The Color of Dying

by Carlos Colon

  After searching through the medicine cabinet for some pharmaceutical assistance, Jessie somehow managed to go to bed and fall into a numbed-out fog, even with everything she’s been through tonight.

  What could she have taken that would have knocked her out like that? And why is it in her medicine cabinet? I’m almost afraid to go to the nightstand and read the label on the prescription bottle.

  The decorative lamp on her nightstand is on. She probably doesn’t want to be in the dark right now. Who could blame her?

  Her bottom lip is still quivering. Hopefully she won’t open her eyes and see the floating prescription bottle.

  Diazepam!

  Just what I feared! From working in a hospital, my pharmaceutical vocabulary is better than average—my daughter is zoned out on Valium.

  I hear Nemeth out in the living room sneaking into the garage with his cell phone. That scumbucket! He probably figures that with Jesse sound asleep he can carry on a conversation out there with his bra-busting screw-mate. Even from here I can hear her pick up on the fourth ring.

  “Listen, Naomi. I’m sorry about all that. I have no idea how that happened.”

  His top-heavy sweetheart isn’t having it. “I don’t need this shit. I’m not going to have that crazy bitch wife of yours chasing me around with a knife.”

  “Wait, listen!”

  The click on the other end seems to indicate Nemeth’s days as Naomi’s fuck buddy might be at an end. The dirtbag curses the shitty day he’s been having, probably figuring it can’t get any worse. It can.

  Nemeth closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, shaking his head in frustration over the abruptly aborted phone call. His eyes open. He’s about to exhale.

  He can’t. His heart does a two-step.

  A Latino with more than a passing resemblance to his wife magically appears before him. The shock sends Nemeth stumbling back, clumsily reaching for his tool shelf to maintain balance. It fails to do so. Apparently Nemeth’s craftsmanship is as good as his fidelity. The shelf gives way, spilling hardware supplies all over him as he falls onto the oil-stained concrete.

  Nemeth finally lets out a breath. “What the—?”

  I feel no obligation to supply any answers. I’d rather let him wrestle with his sanity, like my daughter is with hers.

  Nemeth crawls backwards on his elbows. “You...you’re supposed to be dead.”

  Yes, prick, and you’re supposed to be faithful to my daughter. “I am dead, Nemeth. Would you like to join me?” A pathetic little gasp escapes his throat. “Get up!”

  He refuses to move. Perhaps he feels safer behind the tires of his Honda CR-V.

  Nemeth’s bottom lip trembles. “What are going to do to me?”

  “Well, if you don’t get up, I’ll probably rip you apart with my bare hands.”

  Nemeth rises and backs away until he is up against the opposite wall of the garage. You’re cornered now, fucker, no place else for you to go.

  I love the smell of fear. We all do. But he probably doesn’t appreciate my scent as I bring my face closer to his (unless, of course, he likes the stench of rotted flesh).

  No need to be loud when up so close. I can speak in a whisper. “So, you know who I am.”

  “I’ve seen your pictures. But...you died like twenty-five years ago.”

  “Twenty-seven to be exact.”

  “Th-th-then...what...”

  “Just shut up and listen, Nemeth.” I’m not feeling real patient. “I’m hoping that when my daughter is over the shock about what happened today, she’ll do the sensible thing and send you out on your ass. But if she doesn’t, if she doesn’t come to you first, I want you to approach her. It doesn’t have to be tomorrow, or the next day, but soon.”

  “And do what?” His contracting vocal chords make his words come out like a squeak.

  “Did I say you could talk?”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Shut up!” My temper’s getting the best of me. “It’s very simple. I want you to dissolve your marriage.”

  “What?”

  “Interrupt me again!” Hold back, Nicky, hold back. Whoops, too late. The reflection of death, it’s in his eyeballs. Ugh! He’s prairie dogging in his shorts. Unintentional as it might have been, my death face makes it clear that there is no discussion to be had. “She gets everything, Nemeth. You understand me? Absolutely everything. Whatever she wants, the house, the cars, the vacation home, the IRA’s, the business, everything, without even a hint of protest from you. If she wants you to have nothing, then you get nothing. Understood?” His deuce works past his shorts and starts creeping down his leg. “I said is that understood?”

  “But—”

  “But what? There are no buts. Don’t you get it? Any hint of you not doing what I say...”

  His eyeballs no longer reflect the hideous anomaly that just stood before him. The monster has vanished. Was it real? Nemeth looks around desperately. He must wonder if what just happened really happened.

  His neck hairs stand up!

  A voice hums from behind. Nemeth gasps and turns. He’s face to face again, with Death.

  Death speaks. “The human body has ten pints of blood, Nemeth. I feed on it.” The scent of his fear heightens. It’s a scent that makes feeding so much more satisfying. But I have to restrain myself. Jessie would be the obvious suspect if this scumbag were to be found dead. “Are you scared, Nemeth? Are you questioning your sanity right now?” No response. “Well, whether you are or not doesn’t really matter. Just do as I say. Because until you’re gone, I’m going to be reappearing in front of you just like this to remind you. And I’m going to keep reminding you until you are out of my daughter’s life. After that I will give you thirty days to leave this part of the country. I don’t care where you go. I don’t even want to know. All I want to know is that you’re not around here. Because if I ever come across you again... do I need to finish that thought?” No answer, but this time I want one. “Hey dirt bag, are you listening to me?”

