by Carlos Colon
At first Mami and Papi tried helping me through the shivers by leaving my bedroom door open. The light would shine in from the living room while they were watching TV, and I would fall asleep to the sounds of Ed Sullivan, Jackie Gleason or Lucille Ball. But then there were other nights when I was still awake after they went to bed. Those sucked. Sometimes I’d whine out loud to let them know I was scared. Other nights, if I heard a sound I didn’t like, I’d run to their bedroom and jump in their bed, wedging myself between them.
That really tested Papi’s patience. It kept them from rocking that headboard against the wall, something they used to like to do a lot. If it wasn’t every night, it had to be close. I still don’t know how I wound up with only one sister.
To try and macho me up, Papi would ride me, telling me I had to toughen up if I was to grow up to be un hombre. But Mami, she was no help. She would tell him I was just a baby and let me fall asleep in her arms as I took in the scent of her hair, which brought me comfort and made me feel safe. She was more patient in that way than Papi.
“Never be afraid of the night,” she said. “Do you feel safe in my arms, baby?”
“Sí, Mami.”
“Good, then always let the night remind you of how you feel in my arms and you will never fear the night again. If you can always remember that feeling, you will learn to love the night and you will always feel safe.”
It was a nice try but it didn’t work. The more Mami protected me, the more I wanted to be near her—especially at night. It took the eventual concealed threat of Papi’s chancla, the slipper he used to whoop my ass with. Now that worked. That resolved the problem of el ñoño raiding their bedroom.
Years later when I was a teenager, in the aftermath of Dani’s death tearing our family apart, the night was no longer a threat to me. The horror that I had experienced—the worst horror imaginable—occurred during the day. And it was far worse than any possible boogey man I might have envisioned creeping out of the dark. The night had now become a reminder of the love, safety, and comfort of my mother’s arms, just as she said it would. It was a feeling I would never come across again.
It was only at night that I could remember the Mami that cradled me in her arms instead of the one that could barely stand the sight of me. I fell asleep longing to have that love again, hoping that someday I could find a way to earn it back.
When morning came around, everything seemed harsh again. I felt exposed; that everyone I passed knew of my failure, the older brother whose sister died a horrible death under his care. I felt it in the streets, and I felt it in the hallways at school. The evening couldn’t come fast enough. I wanted to be alone.
Alone in the comfort of the night.
And I wasn’t even dead yet.
27
As much as I’d like to give credit to those who are putting such an effort into rebuilding Newark, really, who the fuck are they kidding? It’s still a shithole. Ever since those race riots back when Martin Luther King was murdered, decent, hardworking families abandoned Newark for safer ground in other parts of the state. The city still hasn’t recovered.
Sure, they’ve tried. Several committees over the past 35 years brought urban renewal projects to the table that worked in other parts of the country. But here, any positive-minded plans were diverted by crooked politicians and self-serving mob types, blocking any hint of progress outside of the Ironbound district. And it’s been that ongoing cycle of politics and corruption that has prevented Newark from becoming a place for sane human beings to raise a family.
Are there nice, decent families living a safe, law-abiding life in Newark? Absolutely. Has crime dropped dramatically in recent years after the city built a cultural center with an entertainment arena and a professional baseball stadium? Again, yes. Are there well-lit, residential areas where someone can walk safely from his car to his residence without being confronted by a knife-wielding heroin addict? Affirmative—as a matter of fact, I live in one. Yes, there are some truly, wonderful people here in the primarily Black and Hispanic population of Newark. In fact, when I think about it, of all the Newark residents that I work with in the hospital, I can’t think of one that I can say anything negative about.
So why do I feel the way I do?
Easy, I snack a lot.
Decent folks in Newark know that there are surrounding areas you don’t go wandering into without putting your life at risk. I know those areas, too. But for me there’s no life to put at risk. They’re just places I go when I get a little nighttime craving; a nice little serving of junkie street scum followed by a half-dozen sliders at White Castle. Like those little square burgers, their drug-tainted blood has little nutritional value, but also like the sliders, they hit the spot when you have that little hankering. It’s my little contribution towards urban renewal. The more I feed, the better the hope for the future of the city.
The nighttime view from my balcony is accentuated by the lights of the Blue Cross Blue Shield building, the Prudential offices and the new cultural center. On a late night like this, it actually looks quite impressive. Maybe someday this city will have some potential. But no one that’s alive right now will ever see it. I, on the other hand... Well, let’s put it this way, there will be lots of things that I’ll see that no one else around me ever will, including Stefanie and the kids. I may be only sixty-three now, but I have an eternity of undead existence ahead of me. I will witness the death of my children, their children, and the children after that. But it all starts now with Stefanie.
Dominic stands beside me on the balcony as I gaze blankly into the Newark city skyline. It’s almost as if he’s forgotten what I am. For the last ten minutes we haven’t exchanged a word. I wish I could say the silence is allowing me to reflect, but for me there is no silence, only the raging buzz of Los Ruidos.
In the stillness, Dominic observes me with genuine curiosity—a concern for me, since my thoughts of Stefanie’s condition could force a genetically resistant slip that might come into view, a luxury I don’t have at the moment. One look at my death face and Dominic will surely pull that cross out again.
