Ghost Heart

by John Palisano

  I wanted to say something naughty, but figured it best to keep it PG.

  Then she looked at me, picked up a fork with chocolate frosting on it, and started licking it suggestively. “I just love chocolate,” she said. “I could eat this all night.”

  “Damn,” I said. “Wow.”

  “Talking about the chocolate,” she asked, “or me?”

  “You are just totally unfiltered, aren’t you?” I said.

  “Life’s too short to be afraid of anything,” she said. “Especially if you see something you want.” She licked the fork, staring at me the entire time. When she was done, she said, “See anything you want, Rick?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I do.” I took a big chance. “You.”

  She cocked an eyebrow. She was deadly serious. I’d obviously crossed a line. I knew it. Damn it.

  “Well, we better get you home soon,” she said. “Vanessa will be worried.”

  Why’d she said that? She knew I wanted her. I felt embarrassed and weird. “Well, we don’t live together,” I said. “And, like I said, it’s basically over between us.”

  “Basically,” she said.

  * * * * *

  On the way out of the restaurant, Minarette was unusually quiet. She didn’t hold my hand, and she’d become cold and aloof. “Thank you so much for dinner,” I said. I’d resorted to holding the bag with her dress, her take-out food bag and her purse. She walked alongside me, still with her heels clicking on the sidewalk, but she seemed interested in everything around us other than me. I felt horrible because she’d kind of led me on. She had been flirting really hard with me. Modeling her figure for me in the silver dress. Asking for me to be her boyfriend for the night. Suggestively licking the icing off the fork. Damn it. I felt like such an idiot.

  It didn’t take us long to reach her car again.

  “Aren’t you going to open the door for me?” she asked.

  “Sure,” I said, and hurried around to the other side of the car. When I got there, I realized I didn’t have a way to open the door. I smiled. “I don’t have the keys?”

  She didn’t look at me. Instead, she just said, “They’re in my purse.”

  “Oh, I said. “That’s right. Makes sense.”

  So I opened the bag, found the keys, juggled them out, balancing all her stuff, then inserted them until I found the right one, unlocked her door, put her stuff quickly on the back seat and then got out of the way. “Your carriage, Madame,” I said.

  She smiled, but it wasn’t the large, open one I’d seen earlier. “Thank you,” she said. As pleasant as her voice was, she’d grown distant. I played the night over in my head. What did I do that was so wrong? She’d asked me what I wanted while she was licking frosting off a fork and giving me bedroom eyes. What did she expect me to say to her? But damn, maybe I’d read her signals wrong. I’d done that a time or two in the past, hadn’t I? With many people.

  Once she was in, I shut the door. She put the keys in the ignition and started it. I guess I lingered too long, because she looked up at me for a moment, and she looked scared. I smiled and walked away. Man, I was failing miserably. What was my problem? I told myself to shake it off. Don’t worry about it. Girls are weird. Girls are moody. The more attractive they are, the crazier they are, right? Isn’t that what Uncle Dave always says? I think so.

  I got into my side of the car, which, thankfully, she hadn’t locked me out of. The thought had crossed my mind for a second that I might have angered her enough to have her strand me in the city. That would’ve sucked.

  Once I sat down, she said, “Ready?”

  “Yup,” I said.

  We pulled away.

  Immediately, she turned on the music again, only she didn’t sing, just played it real loud. I didn’t know what she was playing. It was some kind of mix of hard rock and dance and world music. Strange. The lyrics were random and indecipherable. Something about Gaia and tigers, I think. I was trying to figure out if she was sending me a message through the song, although I couldn’t figure anything out in that regard.

  Then she hurried away from Greenwich Village, and we made it west, back to FDR Drive, so that the Hudson was now off to Minarette’s side.

  “Thanks so much for dinner,” I said when one of the songs faded into the next.

  “No problem,” she said back to me, still cold and distant.

  The George Washington Bridge was lit blue, probably for the winter season. It looked so wonderful. “What part of New Jersey did you come from?” I asked, seeing the state across the water.

  “Old Tappan,” she said. “Northville, actually.”

  “Oh,” I said. “Is that far over the bridge?”

  “Not really,” she said. “But it might as well be.”

  “Everything okay?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she said. “Just tired. Real tired.”

  “Not hungry?”

  “A little,” she said. “To be honest, though? I don’t like eating in front of people.”

  “Oh,” I said, thinking that she had eaten the cake no problem.

  “Sorry if I’m shutting down on you,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

  “I get it,” I said. “It’s almost one in the morning now.”

  “Right,” she said. “Usually I’m just getting started. I had an early start today. Strange for me.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Happens. I’ve got to be up early, too. Seven.”

  “How will you do it?”

  “I have my friend’s coffee and cocaine to help me,” I said.

  She forced a smile, although her lips were closed. “You’re funny,” she said.

  “Thank you,” was all I could think to say.

  When we got to the George Washington Bridge, she asked, “Do we stay straight here? Or go right?”

  The signs were confusing. Neither pointed us to Connecticut. “I don’t know,” I said.

  “I always forget,” she said. “And a lot of times someone else is driving.”