  “Ross?”

  It’s Jessie, calling from inside the house. How the fuck is she up after taking that shit she took?

  “I’m in the garage, Jess.” He’s hoping his response will make me leave.

  The door opens from inside the house. Jessie is wearing an off-white cotton robe. Her hair is tussled. She looks like shit. “What are you doing?” She looks suspiciously around the garage.

  “Uh, nothing,” Nemeth is relieved not to see me around. “I was, uh, looking for a client’s folder in my car.”

  “I heard voices.” My daughter’s not stupid. “You better not be calling that whore.”

  “I’m not, I’m not.” Yeah, like she believes you.

  Jessie’s shaking her head, wondering what she ever saw in this bastard. Join the club, honey. Her slam of the door shows her disgust at herself for ever having fallen for such a pig.

  Nemeth, still in the garage, is breathing a sigh of relief that Jessie didn’t press any further. He reaches for the light switch to head back inside but feels something blocking his hand. It’s something he cannot see—even with the lights on.

  That frightened little squeal again.

  That’s right, you son of a bitch, you can’t see me but I’m still here.

  Nemeth steps away, backing against the passenger door of his Explorer. For one last time I reappear, to remind him of the face he never wants to see again. Unable to back away any further, Nemeth remains still, waiting to hear what the ghoul has to say.

  It’s going to be a long wait.

  I’m not going to say a word.

  15

  “That is one pretty little lady,” said Travis.

  Stefanie was dressed modestly in an old sweater and a pair of jeans. Her eyes were distant but still, the beauty of my not-yet-confirmed widow (I was still officially just a missing person’s case) could still be seen through the cloud of heartache that accompanied her. Only a couple of weeks earlier this was my home. Now I was standing
outside just a couple of feet away from the kitchen window and it felt like she was miles away.

  By this time my new undead friends had taught me how to control my visible and non-visible projections. If Stefanie would have looked out past the kitchen window, she would have only seen the tattered November lawn.

  The kids were helping out with the usual after-dinner routine that was passed down from Ramona. Stefanie was washing the dishes, Jessie was drying them, and Davey was clearing the table. It was a routine that taught the kids responsibility and kept the family close. Neighbors, friends, and visiting family members talked about the tangible love one felt whenever they walked into our home. Imagine how much worse that made the humiliation when reports came out of my blood being found on semen-stained sheets after having been seen with another woman.

  Stefanie, Jessie and Davey went through their motions wearing loss and emptiness on their faces. A counselor probably recommended the routine as a way to deal with their grief, thinking the normalcy would be therapeutic. It wasn’t working. They looked numbed, unknowing of where their lives would be headed.

  From outside, my mouth pried itself open. I was searching for words. I wanted to go inside where I belonged. I wanted to do my part, putting away the dishes.

  Travis put his hand on my shoulder. “You have to let them go, son. If they see what you are now, their lives will be destroyed.”

  Donny, the more empathetic of the two, was equally firm. “They’re suffering now, Nicholas, but they will make it. She looks like a strong woman. The kids too.”

  “She’s always going to think that I betrayed her.”

  “But you didn’t,” said Donny. “You know that. You now know how we can control the minds of others.”

  I pointed to my soon to be declared widow. “But she doesn’t know that.”

  Donny took me by both arms. “Deep down in her heart I’m sure she knows. She knows how much you loved her.”

  “What are you going to tell them?” added Travis. “You know you can’t be in the daylight. What happens when the press finds out about you? What are you going to tell them?”

  “There must be some way,” I countered, weakly.

  “Like what?” challenged Travis. “Tell me. What happens when you can’t go back to work because the sun will turn you into ashes? Or even your son’s little league games, how are you going to explain that? Are you going to tell your family what you are? Do you think you can hide this from them? You don’t think your little girl’s not going to notice you’re never at the breakfast table? And what about the Mrs.? How will she feel about having a coffin set up in the master bedroom? Or having her husband go out for a midnight stroll so he can feed off one of the neighbors while she’s watching David Letterman?” I wanted to come back with something that would shut him up but I had nothing.

  “Don’t make their lives any worse than they already are,” said Donny.

  Travis emphasized his seriousness by bringing his face close to mine. “To the rest of the world we don’t exist. And since we feed on the primary species of this planet it needs to stay that way. Up until now we’ve been keeping you going on blood that we’ve had stored away. But now it’s time for you to start feeding on your own. That means taking human lives.” He knew my genetic resistance made that a challenge. “Like I said before, what we have is communicable. If we don’t decapitate or stake our prey, they become one of us. Right now there are probably no more than two hundred or so of us walking around on this entire planet. Some of us are several centuries old. The last thing this world needs is more of our kind. The more of us there are, the less we will have to feed from. The more of us there are attacking the population in our vicinities, the better the chance for awareness of our existence. What happens then? Well? What do you think? It then becomes a matter of survival because they will start seeking us out.” Travis paused to study me. “Am I getting through? ’Cause if you’re going to continue as one of us, you are going to need to feed. And to feed you are going to have to kill. And make no mistake about it. You will enjoy it, even resistants enjoy the kill. It just takes a little longer for you to get used to it.” Travis’ lip curled into an Elvis sneer. “So go ahead. Tell that to the Mrs.”