Dominic breaks the silence. “You better not be thinking what I think you’re thinking.”
“And what do you think I’m thinking, brother-in-law?”
“You know.”
“Dominic, knowing me, how can you even think that?
“Hey, I don’t know who you are or what you are.”
“Well, know this then, you stupid fuck. Turning Stefanie into the abomination that I am is not an option that I would even consider, okay? So rest easy on that and get that ridiculous thought out of your fat head.”
Dominic’s eyes narrow. My presence confuses the shit out of him. Even with the discussions he’s been having about our existence with Dr. Gunder, seeing one of us before him (especially one that he was related to) has got to be something different altogether. “Tell me, what was it like?”
“What was what like?”
“You know, when you died. What was that like?”
How do you possibly explain death to someone who is alive?
“I had no control, Dominic.” That doesn’t even begin to describe it. “I wanted to get away, but her power was too strong. She willed me into wanting to stay. And when she fed on me, the pain was the worst I had ever felt in my life.” Physical that is, the pain of losing Stefanie and the kids exceeds that by leaps and bounds. “And yet I didn’t try to fight her off or even move. I couldn’t even cry out in pain.” Dominic’s stone face shows little sign of sympathy—not that I expected any. “Do you really want to know what it’s like, Dominic? Do you really want to know what it’s like to be helpless as your life slips away from you, knowing that you could never be with your wife again or be there to watch your children grow?”
“Bullshit, you things have no soul. You’re just trying to make me believe you’re Nicky.”
“Oh, cut the shit, Dominic. You’ve been communicating with Teresa Gunder for what, over tw
enty years now? You’re going to tell me you don’t know about genetic resistance? You know almost as much about us as she does.”
“This is too unreal.”
“Yeah, Dominic, it is too unreal. But it is also real. I am dead. And I am genetically resistant. And believe me, it is a curse. I wish that when I died, I stayed dead and never rose. But I didn’t. I rose. And I am here.”
Dominic does the sign of the cross. The flicker of my humanity has him struggling inside. “What about those two maricóns? Are they like you?”
That came out of nowhere.
“How’d you know about them?”
“What, that they’re gay, or that they’re freaks like you? ’Cause either way, it doesn’t take a genius.”
No, there’s something going on. I can’t quite pinpoint what it is but there’s something going on here besides good old-fashioned detective work. Holy shit! The e-mails to Dr. Gunder!
“Dominic, you crazy fuck. Please tell me you didn’t let her put that shit in you.”
Teresa Gunder’s MV-12 was a serum composed of elements found in the fossilized meteorite and the blood from her son’s death scene—the micro-organism that alters our genetics. Apparently, when injected in humans, it enables the sensing of our presence within a forty-mile radius, just like we sense others when they feed in our area. The problem is that it also effectively injects terminal cancer to its human recipients. The fact that she injected herself with MV-12 over twenty years ago and that she’s still alive could indicate that she’s come up with a treatment or is in remission. Or maybe she made some modifications. Who knows? I just hope this isn’t something Dominic decided to mess with.
Too late. The look on Dominic’s face tells me all I need to know.
“Shit, Dominic! I don’t believe you! Are you crazy? That’s like putting cancer into your body! How did you let her do that to you?”
“She didn’t. She refused. So I stole some from her laboratory.”
“What!”
“What do you mean what? You all need to be stopped. You can’t go on taking lives whenever you want and expect us to sit back and do nothing about it.” He seems almost embarrassed, and perhaps, a little defensive. “Besides, she’s made improvements on the serum. I’ll be fine.”
“How fine?”
He scoffs with the wave of a hand. “I won’t suffer any effects for another ten years, or something like that. It’s no big deal. I’m sure I’ll be dead by then anyway.”
“Well, how is she alive? Didn’t she once say she had only, like, a short time to live?”
“She did. She got seriously sick and went into treatment, got chemo and all that shit. At the same time, she was working on her own remedies and somehow, between what the doctors did and the treatment she gave herself, she went into remission.”
“Remission? For what, twenty years? Bullshit! Did you ever see her in the daylight?”
Dominic rolls his eyes. “She’s not one of you.” His attention is drawn back to the apartment. There standing are Travis and Donny with murderous eyes aimed at my brother-in-law.
Travis slowly approaches. “So, detective, you’re friends with the doctor.” Dominic pulls out his gun, making Travis almost smile. Almost is as close as it gets with Travis. “Really, detective, you tried that already on your brother-in-law.”
I step in his path. “Travis, he’s family.”
His cold eyes meet mine. “You have no family, young man. You are dead.”
“I think he can help us find Simone.”
Travis looks over my shoulder at Dominic, laughing. He’s laughing without smiling. How does he do that? “Boy, where is your head? Forget our little redhead. From what I heard, he can help us find the good doctor.”
“Never mind that. What are you doing here, anyway? Why’d you come back?”
“We smelled the pork in the hall when we came in and we smelled pork on the way out.”
Hold everything.
I turn to Dominic and he immediately does not like the way I’m looking at him. “You knew they were in here before I did, didn’t you?”
