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From: Phillip Zane
Between the Masquerade and the Beast, the thin red line...
"You killed him! You--" the girl choked on tears, unable to finish. In frustration she kicked Phillip's leg, pretty hard, he thought. It almost actually hurt.
"Hey," he said. "Quit that. I don't know what you're talking about." He didn't recognize the girl. Her hair was flying all around, done up in those little tiny braids with what were probably extensions. Her makeup was smeared with crying, too much of it for her age, which he estimated at fifteen. Phillip didn't know what to do with the girl. His mind went fast now, so he had time to try to figure it out, but it wasn't any use, he didn't have a clue. "Look, I don't want to hit you, but shut up about killing people, ok? I don't need that." She quieted, but kept crying. With her anger in check, desperation loomed larger, and the tears took on a hysterical note, hitting a protective nerve with Phillip. "Hey," he continued in a completely different tone. "Is there anything I can do? To help?"
She sniffled. "Got any of the stuff?"
Phillip's mood shifted again, to pitying disgust. "Fuck no. You pulled this for a fix?" He walked away. He didn't get too far, though. Not five minutes later, he heard footsteps behind him, and glanced over his shoulder to see who it was.
The girl was coming after him. Phillip didn't have the juice to spare to speed past a minor nuisance like her, so she was able to catch up. "He was gonna give me--"
"Who?" Phillip demanded, spinning to face her. She backed off, intimidated. He repeated his demand. They were in a deserted street now, two blocks from where she'd first accosted him.
"Ryan. He was my boyfriend--" She was crying again.
"I don't know any Ryan."
"I saw him with you last night, he said he was gonna score and he went over by you and that other guy--"
Phillip remembered now. This Ryan hadn't mentioned a girlfriend. Not using that word, anyway. "That Ryan? He ain't your boyfriend, maybe he's your pimp."
"I don't be no whore, you--" she burst into a string of insults, which Phillip ignored.
"Sure you're not. No junkie either, I bet. Not worrying 'bout your next fix and where you'll get it. Just sad over your true love leaving you." He smiled as sarcastically as he'd spoken.
"Leave? He didn't leave. He OD'd. Like you don't know." She scowled. "You gave him bad stuff."
Phillip had to struggle not to laugh. "I'm no dealer. I don't touch the stuff to use or sell. You've got me mixed up with another guy Ryan talked to last night." Part of him wanted to tell her to leave him alone, but another part wanted to do something for her. She was trouble; she was in trouble. Which one would win out?
There were two ways he could lose the game his existence had now become. One was to get too soft, and get caught. The vampires would kill him to keep their secrets, no question of that. The other was to get too hard. There was an enemy inside that was as implacable as the ones outside. He was caught between the poles, and he had a fine line to walk for the rest of his existence. When he stepped off that line, that'd be the end.
This girl was a test, a dilemma. Too soft or too hard? Help her or ditch her? Which would it be?