"Yes. She's here. She's the one that told me your name. She the one that told me everything."
Geronimo was overwhelmed with emotion. He became light headed and his legs weakened. He never thought that he would feel that way toward anyone, again. But, he loved Justine and he was glad to know that she also loved him.
At that moment, he was glad to have more than a safe place to be. He knew what it meant to be loved and he would hold her in his heart forever. Geronimo wiped away a tear from his cheek.
He stared at the stranger wondering who was this man was who could speak to the dead.
Finally, Geronimo asked him the one question that has haunted him since the world was turned upside down.
"What is the night?"
37
No One Escapes The Night
GERONIMO ASKED THE STRANGER, AGAIN.
"What is the night?"
Why did it hate us? Why was there an abyss where everyone disappeared. Why had the night become the terror?
The stranger cleared his throat.
"Come over here and sit next to me." The stranger pointed at the couch, next to the lazy boy. "And I'll tell you."
"Promise?"
"Yes. You will no longer be afraid of the night. Not anymore."
To Geronimo, the stranger's voice sounded gentle and welcoming.
So, Geronimo walked over to the couch, next to the lazy boy where the man sat. When he sat, a cloud of dust rose through a thing shaft of light between him and the stranger. The sun arched higher in the sky. Geronimo looked outside and he could see the sun rising in the reflection of the lake. The water was dead calm. For a moment, they sat alone in the shadows of the abandoned lake house.
"What is the night?" Geronimo again.
There was another moment of silence between them.
The light of the sun swept up along the stranger's body and Geronimo had a better look. He wore a ragged blue trench coat with his collar pointed up. He wore a blue shirt stained with blood. He was injured and his wound bled through.
Geronimo saw that he was hurt. He wondered why the stranger did not ask for help. He looked at the stranger's face covered in shadow. Only his eyes glimmered with life.
"Geronimo, take my hand and I will tell you all that I know about the night."
"How?"
"Because the dead never lie."
Before Geronimo took the strangers hand, he took his knife out and held it in left hand. It wasn't large knife. But, it worked, just as well. Then, Geronimo leaned over and stretched his right hand over a glass table, between the couch and the lazy boy. The side table was covered with old magazines and a layer of dust.
For a moment, Geronimo held his hand, half in light and half in shadow.
Then, the stranger's hand sprung out of the dark, like a rattlesnake striking its prey. The stranger grabbed his hand and did not let go. But, Geronimo was not afraid and did not pull away. The stranger's hand was rough and callous. But, Geronimo felt nothing much. It was as if his own hand were numb in those first moments when they touched. The stranger's hand was cold. But, Geronimo felt warmth. A few seconds later, he felt the same warmth growing inside his chest.
Geronimo felt something familiar when he held the man's hand. It felt like something he dreamed about yesterday afternoon, when he took a nap in the forest.
"You don't have to be afraid of the night anymore, Geronimo."
"Why?"
Geronimo looked into the stranger's eyes and the man told his story.
"Before the world was turned upside down, there was a man named James Night who pursued the NIGHT..."
To Geronimo, the stranger words felt like a sense of relief. Each word felt like the clam water sitting on the lake. For the first time, Geronimo felt at peace and a smile appeared across his face.
As the sun brightened, the stranger continued his story and the fear in Geronimo's heart disappeared.
The sun had never felt so warm.
Part III
‘There is a house. One enters it blind and comes out seeing. What is it?’
Sumerian Riddle
38
First Thing Dead
I remember her running toward the house as fast she could. She was about three blocks away, running in the middle of the street. Her shirt was torn, waving in the wind. She ran bare foot through the harsh concrete streets of Chicago's Westside toward home, toward me.
Behind her, there were several men chasing after her. She ran, as fast as she could. But, those men ran quicker.
I heard their footsteps echo through the empty streets, getting louder, mixing together. By now everyone was inside. By now, anyone that could help her was hiding behind a door. It was only a matter of time until they fell upon her. It was only a matter of time, until night enveloped them all.
My heart broke when I realized this and I faltered.
Since then, I've been cursed by this terrible memory that keeps replaying in my mind. All the bright memories I had of her faded away, leaving no choice, but to always think of her.
I can't stop thinking about the night I lost her.
That night, I had my pistol with me. But, I don't even pull it out of my holster. It stays tucked away, under my arm. There is no reason to pull it out. She's too far way and I can't get a good lock on any of the men pursuing her. Their heads bob up and down, just behind hers.
In the end, no bullet can help her. Nothing can.
This memory of her never goes away. It is always with me, like the night itself. I can't stop thinking about that time when I lost her.
She's the girl that I will never forget. She's the girl that will never fade away. She is the girl that is gone. But she will never leave my side. She is my daughter.
She used to be so young, so kind.
Every time my wife catches me thinking about my past, I tell her that's its nothing.
