Walking Shadows

by Narrelle M. Harris

  Drunk he may be, but he was a professional sportsman, relatively fit and adrenalin-fuelled. Before I could react, Dad thrust the knife into the left side of Gary's chest, and it sank in half the length of the blade. Dad stood, panting with the exertion and the terror.

  For a split second, I thought my own heart would fail me. Luckily, my father's comprehension of human anatomy wasn't good, or alcohol had buggered his aim. Lucky, too, that Gary's other organs had proven relatively invulnerable to stabbing.

  Gary stared stupidly at the handle protruding from his chest, a good handspan above his heart. "Ow." He cast an irritated glance at me, then transferred it to my father. "Ow!"

  "Die you bastard," Dad yelled at him, "Turn to dust. Go on."

  "Shut up, Dad!"

  "You - watch - too - much - telly," Gary's speech was ragged. The knife seemed to have pierced his lung, making speech a labour. Gary grabbed the handle. Tugged. It moved a fraction and stopped. "Ow. Stuck. Collar Bone."

  I pushed Dad ungently out of the way so I could help Gary. Gary braced himself against the bench. I grabbed the knife handle with both hands and pulled. The resistance vanished, the knife slid out and I threw it into the sink with a clatter. Gary clapped a hand over the bloodless wound briefly. Then he poked a finger through the hole in the shirt and pressed it against the one in his chest.

  "That - hurt," Gary said in staccato resentment.

  Dad's knees failed completely and he folded to the floor, never taking his eyes off Gary. "You really are, really," he couldn't finish the sentence.

  "Un-Dead," Gary supplied for him, "Yes."

  "Would it help if I got a bandaid for that?" I asked, "It might stop the leak." It made him sound like a punctured tyre.

  "Nah. O - kay. In a - minute."

  There followed what I believe was the longest and most awkward pause ever in the history of human communication.

  It ended when Gary twice thumped his chest over the stab wound, inhaled and held, thumped again, exhaled carefully, then nodded curtly. "That's better."

  "You sure?" I asked.

  "Yeah." He fiddled with the hole in his shirt ruefully. "Damn. I like this shirt."

  "I'll get it mended for you."

  "Thanks."

  We both became aware of the looks we were getting from the third cast member in this pitiful melodrama.

  Dad was kneeling on the floor staring, transfixed, at Gary. Gary was most definitely not amused. "Get up, Mr Wilson."

  "Y-you stay away from m-my girls."

  "Dad, he's the good guy."

  Dad clambered stiffly to his feet, still eying Gary fearfully. "He's a v-v…"

  "I know. He's still the good guy."

  "He's…un-un-unholy."

  Part of me felt bad for him. Most of me was angry, and getting angrier every second, now that the hysterical activity had passed and I had time to think.

  "I'll tell you what Gary is, Dad. He's reliable. He looks out for me, and he's always there for me. He keeps his word, he's not an alcoholic and he's never tried to turn me into a vampire. So he's streets ahead of either of my parents on pretty much every single count you could name. So why don't you get the hell out of my house?"

  "Don't you talk to me like that. It's been a hell of a night."

  "You just stabbed my best friend, Dad."

  "He's not even bleeding." He twitched nervously, "He's a v-vampire, he can't die."

  "You tried to stab him in the heart. If you'd actually had a clue, you might have killed him. If he was a living person, you'd have punctured his lung and he'd almost certainly be dead now. So however you look at it, the only reason my friend isn't dead is because you're a moron."

  "I was trying to protect you!"

  "Well, you're lousy at it. Go home."

  Dad stumbled for the door. It took three attempts to move the handle and get into the hallway. He paused there, glaring in a tumult of emotion at Gary. "If you harm my daughter…"

  Gary looked at me. "Why does your family always think I'm going to do something bad to you?"

  I was grudgingly impressed that, despite everything, Dad had stood his ground one last time. Not impressed enough, though. "Gary is not going to hurt me, Dad. Certainly less than you do. Sober up, then you can convince me that Kate and I matter a damn to you."

  I closed the door on him. I presume he took the lift downstairs again. I didn't bother looking.

  Gary was still messing with his shirt in disgruntlement. He paused when he realised I was watching.

