***
Corky got back to the motel, near tears. She flung the door open and shut with a slam, slung the old cross down on the table next to Moony’s book, put her hands over her face and yelled at the top of her lungs.
She had hoped to have been done with all this and be ready to head home, but the way that visit had gone upset her. She couldn’t just take off now. Pam had been glaring absolute daggers at her. And her uncle had not stopped screaming about the book even after she left the room. She had heard him yelling after her all the way down the hall.
“Death and worse,” she muttered now. She glanced at the clock. Eleven am. She decided to go back and visit again, one last time, after lunch. Maybe he’d be calmer by then. Maybe, but she doubted it.
She sighed and looked at the book. May as well. Maybe that would make it easier with him. She drew it towards her, and this time, instead of opening to a random page, she started at the beginning.
Soon enough, Corky became aware that something about what she was reading disturbed her, but she couldn’t at first place what it was. It wasn’t the content, or the disjointed way it started and stopped, it wasn’t the handwriting. But what was it? She turned another page.
…he had been following me all day last Thursday and when the tables turned his surprise was tangible, his fear not feigned. I will have him within days, and he knows it, his death is certain…
And, a few pages farther in:
...when he dropped the knife he drew his lids down with a horrible scraping sound, and I knew them though they did know me, I knew them as my brother’s eyes…
Then she had it, the thing that disturbed her. This story her uncle had written didn’t really seem like a story.
It seemed like a diary.
Chapter 9
…I followed the vampire Edgar Moonrich all day, and saw where he goes. If I did not know him, it would have seemed an ordinary day. To the bank, to the grocery store! His infant girl lies at home, and I have worried that she, too, will show the signs, but so far she seems innocent and pure, like her mother. If she turns even slightly I must destroy her quickly, for one is enough. More than enough.
Corky was halfway through the volume. She closed it and rubbed her eyes, glancing at the clock. Jesus. Half the day gone. If she wanted to go visit her uncle, she had better get moving. And she did want to visit him, now even more. Her eccentric old uncle who had played horseshoes with her might be more than just eccentric.
He might be completely insane.
She looked out the window briefly, then back down at the book in her lap. There had been some passages about her. She shuddered slightly. I’m the infant girl he’s threatening to destroy. I’m Edgar Moonrich’s innocent and pure daughter, the only one he ever had.
The book detailed behavior on her uncle’s part that could only be described as that of a stalker. Her own father was painted as villainous: a lunatic vampire who had taken a human woman as his own and forced her to bear a daughter, a daughter who, according to Moony, would be made a vampire herself, to follow in his footsteps as part of some horrible master plan. Uncle Moony had “discovered” the evil in his brother at an early age (the first reference was to a time when Edgar had been only ten) and uncovered Edgar’s unsavory plans over the course of many years, until then he had sworn to put Edgar to death, to end it with a stake in the heart. And eventually…
Well eventually it said he drove him away, didn’t it? Eventually, it said, Edgar was driven to flee, to avoid his brother’s endless attacks. Eventually, it said:
…my last effort may have wrecked me, for he is fled for parts unknown, and I am unable to follow… the knife I put into his back didn’t take and his red blood didn’t flow and now he is no longer where I can get to him. And yet! His daughter is still untaken and he may return. Surely he will for this prize. I must remain vigilant, I cannot permit him to do this horrible thing… not any of the horrible things he has promised to do…
Fled, for parts unknown. Corky frowned. The entire thing had to be made up, didn’t it? But her father had, in fact, fled. Maybe her uncle had actually attacked him. Maybe her uncle had attacked her father over and over again, until her father had finally just… taken off.
With a knife in his back? Could this really have happened this way? Corky doubted it. Maybe her uncle concocted all of this after Edgar took off, just to—why? It didn’t matter. She decided she better go talk to her uncle again. Her uncle who wasn’t just a little nuts, but was actually crazy. And apparently had been for years.
***
“But I did kill him, dear, I did.”