  Before either of us could say anything, we were going straight. “Guess this is the way we’re going,” she said.

  “Looks like it,” I said. “I didn’t see a turnoff anywhere, anyway.”

  “Me, either,” she said. “No big deal.”

  The road ahead got very dark very quick.

  “I don’t recognize this,” I said. “Do you?”

  “No,” she said. “I think we took the wrong way.”

  “There’s got to be a place to turn around or catch the way back,” I said. “Can’t we catch the Merritt Parkway up ahead somewhere?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever taken this route before. Hope we can get home.”

  “I’m sure we will,” I said. “How far off can we be?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But I do want to get home soon. I’m losing energy fast.”

  “We’ll get you there,” I said. “No problem.”

  I was wrong. There ended up being no good place to turn off. The ride home was intense. When we made a turn, it ended up being another highway that led us way upstate. We found out after nearly a half hour of driving. We had to pull off at a gas station and get directions. Eventually, we made it to the Merritt Parkway. Minarette didn’t know where she was, so I had to direct her off the ramp and toward our section of town. She pulled up in front of my house.

  “Look,” I said, “if you want to crash, I have plenty of room. The whole place is mine since my parents passed. You can have your own room. I promise I’ll be a perfect gentlemen.”

  “Thanks,” she said, her lids heavy. “But I really would like to be in my own bed tonight, with my own stuff. I appreciate it though.”

  “No problem,” I said. “Thanks for the night.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said. �
�Happy birthday.”

  I shut the door and watched her drive away.

  Chapter Twelve

  “We found your uncle,” said the voice on my answering service. “Please give me a call at the station. This is Officer Grant.”

  When I called, Officer Grant was really good about not showing his hand. Instead of simply telling me what was happening, he said, “Yes. We are going to need you to come on in to the station in order to talk to you about this. Please.”

  Shoot. And there it was. I had to go. So I did.

  “He’s gone,” Officer Grant said over the phone. “Drained. By the river.”

  My blood went cold. I thought I was going to be sick.

  “Can’t be,” I said.

  “Something is happening in this town that is not natural,” he said. “I’d like to talk to you in-depth about all of this. Maybe you can give me some leads. Some things we can use to find out who is doing this.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  Over the next hour, I told Officer Grant about Damian, about what I’d seen with Mikey the night he’d been killed, even about Minarette taking me to the city the night before. When I was telling him, it was to make sure he knew I had an ally, and that I had nothing to do with my uncle’s disappearance. But the more I thought about it, the more I started thinking that maybe Minarette was in on it all. That’d explain why she showed up at my house randomly, was so nice for most of the night, and then seemed to turn off the charm at a certain point.

  I debated telling Officer Grant about that, but didn’t want to. He’d bring her in. Tell her I told him about her. I knew he would. I didn’t want to mess up any chance I had with her, especially over what would be a thinly brought accusation. My friends were getting fewer and fewer, and I needed everyone I had, no matter how tenuous.

  He thanked me, said, “I’m sorry,” and shook my hand. Then we parted. I told him to call me if he needed anything else. He gave me the card for the funeral home.

  When I got to my car, I sat for a good long time, just thinking about all the people I’d just lost. How could it be real? How could any of it be happening to me? I’d lost my best friend, my coworker and my uncle, all within a week. I wanted to throw up. Someone was targeting us. Someone out there had it out for my loved ones.

  What about the shop? It wasn’t in my name. Uncle Dave held all that tight as a glove. Who’d pay me? How’d I pay my bills? What were the provisions if he died? How was I going to plan his funeral? What about our other relatives? I hadn’t spoken to most of them in years. Crap. What next? I didn’t know. I needed to know. I needed to figure it out.

  The first thing I thought to do was to go to the shop and figure out wrapping up whatever work we had. When I got there, I felt sick to my stomach. There, by the coffee machine, was my uncle’s coffee mug. It still had a lip mark on it, and a little splash of coffee. One of the last things left of his living soul. Strangely, I wanted to wash it out and throw it in the garbage. I’d have thought I would want to preserve it, but I didn’t. The whole thing scared me, to be honest. The last thing I wanted to do was to think about another memorial. If I was in charge, I’d have to deal with the whole thing, too, instead of being able to dodge in and out in an hour.

  Worst? My uncle was gone. The gravity of it had started to sink in. He was really my father figure. There was a lot I had to do without him. Who would my family be now? Where would I turn to when I had a question about life? Who would I share my life with? Anna? Vanessa? Minarette? Man, I wasn’t even sure I could trust two of them, and especially not Vanessa. She’d turned on me countless times, and she always hurried away whenever there was any kind of emotional trouble. She just didn’t want to be bothered. I wanted to be done with her, anyway.

  What other things could I take care of?

  My first instinct was to call on my guy friends, but Mikey was gone, and so were my uncle and coworker. Maybe it was best if I just kept to myself for a bit, I thought. Deal with things.

  There were, after all, three cars in the bays to handle.

