Long Dark Night

by Janci Patterson

  “No,” I said. “I’m undead.”

  Jack laughed for real. “That’s a good one.”

  “No, it kind of sucks, actually.”

  He waved a hand at me. “So if you’re undead, which I’m not saying I believe . . .”

  “Here,” I said, holding out my wrist. I was surprised how good it felt to actually offer my hand to someone, after six months of shying away. Different from when he’d surprised me by touching me. “Find my pulse.”

  Jack took my wrist and felt it. His hands felt hot.

  When had I forgotten how warm people were?

  “Okay, you proved it. You need a sweater.”

  I tore my arm away. “It won’t help. I don’t generate heat.”

  He reached for my neck and put his fingers against my artery, feeling. I froze in place as he searched for a pulse. His fingers felt unnaturally hot against my neck, and in life I might have flushed.

  “Huh,” he said. “Your pulse must be faint, and you’re freezing. I think those are signs of shock. The hospital isn’t far. I know some of the nurses who work with my mom. They could check you out. You wouldn’t have to give them your name or anything.”

  I wondered if a corpse could get away with a nursing job. There were probably plenty of graveyard shifts available, and easy access to blood. It might be too risky to work that close to people, though. Someone was bound to notice you were room temperature when you touched them. And of course, as soon as Vance caught you poaching the blood supply, you’d be dead.

  “I don’t have to breathe,” I said. “They can’t treat that at the ER.” To prove it I stilled my lungs and took Jack’s hand from my neck and clamped it over my nose and mouth. My fingers trembled against his, and he stepped closer to me, his breath coming faster as mine was perfectly still.

  We stood there for one minute, two, three, while the seconds clicked by on Jack’s wall clock. The look of concern on Jack’s face grew deeper, and he tried to pull his hand away, but I held onto his wrist, keeping it there. I had to remind my body not to breathe out of habit, but my lungs didn’t demand air, didn’t strain under the loss or ache in desperation.

  I felt . . . nothing.

  Finally, after five full minutes had passed, I let him go. He stood close to me, and this time I didn’t mind. “I’ve heard about drugs that Voodoo practitioners used, that made people seem to lose their heartbeats and stop breathing and get buried alive. But I think those make you comatose.”

  “I’m not in a coma. I’m dead.”

  “Really,” he said. “We should go to the hospital now. Your temperature shouldn’t be this low. And you should need . . . air.”

  He looked at me like I might be pulling a magic trick, which was the last thing I wanted him to think. “You’re not listening to me.”

  “That’s because you’re talking like one of those freaky goth chicks who wants to be a vampire.”

  I flipped the penny over in my mouth. “I’m not a vampire. Not exactly. And I didn’t want this to happen to me. It just did.”

  Jack stepped back, and I shivered at the loss of his warmth. He pulled a Zippo lighter out of his pocket and flipped it open.

  “You can burn me with that,” I said. “It won’t hurt.”

  He snapped the thing shut again and jammed it back in his pocket. “No,” he said. “Sorry. It’s just habit.”

  “You smoke?”

  “No,” Jack said. “I just like fire, hence the tricks. Look, you’re barely room temperature. Please let me drive you to the hospital. How long were you out in the snow? You might have hypothermia.”

  I sighed, stretching my lungs after stilling my breath for so long. I was clearly going to have to do something more dramatic. He needed to see for himself.

  I stepped away from him, fishing a hobby knife out of a tray filled with pieces of his little pewter figurines.

  “Hang on,” Jack said. “Put that down, okay?”

  “I want to show you something.”

  Jack’s eyes widened in panic. “You’re not going to hurt yourself, are you?”

  Not technically. “Don’t be stupid.”

  I walked around the bed, wading through his laundry so he couldn’t reach out and stop me if he realized what I was going to do. I drew a deep breath. This wasn’t going to be pretty, but it was the only way.