Corky rubbed her face. When she had gotten here an hour earlier, she’d been glad that Pam and Bruce weren’t around. Glad for a chance to talk to her uncle alone for once. Now, she almost wished they’d show up just to get her out of this conversation, this endlessly circular conversation that did nothing but point up just how unstable her uncle was.
“Moony. You didn’t kill him. You said so yourself, that he ran away. Remember?”
Moony shook his head. “Oho, I see what you’re thinking. But he didn’t return, and I was sure he would. I watched, but he didn’t come back. So maybe I did kill him.” He sat back in his chair, looking satisfied for a moment. But only for a moment, and then doubt took him again and panic came with it and he lurched sideways in his chair with a hiss.
“I got the mirror when he fled. To use, you know. To watch. I have to watch. And now you have to watch, too.”
Corky nodded absently. “Mirror, yes. You mentioned the mirror.”
“You can tell, that way, you see. The vampires are afraid of the mirrors, the right mirrors. They know. We were always so careful to watch for them coming. He never did come back. But he could be after me still! I have never been safe, not really, nor you either my dear.” He smiled a wee, peculiar smile. “You have to use the mirror to be sure he isn’t here, even at this moment,” he said breathily, and groped in the pocket of his robe, winking at Corky.
“Yes, Moony. You told me.” The mirror. Look in the mirror and know the truth; look in the mirror and see the soul reflected. Not just any mirror would do, that was an old wives’ tale. Vampires weren’t like people thought they were. The garlic, the sunlight, all of it, all the stuff everyone had heard, none of it really worked. None of it was true. But this mirror, Moony had insisted, this one, had a special power to show a vampire for who he truly was. Corky had not asked him what it was about this particular mirror that was different.
He held the mirror aloft now, using it to look at items in the room, and out the door at nursing staff as they passed by. “See, they are none of them evil, or I would know. Here, take it, go see for yourself.” He thrust the mirror towards her.
“I don’t—” but it was no use. She took the mirror and looked at it. It was a lovely thing, heavy silver, richly scrolled handle, ornate. She looked into it, saw her tired blue eyes. “I’m not a vampire. What a relief.”
“No, no, of course you aren’t; take it out, look at the nurses, so you can see, they are all fine, all of them.” He waved her off, pointing at the door.
She went to the doorway, made a show of looking at the nurses in the mirror. This was so wearying, and she was not getting anywhere. Since she had been here, Moony had only rambled on like this, and it was coming clear to her that she was going to have to give up. Give up and go home and quit trying to find out the truth about what actually happened with Moony and her father. Because Moony couldn’t keep his story straight, not even for a moment. In one three-minute period, he had described his own children as angels of protection, and then as vampires themselves, hungry for his blood. The nurses out front were merciful saviors, and then they were the opposite, cruel women who meant him harm. (At least he had not said they were vampires.) And he had called her “Cici” twice, both times looking surprised and embarrassed when he discovered the error.
As she returned the mirror to his hand, he did it again. “No, Cici, you keep it
, you will need to know where they are.”
“It’s not Cici, Uncle Moony. I’m Corky.”
He looked at her, baffled. “Cici… oh, that’s right… you look so much like her…” he trailed off, then redoubled his efforts to hand her the mirror. “Even more reason you should have this, you will need it. You will need it!”
She took it from him and set it on the side table. “Uncle Moony, I really want to try and find out what happened. What really happened.” She looked at him hopefully. “Can you tell me, when you said you killed my father—”
“Oh, I never did, honey. Not that I didn’t try. I did try, over and over.” Moony nodded and his eyes took on a disturbing, distant look. “When he was just a boy, I saw him at the throat of a bird, you know. Drinking. He was… drinking from it.” Moony shuddered and Corky could see his throat working. “The feathers, I remember. They were so perfect. Have you ever looked at a feather, up close?”
Horrified and speechless, Corky shook her head.
“They’re so fine, so delicate… Edgar had one stuck to his chin, after, and I picked it off him. He was not after me yet, then. He was still my little brother, and I remember holding the small black feather up to the sun and looking at the edges of it… Edgar asked me…”
There were tears in Moony’s eyes, and Corky almost reached for a tissue and then decided not to as Moony went on, “… he asked me whether birds go to heaven. And I said no, birds don’t go to heaven, and then… then he said...” Moony’s words were lost in a sob.