But, she knows the truth. And she's scared that my memory of our dead daughter will cause me to make the wrong choice. The kind of choice that can cost us our lives.
But, I can't forget her, no matter how much I try.
I always see my girl the one that will never fade, the one that will haunt my mind until I am dead. She is always running in the dark down every street, where my thoughts swirl like gusts of wind.
She's running towards me, she's getting closer.
We look at each other and she knows that I have to close the door. Everyone in the building is counting on me to close it, before the night arrives.
She's closer, about a half a block away. She close enough that I look into her eyes. And my heart is pulled closer toward hers. Together, we look at the darkening sky. And the sun is dying, behind me.
On the horizon, there is only a drop left of reddish light. Slowly, the last glint of sunlight spills away.
The night is coming.
I look back at her. She knows that it's too late. She won't get to the foot on time. She knows that the night is here and the only safe place is inside, where the night can't get at the good people of this place.
As long as we are good people with good souls, the night can't get us. The night can't get inside our homes.
"Close it!"
I hold the latch of the metal green door, waiting.
"Close it!"
The people up the stairs yell at me. I swear Maya, I waited as long as I could for you.
"Close the door. Do it." They screamed. "Do it!"
There was nothing else that I could do. So, I shut the door as quickly as I could and her last words slipped through.
"I love you."
Then, there was silence.
I sit at the bottom of a dark and empty stairwell with my head against the door, listening to the night. My cheek is pressed against the cold metal of the door. It's skin is rough and worn.
I hear the band of heartless men grab her and lift into the air. I hear a couple of the men laugh.
Then, silent again.
The night was here wiping away every soul on the str
eet.
The night took her away in a blink of an eye. There is only silence and she is gone.
With that silence, I notice that the sounds of the night had truly changed. There was no longer the sound of a violent wind, sweeping through the street. Now, the night carried a flock of beasts that growled as it spread through every crevice of the city. Those creatures moved with the night, itself.
No one really knows what happens to those that the night takes. No one knows what the night does with them. It was as if they never existed.
It's a terrible moment in my life, that I can't forget. In the end, I can't stop looking for a way to honor her memory. She deserves at least that. I want to do it the right way. I want my offering to her memory to mean something.
I can't stop feeling bad about our last moment together. I could have done something. I should have ran after her. I should have tried to hold her one last time, before the night came. I should have let it take both of us.
Instead I closed the door on her face and I couldn't even, Amen.
Alone in the stairwell, the beating of my heart settled. I knew then that I now lived in a new world, a world without her.
39
The night came in many ways
In addition to fields of red crosses, I wanted to talk about faith in the Purge script.
This interest in faith came about when I was living in Sunnyside, Queens. On Sunday mornings, I wrote in a small coffee shop that was across a church. The house of worship looked more like a theater than it did a church. After service, the congregation flooded the street and people filled the coffee shop. I noticed all the well pressed suits and fine dresses of the members of the Pentecostal church.
Then, I remember a friend that I once had. He once told me that he was once part of that religion. He told me that the church expected a percentage of the member's salary, which sounded crazy to me. But each one of them did, and they did with the most content smile that I had ever seen on a person's face.
During this time, I kept picturing the vampires as Bible Banging Vampires. I though that it would be interesting to have the vampires to have the look of Pentecostal church goers that I once saw in that small cafe in Queens. From that point on I decided to make them the bad guys because of the defined a familiar look that they had. I thought it would be perfect for a moment on the Purge story line.
Every day when I took the train in New York, I saw these Pentecostal worshipers at the train stations, propagating their faith. Every time I saw them, I thought of vampires. Eventually that image never left my mind either. I would think of them in church, drinking the blood of the messiah, like thirsty fiends.
As the snow fell, Peter Cross moved through the abandoned neighborhood on the northwest side of Chicago. It was a place, once known as Wicker Park, where street festivals once bloomed during the summer.
Now, there was snow that covered the streets and the buildings. As Peter walked over an abandoned elevated railroad know as Bloomingdale trail, he cut through the entire neighborhood, keeping an eye on the street.
Along the way, he looked over the rooftops of two story buildings and saw several thin trails of black smoke rise into the sky. He was a bit surprised, though. He didn't expect to see signs of life after the government told everyone to leave the cities. But, the trails of smoke gave him some hope.
Not even a half a breath later, he witnessed a wooden-frame house collapse under its own weight. The structure could no longer fight the night. The nights were like a torrential storm that no one survived.
For a moment, Peter stopped to check where he was going. He pulled off his glove and dug into his jeans for a small piece of paper covered with spots of blood.
On that one piece of paper was written: FOOD, Bloomingdale and Millwaukee.
Throughout the hike, Peter looked ahead and down at the street to make sure that the way ahead was clear. It was an abandoned store that he was after, that may or may not contain some good. Probably empty, but it was worth a try.
