Shorty Story: An Abstract Concept

“You’ve got no idea what it’s like to be lonely,” the immortal in the backseat says. He’s already broken out of his cuffs, but that’s as far as he’s gotten. The crosses engraved on the windows and in the metal around him prevent him from using his strength to punch out of the car. “Not truly lonely.”

You don’t look back, focusing on the road. Your partner is dead next to you, throat torn out and head gently thunking against the window every time you hit a pothole. His hand is lying next to his leg,  blood filling his palm from where he tried to patch over the hole in his neck. You say, “Not a good enough reason for kidnapping seventeen innocent girls.”

The immortal raises a dark eyebrow. “If they’d been guilty, would that have been better?” The silence stretches and he scoffs when it’s clear you aren’t going to give him an answer. “Or maybe if I hadn’t been a vampire?”

“It’d’ve been better if you hadn’t broken the law,” you say. You take a left sooner than you should and, if your passengers notice the car picking up speed, neither mention it. “Or at least not done in my partner.”

“He surprised me,” the immortal says carelessly. He frowns out the window, eyes tracking the passing street signs. “Impressive stealth. I’m not easily surprised.”

You bet. According to the brief, he’s nearly two centuries old. You focus on the town’s perimeter coming up and reach over to prod your partner’s corpse. “Hey.”

“We,” the vampire says slowly, “are heading away from the station.”

You let the gas pedal touch the floor. The buildings melt away and the desert bursts out to either side of the car. Miles and miles of desert. You jab your partner with three fingers. “Hey, wake up. I’m gonna crash the car.”

“You’re what?” the vampire asked. He presses against the grate separating the front from the back. “He’s dead, talk to me, you’re what?” He appears to think very quickly. “Can I convince you not to do that?” Surrounded by crosses, he’s likely to die in a crash.

“No,” you say and take the chance to swing an elbow into your partner’s side.

Your partner snorts awake, his breath rattling hideously through the hole in his neck. He sniffles for a moment and then sneezes, spraying the windshield with a fine mist of blood. “Aw, fuck.”

“What,” the immortal says.

“Doesn’t matter,” you say, dismissing the blood that’s landed on your cheek. You jerk a thumb back. “I got him in the car.” It wasn’t hard. What’s hard is getting a vampire out of containment, which is what you want to avoid.

“Aw, fuck,” your partner says. He ribs a hand over his neck, grimacing as it comes away sticky. “You couldn’t have dropped me off first? I hate walking.” He pops the glove compartment and fishes out the duct tape. He rips off a long strip. “I told you how to patch me up for a reason, you know.”

You know. You just didn’t feel like it.  “yep.”

“Asshole,” your partner says. He twists back to where the vampire is staring at you both, eyes wide. “She read you in or what?”

“I’m still stuck on the part about a car crash,” the vampire says. He opens his mouth, closes it, and opens it again before saying, “And, of course, how you aren’t dead.”

“Abstract concepts can’t be killed,” your partner says with a grimace. He waves a hand in the air. “You know. Manuscripts don’t burn. All that jazz.”

“Bulgakov,” you say.

Your partner snaps his fingers. “Great fucking book.” He looks back to the vampire. “Anyway, you broke the law by kidnapping humans. Unfortunately, you managed to do that in a town that’s under dimensional rule. Are you familiar with dimensional rule?”

“I,” the immortal says, “am not.”

“Tourist,” you say, lip curling.

“Gotta love them,” your partner agrees. He sighs. “I won’t go into specifics, we don’t have time for that.”

“We do not,” you agree. Your mouth is starting to water at the scent of iron.

“We could,” the vampire says. He looks as if he’s begun to smell something particularly rotten. He could be cottoning onto the fact that he’s in over his head. He could be smelling you.

Hard to say.

“We don’t,” your partner says apologetically. “Dimensional rule occurs in very specific, liminal space. Spaces where liminality transcends multiple dimensions comes under dimensional rule. Do you follow?”

“I do not,” the vampire says confidently.

You snort. At least he’s honest. “Alternate dimensions exist. Time-y wime-y is already fucked up in some spots. When those spots line up across dimensions, you get a location which is technically multiple locations, but behaves as a single location.”

“Exactly,” your partner says. He pulls a notebook out of his front pocket and begins scribbling. “Be-haves as a single location... I’ll use that next time, that’s good. You’re good at explaining things.”

“Thanks,” you say. The turn off is coming up. You start to slow.

“She is,” the vampire agrees. He frowns, watching the world outside. “But I still don’t understand what dimensional rule is or how it plays into you not taking me into custody. I’m supposed to get a trial.”

“In your dimension you’d get a trial.” Your partner tucks his notebook back into his pocket. “But in some dimensions, what you did isn’t illegal. In others, it isn’t possible.” He shrugs. “You see how Liminal Nexus Towns are tricky? Everyone’s got different rules. How do we decide what punishment goes with what crime?”

“Dimensional rule,” the immortal says. His dark eyes meet yours through the mirror for a moment before they dart away. He looks unnerved. “She, uh, is she an abstract concept too?”

