Ghost Heart

by John Palisano

  “Seems like it.” I went up the first step. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

  “Hope so.”

  At the top of the stairs, I stepped inside the kitchen. It looked slightly older in design, but very cozy. Outside I could see the beautiful landscapes all turned to white. The sun had just come up. I was glad we didn’t have to go out in it for a while. Making my way to the fridge, I heard whispers. I turned to see if I could see anyone, but there was no one in the kitchen with me. I opened the refrigerator door, immediately spotted the water bottles, grabbed one, shut the door and turned tail to go back downstairs.

  “Who is that?” A whisper in a man’s voice.

  I heard her mother whisper back, but couldn’t make out the words. Sounded like she was speaking a foreign language.

  As I passed the small hallway to make it back down to the basement den, I glimpsed them. He was a fattish man with bulging eyes. He knelt down before her, and she was sitting on the couch, legs spread and clothes half-off. His tongue protruded, long and thin at the end. A fresh cut to her belly bled, and he lapped at it. I saw many other scars across her belly, apparently from other similar couplings.

  He’s one of them, too, I thought. What the hell?

  I pulled the door to the basement den shut, and it was louder than I’d hoped. I heard the man laugh, then her mom laugh.

  I hurried the water bottle over to Minarette. I said in half a whisper, “I think your dad is one of them, too. He was licking her stomach and—”

  “Stop,” she said. “I don’t want to hear it. Please. God. I’m going to throw up.”

  “His tongue, though,” I said. “It was like yours.”

  “Should be,” she said. “I made him.”

  “Your own dad?”

  “He’s not my dad. He’s my mom’s partner. Boyfriend. Whatever.”

  “Well, it was sick.”

  “I imagine it was.” She downed half the bottle with one gulp.

  I sat down on the edge of the pull-away. “How come you’d make him and not me?”

  “He had cancer. Figured he could have a few good years instead of suffering.” She looked up at me again. “You don’t seem too rattled by any of this.”

  “Rattled? I’m majorly fucking rattled. I think I’m just feeling completely numb. I mean, Jesus: there are huge creatures in the tunnels under my hometown, there are people being turned into vampires, and there are little girls with black eyes from hell stalking us. I just don’t know where to start. I’m trying to keep it together. I’ve always been like this. When my parents died, I didn’t cry. Not for a long time. Years. I kept strong. A stiff upper lip, like the Brits say.”

  “You shouldn’t keep your feelings bottled up. It’s bad for you. It’ll add up and get worse.”

  “If I don’t, I’ll be a puddle on the ground, shivering in the fetal position. There’s no one who’d take care of me left. Just me now.”

  “I know the feeling. I’ve always had to take care of everyone. Like my mom was always so useless growing up. I had to make sure everything went right, from when I was small.”

  “We have that in common.” I lay down and we held hands. “I just don’t know how I’m supposed to react to any of this. I mean, my girlfriend is a vampire.”

  “I’m not a vampire. We’re not vampires. We didn’t come from Transylvania. We don’t explode in the light. We have Ghost Heart.”

  “Well, your tongues get hard and turn into fangs. Like erections. It’s weird. And you drink blood. Seems like a vampire to me.”

  “We don’t live forever.”

  “Maybe you’re the real vampires instead of the myths. Maybe this is how it happens in real life, you know? And maybe the tongue getting hard like fangs are just evolution, you know? A way to disguise them…to hide them from everyday people seeing them.”

  “Having Ghost Heart is a death sentence,” she said. “Like they always say, ‘Live fast, die young, leave a bloodthirsty corpse’.”

  “Even your graffiti says you’re all vampires,” I said. “Come on.”

  She laughed and kissed my neck. She said, “Maybe just a little.” She bit at my neck playfully. Her cool lips and teeth sent chills of ecstasy throughout my body. She kissed more intensely. “Oh, you like that, don’t you?” I held her tighter. She kissed tighter. I kissed the top of her head. Before I knew it, she was on top of me again. My bottoms were off and we began; only I took charge and ended up on top of her. I returned the favor of kissing her neck. She moaned and grasped the side of my head, ruffling my hair.

