by Greg Herren
“Hush little baby, don’t say a word…”
The words cut through the music of the carousel. Joe opened his eyes. Emma stood not a dozen feet from him. Her hair fell around her shoulders, and her skin was white as milk. Her mouth was closed, but still Joe heard words coming from her throat.
“And if that dog named Rover won’t bark, Mama’s gonna buy you a horse and cart…”
Joe turned his head, looking for Star. If Emma had left her tent, surely he would be with her, or at least close behind.
“He’s not here.”
Joe felt the words in his mind.
“I came alone. He sleeps.”
He looked at Emma. “What do you want?” he asked out loud.
“Stay,” Emma answered. “For Derry. He loves you.”
Joe shook his head. “You know I can’t,” he told her. “Star will kill him.”
“There is a way.”
Joe waited for her to continue. Did she really know of a way to kill Star? His heartbeat quickened, although he dared not believe her.
“Star can be destroyed,” she said.
“How?” asked Joe.
“Become like him,” Emma replied. “Like me.”
Joe felt as if she’d struck him. Anger roiled inside him, mixed with fear and loathing at the thought of what she had suggested.
“He can only be undone by one of his own kind,” Emma said. Her voice in his head sounded desperate.
“Then why don’t you do it yourself?” Joe said.
“I can’t,” came Emma’s answer. “Alone I am not strong enough. But together we could do it. Together we could bring an end to him.”
Joe shook his head. What she was asking was impossible. He couldn’t allow himself to become what she and Star were.
“I’m not asking for myself,” Emma told him, cutting through his thoughts. “Do it for Derry.”
He wished he could block her out, keep her from toying with his mind. His thoughts were tangled up in her words, and he felt exposed. Was Emma telling him the truth? Could Star really be destroyed? He had no reason to trust her. After all, she had been trying to entice him into her embrace from the beginning—would likely have killed him already had Derry not stopped her. Who knew how much of her mind had been destroyed by Star’s transformation, how much of her was controlled by him?
“He will change Derry by force. When you are gone, he will change him. To spite me for not loving him.”
Joe looked into her face and saw there hurt and fear. Perhaps, he thought, she was telling him the truth.
“Then we will all leave,” he said.
Emma shook her head. “Don’t you think we have tried that?” she said. “He will find us and make it worse for us. There is only this way.”
He didn’t want to believe her, but he did. What she said rang true. But what sacrifice would it mean for him if he agreed to help her destroy Star?
“I would become a blood drinker?” he asked simply.
Emma hesitated before answering him. “Yes,” she said when she spoke. “It is how it must be done.”
“And then we would be able to kill Star?”
For the first time Emma avoided his gaze. “I believe so, yes.”
“You don’t know?”
“Nothing is certain,” Emma answered. “Nothing except Star’s hatred for my brother and his fear of you. There has to be some reason for this fear. I believe he sees in you someone who could be his match. Otherwise he would have tried to kill you already. He fears what you might become.”
Joe’s mind reeled, emotions and questions and fears swirling together in a storm that made it impossible for him to think clearly. Could he do what Emma was asking of him? Could he damn himself to a life lived as hers was? It was unthinkable. Yet if he said no, what might the consequences be for them all?
Suddenly he imagined Derry, instead of Emma, standing before him. If Derry asked him to do such a thing, would he hesitate? If Derry asked him for his soul, would he give it up? Thinking on these questions, he chose.
“What do I do?” he asked Emma.
She stepped closer, coming to stand beside the horse.
“I must feed from you,” she said. “You will sleep. And when you awake, you will be changed. Are you ready?”
Joe nodded. Emma reached up a hand and placed it behind his neck. She drew him toward her. Joe closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the pole. It was now his only connection to the real world. He felt Emma’s breath against his skin, then a sharp slice of pain as her teeth entered him.
Immediately he was plunged into dreams. It was as if he were falling. His body was weightless, and he drifted through the air like a leaf tumbling from a tree. All about him beings of incredible beauty sang, reaching out their hands and calling to him. The words of their song were impossible to make out, melting away before he could comprehend them.
Down and down he went, through an endless sky filled with stars. Then he realized that he was growing cold. The breezes that surrounded him were no longer warm but chilled his skin. He shivered, longing for the comfort of a fire. Above him he saw a far-off sun, growing dimmer and dimmer as he fell away from its light. He reached for it but was snatched away by unseen hands.
The beings around him, too, had changed. Their beauty had been replaced by faces hidden in shadow. From time to time he caught a glimpse of a twisted visage peering out at him from the darkness. And always there were the voices, no longer soothing but mocking. They laughed as he continued his descent, filling his ears with cruel cackling that he couldn’t block out.
Then something inside him was torn asunder. His chest heaved, and it felt as if something were being pulled from within him. He felt his heart explode, and pain seared his thoughts. He opened his mouth to scream and was met with silence, the sound strangled in his throat as the taste of blood filled his mouth. It seemed as if every atom that made up his body was being wrenched away, eaten by the blackness and the cold in which he was sinking.
Again his chest was racked with pain, and this time a tiny light, like the pale glimmer of a firefly, flew up from inside him and exited his tormented lips. He watched helplessly as it soared up and away from him, racing for the light and leaving him to whatever awaited him when his fall came to an end. He saw pale, withered hands reaching out to trap it in their grasp, but the light evaded them and continued its ascent.