Now Corky did reach over for a tissue. “What did he say?”
Moony’s eyes peeked at her from over the folded tissue as he wiped his nose, and he nodded. “He said it was a shame. He threw the bird down on the grass, dead, and we looked at it, and he asked me… he said ‘Martin’ – that’s what he called me, then, you know, ‘Martin’ – he said, ‘Martin, if that was a man, he’d go to heaven, wouldn’t he?’ and I said, yes he probably would have… and Edgar looked up at me, and his chin had blood on it still, and he nodded.”
“He… nodded?” Corky wasn’t sure what to make of this story. Thinking too hard about it made her stomach turn. “What—”
“I was just a boy, Corky, what was I supposed to have done?” Moony cried out. “I was so young then. All I could do was what I… what I did. You have to believe me, I know I should have killed him right then, but I was too weak. He was my brother, and I… I loved him… back then, I still did love him…”
Moony was wracked with sobs and much of what he was saying was lost. But the gist of it was that Edgar had promised to kill no more birds. “No more birds, because they don’t go to heaven, see?”
Corky nodded her head, but she didn’t see. She just wanted Moony to calm down, before he got his machinery beeping again. “Shh, shh…” she began.
Moony grabbed her arm. “No more birds, he said. Because only men go to heaven.” He stared at her. “Now do you understand? Only men.”
Chapter 10
When Pam got back to the room, she was surprised to find Corky there. Corky there, and Bruce not. “Hi Corky, have you been here long?”
“Oh… for a couple of hours I guess. He’s been, um, chatting me up, haven’t you Uncle Moony?”
Moony held a finger up to his lips. “Oh, we were just talking about the weather. It’s so nice today, isn’t it?”
“Mm-hmm,” Pam said, moving around in the room, tidying up. She frowned. “Dad, did you fill out the dinner card? For tonight?”
“Dinner card?” Moony looked puzzled. “What card?”
“Dad.” Pam shook her head, frustrated. This card was a daily thing, a simple menu choice to select from. It was perhaps the only choice about which he still had any say: would he like chicken tonight or would he prefer fish? Why couldn’t he remember to fill it out? Why couldn’t he seem to remember the damn thing even existed? At least three nights out of every seven, he ended up with whatever the nursing staff had decided to gift him with, because he had mislaid his card. “I’ll go out and see if it’s too late,” Pam said, shaking her head as she left.
Moony reached for Corky’s hand. “She’s angry with me, I’m afraid. I forget about that card, you know.” He sighed, waving his free hand in the air like a butterfly. “It just flits out of my head. It doesn’t matter. I’m not hungry. The food is horrible, like baby food. No flavor at all.”
“Uncle Moony, I’m going to step out for a while, maybe.”
His hand tightened on hers. “Wait. Take the mirror.” He reached for it again and held it up to her. “You need it. I’m done for anyway, it’s over for me. You need it.” He pressed it into her hand.
Pam returned from the nurse’s station. “Dad, it’s too late, you’re having the fish. I don’t know—” she cut off in mid sentence, having spotted her father pressing the mirror into Corky’s hand. “What’s that, there? What are you taking from him?”
“I’m not—” Corky began, but got no farther.
Pam seized the small mirror. “Corky, I’d like to talk to you a minute. In the hall.”
Once in the hall, Pam rounded on her, holding the mirror up. “Just what is the meaning of this?”
“Meaning of it? Pam, he’s been trying to force me to take that mirror all day, it’s not like I’m—”
“Forcing you? Oh, please. Please.” Pam saw the nurses looking at her and lowered her voice. “I saw you the other day. With the cross. You remember that, don’t you?” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m sure you do remember it, it’s a very nice cross. One I was quite surprised to see in your hand.”
Corky flushed; she was wearing the cross. She hoped Pam couldn’t see the outline of it under her shirt. Her eyes flicked down subconsciously.