  I flipped the knife up so a couple of inches of blade were showing, and then I slashed myself across my own throat as hard as I could. I felt my skin flap open—wind whistling in and out of my jugular. A tiny bit of viscous fluid seeped onto my throat, but there was no blood. My hands stayed clean.

  There. He couldn’t explain away that.

  Jack’s face went even whiter. He looked like he might pass out, but his eyes stayed riveted on my throat as my skin wove back together.

  I was careful not to try to speak until it finished. “See?” I said. “Undead.”

  He stared at me. “How did you do that?”

  “I died. It’s a side effect.”

  “That’s seriously disturbing.”

  “For me, too. But I didn’t get a choice, so I roll with it.”

  Jack stared at the wall behind me. “Okay. Let’s just say I accept that.”

  “Good.” I dropped the knife on the nightstand. He might not believe me, but if I gave him a second demonstration, I was afraid he would faint.

  Jack’s expression turned slowly from shocked to curious. “So does it take a stake to the heart to kill you?”

  I couldn’t for the life of me remember the proper name of that gland. “More or less. But it doesn’t have to be a stake. A bullet will do.”

  “What about sunlight?”

  “Deadly.”

  “Beheading?”

  “Also.”

  “You’re wearing a cross.”

  “Right. That’s a myth.”

  He studied me. “You weren’t shaking like this when you walked in here.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “So what changed?”

  I paused. The thirst crept over me, slow and aching. My monster rose, sniffing the air.

  I hoped I never saw Lyle again, but I could answer his questions, now. We were all monsters. The whole lot of us. I was no exception.

  “I’m hungry,” I said.

  Jack’s eyes scrunched up. “Hungry.”

  “Yeah, and McDonald’s isn’t going to do it for me, either.”

  “Next you’re going to tell me you drink blood.”

  “I’m not a vampire. But yes, blood is the cleanest way for me to eat.”

  He winced. “That’s messed up.”

  I stopped breathing, waiting for Jack to tell me I should get out.

  “So, what, do you need to go to a butcher?”

  “No,” I said. “Animal blood is no good. It has to be human.”

  He looked at me like I was a stray dog that needed help but might bite.

  He was starting to understand.

  “Tell me about it,” I said.

  I slipped the penny under my tongue. My head was getting achy, but I wasn’t far gone enough to kill him. Zeke said other corpses sometimes fed on the living through needles, or mouth-to-skin. When Vance found out there was always hell to pay. He controlled the blood supply. He chose which beaters were in the know. But Vance already had his eyes on me. I couldn’t sink any deeper.

  And now I’d dragged Jack right down with me.

  “This is weird,” Jack said. “What’s weirder is I’m starting to believe you.”

  I picked up the blade again, and he darted forward, grabbing it out of my hand. “No, really,” he said. “I always knew something weird was up with Zeke. He used to be cold, too. I mean, it never seemed to bother him, but walk too close and the man was like a refrigerator.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “We’re not supposed to be around people much, because of that. It’s amazing the things you never know that you notice.”

  “You’re dead,” Jack said. “How long?” />
  “Six months,” I said.

  Jack watched me warily. “Are you going to take my blood?”

  The monster screamed: YES!

  I bit down on my lip so hard it broke the skin, and then felt with my tongue as it knit back together. “Not unless it’s okay with you.”

  He hesitated. “Would it kill me?”

  “No. I’d only need a pint or so.”

  He sunk onto the end of the bed. He was going to say no. Of course he was. Anyone would. And then what was I going to do? Anywhere I could steal cold blood, Vance might have people looking for me.

  Jack looked up at me, and he seemed to decide something. “Okay.”

  I stared at him. “Okay, what?”

  He sighed. “Okay, if you need it, you can have some of my blood.”

  I’d been wrong. He was a freak. “What’s the matter with you?” My voice creaked hysterically. “Why would you do something like that?”

  He looked at me like I was stupid. “Didn’t you just ask me to?”

