Ghost Heart

by John Palisano

  “But the tongues? They’re like fangs. The tips get hard and turn into sharp points. No coffins, but definitely nighttime people.”

  “But we don’t turn to ash in the sun,” she said. “This is a disease. It has some certain symptoms. Yes. The tongue changes a little. The metabolism speeds up. Drinking blood seems to slow down the decay, but a lot of…us…seem to be okay without. Others go back and get themselves tied up to the thing you mentioned—the thing that they tied you to.”

  “Does that thing have a name?” I asked.

  “I’m sure it does, but I don’t know it.”

  “How do people refer to it?”

  “They don’t,” she said. “They are just kind of drawn to it. Totally weird, like they can all read each other’s minds.”

  “Crazy,” I said. “I could swear I heard it tell me its name.”

  “What?”

  “Xyx.”

  “Xyx?”

  “Yup. Could’ve been my imagination, but that’s what I heard.”

  “That makes sense,” she said. “I have heard that before, actually. I just thought it was a sound, or a prayer, or something like that.”

  “Pretty sure that’s its name.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Xyx.”

  We crossed the border into New York and then passed White Plains. Soon thereafter, the highway opened up.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Hudson River looked so far below us as we crossed the Tappan Zee Bridge. There was a boat racing past, bashing its way through the surf. “Amazing how people can survive the world,” I said. “I mean, look at that guy down there. That can’t be easy.”

  “Right,” Minarette said. “I know what you mean. Sometimes I just want to curl up in bed, watch television and hide away from the cruel world.”

  “Sometimes I do that,” I said. “I admit it. Especially now.”

  “What do you watch?” she asked. “Does the world ever really go away, though? Don’t you find your problems are still right there, just under the surface?”

  I nodded. “I do.”

  The bridge was long, and I marveled at how big it was. “All these years I’ve lived on the East Coast, and I’ve never taken the Tappan Zee. It’s pretty amazing.”

  “This is the way I come back and forth to see my mother,” she said. “It always relaxes me.”

  “I can see why.”

  A gust pushed the car, but Minarette was quick to compensate. She didn’t seem scared of anything at that moment. I wanted very much to reach out and kiss her and hold her right then and there, but she was driving.

  When we got to the end of the Tappan Zee, we bore right and had to go around a very sharp turn. From there, it seemed we were on an almost residential road. “Wow,” I said. “That was fast.”

  “Seems like it when you’re done,” she said. “Before we go to my mom’s house, I wanted to make a quick stop in Piermont.”

  “What’s there?”

  “A very special place.”

  “New Jersey is a lot different over here,” I said. “It’s really woodsy. It’s really nice. I like it a lot.”

  “That’s why they call it the Garden State.”

  “No doubt.”

  We were high up, and the sides of the road seemed to go down pretty far. There were lots of trees, although we could see through them, down toward the small township below us and the mighty Hudson River beyond.

  “My stomach’s in knots,” she said. “Just so you know. I’m always scared. They may come after me. That thing…Xyx…may find me and take me. I hate it. I feel like I’m a slave. I went to Whistleville and they followed me. They found me. Set up another camp there. I blame myself for them bothering you. If I hadn’t come, none of this would have happened.”

  “Why you?” I asked. “I mean, I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, but I’m just a guy.”

  “My blood,” she said. “It’s some of the oldest.”

  “You don’t look old.”

  “You’re sweet. Guess you could say I have an old soul. Something like that.”

  “So they want you for your blood?”

  “When they tie me up to Xyx. It’s strong. Then they tie up to it and it helps them all. But I hate it. I feel like hell for a long time after. That’s the biggest reason they’ve been after me. If I give them what they want, they let me be. Mostly. But now they’re bothering you, and they don’t listen.”

  “There’s got to be another way.”

  “It’s hard. They know where I am. We’re all kind of psychically together, like I said. I can only hide for so long—keep them out of my thoughts for so long.”

  “Maybe we need to line a baseball cap with tin foil for you to wear.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “It’s what people who think there are UFOs do to keep the government from controlling their brains.”

  “That’s true?”

  “They think so. Everyone else just thinks they’re dumb.”

  “Heck. I’m willing to try anything.”

  “Is Damian in love with you?”

  “Not in the way of lovers,” she said. “I don’t think so. Maybe he was, once upon a time. I think it’s more of a control thing now.”

  “I want to kill him.”

  “I know,” she said. “He knows, too. That’s the problem.”

  * * * * *

  Turning down a small road and curving in the opposite direction from where we had come, Minarette guided us past several wooden, cabin-like houses. We went down a few hundred feet until we were pretty much back at water level. There was a small town at the bottom. The buildings were small and charming, and looked antique. “I love this,” I said. “Very New England. Not at all what I was expecting.”

  She smiled. “I know. I love it here. I come here when I need a place to go and just be myself. I like to go to the water, if that make sense.”

  “It does,” I said. “I feel the same way about the beach by me in Whistleville.”

  “Right. Of course.”