  Two of them were done. I put the finishing touches on them and called their owners. Within two hours, the two vehicles were paid for and out the door. Then there was the Dodge Charger, which I honestly couldn’t find anything wrong with other than a tune up. What was I supposed to do with it? I looked at the paperwork. I looked for the owner’s name.

  Didn’t recognize him. Adam Rizer. Huh. Didn’t ring any bells. Then again, there were a lot of people who’d moved to Whistleville that I didn’t know. When I was growing up, it was such a small town, it seemed I knew everyone. Now our little town was slowly turning into a little city. I left him a message, which went to a generic voice mail.

  Vanessa called. I picked it up. I don’t know why.

  The first thing I thought was of my night out with Minarette.

  Which was the first thing she mentioned to me.

  “I hear you were out all night with that slut?” she said.

  “That’s not very nice,” I said. “Come on.”

  “You have a girlfriend,” she said. “In case you forgot.”

  “We broke up,” I said. “Don’t you remember? You cheated on me again.”

  “Well, you know what? You’re a fucking asshole. A selfish, sniveling asshole,” she said. “Who the fuck do you think you are, anyway? You’re nothing. A fucking loser, that’s what.”

  “Wow,” I said. “I didn’t do anything with her.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” she said. “Billy told me she blew you outside of the Universe. Everyone saw it.”

  “What? I wasn’t anywhere near there last night. We weren’t even there,” I said. “We were in the city, for God’s sake.”

  “Oh?” she said. “So the truth comes out. You went to New York with that little tramp? How much more can you humiliate me?”

  “This has nothing to do with you,” I said. “I broke up with you. You were cheating on me. You hit me in the head with something.”

  “So you want nothing to do with me? That’s nothing compared to what you’ve done to me,” she said. “You self-righteous prick. You’re the cheater. A liar. I can do much better than you.”

  “You were fucking cheating on me, Vanessa. You’re not being fair. We were trying to work things out,” I said.

  “Oh, really? So you’re bringing all that up again, are you? It’s your fault, anyway. I couldn’t deal with your whiny ass, and needed to find a real man to take care of me when your limp little dick was too busy feeling sorry for itself over your dead parents.”

  “I can’t do this anymore,” I said. “Really. I’m done. You’ve crossed the line too many times.”

  There was a pause. “Are you breaking up with me? That it?”

  “I already did,” I said. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Well, isn’t that just fine,” she said. “You finally grew some balls. Too bad you didn’t have any when you were supposedly fucking me.”

  “Jesus, Vanessa,” I said. “What the hell? Enough is enough.”

  “I’m hanging up,” she said. “Call me when you sober up.”

  She hung up. I did the same.

  The first thing I did was scroll to Minarette’s number. I went to press it, to call her, to tell her I was totally free, but something stopped me. I wasn’t sure why. Some instinct deep inside.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “He’s been almost completely drained of blood,” I said. “That’s what happened.”

  “Another one?” Anna said. “I can’t believe this.”

  She took a sip of the vodka and cranberry I’d made her. My TV was on with the sound off.

  “What do you think is happening?” I said.

  “I hate to say it, but it sounds like a serial killer is here, or something,” she said. “It’s really
scary. Hey, is the door locked?”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re safe with me.”

  “I don’t want to leave now,” she said. “If I go home, they may get me. They’re all related to you, too, by the way, which is creepy.”

  “That hasn’t escaped me,” I said. “The things I’ve seen, I swear to God, no one would believe me. I didn’t tell the cops everything.” I took a sip of my own vodka cranberry.

  “Oh, really?” she said.

  “Yeah. The night Mikey was killed, the guys with Damian? I swear they were drinking his blood. Their tongues came out—the ends were real sharp and stuff—and they cut his neck and drank his blood and lapped it up.”

  “Their tongues were sharp?”

  “Yup. The tips. Pointed.”

  “Maybe it’s some kind of body modification thing? People are doing all sorts of things to change their bodies through surgery,” she said. “I could see them doing something like that.”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “How could they make the tips sharp enough to cut skin?”

  “Maybe an implant or something,” she said. “A piercing?”

  “It looked like the tips were still made of tongue, not metal. Really freaky. And they could control them. Reminded me of a snake tongue, or something like that. Very weird.”

  She moved in a little closer to me. “You’re scaring me,” she said. “I don’t like this.”

  “I think that Damian guy is behind all of this,” I said. “I do.”

  “Sounds like it,” she said.

  “And I don’t think it’s simply just a body modification,” I said. “There’s a whole lot more to it than that. It’s like they’re…I don’t know…unnatural.”

  “Don’t use the V word.”

  “Vampires?”

  She shushed me. “Jesus. Don’t you listen?”

  “Come on. It’s not like they’re Candyman, and if you say their names, they’ll appear behind you. If they are blood drinkers, which is possible in this day and age, then that would explain a lot.”

  “Like they turn into bats and stuff?”

  “No,” I said. “That’s horror movie stuff. But there are cults that have grown out of people’s love of horror movies and books. People love Interview with the Vampire and Twilight and stuff. Some folks take it to an extreme. Reality crosses over into fiction, and back and forth. They have no context. They start believing in this stuff. Maybe that’s what we’re dealing with.”