  I had. “Yeah, but—”

  Jack smiled. “But it’s crazy, right? This whole thing is crazy, and I think I might be dreaming. But I told you I wanted to help you. A pint isn’t so much. I donate blood all the time. But the last time I donated was more than two months ago, so I should be okay. And if it is a dream, I’m going to wake up fine anyway, so what does it matter?”

  “It’s not a dream,” I said.

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “You may be right. In my dreams, everything seems normal, and this is weird as hell.”

  Maybe he wasn’t a freak. Just tragically, inadvisably nice. Which explained why Zeke told me to find him, because he knew Jack would help me. And here Jack was, offering me his blood. Not a victim—a donor.

  I couldn’t say no.

  Jack looked me right in the eye for a long moment, then searched my neck where I’d cut it open. “You’re really not faking it,” he said.

  “I’m really not. I could show you again.”

  “Maybe somewhere else?” he asked. “What about your arm?”

  I reached out my hand for the knife. He handed it to me, and I sliced open the back of my arm, hard. The skin split, but no blood came out, and only the barest bit of clear fluid.

  He watched, fascinated this time, as my skin slipped back together.

  “You’re like Wolverine,” he said.

  “Trust me,” I said. “This is a superpower you don’t want.”

  He nodded absently. “It’s funny, you need the same amount as the Red Cross.”

  “I know. I’ve wondered if it’s all some kind of conspiracy.” Corpse bosses could influence the size of the draw. That’s exactly the kind of thing Vance would do. I knew Vance had the local Red Cross in his pocket, but for all I knew, he controlled the national organization as well.

  I held out the knife. “Do you want to do it? Or should I?”

  He looked at the knife. “Oh,” Jack said. “You won’t bite me?”

  I shuddered. “No. A clean cut heals quicker, and I don’t have fangs.”

  Jack shivered. “Sure. Right. That makes sense.”

  I swallowed. The decision was made. There was no way I could walk out of this now. I sat down on the end of the bed next to him.

  Jack eyed me. “Wait. Hold up. This won’t turn me into one of you, will you?”

  “No,” I said, pausing. “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “So how’d you become what you are? Did you just die and come back like this?”

  I could lie. I could make up a story. But if I refused to tell him outright, he might decide not to help me after all.

  I went with the truth. “It’s an STD.”

  I watched Jack’s face as he connected the dots. To his credit, he didn’t squirm or look away. If I had to guess, I would have said he felt sorry for me.

  Still, he knew things about me now—things I could hardly admit to myself.

  “You do it,” Jack said, wincing.

  “Okay.” I reached for Jack’s wrist. Zeke had made me practice this on my own wrist about a hundred times, just in case. Hit the vein, not the artery, he said. Of course, I didn’t bleed, but he watched my work, making sure I knew how to do it without killing the victim.

  I took his wrist, steadying it against my knee, and bit down hard on the penny.

  My monster felt so happy, I thought it might purr. It didn’t feel violent now, though, the way it had with Lexa. I wasn’t far gone enough yet. I was going to be able to do this.

  “Close your eyes,” I said.

  Jack leaned his head back, and did. “How will you know when you’ve had a pint?”

  “Trust me,” I said.

  He laughed nervously. “You do this a lot?”

  Never. But that wasn’t going to inspire confidence.

  “It’ll be all right,” I said.

  Jack didn’t look much more convinced than I was, but he didn’t try to stop me. I only hoped I could trust myself. I brought the blade up to his skin, drawing it across the vein in his wrist. He tensed as I cut, but I made it deep and quick.

  Blood spilled down his hand and over his fingers before I spit out the penny and covered the cut with my mouth, sucking it in.

  Nothing Zeke told me prepared me for the taste of hot blood. As soon as the liquid passed between my lips, my body broke out in goose bumps, followed by a body rush. All my muscles tensed, and the monster roared inside me, its hunger finally fed.

  The blood came more slowly from Jack’s arm than it would from a glass. The monster cried for more, to sink its teeth into Jack’s wrist and take it all.

  No, I coaxed it, forcing my mind to stay clear. Slowly.

