"Like what?" I asked, confused.

"First of all," he said, with a sly smile, "we have to kill you!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

I SPENT MY LAST WEEKEND SAYING silent good-byes. I visited every one of my favorite spots: library, swimming pool, cinema, parks, soccer field. I went to some of the places with Mom or Dad, some with Alan Morris or Tommy Jones. I would have liked to spend time with Steve but couldn't bear to face him.

I got the feeling, every so often, that I was being followed, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. But whenever I turned to look, nobody was there, Eventually I put it down to nerves and ignored it.

I treated every minute with my family and friends as if it was special. I paid close attention to their faces and voices, so I would never forget. I knew I'd never see these people again and that tore me apart inside, but it was the way it had to be. There was no going back.

They could do nothing wrong that weekend. Mom's kisses didn't embarrass me, Dad's orders didn't bother me, Alan's stupid jokes didn't annoy me.

I spent more time with Annie than with anybody else. I was going to miss her the most. I gave her piggyback rides and swung her around by the arms and took her to the soccer field with me and Tommy. I even played with her dolls!

Sometimes I felt like crying. I'd look at Mom or Dad or Annie and realize how much I loved them, how empty my life would be without them. I had to turn aside at moments like that and take long, deep breaths. A couple of times that didn't work and I rushed away to cry in private.

I think they guessed something was wrong. Mom came into my room that Saturday night and stayed for a long time, tucking me into bed, telling me stories, listening to me talk. It had been years since we'd spent time together like that. I felt sorry, after she'd gone, that we hadn't had more nights like this.

In the morning, Dad asked if there was anything I wanted to discuss with him. He said I was a growing young man and would be going through lots of changes, and he'd understand if I had mood swings or wanted to go off by myself. But he would always be there for me to talk to.

"You'll be there, but I won't be!" I felt like crying, but I kept quiet, nodded my head, and thanked him.

I behaved as perfectly as possible. I wanted to leave a fine final impression, so they would remember me as a good son, a good brother, a good friend. I didn't want anybody thinking badly of me when I was gone.

Dad was going to take us out to a restaurant for dinner that Sunday, but I asked if we could stay home to eat. This would be my last meal with them and I wanted it to be special. When I was looking back on it in later years, I wanted to be able to remember us together, at home, a happy family.

Mom cooked my favorite food: chicken, roast potatoes, corn on the cob. Annie and me had freshly squeezed orange juice to drink. Mom and Dad shared a bottle of wine. We had strawberry cheesecake for dessert. Everybody was in a good mood. We sang songs. Dad cracked terrible jokes. Mom played a tune with a pair of spoons. Annie recited a few poems. Everybody joined in for a game of charades.

It was a day I wished would never end. But, of course, all days must, and finally, as it always does, the sun dropped and the darkness of night crept across the sky.

Dad looked up after a while, then at his watch. "Time for bed," he said. "You two have school in the morning."

"No," I thought, "I don't. I don't have school ever again." That should have cheered me up but all I could think was: "No school means no Mr. Dalton, no friends, no soccer, no school trips."

I delayed going to bed as long as I could. I spent forever taking off my clothes and putting on my pajamas; longer still washing my hands and face and brushing my teeth. Then, when it could be avoided no longer, I went downstairs to the living room, where Mom and Dad were talking. They looked up, surprised to see me.

"Are you all right, Darren?" Mom asked.

"I'm fine," I said.

"You're not feeling sick?"

"I'm fine," I assured her. "I just wanted to say good night." I put my arms around Dad, then kissed him on the cheek. Next I did the same with Mom. "Good night," I said to each.

"This is one for the books." Dad laughed, rubbing his cheek where I had kissed him. "How long since he kissed the two of us good night, Angie?"

"Too long." Mom smiled, patting my head.

"I love you," I told them. "I know I haven't said it very often, but I do. I love the both of you and always will."

"We love you, too," Mom said. "Don't we, Dermot?"

"Of course we do," Dad said.

"Well, tell him," she insisted.

Dad sighed. "I love you, Darren," he said, rolling his eyes in a way he knew would make me laugh. Then he gave me a hug. "Really I do," he said, serious this time.

I left them then. I stood outside the door a while, listening to them talk, reluctant to depart.

"What do you think brought that on?" Mom asked.

"Kids," Dad snorted. "Who knows how their minds work?"

"There's something up," Mom said. "He's been acting oddly for some time now."

"Maybe he's got a girlfriend," Dad suggested.

"Maybe," Mom said, but didn't sound convinced.

I'd lingered long enough. I was afraid that if I waited any longer, I might rush into the room and tell them what was really the matter. If I did, they'd stop me from going ahead with Mr. Crepsley's plan. They'd say that vampires weren't real and fight to keep me with them, in spite of the danger.

I thought of Annie and how close I'd come to biting her, and knew I must not let them stop me.

I trudged upstairs to my room. It was a warm night and the window was open. That was important.

Mr. Crepsley was waiting in the closet. He emerged when he heard me closing the door. "It is stuffy in there," he complained. "I feel sorry for Madam Octa, having had to spend so much time in…"

"Shut up," I told him.

"No need to be rude," he sniffed. "I was merely making a comment."

"Well, don't," I said. "You might not think much of this place but I do. This has been my home, my room, my closet, ever since I can remember. And I'm never going to see it again after tonight. This is my last little while here. So don't bad-mouth it, all right?"

"I am sorry," he said.

I took one long last look around the room, then sighed unhappily. I pulled a bag out from underneath the bed and handed it to Mr. Crepsley. "What is this?" he asked suspiciously.

"Some personal stuff," I told him. "My diary. A picture of my family. A couple of other things. Nothing that will be missed. Will you watch it for me?"

"Yes," he said.

"But only if you promise not to look through it," I said.

"Vampires have no secrets from each other," he said. But, when he saw my face, he shrugged. "I will not open it," he promised.

"All right," I said, taking a deep breath. "Do you have the potion?" He nodded and handed over a small dark bottle. I looked inside. The liquid was dark and thick and foul-smelling.

Mr. Crepsley moved behind me and laid his hands on my neck.

"You're sure this will work?" I asked nervously.

"Trust me," he said.

"I always thought a broken neck meant people couldn't walk or move," I said.

"No," he replied. "The bones of the neck do not matter. Paralysis only happens if the spinal cord a long nerve running down the middle of the neck breaks. I will be careful not to damage it."

"Won't the doctors think it's strange?" I asked.

"They will not check," he said. "The potion will slow your heart down so much, they will be sure you are dead. They will find the broken neck and put two and two together. If you were older, they might go ahead with an autopsy. But no doctor likes cutting a child open.