“You’re actually wearing it, aren’t you, Corky? I can see it in your eyes. Well.” Pam folded her arms. “I can’t take it away from you, but I want you to know, I don’t appreciate it, and neither does Bruce. We don’t feel it was right for you to take it. And I’m certainly not giving up this old mirror.”
“It wasn’t like that, Pam!” Corky was hurt and shocked. “He was insistent about the necklace, and about the mirror! I wasn’t asking for anything, I never even mentioned—”
“Whatever you say, cousin.” This last word was a hiss. “By all rights it should be given back to us, but I’ll have to leave that up to your own better judgment.” She turned with a sniff and stalked back into her father’s room. It was clear Corky wasn’t welcome to follow her.
Chapter 11
Corky stood out in the lobby, wavering. After Pam had left her in the hall, it had been in her mind to just leave and go back to her motel, get her bags and go home. That didn’t seem quite fair to Moony, though. Then she had half a mind to march back to Moony’s room and give the necklace to Pam. That also didn’t seem quite fair. Moony wanted her to have the necklace. Sure, for a crazy reason, but still, it was what he wanted. Besides which, Corky didn’t much want to talk to Pam again right now; she might say things she didn’t mean.
Or things I do mean. Corky’s hand went to her chest, feeling the cross under the fabric. It was a nice cross, but if it meant that much to Pam, maybe she should return it. Surely it wasn’t really all that valuable. Silver wasn’t that expensive.
But it stuck in her craw. If Pam had asked her politely for the necklace back… but she hadn’t. And then to talk to her about that stupid mirror as though she had snuck in and tried to steal it, when it was obvious Moony was trying to hand it to her… Corky looked back toward the hall and shook her head. No, she wasn’t going back there, not right now. Maybe later she’d feel differently. In the meantime, she decided, she’d talk to Seth about it, get some perspective from him. He was good to talk to when she was upset.
She got in her car, glanced at the clock and remembered Seth was at work. A late shift today, too. Corky pulled the car into traffic and decided to grab a bite at the diner near her motel. Something comforting. With bacon. She was still pretty upset about the way
Pam had treated her, not to mention the things Moony had been telling her before Pam had come in. The birds. Could her father have really…?
Corky tried to put this out of her mind as she arrived and was seated at the diner. She ordered a bacon sandwich with fries, and worked hard to think about other things. Seth would be home in about four hours; she’d call him then. Ask how his day went. Maybe she’d find a movie on the TV. But—
The birds. How old was he, her father, when that happened? And did it happen, Corky, did that actually happen or did Moony imagine it? Which one was the psycho, her father or her uncle? Her mind conjured up an image: a young boy with feathers and blood on his chin; black feathers and greasy red blood, and the green eyes she’d seen in pictures, but didn’t remember ever seeing in person. Because he had taken off.
She shoved her plate away virtually untouched, and her shaking hands pulled the cross out from under her shirt. She felt absurdly comforted by its weight in her palm.
“Everything OK, miss? Was your sandwich not good?” The waitress was standing there, a concerned look on her face. “You look like you aren’t feeling too well.”
Corky shook her head, embarrassed. “Oh. Yeah, um. No. I’m fine. I just…” her hands waved meaninglessly. “I had a— I guess I’m not all that hungry.”
The waitress (hi, I’m Marian, her nametag read) smiled. “That’s a lovely cross.”
Corky looked down; she was still clutching the cross. She let it drop to her chest.
“Thanks. It was a gift. My uncle. He thinks it will protect me from evil.” She laughed, but Marian didn’t; Marian drew out a cross of her own.
“My mother,” she said, holding out a tiny gold cross on a chain. “She gave this to me when I was five. We’re Catholic. Well, I guess I was anyway.” Nervous laughter. “I don’t go to church like I should. But when I feel down, or, you know… sad? I pull it out, sometimes. Like you did. Makes me feel better.” She looked over her shoulder, then back at Corky. “Are you sure you’re OK? You look sort of... are you sure?”
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