  I glared back at Travis but lost the staring contest. Instead I chose to turn to what was once my kitchen window. Davey finished helping in the kitchen and darted off to play Nintendo. Jessie was still next to Stefanie, helping her out. They were always very close. She was now starting to develop some of her mother’s features. An authoritative figure would soon be needed to keep his eye on the young men that would be seeking her company. The position was now vacant.

  As for Stefanie, Donny was right. She was always strong. But now I had broken her heart twice—not only by dying, but by dying after a sexual encounter with another woman. She was going to have to suffer grief, betrayal and humiliation, all at the same time. In the following years I would return regularly to visit them without being seen. Eventually I would reluctantly accept that as one of nature’s anomalies I had no role there anymore.

  Travis saw that the truth was setting in but being the hard son of a bitch that he is, he showed no sympathy. I looked one last time through the window. Davey was back in the kitchen. Stefanie had called him away from his Nintendo. It was now his job to put away the dishes.

  #

  “It’s time to cut the cord, young man. We can’t go on feeding you our leftovers much longer.” Travis wasn’t one to be subtle. He spoke loud and clear so he could be heard over the loud Euro-disco playing at the Hindquarters, a Soho nightclub he owns with Donny. Judging from the packed dance floor it looked like business was going quite well for my nocturnal mentors. By its nature, you couldn’t find a more convenient occupation for our kind. Night life, nighttime predators, you do the math.

  Donny was with us on the balcony leaning over the railing watching nymphs in shoulder-less tops and camel-toe jeans grinding with hairy-chested “studs” trying to look tough in skin-tight Picasso-patterned polyester shirts.

  Travis continued to babble his bullshit. “You need to decide if you want this new existence because if you do, you will need to feed off the living. (The guy was like a fucking broken-record.) It’s the only blood that will do. If you’re thinking maybe animal blood will do the trick, it won’t. You were human, you were not an animal. You will need human blood. The more and the better quality, the stronger you will be, making your capabilities like mind-control and projection sharper. And remember, when you feed, it is your responsibility to make sure that the victim never rises.”

  “How do you suggest I do that,” I asked, while Duran Duran blared over the sound system.

  “Decapitation,” he replied. “That’s generally the best way.”

  “What about that wooden stake you were pressing against my chest when you found me?”

  “That works too. Whichever way you prefer, as long as it gets done.”

  “So is that what you do every night? Drink blood? Cut people’s heads off?”

  Travis pointed his finger at me. “How we feed is our business and our business only. How you feed is yours. As long as you properly dispose of your prey, what you do is no concern of mine,” he said, coldly glaring at me before walking away.

  “What’s his problem?” I asked Donny, wondering if he was targeting his prey below on the dance floor.

  Donny turned to me and shrugged with his usual sympathetic look. “Believe it or not, he really does like you.”

  “Bullshit,” I said. I turned and took the steps down to the main floor.

  “Come on, Nicholas. Where are you going?” said Donny, following me through the shaking asses and thrusting pelvises.

  At the exit, the bouncer offered to stamp my hand for re-entry. I waved him off and stepped out into the crisp November air. Outside, young Generation X-ers were lined up waiting to get in. Some were couples, nuzzling and kissing in the slight chill of the late fall. I looked at them, wondering how I was going to
do this. How was I going to choose whose life I would end to keep myself going? They were all young, happy, unsuspecting and having fun. Some were in love. Some were just out looking for a piece of ass. Whatever they were, I became ill at the thought that one of them could end up not coming home that night. Only weeks before I was a doting husband and father making a comfortable living. Did I really have it in me to become a serial-killing predator?

  Halfway up the block I heard the pattering footsteps of Donny coming up behind me. “Nick, what are you doing?”

  “You know what? I have no idea.”

  “Well come back then,” said the lanky, undead pretty-boy. “Don’t mind Travis. He just doesn’t like being asked questions like that. He can be an asshole sometimes, you know that.”

  “Not that I give a shit, but why does he have such a bug up his ass about me?”

  Donny sighed. “When we found you, it was because we sensed Simone feeding. We were trying to catch her so we could destroy her. But by the time we got there she was already gone. It was just you in that room. Normally we’d have just decapitated you so we wouldn’t have another one of us in the area. But I told Travis to hold off because I thought maybe you might have known something that could have helped us.”

  “So it was you, then.”

  “Me what?” asked Donny.

  “You,” I repeated. “You’re the reason I’m still here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean; you should have let him do it. You should have let him cut my head off!”

  I turned to walk away again but Donny pulled on my arm to stop me. “Listen, you can’t just go out there yet.”

  “You, it’s on you. I have to kill people for blood now? Guess what? Every life I take now is going to be on your head. Not that you give a shit with that nice line of fools lining up in front of your club to be your supper.”