  At the bottom, we turned again, and the town spread out a lot more. There were modern buildings. I spotted several store brands I recognized. She drove us to the center of the town, a squared-off area surrounded by art galleries, restaurants and a small boardwalk. “This is stunning,” I said. “How cool? This is where you go?”

  “This is it,” she said.

  She parked. There weren’t many cars around, and I didn’t see any people anywhere, although there were signs of life all around. Shops were lit up. Steam billowed from the tops of buildings. Muted music echoed from far away. “The boardwalk is my favorite part. I like to look out at the water. Calms me down in a big way.” She pointed forward toward the area.

  I said, “Well, you can totally tell it’s serene. I love the snow.”

  “This is perfect,” she said. “I’m really happy you’re seeing this.” Minarette got out, and I followed. It took me a bit longer because I was still so sore, but I managed. I don’t think she noticed my struggle or acknowledged it. I hadn’t wanted her to. I didn’t want her to pity me or feel sorry for me. We shut the doors and Minarette came to the front of the car. She wore a long black coat, and she had the hood up. There were small flurries blowing around, but the snow wasn’t too heavy. It was just enough to make everything look wonderful, not the least of which was her. She put out a hand. “Come on,” she said. “Let’s go.”

  Of course I followed. Gladly. She latched on to my arm. We made our way across the frozen grass toward the small shops that lined the area. The very first place we saw was an art gallery. We went inside. No one greeted us, but someone was talking in the back room. I couldn’t place the language.

  Minarette stopped by a painting near the front, which pictured a young boy on the edge of a mountain, looking do
wn on a fertile valley. It seemed primitive, but somehow captured the depth and immensity of peering over the edge of a mountain into a large expanse.

  Picking up a small pamphlet, Minarette said, “Wow. The girl who painted this is only eleven years old. Polly McPherson.” I had the feeling she’d been there before and was visiting the painting. She looked around at the paintings nearby, which also seemed to be by the same young artist. “Youth is so magical. So perfect. They see things with so much innocence.”

  I said, “That’s very true. I so love kids.”

  Her eyes watered. “Yes,” she said and put the pamphlet down. She looked again at the painting before heading for the door. “Let’s get out of here and go somewhere else.”

  “Sure.” She seemed spooked. I didn’t see anyone else inside the store—not even someone working the counter. I thought that was weird. Shouldn’t someone have greeted us or acknowledged us? They’d just been talking in that obscure language in the back room the entire time. As much as I tried, I couldn’t place it. The cadence reminded me of Russian, yet it seemed older and less staccato. I shrugged it off. Minarette waited outside. Her back was to me and she’d made it several steps ahead.

  Outside, the beauty around me struck me. My breath made smoke as I hurried toward her. My calves ached, and my nose and mouth tingled where they’d been hit, agitated from the exertion, I believed. I made it beside Minarette. “It got really cold outside,” I said. “Wow. That’s crazy. We were only inside for a few minutes.” I was out of breath.

  “It’s the wind off the Hudson,” Minarette said, taking my arm again.

  “Right,” I said, shielding my face a bit with my free hand. “Makes sense. We’re right on the water, after all.”

  Minarette said, “The wind can freeze things in a blink. One time I saw a small bird—a robin, I think—freeze in midair…frozen in mid-song…and drop into the raging water. She didn’t have a chance. I remember her struggling in the current. I wanted to jump in and rescue her, but it was too late. That’s how brutal the cold can be.”

  “Jeez,” I said. “That’s really depressing.” We kept walking past some of the other shops. Many were closed. I didn’t see anyone; however, there were voices that were either coming from around the corner or in back of the shops. It was hard to know exactly where, and like the shopkeeper’s voice, I couldn’t place their language. I made a mental note to ask Minarette about that later because it was so weird.

  “It is,” she said. “But that’s the way it is, isn’t it? So cruel. So random. So pointless.”

  We made our way past one of those Americana restaurants, the kind that have hamburgers and Cobb salads and framed pictures of old baseball players on the walls. I said, “This place looks great. Are you as hungry as me? I’ll treat.”

  Minarette urged me forward, back over the cold grass toward the small boardwalk. “Maybe after I show you what I wanted to show you,” she said.

  “Okay,” I said. We walked arm in arm down the length of the sidewalk. The entire time I had the feeling of being watched. Was Damian there? Had they followed us?

  The boardwalk was maybe only forty feet wide, and stretched from one end of the little peninsula to the other. We went to the cusp and leaned on the railing. There was a small, rocky ledge below, and then the waters of the Hudson River raged past. She put her hand around my waist. “Look down there,” she said, her voice so smooth. There were small snowflakes blowing, while, just beneath the waves, small things moved.

  “Are those fish?” I asked. “Check them out.” As soon as I said so, they appeared to stop swimming and gather in a swarm. They were a deep red, and looked spinier than fish.

  She said, “I’m not sure.”

  I had a vision they were connected to Xyx. There was something in their movement that was extremely reminiscent of the beast. “This isn’t right,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They aren’t fish. They’re something else. Like that thing underneath the Universe.”

  Minarette leaned over and stared at them. She said, “They look like crabs or something.”

  Bunched together, they appeared like one large organism instead of many. “There’s something not right about them. I’ve never seen anything like them.”