  "Do you want to stay here," I asked, "Or are you coming out with me?"

  "Are you going out?"

  "To find Evan."

  He looked like he was going to argue but the moment passed and he nodded. "I'll come."

  "Richmond, you think?"

  "It seems likely."

  "Do you reckon you'd recognise Evan's scent again, from the blood you smelled on Abe?"

  "Probably," he admitted.

  "Good. I've got this in case we need it." I pulled the syringe out of my bag. Although it had been jostled, it was intact, still full of blood-blushed heroin. Lucky for me the police hadn't wanted to search any bags at the bar.

  Gary reached out towards the needle, his index finger poised above the point. He rubbed his thumb nervously across its pad and withdrew.

  I found a cork to cap it, then changed into more practical - and less cocktail-stained - jeans, T-shirt and sneakers. Gary waited in the corridor while I made a pit-stop at the loo. While I was in the bathroom, I dug up the household first aid kit and threw in some extra hand towels in case bleeding needed to be staunched in the near future. In the kitchen I shoved a bottle of water and some food into the bag. Finally, I heaped up food and fresh water for Oscar, gave him a vigorous pat and told him that I'd be back as soon as I could. He made an unhappy noise and sulked fretfully at the door as I left.

  The tram we needed passed Flinders Street Station, so the walk to the stop was short. Gary didn't have much to say, which was fine. Neither did I. The tram took us past the Melbourne Cricket Ground to the shabby side of trendy Richmond, and we alighted at Burnley Station.

  "Around here, was it?"

  "Lissa, I'm not sure this is a good idea. If Abe's got this far he'll still be dangerous."

  "Abe's bent up like a doll that's been run over, and who knows what state Evan's in?"

  He looked at me. "What are you going to do if we find him?"

  "If there's anything left of Evan to patch up, I'll do that. Then I'm going to shove him in a taxi and tell him to get the hell out of Dodge."

  Another long pause, and then: "He's already tried to kill me once."

  "Oh, Gary." He'd been stabbed by my father, abused by my sister, bitten by my dog, and risked everything to rescue me and here he was, still beside me. I was so the crappiest friend in history. "I wasn't thinking. Don't worry about it. You go home now."

  "I can't leave you here."

  "I have to find Evan. I don't want anyone else to die, if I can stop it. I'm so sick of everybody dying."

  The misery built up behind the wall in my head and I wouldn't let it out. Gary reached out to pat my hand, which had curled into a fist.

  "The thing is, Lissa," and here he dredged up a strange little smile, "you're the worst best friend I've ever had too. Let's find this guy, and get this over with."

  The misery ebbed again. I opened my hand to wrap it around his. "I'll make it up to you, I swear."

  Gary simply smiled and walked into the shadows surrounding the train station, towards the light industrial area along this stretch of Swan Street. He paused at the intersection, a fast food joint on our left, a dishevelled old pub on the corner opposite, and to our right a row of bathroom fitting outlets and a shabby milk bar.

  "I lost Abe up this way," he said. We crossed the road and walked to the next intersection. Gary raised his head and sniffed, like a terribly refined bloodhound, then did one of his standing leaps to the eaves of the hardware store beside us. He d
isappeared momentarily then dropped noiselessly at my feet. If I hadn't been expecting him it would have startled me out of my wits.

  "Down here, I think. Abe must have come over the roofs before, and when he came back he had blood all over him. I can still smell it. Come on."

  I tried not to think too hard about the blood trail we were following, or what it meant for Evan. A flash of memory came, of his beautiful skin on mine, his mouth, then another flash, of his eyes gone cold and disillusioned. My heart pounded.

  Most of Richmond's old working class cottages were now gentrified all to hell, except where they had been knocked down to make way for ultra-modern apartments with skylights and Italian-tile feature walls. A lot of the old places had become renovators' dreams. A few remained that were more like nightmares, so old and tumble-down the only thing to do was help them fall down and start over. Perhaps their elderly owners, now in nursing homes, were leaving it for their heirs to sort out.

  The trail led to a shambolic wooden cottage with an overgrown garden and a sagging verandah. Cyclone fencing was meant to keep trespassers from venturing in and breaking their necks on the rotten floorings.