The abandoned railroad that Peter walked on was in the middle of being redeveloped into a walking trail. When the night came and it became one of many public works project was that the city abandoned. It was only a matter of time before the city itself collapsed.
As he walked on the trail, the falling snow came in side ways and up. For the last four days straight, the snow covered the city in a layer of white that rose to his knees, making the trek harder. In the sky, the sun was a defused white blur falling toward the horizon. The night was coming and he needed to get to the store.
He arrived at Bloomingdale and Milwaukee to see the store in the middle of a parking lot. There was a incline for him to climb down to the street floor.
Before making his way toward the grocery store, Peter stood at the edge of the parking lot, breathing hard and tired. The white snow slowly turned blue, filling the empty parking lot of the Aldi's grocery store.
The night was coming. He has to make it inside before the night arrives. It was the only option he had.
However, he did not move.
He stood there with a dose of doubt in his heart. He didn't know if there was food in there. He had to take the chance or starve. There was a possibility that the heavy snowfall for the last two days kept the food in there save. It was possible that some one was already in there hoarding the food for them selves. Or there was nothing in there. Either way it was shelter.
Peter Him stood there between the day and the night. The days were filled with shadows that drove him to the edge of madness. Mucus from his nose dripped into his black beard. His eyes watered and froze on his cheek.
I can make it, he thought.
In side his glove, kept a picture of his children on the back of his hand. The picture was of them, during Christmas. This was a time after his wife passed away. Sometimes, he didn't need to take it out to remember them.
"As long as the love in your heart is true, nothing can happen to you," his wife used to say. He wished that he could see her again. She had the soft skin and the most beautiful eyes. He remembered that she smelled of the coast.
Peter forced his way through the snow to get to the grocery store. He had to try. He raised his knees high into the air to step of over the snow, in a clean step. However, it was much time until he fell over and his beard was filled with snow. Quick, he stood back up and continued on.
He looked up at the grocery store, as the evening light was falling. It was a large place. It was a relic, he thought, nothing more than an abandoned relic of a civilization, a civilization that burned twice as bright, and half as long.
He looked up at the store again and his eyes widened. There was a woman inside the vestibule of the store. She held a light in her hand waving at Peter to keep going. He did and she watched him make his way to the glass door. It could only be opened a crack. He slid through and fell to his knees, in front of the woman. He breathed hard, as he looked at her.
The woman covered his body with a warm blanket. As she looked at him and told him that the others were busy with something. Or else they would have shot you already.
"What's going on?"
She took him by the hand and led him through the store along the way, he saw food on the shelves. There wasn't that much. But, it was more then he had seen in the past month. They made their way to the employee's lounge. He saw a group of people around a table.
On the table there was a body. When Peter stepped inside, everyone looked at him.
"God damn it," yelled one of the men with a gun in his hand, in an instant he pointed the gun at Peter, who stood there without making a move.. He even closed his eyes, with his hands in the air. It was better to stay calm and quiet.
"What are you doing Arlo. This the doctor."
"This ain't the doctor, girl."
There was a black woman on the table, who coughed and breathed erratically. Everyone turned their attention to her. an older black woman held the sick woman's head. She must of had something bad. Her breat
hs slowed down and
40
The Night Is Coming
He walked along an abandoned highway, when he heard the boy's voice.
"The sun is falling and the night is coming," said the boy.
His name was James Nights and he heard his grandson's voice again. It was louder this time. So, he knew that he was getting closer to the place where they kept the boy.
Steven was his name and he was 8 year old with brown feathered hair and bright blue eyes. He was such a good looking boy. When James remembered the boy's innocent eyes, they reminded him of a time when the world was encircled by a cerulean blue sky. But, those times were long gone. They sky was now pale, colorless and dead, like a black and white film.
At the time, James was hiking down a ruined stretch of I-80 toward the town of Broken Tree, wearing a navy blue backpack over his dirty clothes. Throughout the day, he drudged across the midwestern plain which was no longer filled with yellow fields of wheat or corn.
Now, there was only a grey tone that covered the land. He sniffed the wind and it smelled of rotten eggs. He could tell that he was getting closer to the place where they kept the boy.
The sun was only a blurry white ball in the grey sky. Soon, it would meet the horizon, disappear and burnout, like the wick of a candle. During the night, he dared not venture outside to even take a glimpse at the moon and stars. The night no longer belonged to him. The night no longer belonged to America. The night where fireworks so easily flew across the moonlit sky was gone. This world was now something else.
Now, the devil inherited the earth and unleashed hell upon anything human, bringing man closer to his own extinction. Every night, the devil laughed. During the day, the creatures that ruled the night retracted their sharp fangs and quietly waited for the night to come again. There wasn't much time to move around during the day.
Purge of the Vampires Page 13