  “Probably pollution made them evolve. Something like that,” she said, turning away for a moment to look at a car coming down the hill.

  I swore several eyes opened and looked up at me from the swarm. The eyes were black and shiny and endless, just like the ones Xyx had, and just like Damian’s. “Minarette?” I asked as quietly as I could. “Do you see this?”

  Their eyes shut. Minarette turned back to look. “What?” she asked. The things in the water let go of one another and let the current take them. They were gone as fast as they came.

  “They were looking at me,” I said. “I swear.”

  She laughed a little at that. “You have one very vivid imagination, you know that?”

  “Do I?”

  “Yes.”

  She took my right hand in her left and squeezed. “I need to sit down for a moment. Come with me?”

  I did. We strolled for a few moments until we were on the steps of a small gazebo that overhung the water. “Come on.” She led me up the small stair and we went inside. She sat on the bench and pulled me close. “It’s cold. Keep a girl warm?”

  “Of course.”

  She shivered as I sat near. Her bottom lip looked faint, and was more blue than red. Minarette didn’t look so well. “You’re such a good man, you know.”

  “Jeez. No one really calls me a man. I’m still a boy to them. Like my uncle.”

  “Yes. Your uncle.”

  “He’s still alive. I can’t believe it. I went to his funeral.” I grasped the bench, stretched my fingers around the cold metal.

  “Not like you knew him. He’s like Damian now. His body, his husk, is there…and little bits of his memories will still flash through…but that’s it. He’s not the same.”

  “But he recognized me. Mikey recognized me.”

  She wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Sure. Just like a shark recognizes blood. But they aren’t people like you anymore. You have to forget them.”

  “But I need them. I miss them.”

  “They’re not them.” Minarette sighed. “I only wish it were different.”

  “How come you are you, but they aren’t?”

  “Xyx took all of them—all of their essence. I wasn’t made that way. I was made by one of them.”

  “Who? Damian?”

  “One who was older,” she said. “Samuel. He gave me the Ghost Heart. It was great for a few years, but now I’m fading.”

  “And where’s he?”

  “He died a long time ago. Well, a long time ago for those with this. And now it’s my turn.”

  “No. I don’t want you to go. There’s got to be something we can do.”

  She finally faced me. “There’s one thing I heard that might slow it down.”

  “Anything. What is it?”

  She smiled. “Love.”

  “I can do love.”

  I leaned in and she knew. Minarette shut her eyes and parted her lips just so. My lips tingled when they touched hers. Our kiss pulled me out of the here and now. I became lost in her…lost inside us. The world fell away.

  She put a hand on my forearm and I put mine on her side. The kiss went on. She opened her eyes for a moment and our gazes met. I knew hers was the face I’d always dream of being there when I woke. She was the one. My truest love. There was no denying it. She had me.

  Our heads switched slightly, each angled the opposite. Then we kissed more deeply. Our tongues met, but she withdrew hers. I knew it was so the quickly hardening sharp tip wouldn’t cut me again. That was fine with me.

  I hadn’t noticed at first,
but her mouth was cold. Not freezing, but not warm and soft like normal, like the last time we’d kissed. As I noticed, I was taken aback a little bit, but the sensation was not unpleasant. It was actually strangely…nice. I’d never been a fan of hot weather, or hot things in general, so Minarette’s cool kiss was wonderful.

  There was a very distinct sense of being watched. I didn’t want to break the kiss, but I felt someone’s eyes on us, bearing down.

  From the corner of my eye, I saw someone standing right in front of the gazebo. We broke our kiss and turned our heads. There was a figure, about four feet tall, dressed in white, pale skin, pale face, shiny black eyes, staring. Her pitch-black hair seemed as long as she was tall.

  “Penelope,” Minarette said. “Go. Shoo.”

  “You know her?” I asked. She was one of Damian’s. “They’ve found us.”

  “No. I made her. She’s not with…them.” Minarette flipped her hand. “Go on, Penelope. Get out of here.”

  Penelope didn’t move. Snow flurries made loops around her like miniature acrobats. I noticed it snowing harder all around us.

  “Go on, now.”

  She kept still. I froze, not knowing what I could do.

  Minarette stood. She stepped toward Penelope, her movements graceful. I immediately missed her being next to me. She put a hand on Penelope’s shoulder, leaned down and whispered in the girl’s ear.

  Penelope looked up at Minarette, then to me. The smallest edge of a smile rose on the girl’s face, and I felt like prey. The little girl turned, slowly, and made her way toward the opposite side of the square. Minarette stood, watching Penelope as she hurried across the snow-covered grass. She crossed the road and made it through the parking lot and onto the opposite sidewalk. She made a few more steps and disappeared in a moment behind one of the buildings.

  Minarette stood like a winter statue, her back toward me, her long, dark hair waving ever so slightly from the wind. I still thought of her as having blonde hair, so it was almost like looking at a different person. But I knew it was her—every bit of me felt like it was drawn to her. No disguise would be enough to ever hide her from me. She turned, and her pale blue eyes caught mine. She smiled, turned and came back to me.