  I opened her shirt a little, but she resisted. “No,” she said, still in whisper. “I don’t want you to see.”

  “I don’t care,” I said and forged ahead.

  She blocked me with her hands. “No. Please. Don’t force it.”

  I stopped. My mood was almost dead at that point. “Okay. Of course. Sorry. Got a little caught up.”

  “Sure,” she said. “I only want to show you a little. The truth.”

  “You don’t have to.” I was still on top of her, and my arms shook a little from the strain.

  “Maybe you need to know.”

  She undid her shirt, careful to not show anything beyond the middle. When she got halfway down, she spread the cloth apart a bit more. The way she rose around the sides was driving me crazy. I wanted to slide off her shirt completely and see her again.

  “Look carefully,” she said and pointed to her heart.

  Her skin had gone nearly clear around it. If I hadn’t been looking, I wouldn’t have noticed. Her insides had gone impossibly light, too. It was as though she were made of a translucent, milky, soft tissue. Beyond what I thought were bones, I saw it beating—her Ghost Heart. It’d lost most of its color, although there were some small dark blue and red veins still visible, caressing it like spiny, jagged fingers. I gasped.

  “See?” she said. “It won’t be long now. I’ve gone almost the entire way to the end. I’m almost nothing. No soul. I’m like a void, plain and white, like the snow outside.” She closed her shirt, hiding her Ghost Heart. She turned around, her back to me. Finally I lay down, first on my belly, then turning to her, cradling an arm around her waist. “Soon I’ll vanish.”

  “Minarette…”

  “I’ve given them other people so that I can keep going. So many. I’m so selfish. I even gave them my mother. That guy feeds on her and brings it to them. Penelope. All the people in Whistleville. All the people before.”

  “How many? When did this start?”

  She said, “Longer than it feels. It seems like just yesterday. Now it’s tomorrow. And then soon there’ll be no more tomorrows. At least I will be at peace.”

  “I can’t lose you now.”

  “You won’t. I’ll live on in your perfectly normal heart and soul. That’s how you can always have me. Close your eyes, many years from now, and you’ll hear my voice.”

  “Will you remember me?”

  “If there is something after this, I will.”

  The waterworks came; I cried silently. “There’s really nothing we can do?”

  “Maybe I could get a little bit more time somehow. Maybe a few more days. A few more weeks. It’d hurt, though. It’s already starting to hurt. I don’t want the end to be like that. Who wants to suffer?”

  “I’ll suffer without you.”

  “Would you do it again if you knew you’d only have a few weeks to spend with me? Just like what we’ve had?”

  “In a second.”

  “I would, too.”

  She turned and she was smiling. She saw my tears and wiped them away. “It’s going to be okay,” she said. “Don’t worry.”

  Then she kissed me. We made love. We fell asleep holding one another. I dreamed of the river. I dreamed of her. I dreamed we would last and live forever.

  Chapter Twen
ty-Four

  When we woke, we found the house quiet. “Where’s your mom? There’s a foot of fresh snow on the ground.”

  Sitting at the kitchen table across from me, Minarette absently folded a napkin. “Probably locked away in her room. She might not come out for days.”

  “I didn’t really get a chance to talk to her.”

  “She might come out before we leave. Who knows?” The skin around her forehead looked so thin. I could see small veins near her temples that I’d never noticed before.

  “Is it that time?” I asked.

  She’d folded the napkin into a triangle. “Let’s not rush it,” she said. “Maybe tonight, after the streets are plowed. You can help me dig out the car later.”

  “Of course,” I said. “I’m in no hurry.”

  “I just want to enjoy the rest of the day with you,” she said. “Have your coffee and toast there. Come back downstairs when you’re done.” She got up.

