3
DAWN
I follow him off the boardwalk with my heart aching against my ribs. My lungs are fighting with me as well, too tight to do much more than wheeze, but at least I can breathe — the wire didn’t crush my trachea. But I don’t really have time to think about my heart or my lungs or my sore neck or my shredded arm or my busted head; I run beside him, the salty air stinging the slashes on my arm. His hand on my elbow is hard as stone. What are you doing, Dawn?
The night on either side of the bridge envelopes us in blackness, and the dark, usually my solace, is more suffocating than comforting. I saw a vampire. Two of them. It seems an insane thing to believe, but it’s not the first time; I thought I saw a vampire the night my mother died, thought I heard a monster tearing her apart. All
