Aster

      I sometimes wished I could set fire to all my memories and build a new life from the ashes. Either that, or die in the flames. I guess karma had been listening at the time, because there it was. They were destroying the old church, and the cemetery along with it. The pickup truck was already hauling out debris, and two guys wearing helmets taking sledgehammers to the graves. Some of them had been enormous, small pillars that would loom over you in the night.

      There was the one he’d been left on. His final spot of life was being obliterated. I should have been glad, glad to be rid of some of the residue of his murder, but I couldn’t bring up much more feeling than empty bitterness. It would be like it never happened, and as amazing that would be; it would be screwing over the memory of one of the best friends I ever had. So honestly, this wasn’t setting fire to the memories, this was flicking the match onto my own pyre. The pyre that I realized I’d been building for myself.

      I shook myself and walked back along the street I came from. I had just gotten back to Cincinnati, the city of my youth. Already I was ruining the stay for myself here. The only reason I had come back in the first place was because my mother had met my father here. He was the only family member that I knew of. My grandparents had died before my mom had, and my mother was an only child.

      So was I.

      I wouldn’t find him here by any chance, but at least I could live in the connection with my one living parent. I wished… I didn’t know what I wished. I wished my mom was alive, I wish I knew my dad. I wanted Jamie here, but no wishing would ever get him back. I wished this world was normal. I wished that I hadn’t been stupid. I wished I hadn’t wanted so desperately to be cool. Nothing would ever change with me. I could feel my eyes start to redden just waiting there. Waiting for something special to happen like the little shit I was. I realized that I had stopped walking and was staring at the ruins again. Standing in front of them was bringing back bad memories, bad, bad memories. So I turned and finally hurried away.

      I spotted a Starbucks that hadn’t been there during my time living here, and hurried towards it, desperate for something that wouldn’t bring me back to my teenage years.

      I walked into the Starbucks, but backed out as soon as I saw the line. No matter my desperation for something new, I was not waiting that long for some overpriced drink. If I remembered correctly, there was a locally owned coffee shop down the street. The local shop was cheaper, anyway, and farther from the graveyard. As I walked, I saw a few help wanted signs around and made a mental note in my head. I would be fine right now, but I was running out of money.

      That’s what happens when you’re an English major, and a Classic lit minor. I hadn’t wanted to be a rich man, just a happy one. Like that would ever come about.

      I ordered my latte and sat down outside on one of the benches. I could still hear the construction going on from this distance away. I would never be rid of it. No matter what I smoked or drank.

      I leaned my head back and sighed. My first day in Cincinnati was going great. I had to fucking freshen up the sidewalk down memory lane. So now I’m here, fighting back tears.

      Someone sat down next to me, and I turned to give them as cool a look as I could manage.

      “Are you Aster?” he asked, ignoring my look. I looked him up and down. He was wearing casual, but nice, clothes that brought out the blue in his dark eyes. He didn’t look like a druggie. His ash blond hair, was mussed, but like he styled it that way.

      “Who are you, and why do you want to know?” This was the safest option I could think of-of course the most cliché, but still. He smiled. Damn. His smile could make straight guys curve.

      “My name is Eli, Eli Cunningberg. I’ve actually been trying to track you down for a very long time” What the fuck. Like actually, what the fuck? I take back what I thought about his smile, he’s a fucking stalker.

      “Um” I shifted in my seat “I think…” I started again “Who are…” I couldn’t force the words out of my mouth

      “Eli” he interjected.

      My tears were gone. I was done. I was ready to know the hell was going on. “You know what?” I snarked, “I don’t care who you are. I want to know why the fuck you were stalking me, and tracked me down to here.” I snorted, “Why the hell are you here?” His face went serious, and he shifted in his seat, crossing one leg over the other.

      “I have some information about the circumstances of your friend’s death.” He shrugged. “Quite odd, wouldn’t you say? I mean-” he cleared his throat “-he died from blood loss, didn’t he? And his jugular was carved up as if a wild cougar had gone at it.” He fixed me a look that I unnervingly couldn’t turn away from. “The gang you two had been affiliated with tended to used guns, and no trace of anyone except you and him had been found. What killed him wasn’t a gun.” He cocked his head, “It was something much more personal than that.”

      I choked. “Are you trying to say that I killed him?” Eli’s face crumpled in amusement, and he let out a clear ringing laugh.

      “No, I’m saying something extraordinary did. Something that you won’t acknowledge and that the police can’t track, that almost nobody can track!” He uncrossed his legs and turned to fully face me. “I think that your friend was slaughtered by a vampire. And I want to know why you survived.”