  The blood kept coming, and I let it fill my mouth, swallowing it down in gulps. A part of me hated myself for doing this to Jack, but the monster part couldn’t believe we’d gone so long feeding on ice cold blood.

  Jack gasped, and I pulled myself back. How much had I taken? A pint yet? More?

  I was scaring myself, but I hadn’t felt alive like this for months.

  The monster groaned for more, but I covered Jack’s wrist with my palm, staunching the flow.

  Beads of sweat shone on his forehead. He looked pale.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  “I think so,” he said. “Are you feeling better?”

  My mind felt clear, now. The monster felt satiated, if disgruntled it couldn’t have more. “Much,” I said. “Thank you.”

  He reached over, pulling my palm from his wrist and replacing it with his own. “I’ve got it,” he said.

  I moved to get up, but he stopped me. “No,” he said. “Stay.”

  But I needed to get away, if only for a moment. “I won’t leave,” I said. “I just need to get some fresh air.” I couldn’t leave until I was sure he was going to be okay. If my selfishness killed him, I’d never forgive myself. I went up the stairs and out the door, into the night.

  Snow drifted down in silent clumps, still slushing as it hit the ground. It was only October—too early for the snow to stick. The flakes melted faster against my skin now—coming from inside, my body was closer to room temperature.

  I stared up at the snow whirling in eddies around a telephone pole. This was the first time since I’d found Zeke’s body that I finally had the time to think. I remembered when I was twelve and my grandmother died, missing her was a physical thing. My body ached for days. With Zeke, my body couldn’t stretch out into that kind of pain, or if it did, I couldn’t feel it.

  But I’d have given anything to go home and turn on the TV and shoot some zombies with him. If we’d gone to Paris with his friend Drew when he left, that was probably what I’d be doing right now.

  More than anything, I wished we had.

  The door slid open again, and Jack stood leaning against the door frame, like he couldn’t stand straight. He looked at me.

  “Oh,” he said. “Sorry. I didn’t believe you were sticking around.”

  “Shou
ldn’t you want me to leave?” I asked. “I’ll put you in more danger if I stay.”

  Jack shrugged, running a hand over the bandage on his wrist. “This isn’t so bad.”

  “That’s not the kind of danger I meant.”

  Worry crossed his face again. “You mean Vance.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “You should let me drive you to Vegas.”

  “You have serious problems,” I said. “I just drank your blood, and you still want to help me?”

  “I told your brother I’d look out for you,” Jack said. “I promised.”

  “He wasn’t really my brother,” I said. “He told people that so they wouldn’t ask questions.”

  Jack looked up at me. “So you guys were . . . what?”

  I shivered. I hadn’t meant to imply that. “He was just looking out for me is all. We weren’t anything.”

  I could tell he didn’t believe me. “He cared about you a lot. You must have been something.”

  “He was kind of like my foster brother, I guess. I fell apart, after I was turned. I didn’t talk, and I sure as hell didn’t want to eat, but if Vance left me with a glass of blood long enough I always did. Eventually, Vance told me I needed a break. A holiday, he called it, to pull myself together. And then he sent me to live with Zeke.”

  I guessed Vance had given up waiting. His methods sure hadn’t softened any.

  Jack closed his eyes. “This is why you can’t go to the police about Zeke’s death.”

  “He’d been dead for two years,” I said. “Now he’s nothing but ash.”

  Jack looked concerned. “But he didn’t turn you.”

  I was glad corpses didn’t blush. The image of me and Zeke . . . “No,” I said.

  Jack looked out at the snow. “I really don’t want you running off on your own in the middle of the night.”

  “Night is the right time, for me,” I said. “It’s the day I’m allergic to.”

  “Yeah, but you still shouldn’t be alone.”

  I didn’t want to go alone. Not really. “Are you sure you’re okay to drive?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Jack said. “I’ll get something to drink and be fine.”

  “All the way to Vegas?” I asked. “It’s getting late.”

  “I’m good. The store doesn’t open until noon, so I’m usually up until at least four.”