free arm and two boot-clad feet. But speed in the water is not Seymour's friend. As I kick toward the beach, the pressure of the passing water on the stake makes him swoon in agony. The rushing water also increases his loss of blood. Yet I feel I have no choice but to hurry.
"Stop, Sita," he gasps as he starts to faint. "I can't stand it."
"You can stand it. This time you're the hero in my story. You can write it all down later. This pain will not last and you will laugh about it in a few days. Because tonight you're going to get what you've always wanted. You're going to become a vampire."
He is interested, although he is clearly dying. The beach is still two hundred yards away. "Really?" he mumbles. "A real vampire?"
"Yes! You'll be able to stay out all night and party and you won't ever get old and ugly. We'll travel the world and we'll have more fun than you can imagine. Seymour?"
"Party," he says faintly, his face sagging into the water. Having to hold his mouth up slows me down even more but I keep kicking. I imagine an observer on the pier would think a power boat were about to ram the beach. The sand is only a hundred yards away now.
"Hang in there," I tell him.
Finally, when we are in five feet of water, I am able to put my feet down. I carry him to the beach and carefully lay him on his right side. There is no one around to help us. His blood continues to gush out around the edges of the wooden stake, at the front as well as at the back. He is the color of refined flour. He hardly breathes, and though I yell in his ear I have to wonder if he is not already beyond hearing. Already beyond even the power of my blood. The situation is worse than it was with Ray and Joel. Neither of them had an object implanted in them. Even vampire flesh cannot heal around such an object, and yet I fear I cannot simply pull it out. I feel his life will spill out with it and be lost on the cold sand.
"Seymour!" I cry. "Come back to me!"
A minute later, when all seems lost, when he isn't even breathing, my prayer is mysteriously answered. He opens his eyes and looks up at me. He even grins his old Seymour grin, which usually makes me want to laugh and hit him at the same time. Yet this time I choke back the tears. The chill on his flesh, I know, is from the touch of the Grim Reaper. Death stands between us and it will not step aside even for a vampire.
"Seymour," I say, "how are you?"
"Fine. The pain has stopped."
"Good."
"But I feel cold." A tremor shakes his body. Dark blood spills over his lips. "Is this normal?"
"Yes. It is perfectly normal." He does not feel the stake now, or even recognize how grave his condition is. He thinks I gave him my blood while he was unconscious. He tries to squeeze my hand but he is too weak. Somehow he manages to keep talking.
"Will I live forever now?" he asks.
"Yes." I bury my face in his. "Forever and ever."
His eyes close. "I will love you that long, Sita."
"Me, too," I whisper. "Me, too."
We speak no more, Seymour and I.
He dies a minute later, in my arms.
Epilogue
His body I take to a place high in the mountains where I often walked when I lived in Los Angeles. On a bluff, with a view of the desert on one side and the city on the other, I build a funeral pyre from wood I am able to gather in the immediate area. Seymour rests comfortably on top of my construction. At the beach I had removed the bloody stake and thrown it away. He is able to lie on his back and I fold his hands over his big heart.
"You," I say. "You were the best."
There is a wooden match in my right hand, but somehow I am unable to light it. His face looks so peaceful I can't stop staring at him. But I realize the day is moving on, and that the wind will soon pick up. The flames should finish their work before then. Seymour always loved the woods, and wouldn't have wanted them harmed by a raging forest fire. He loved so many things, and I was happy to be one of them.
I strike the match on the bark of a tree.
It burns bright red, and I can't help but think of Kali.
Many things pass through my mind right then.
Many question and so few answers.
Yet I let the flame burn down to my fingertips.
There is pain, a little smoke. The match dies.
And from my pocket I withdraw the vial of blood.
Number seven. Ramirez. I look up.
"What is the cost, Kalika?" I ask the sky.
After opening the vial, I pour half the blood over Seymour's wound, and the other half down his throat. Then I close my eyes and walk away and stand silently behind a tall tree for five minutes. Some mysteries are best left unexplained. My hope refuses to be crushed. I have found love and lost love, but perhaps what I have finally rediscovered is my faith in love. I stand and praynot for bliss or miraclesI simply pray and that is enough.
Finally I walk back to the funeral pyre.
Seymour is sitting up on the wood and looking at me. His fatal wound has healed.
"How did we get here?" he asks.
Of course I have to laugh. "It's a long story," I say.
But I wonder how to finish the story for him.
I still wonder who the child is.
More, I wonder who he was.