The Color of Dying

by Carlos Colon

  Never seek satisfaction from an act of retribution.

  Vengeance is a terrible lay.

  Irene has done all she can to make Veronica comfortable—which is really a joke. In Veronica’s current world there is no such thing as comfort or discomfort. She just lays in a constant state of nothing, which means there’s nothing I can do either.

  When Travis lost Donny eighty years ago, he took a shot at turning him so they could stay together. To each his own. I’m sure as hell not going to do that. I wouldn’t wish this curse on anyone. And let’s say I did. Let’s say I did and she turned out to be genetically resistant. With what’s left of her brain after the battering that lowlife gave her, she wouldn’t have any cognizance. On the other side, if she weren’t genetically resistant, then she would be completely consumed by the venom that would make her a reckless predator, feeding on her neighbors in Newark.

  Not exactly the best Mommy material.

  I may as well follow Irene out of ICU. At least there I can come back into view and stop draining myself.

  Looks like another visit to the blood bank is in order.

  #

  “Hey man, you okay?” It’s fitting the first face I see out of ICU is Jimmy. He’s the closest one that can fall into the category of friend for me, even if it’s through no effort of my own. Sometimes I feel bad blowing him off as much as I do, but it’s hard to explain that dead guys aren’t the greatest company.

  “Thanks Jimmy, I’m good. But it’s bad, man. It looks really bad.”

  “I know, brother, but listen. There’s nothing you can do here. Just go home. Get some rest. If anything changes, I’ll give you a call.”

  #

  My apartment has only the bare necessities; a couch, a small dining table, and an outdated 40” rear-projection TV. I’ve been meaning to get one of those new 70” plasmas but those have to be mounted on the wall, which means I need service installers. Why is that a problem? Well, how many TV installers do you know that would do that job late at night?

  The Branch Brook Park section where I live in Newark is a busy, vibrant community and the view from my 15th floor balcony almost makes me nostalgic for my metro days back at the Big Apple. For the most part though, I keep my blinds shut, especially in the bedroom. There, I even cover the windows with aluminum foil and duct tape. I got that idea from a documentary I saw about Elvis. He did that to keep the sun out while he slept during the day. Think about that one, fans. He was still looking pretty young before he went apeshit with the cheeseburgers.

  Loud banging on my door.

  This time of night?

  Who the hell could that be? It’s not like I entertain up here. Hell, I don’t think anybody even knows my address.

  “Open the damn door, young man!”

  “Travis?” I knew he and Donny wouldn’t be pleased with me, but to come all the way out to Newark? “I said, open the door!”

  “Travis, calm down!” Donny, too?

  Just what I need, a pair of loud gay guys loitering outside my apartment at 2:30 a.m. Better I just open the door and let them in before they wake anyone up. “All right, wait a second, and keep it down. I got—”

  Before I can even turn the second latch Travis pushes the door open, slamming me in the face.

  Donny’s pleads to keep things level headed. “Travis, take it easy!”

  His paramour isn’t listening, clutching my throat and forcing me against the wall of my kitchenette.

  Maybe I should remind him that he isn’t thinking too straight. “Hey, you dumb fuck! You can’t choke me. I’m dead, remember?” He’s not letting go. “Travis, take your hands off my throat before I grab you by your pants and throw your ass out the balcony.”

  Donny’s wedges himself between us. “Stop it, you two.”

  Travis still isn’t letting go. “What are you doing feeding on our side of the Hudson? Who do you think you are?”

  “Travis, listen to your sweetheart and calm down.”

  “Are you with her?”

  “Am I with her? What does that mean? What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you play games with me, young man.”

  “Travis, one last warning, take your hands off me.”

  “Stop it, I said!” Donny finally manages to make it between us but his mate isn’t letting up.

  Travis circles around Donny pointing his finger at me. “Are you with her?”

  “With her? What does that mean?” I ask Donny, since he’s the more clearheaded one right now. “What is he talking about?” Donny’s look is one I haven’t seen before—at least towards me. I guess an apology is in order. “Look guys, I’m sorry about last night, but that guy killed a friend of mine.”

  “What about last week in Brooklyn?” Donny with the follow up question, I didn’t expect that.

  “Hey, that fucker threatened my boy’s life.”

  Travis shakes his head. “You’re still stalking your family?” He looks back at Donny. “You believe that? He’s still stalking his family.”

  “I’m not stalking them!”

  Travis snorts with his usual disdain.

  “So then you’re not with her?” Donny the interrogator, I’m not used to this.

  “With who? What are you two talking about?”

  They exchange glances again. They’re not sure they believe me. “Okay, young man, have it your way. Now, we’ve told you in the past that every couple of decades or so, she comes back to create more havoc.”

  “No fucking way!”

  “And this time,” says Donny. “We’re sensing others feeding along with her.”

  Travis adds, “And since you and our redheaded friend have a little history and you’ve been having these little feasting parties in our outer boroughs...”

  I can’t believe what these fuckers are thinking. “She’s here? And you two dumb asses thought I was with her?”