You wonder if your extra eyes have manifested. You wouldn’t know. Every single one of them is blind.

Your partner waves his hand. “Eh, more or less. Emphasis on the less some days, the more other days.” He squints out the front window. There’s nothing but desert. “This doesn’t look like a crash site.”

“He’s a lonely tourist,” you explain. 

“Ah,” your partner says and grins. “It’s been a while! Good for you.”

The vampire looks wildly between the two of you. “Good? What’s good? Why for her? Where did her eyes go?”

“Let’s finish talking about your sentence,” your partner says. He twists his mouth to one side and then the other. “Basically, our Liminal Nexus Town’s decided that the most, er, immutable punishment will be the agreed upon punishment under dimensional rule.”

“Immutable,” the vampire says. “I don’t like that word.”

“Between you and me, neither do I,” your partner confesses. “My dimension’s rather new, you know? We’re still at fines for murder, if you can believe it. The only immutable part of us is, well, me. Which is how I get to be here, in this car, driving you to the perfect punishment spot with her.”

You roll down the window, nostrils flaring as you try to sort through the scents. You smell mint and, on the tale end of it, decay. You love the smell of decay. It’s nostalgic. “We’re close.”

“Her dimension is pretty frickin’ immutable,” your partner tells the vampire. He sounds, as always, admiring. He’s the oldest thing in his dimension, but he’d be considered a child in yours. “Our town usually goes with her dimension’s rules. No one really minds.” He thinks for a moment. “Well, no one minds anymore.”

“Thanks to you,” you say. “Mr. Fairness.”

Your partner flushes and looks at the vampire out of the corner of his eye. “She wasn’t supposed to say that, you know. That I’m the abstract concept of Fairness. You’re not supposed to know. Neither is my dimension, really, but somebody had to explain dimensional rule to them and its benefits.”

“You did a good job,” you tell him. You bring the car to a crawl. 

“Thank you,” your partner says, flattered. “It was only because you were so patient that I had the opportunities I did.” He turns back to the immortal. “She’s great, right?” He taps his chin. “Where was I?”

“You said I’m getting her dimension’s punishment,” the vampire says tightly. He’s pressed against the back of his seat. “Which is...what? Exactly?”

You put the car in park and let it idle. Your partner is enjoying himself. You can afford to sit on your needs for a little while longer.

“Well,” you partner hedges. He looks at you. “Can I tell him about you? Please? I think it’ll help him understand his sentence.”

You consider it. The vampire is surrounded by crosses and now in an energy pocket from your dimension. He’s not getting away. You nod graciously.

“Fabulous,” your partner says. He grins at the vampire. “Lucky you! You see, in her dimension, she’s like me. An abstract concept, but also an active part of their judiciary system. As in, she’s actually their judiciary system as the physical embodiment of Justice. Cool, right?”

“The eyes,” the vampire moans, looking into yours for another brief moment before burying his head in his hands.

“Justice is blind,” you say blandly and unbuckle your seatbelt.

Your partner gets the cue and hurries up. “So she’s been around a while, right? In her own dimension so she’s become a very specific abstract concept, based entirely on her dimension’s beliefs and practices. They’re very into the concept of a Social Contract, are you familiar?”

The vampire, mutely, shakes his head.

“Uneducated,” you say. You reach for the door. “Come on, there’s no point if he’s unwilling to engage in society at this level.”

“That’s fair,” your partner admits. “But I owe him, at least, the answer to his question.”

“Fair,” you say, grudgingly. Your stomach is rumbling. “I missed breakfast.”

“Right,” your partner says. “Sorry.” He claps his hands together. “Basically, immortal, in her dimension, anyone willing to commit a crime has forfeited his or her right to exist in society since they’ve betrayed the contract that allowed them to live there in peace. So most punishments from her dimension reflect that belief.”

“Death,” you say, climbing out of the car. You lean back into the vehicle so you can meet the vampire’s eyes. “He’s saying your sentence is death.”

The vampire, if possible, pales further. “Car crash,” he says.

“Yes,” your partner says, “that was the original plan. It’s very difficult to wrangle your kind outside of the cross box. We’ve found it much easier to just crush it around you in a horrific, rolling car crash.”

“The original plan?” the vampire asks.

“Yes,” your partner says. “But then, of course, you shared a little too much information, i’m afraid. You’re alone and,” he climbs out of the car, “you’re just passing through.” He slams the door shut.

The vampire shouts through the windows. “W-wait! I have--there will be people who miss me! I didn’t mean I was alone!”

“You’re truly lonely,” you remind him. You gauge the size of the car. You’ve never attempted this before, but you’re reasonably certain you can manage. “Stand back, Fairness.”

“Just close your eyes,” Fairness advises the vampire, taking a healthy step back. “Think of something else.”

“What is she doing?” the vampire screams. He scrambles away from your side of the car. “What--what’s happening to her mouth?”

“She’s preparing to eat you,” your partner shouts to him. He jogs around the car, keeping a wide berth so he ends up behind you. “Justice must be fed with the blood of the guilty.”

You open your many mouths and feast.