  “Wait,” I said. “I can bring it.”

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I’ll take a quick rinse. Warm my bones. Take your time.” She was so fast, but I did notice, in the light of the morning, how thin and gaunt her figure had become. When I’d first met her, she had been very healthy and shapely. That’d been lost, mostly—exchanged for a kind of nineties heroin-chic look. She was still beautiful to me, no matter what, but it made my heart sink thinking that she would somehow not be around much longer.

  There has to be a miracle. Something will happen. She’s probably making this all up. Getting attention. Who cares? I’ll forgive her. As long as she’s still around and okay. As long as she’s still mine.

  Making quick work of polishing off my coffee and toast, I put the plates in the sink and made my way toward the basement den that was serving as our home away from home. Before I reached the door, I noticed several framed pictures on the walls. I hadn’t noticed them earlier. They stopped me in my tracks. The shots were of Minarette, much younger, as a child and a teenager. Her smile was recognizable. She looked very similar. There was one of her riding a wooden horse; she looked so happy. I took out my phone and took pictures of them as quickly as I could.

  “Beautiful girl.”

  I nearly jumped through the roof.

  It was her mom who’d snuck up behind me. “That’s my little shetzline.”

  All I managed was a nod and a yes.

  “Ricky?” It was Minarette, calling from below. “Are you okay up there?”

  “He’s looking at pictures of you.” Her mom cupped her hands around her mouth when she yelled. She seemed to have an Austrian accent.

  Minarette didn’t say anything. Neither did I.

  “Go see her,” her mom said, making brushing gestures with her hands. “She’s waiting, Ricky.” She rolled the R dramatically.

  “It’s just Rick,” I said. “No one’s ever called me Ricky.”

  We both laughed a little. Then I turned around and went downstairs.

  Minarette rested on the bed under the covers. “Hey,” she said. “Feel better with some food in you?”

  “Much.”

  Then I went to her and sat on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

  “Just tired,” she said. “More tired than I’ve ever been.”

  “It’s been a long couple of days. We haven’t slept much.”

  “I don’t want to miss anything, and besides? I can sleep when I’m dead.”

  I turned away. “Don’t talk like that. I hate it.”

  She said, “You’re beautiful. You know that?”

  My face flushed. “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  I lay down. She curled around me and said, “I think I’m needing a little nap before we go. How about you?”

  “My eyes are tired. We got up too soon this morning.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I think so, too.”

  We drifted. Sleep fell heavy. I dreamed of flying over endless snowdrifts, outside her house, back over the and down the hill, through the small town by the water, until I was speeding over the river, snow and ice whipping at my face, beasts just below the surface racing along, tendrils and fins trailing behind.

  * * * * *

  I woke to find myself alone under the covers. I looked at my phone and saw that it was late in the afternoon. Judging from the window, it looked like it was already getting pretty dark. It took a moment to get up and gather my head. I checked the bathroom and, not seeing her, heard her mother’s voice coming from the kitchen. Then I heard Minarette’s voice. Heading upstairs, I found them both at the table. Her mother smoked a long cigarette. They looked like the same person sitting across from each other, only one a few decades older than the other.

  “Hey, sleepyhead,” Minarette said. Again, there seemed to be something primal inside me that happened when I heard her voice. It seemed to take the air out from me. I felt like when I was in middle school and had a painful crush on Emily Thompson, only this time I’d been with the object of my obsession. I was dreaming while I was awake. She must have caught me daydreaming because she said, “Still asleep, aren’t you?”

  “Kinda,” I said. “Sorry. Slept too long. We better shovel the car out.”

  She smiled. “Done. We did it.”

  “I thought you were tired?” I sat down.

  “I was. I am. But I’m okay.”

  Her mom reached out and held Minarette’s wrists. “My angel is very strong, isn’t she?” Her eyes glistened, and I’d have liked to believe it was just from parental pride, but she looked high.