  Travis points at me, accusingly. “Listen, young man, you know about her capabilities. She can control anyone of us given the opportunity.”

  My fangs are ready to burst through my rotted gums. The one that took my life from me is within reach, somewhere where I can find her. “Where is she?”

  “If we knew, sonny, we wouldn’t be here trying to draw it out of you,” says Travis.

  “We do know she fed three times last week in Long Island,” adds Donny. “We also think she turned three teenagers and that they are now following her around.”

  “How do you know they’re teenagers?” Our ability to sense others feeding in our area doesn’t extend to identity-unless we’ve gotten to know them. It’s sort of like when dogs recognize each other’s scents after sniffing each other’s asses.

  “Look at this.” Travis hands me a newspaper article.

  “VAMPIRE CULT TEENS REPORTED MISSING”.

  I’ve read about these Goth morons before, dumbass kids dressing up to make themselves out to be vampires. They get caught up in all this Twilight, Buffy and Vampire Diaries bullshit and wear black gothic clothes, eyeliner and blood-red lipstick. They also discolor their faces with chalky white makeup. Some even drink each other’s blood, not stopping to think of the diseases they could bring upon themselves. With the tainted blood that I’ve come across over the years that’s something I am too painfully aware of, but being dead I can benefit from the nutrients without suffering any infections my victims might carry.

  The New York Post says these dumb kids were last seen in the company of a “tall red-haired woman”, bringing speculation that their cheesy-named Scarlet Widow is back! There are even pictures of me and Ronnie Gunder in a side column. Since the Scarlet Widow deaths have spanned a couple of decades, speculation now is that it could be some kind of cult.

  I crumble the article and throw it at Travis. “How can you think that I could be with her?

  “Now you listen to me, young man. When Simone is involved, we take nothing for granted. All we know is that you and she are feeding in our territory at the same time.
If what you say is true and you’ve been running around our city like some vampire vigilante, then you need to redirect your energy.” Travis signals to Donny it’s time to leave. I couldn’t agree more. “We’ll see ourselves out.”

  “Oh please, do stay in touch.”

  “Oh, you’ll be hearing from us all right.”

  “Fuck off, asshole. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

  It’s been a while but we’ve spoken about it in the past. Simone’s been long overdue for one of her returns. I was starting to think that maybe she’d been staked or had woken up to a little sunlight. But now she’s here! She’s here and we have an actual chance of putting an end to her. Well, so we hope.

  The reality of trying to destroy one of our own is problematic enough, never mind one that has superior capabilities. Sure, in the past they’ve had some measure of success in fighting her off. In fact, even Ronnie Gunder put up a decent showing against her. But if time has proven anything it’s that Simone is like an undead Energizer Bunny. She just keeps on coming until she gets what she wants, stronger and more evolved with each return.

  Her most distinguishable trait is that she can control others like us. None of us know of anyone else that can do that. She’s an undead queen bee. And she’s now forming her own little army.

  How do we go about taking her on? Who the fuck knows? We can’t expose her to daylight ‘cause obviously we’ll fry too. As for staking, sure it’s possible, but most of us are more than capable of defending ourselves. Our fights usually end up in frustrating draws, with both sides scattering to their respective coffins before the sun rises. Now let’s take that and consider that Simone is the savviest, most ferocious and relentless predator that anyone of us has ever heard of. And she can control our minds.

  Sure we can go out there and find her.

  But what happens then?

  #

  Again, with the loud, obnoxious banging on my door!

  So much for winding down quietly with some ESPN, a little on-demand porn and maybe an episode of Seinfeld (that Kramer guy never fails to crack me up).

  “Dammit, what is it now?”

  25

  My body already is cold so I can’t say a chill has run up my spine. And since I don’t breathe, it wouldn’t make much sense to say that the air’s been knocked out of me.

  I can only imagine the emotions on the other side of the doorway. “I knew it, but still, I can’t believe it.” The world he knew; all the laws of logic, reality and proper order have just been flipped over like a table on the Real Housewives of New Jersey. Across the doorway from Dominic is the brother-in-law that mysteriously disappeared more than two-and-a-half decades ago. “You—you look the same. It’s...” How do I respond? What could possibly come out of my mouth that would make any sense to him?

  “Demonio!”

  “DOMINIC, NO!” The large pewter crucifix knocks me back into my apartment, sending me crawling back towards the living room. “Put that away!”

  “Stay down!”

  There’s little chance of him listening as he follows with the crucifix in one hand and his NYPD service Glock in the other.

  “Dominic, stop!”

  “Cayate, Diablo!”

  “Dominic, it’s me, Nicky!”

  “Bullshit! You’re not Nicky. You’re the thing that killed him. That’s why you can’t even face the cross.”

  “Dominic, stop! You’re family. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Embustero.”

  Cowering into the fetal position, I hold up my hand defensively, facing away from the cross. I don’t know how much less of a threat I can be. “Dominic, I’m telling you the truth.”

  “You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  “Please put the crucifix away.”

  “The Nicky I knew loved God.”

  “Oh bullshit, Dominic, you know I hated going to Church.” Mami might have instilled into me the fear of God, but Church still bored the shit out of me.