Travis’ eyes light up. “That’s true isn’t it? He sensed us while we weren’t feeding!” We can only sense each other when we feed. If Dominic can sense us when we’re not feeding, that is a major game changer. Travis smells blood—Dominic’s. He makes an effort to circumvent me. “Tell us detective, how did you manage that?”
Dominic pulls out his cross. “Back off, faggot, you don’t scare me!”
“Dominic, no!”
I fall ass backwards onto my living room carpet, giving Travis a chance to charge Dominic and yank the cross from his hand.
Travis throws the crucifix over the balcony out into the street and puts his hands around Dominic’s thick neck.
With the cross out of sight I am able to jump between them and push Travis back. Donny steps forward. Even he’s ready to rumble.
“Donny, stop,” I say. “I can talk to you.”
“There’s nothing to talk about,” says Donny. “Your brother-in-law is working with Teresa Gunder and she can destroy all of us.” Man, Donny’s really been Travis-ized. I gotta talk some reason into these boys. “First things first, guys. Right now, Simone is the bigger threat.”
Travis disagrees. “We can handle Simone.”
“Bullshit! She’s been coming in and out of here for eighty years now. And she has the ability to control others like us, which means she can control you. How is that handling her?” I turn to Dominic, who’s rubbing his neck, still trying to catch his breath. “Dominic, tell me. Is it true? You can sense us even when we’re not feeding?”
The three of us surround him, making him more uncomfortable and afraid than he’s willing to admit. To sense one of us when we’re not feeding? That creates a whole other world of possibilities. We rely on not being able to be detected. If humans can detect us, they can defend themselves against us. And if humans can defend themselves against us, who will we feed from? And if they can sense us when we’re not feeding, can they sense us when we’re resting in the daylight? Will they be able to find us and destroy us when we are at our most vulnerable?
Dominic clams up. I need to remind him we are waiting for an answer. “Dominic?”
He knows he’s not getting out of here without answering. “This is why you all need to be destroyed.”
“Dominic. Answers. Now.”
“With humans, that’s the way the serum works. With you things, it’s territorial. You only sense those that feed in your area. But the injection, it lets us sense you even when you’re not feeding. Once we find out where you are, we can find your coffins in the daylight, bring them outdoors and open them up.”
Travis is speechless. Well, maybe not. “This fat boy needs to die.”
“You’re not killing anybody, Travis. He’s my wife’s brother.”
“Go ahead, kill me,” says Dominic. “The process has already started. You can’t stop it. They’ll eventually catch up to all of you.”
“They?” asks Donny.
Yeah, Dominic what do you mean they.
“She’s got a lot more support now. More than she’s ever had. And she’s looking for one of you that will cooperate with her. As soon as she does, she’ll be able to refine the serum and gain enough credibility to get this plague the attention it needs.”
Travis seems offended. “She’s treating this as a plague?”
“It is a plague. You’re all carrying communicable micro-organisms. What do you think a plague is?”
Donny brings the subject back on course. “Well, if that serum works the way you say it does, then you can help us find Simone.”
“Who, the redhead?”
I nod.
“You guys don’t stand a chance. She and those kids she killed already know where to find you. I’ve been sensing them around that club you’re always at down in the village. They’re staking you out.” Tread carefully, brother-in-law, you’re getting a little too ballsy. “You
r only chance is to help me and the doctor. If you do that, I can see to it that you get human blood without having to kill.” Travis is ready to jump out of his shoes. It’s getting harder for me to restrain him. “Yeah, I know that killing is something that all of you enjoy.” Dominic’s really picking up the bravado but unfortunately for him, we bloodsuckers also have a built-in bullshit detector—his tough-guy act is a façade, and so is his little bargaining chip. Human blood without having to kill? Really, Dominic, we’re not some junkie perps you picked up at the Bowery.
I have to knock him off his bullshit stool. “Dominic, you’re lying. We can tell.”
His poker face fades.
He knows he’s going to have to be straight with us. “Nicky, you have to do what’s right.” Oh, so now I’m Nicky.
“Really, Dominic, and why is that?”
“Don’t you want to finally be at peace?”
“Dominic, you have to know about our self-preserving instincts. Even genetic resistance won’t stop me from killing Dr. Gunder in order to protect myself.”
“Not if I’m there with you.”
“But you won’t be. Not if I don’t want you to be. If I am of mind to stop Dr. Gunder, you will not be there to try and stop me.”
“Then why should I help you find that redhead?”
Travis slowly steps in front of Dominic and looks him in the eyes (I knew that was coming). “Because, detective, right now, that and your brother-in-law are the only things that are keeping you alive.”
That’s right, Dominic. You are alone—alone in a room with three aberrations of nature. Aberrations that prey on people like you. But then again, you already know that.
28
With my Achilles Heel of genetic resistance, you could say that my transition into Nosferatu had its share of hiccups— especially when Travis and Donny first set me free onto the unsuspecting public. No longer able to come home to Stefanie’s arróz y habichuelas con chuleta, I had to learn to adjust my palate for a steady diet of sángre víva. And the blood had to be human since the thing that lives in us can only be fed with the blood of its host species.