  “I think so,” I said. “Stronger than me.”

  “Don’t be silly,” he mom said. “You’re a very strong and handsome young man.” She heightened certain words theatrically.

  “Sometimes,” I said. “When I’m not recovering.”

  “I’m glad you are taking care of my shetzline,” she said. “She’ll be in good hands. I can tell.”

  “I’ll do my best,” I said. “Always.” There was coffee in front of both of them. “I could use a cup.”

  “Sure,” Minarette said. “There are cups above, and cream in the fridge.”

  I got up and assembled my drink. They spoke behind me, but I was pretty sure it was in German, so I didn’t understand them. They ended with a big laugh. “You talking about me?” I joked.

  “I was just telling her how big you are—” Minarette said.

  My face flushed and I nearly dropped my mug.

  “—compared to a mouse,” she said.

  They found it hysterical. I missed the humor—obviously some kind of in-joke. Sitting back down, I sipped. “I really appreciate you having us.”

  “Anytime,” her mom said. “Of course. You are my family.” Her eyes looked in mine, darting back and forth slightly.

  “That’s good of you,” I said. “Really.”

  “Well, I know you need to get back home soon, so don’t worry.”

  Minarette said, “Do you want to take a shower before we go? Or wait?”

  “I’d actually love one,” I said. “I’m feeling like I could use one pretty bad.” Truth was, I could’ve waited, but I thought giving Minarette more alone time with her mom would be good. She ran down the particulars, and I brought my cup down into the den, sat on the edge of the pull-away, sipped coffee and listened to them just above speaking German, laughing. It sounded like music to me. The shower felt good, but it hurt, too, because I had a lot of sore spots and half-healed wounds all over. Still? The hot water was bliss. I felt warm inside and out.

  When I got out, I heard them talking, again muffled through the door. They weren’t as joyous, although I couldn’t be sure. She made her way back down just as I was putting my shirt on. “You almost ready to head out?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Are you?”

  She was glowing, but she sto
pped walking, froze and looked around. “It’s so weird being down here. I have so many memories.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  We embraced. “Well, let’s not make this sad and dramatic. Let’s go.”

  As we entered the kitchen, Minarette called for her mom. “We’re leaving.”

  From the hallway, the bedroom door opened and out came her mom. “Here I come to say goodbye,” she said, her arms outstretched. I was the first to get a bony hug. Minarette was next. I stepped around them and made my way toward the front door. I noticed a huge mural of a jungle scene painted in the opposite wall of the living room. The furniture all seemed to be made from carved tree trunks. It struck me as very strange.

  They switched to speaking English. “Okay, sweetie. Please just call me when you’re there safe.”

  “Of course, Mom. I always do. I love you so much.”

  “I love you, shetzline.”

  Minarette said to me, “All right. You ready?”

  “Sure.” I nodded and followed her lead.

  As soon as Minarette opened the door the cold blasted us. I wished like crazy we weren’t leaving and that we could go back down to the den and just get lost in each other again.

  Minarette went to the car without looking back. Her and her mom said goodbye again, shouting at each other. She opened her door, got in and opened mine. Before I sat down, I turned and waved one last time. Her mom smiled and waved back. Over her shoulder, in the shadow behind her, I spotted the boyfriend leering at us, his bugged-out dark eyes reminding me of a fish. Had he been watching us the entire time without us realizing? Had he been just out of sight somewhere, listening, taking it all in?

  I sat, buckled up, and we were off. Minarette looked blank. I couldn’t read her at all. “Hey?” I said after we made it a few minutes away. “You okay?”

  “Just thinking,” she said. “I wasn’t born here, but I spent my childhood here. Lots of good memories. It’s strange and kind of sad coming back.”

  “Your mother loves you.”

  “Even though I sold her out. Even though that David is there with her. I want to kill him.”

  “Can you?”