  Gary ripped a hole in the metal fence. He held it open while I shoved my bags into the yard and crawled through after them.

  "You don't have to come in," I said.

  "I figured I should stay out here and watch for Abe anyway."

  "Be careful, then."

  "You too. Yell if you need me."

  With my bag slung across my shoulders, I went to the door, half off its hinges. The verandah crunched ominously under my shoes. The door creaked and drooped further with an atmospheric groan when I pushed it, raising dust and insects.

  "Evan?" I leaned forward, straining to hear a sign, and thought I heard a faint groan. "It's me, Lissa." Nothing. Treading carefully, testing each step for structural integrity on the untrustworthy floorboards, I crept into the dark, doubtlessly spider-infested house.

  Starlight was visible through the gaps in the ceiling. A room on my left was dark and smelled of mildew, and the next was full of scurrying noises. I wished I'd thought to bring a torch.

  "Evan?"

  A more distinct grunt came from the end of the corridor. A pool of faint light illuminated the space and as I got close I could see it came from a much larger hole in the roof. I glanced around the ruined kitchen, the upturned table in one corner, and a rucked up, threadbare rug which had become a nest to rodents.

  "Evan?"

  Passing through the kitchen to the door at the rear, I paused at the bathroom. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust.

  Evan was in the bathtub, propped up with a jacket laid over his torso. He didn't look good, but he didn't look dead, either.

  He opened his eyes. They were so full of sorrow and pain I wanted to hold him and say everything would be all right. But I couldn't tell that big a lie.

  I knelt by the tub and found his hand to take his pulse, while he watched me, unspeaking. The pulse was a little fast, but steady.

  "Here." I pulled out the bottle of water and held it to his lips. He sipped, his eyes still on me.

  "Have you come," he said hoarsely, "to finish the job?"

  "I'd be a pretty poor advocate for not letting people get murdered if I went around finishing you off, wouldn't I?"

  He made a gruff sound in reply.

  "How badly are you hurt?"

  "Less than formerly." He grimaced. I realised it was supposed to be a defiant grin.

  "You need to get to a hospital," I told him, peeling the jacket back to inspect the worst of the damage. His throat, chest and legs were covered in blood. "Shit. Has Abe been biting you?"

  "No, no, no," Evan shook his head emphatically, as though in summoning enough energy to do so he had to expend it all in one grand gesture. "Opposite. He's been, ha!" - A strange, dry laugh - "fixing me."

  "Vampire spit, huh?"

  "Indeed. Wonderful properties. Should've seen me yesterday. Slow going, though. Only a few hundred mils at a time. If we could persuade the bastards to donate it, we would revolutionise medicine."

  "Yeah, well good luck with that."

  "Water," said Evan. I gave him the bottle and he drained it. "Abe keeps forgetting. About food and water."

  "I still hate you, you know," I said, without much conviction, still willing it to be true, "As much as you hate me. I'm sick of people dying on my watch, is all."

  "I don't hate you, Lissa," he said wearily. I despised the way that made my heart flutter. It didn't mean anything in the long run. Not even in the short run.

  "Sure," I riposted, slapping down that happy surge, "You kidnap and beat up all the girls you like best. Here." I pulled hand towels out of the bag and shoved them at him. "Clean up then, if you're so good to go."

  Evan wiped his face and throat, the towels coming away streaked with old blood. A streak of fresher red revealed an unclosed wound on his shoulder. He lifted away the shirt and picked at the wound, pulling out a sliver of glass. "Missed a bit," he said with a faint smile. Like this was funny.

  He stirred and pushed himself until he was sitting upright. I could see that his trousers were shredded around the right knee, though the limb was intact. Similarly, where his shirt was a bloody mess, sprinkled with remnants of smashed glass, the skin underneath was unblemished.

  "Anything broken?"

  "Leg might have been. I think it's mended now." He flexed his right leg experimentally, then his right arm. "Collarbone's still a bit dodgy."

  Fast getaways were pretty much a given these days, so I had my satchel slung across my body. I was unwilling to risk taking it off, end up running like the clappers and leaving it behind as evidence. I fished out some things from the first aid kit and soaked cotton wool balls in disinfectant for Evan's shoulder. He winced as I cleaned the cut. "You should get Abe to spit on this later, if he's still alive."