  Dominic lowers his gun, but keeps the crucifix in sight. “You sure talk like he did.” I might have struck a chord of recognition.

  “That’s because I am him, fuckhead.” I can’t turn to face him while he holds up that cross but I can still get up.

  The only shadow on the floor is Dominic’s. It shows him raising the gun up again. “Slowly.” Poor bastard, this isn’t the easiest shit to try and wrap your mind around. Believe me, I know. Holding his pistol pointed at me, Dominic scouts the area. Considering the high-end apartment building I live in, my personal space can be called humble at best “You live here?”

  “Well, I don’t know if I’d use the word live. How about we just say I reside here?”

  Dominic marches angrily towards me, talking into my ear like the drill sergeant from Full Metal Jacket. “You think this funny? Do you know what your family’s been through?”

  I’m trying to be patient but my prick brother-in-law is really pushing it. “Hey, you fat fuck, what about me? What about what I’ve been through?” I turn to face him but have to turn back. Again, that cross!

  I can’t see him but I imagine he’s shaking his head. “Jesus Cristo, you sound just like him.”

  “Dammit, Dominic, I am him! Now put that damn crucifix away. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Okay, turn around slowly. I want to look at you.”

  “Did you put it away?”

  “Yes, I put it away. Now turn around.” He did put it away but he’s still pointing his gun at me. “I’m holding on to this.”

  “Dominic, you know that can’t hurt me.”

  I shouldn’t have said that.

  The crack of a gunshot can sound especially explosive inside a small apartment. I didn’t really get the full resonance of the shot from Roberto back in New York because, by the time the sound travelled to my ears, the bullet was already dancing around in my brain, which made his follow up shots barely audible as well. Not so with Dominic’s shot, which bored through my chest and knocked me on my ass.

  “Dominic, what the fuck, man?”

  He shakes his head at the bullet hole in my shirt as he watches me rise. “I guess I just had to see for myself.”

  “Dammit, man! I have neighbors!” Not to mention that I’m tired of being target practice. His eyes are glazing; he looks like might throw up. “Dominic, go sit on the couch, man. You look sick.”

  I reach out to help but he pulls away. “Don’t touch me.”

  Dominic takes a seat on the couch and places his head between his knees.

  I take a seat beside him. “How’d you find me?”

  Dominic raises his head. “Are you kidding me? That whole scene in Queens, the brother of a cop wanted for assault and battery, this freak in the news fighting the local gangs, terrorizing the neighborhood, beheading the cop’s brother.”

  “It was those smartphone videos, wasn’t it?”

  “¡Que, ní smartphones, ní smartphones! Those videos were useless. I just followed the trail which led to a case of battery in Newark where a woman was left barely alive. It turns out she has another boyfriend. He’s a co-worker and his name is Jorge Sangría. In his employee folder at personnel I see this picture.” My Atlantic Indemnity picture from the eighties! Not being photographable, I hypnotized the woman at Human Resources into using that old picture for the hospital files. That explains the unfortunate haircut. “I’m a detective,” exhales Dominic. “I get paid to detect.” He tucks his gun in the shoulder holster inside his jacket.

  No use beating around the bush, I’ll just come out with it. “Dominic, what’s going on with you and Teresa Gunder?”

  He nods. “So what, you’ve been spying on me all this time?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it spying. You know, I miss all of you. And it’s hard to stay away. But obviously I can’t be there all of the time, so there’s plenty that I don’t know. So while we’re on the topic of things that I don’t know, tell me, Dominic, please. What’s wrong with S
tefanie?”

  His face sinks. His eyes moisten. “So that you don’t know?”

  I’m afraid of the answer, but I have to insist. “Dominic, what is it?” Los Ruidos make an uninvited entrance. They huddle to eavesdrop in on the conversation.

  Dominic closes his eyes. A tear squeezes out. “She’s... she’s got a tumor. It’s inoperable...”

  No! No! Not Stefanie!

  “... and it’s terminal.”

  What?

  I did help myself to a serving of plasma when I left the hospital the other night so I should be able to hold on. The last thing I need right now is to freak Dominic out with my death face. “How... how long does she have?”

  Dominic’s tears are now falling liberally from his eyes. “The doctors told her she had about nine months.” “That was a year-and-a-half ago.

  26

  It would have been a stretch to have imagined five-year-old Nicky Negrón becoming the nocturnal predator he is today. In Papi’s eyes I was un ñoño—a whiny little mama’s boy that was afraid of the night. And actually, that was understating it. To put it more accurately, I was scared shitless of the night.

  Mami, on the other hand, was the enabler. Not only was I still sucking my thumb at that age, I was also still drinking out of a baby bottle. Bullies quickly caught on and pushed little Nicky around until he would run to Mami in tears. It was several years before Dani would come into the family, so it was all me at that time. Mami was happy to give me all the attention I needed and I was even happier to be on the receiving end. So, me trying to fall asleep alone in my bedroom? Yeah, right. I would high tail it at the first shadow outside my window or the first creak behind the walls.