  "Yes," Evan replied sombrely.

  "He was alive last I saw him. He was coming after me and Gary again. Magdalene caught up with him though. I don't know what his chances are."

  "Better than mine, you think?"

  "You'll survive. If I can get you out of this bathtub, into a hospital and then out of this town. For good."

  "No hospital. And first, we have business with Gary to settle."

  "Oh no, you son of a bitch." I rose and backed away, feeling the sharp-and-heavy pain of betrayal yet again, "You leave him the hell alone."

  "It's not as simple as that…"

  "Of course it's that simple, you…"

  My explanation of how goddamn simple it was got interrupted by an almighty crash, then another, and shouting. A scream. Another crash. I ran through the house to find out what was going on and came a cropper in the hallway as my foot crunched through a rotten plank. Cursing, I pulled my leg out, limped to the door. More shouting and crashes. I thought I heard Gary's voice, and then Abe's.

  Heart banging in my chest, I paused at the derelict verandah and strained to see or hear anything further. A noise made me look up. Gary was on the other side of the road, running across a rooftop, getting to the edge and leaping across a four-metre gap to the next. He stumbled and fell on the other roof, scrambled up, ran to the next and made the jump more easily this time. On that rooftop he glanced around, colourful shirt flapping with the movement, then crouched and sprang to the ground.

  Up and down the street, porch lights turned on. One or two doors opened. Gary pressed himself flat against the side of the house and peered out uncertainly.

  At the other end of the street, Smith appeared. Magdalene stumbled out of the shadows beside him. Smith began to stride ahead of her, and she had to reach out to snag him by the shoulder.

  "Get me out of here," I heard her say roughly. That's when I saw her limping. Peering at her, halted under a streetlight, I could see she was not at her best. There were holes in her chest and arms. How had she got herself shot up?

  "That bastard kid got Giorgio," Smith yelled back.r />
  "He damn near got me, and he is going to kill all of us in a minute," Magdalene retorted. "It is time to withdraw."

  "No way."

  "Smith." He tried to move off. She grabbed his collar and yanked him back. His hand, holding the gun, angled up into the sky. "You will do as you are told. Get me out of here. We'll deal with him later."

  Rising sirens proved that Melburnians aren't so jaded by the city's over-reported gangland scene that they'll ignore gunfire when they hear it. Smith swore, turned and shoved Magdalene ahead of him.

  Gary was furtively checking out the street from his hiding place in the shadows.

  "What the hell?" Evan's voice made me jump. He had managed to get out of the tub and limp down the corridor after me. He clutched a half-eaten muesli bar, fetched from my bag, in one hand, and a bloodied towel in the other. The water and some food had made a difference. He had been less hurt, or at least more healed, than I'd at first imagined.

  "Looks like you've got a reprieve. Magdalene and Smith have just taken off. Magdalene needs a puncture kit and the cops are on the way." The latter wasn't exactly good news for us, either.

  A thump behind Evan made us both start, and Evan turned.

  An Abe-shaped silhouette rose from a crouch in the kitchen, where he had leapt down from the hole in the roof.

  "Abe," Evan reached towards him, "you're alright."

  Abe staggered and righted himself. He raised his arm to lean on the wall, and his silhouette betrayed a wicked extension. The thunk of metal against plaster showed it too. A gun.

  All I could think was, what does a vampire need with a gun?

  Abe was easier to see now. The holes in his shirt, like those I had seen a moment ago in Magdalene's torso. One hole through his throat, and a horrible, deep furrow along his face through which I could see bone.

  He saw me too and grinned like a maniac, his fangs strung with saliva and blood.

  "I have sent one of them to his God," said Abe, "I do not know if it is my God too. Perhaps. I drank from this man, Evan. I have not done that for many a year. One of my many dead cousins told me I should not and I have obeyed, until now. Certainly, I feel strange. I do not know why, but I am thinking of my mother. She died the way that man died, screaming and bleeding. As did many of my family. Our family. Eye for an eye, as my father preached. It strikes me that our God has a sense of humour, yes?"