When it was gone, he lost all hope. He knew that whatever soul he possessed had fled him. He was alone. He closed his eyes and surrendered to his fall. Within moments he was lost in total blackness.
When he again opened his eyes, he was still seated on the black horse. Emma stood beside him, looking into his face. When she saw him gazing at her, she gave him a smile that was both welcoming and pitying.
“You survived,” she said.
Joe shook his head to clear away the dizziness that buzzed in his mind like a bee. “Did you think I wouldn’t?” he asked.
Emma steadied him as he slid sideways on the horse. “Keep hold,” she said. “It will take some moments to get used to the feeling.”
Joe did as she said. “I feel light,” he told her.
Emma nodded. “You are no longer human,” she said. “The lightness will pass as your body completes the change.”
Joe looked at his hands, felt himself all over. Except for the two small wounds he felt in his neck, he seemed the same.
“How do you know it worked?” he asked Emma.
“I saw your soul depart you,” she answered.
Joe recalled the light in his dream. Was it true that he was now without a soul? He laughed at the thought. Had he ever really had one?
“Already you despise your former humanity,” said Emma. “You feel the power of immortality.”
Joe laughed again. He felt nothing but the dizziness. Was this what it meant to be immortal? It seemed nothing, a trifle. Why, he wondered, had he been so afraid of the notion?
“There will be pain,” said Emma. “La
ter, there will be pain. You will need to feed. But not now. Now you must hide.”
“Hide from what?” said Joe. “I feel as if nothing could harm me.”
“You are vulnerable,” said Emma. “Until the transformation is completed, you cannot protect yourself. Come with me.”
She helped Joe get down from the horse. His first steps sent him stumbling, but he quickly righted himself. Emma took his arm and held him as he stepped off the carousel platform and onto the ground.
The world seemed brighter, the darkness only a faint twilight. Joe could make out everything as if it were daylight. The calling of the night birds sounded to him like the screams of children, and even the wind that ruffled the flags atop the tents was like a roaring gale. When he took a step, the grass beneath his feet bent like trees felled by an ax. Joe put his hands to his ears to quiet the noise.
“Everything is alive,” he told Emma.
“Because you see the world through the eyes of death,” she said matter-of-factly.
Joe looked up at her, pain twisting his features into a grimace. Emma read the question in his eyes.
“Yes, you died,” she said. “But my gift brought you back.”
“I think I would prefer death,” said Joe as a new wave of pain coursed through him.
“Think of Derry,” Emma said. “It will help.”
Joe tried. He pictured Derry’s face, imagined kissing his mouth. He had done this for the boy, he told himself, given up his soul in order to save him. Now he looked to that knowledge for healing. But he found nothing but greater pain.
Emma aided him as he staggered through the encampment. He let her lead him, not knowing where they might be going. All around him the brightness that suffused the world dazzled him. He prayed that it would end. But who, he asked himself, would hear his entreaties? To whom did the dead pray?
They left the carnival behind and walked through the surrounding fields. Joe slowly grew accustomed to the light, but even the twinkling of the stars was enough to blind him if he looked up. When finally they came to a railway car sitting on rusted tracks, he gratefully climbed into the open door and collapsed. Emma climbed in beside him and helped him into a corner, where the shadows wrapped around him like a comforting blanket.
“How long will this last?” Joe asked.
“Just a few hours,” Emma said, taking his hand and holding it. “Then you will want to feed.”
Joe couldn’t think about that. “Feed,” she called it. He called it killing. The idea that he would soon need to take the blood of a living thing was almost more than he could bear. He pushed it from his mind.
“And Star?” he asked.
“I must return to him,” Emma told him. “When you are strong again, we will make our plan.”
“Will you tell Derry?”
Emma squeezed his hand. “I will tell him that you love him.”
“I’ll tell him myself,” said Joe, smiling despite the throbbing pain in his head. “When I see him.”
“I will visit you later, when I can,” Emma replied. She released his hand. “Stay here until I return.”
Joe nodded. He was tired. He wanted to rest. Already he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. Through closed eyes he felt Emma move away from him, leaving him alone. He would sleep, he thought. Yes, he would sleep. And if he was lucky, he would not dream.
Chapter Ten
He awoke screaming.
Pain clawed at his belly, and his throat was on fire. His first thought was that he wanted water. But as his mind cleared, he understood that it was life he wanted—warm, wet life to slake the burning within him. It demanded a sacrifice, and it would not be satisfied with anything less.
It was day. Joe saw light spilling from beneath the closed door of the train car. The car was hot as an oven, warmed to almost unbearable temperatures by the heat of the sun. Something about the light frightened him, made him recoil instinctively. He drew himself deeper into the shadows of the corner, where the cool blackness soothed him.
“It will take time to get used to being in the light again.”
For the first time Joe noticed Emma. She was sitting on an overturned crate, watching him closely. Her thought-speak filled his mind.
“I’m so thirsty,” he told her.
Emma stood, and Joe saw that lying on the floor beside her was a child. It was a girl. She seemed to be asleep. Joe looked at her, a hunger growing inside him. He could feel the beat of her heart from a dozen feet away, smell the blood that ran in her veins. He knew what she had been brought here for.
“I can’t,” he said to Emma. “She’s a child.”
“A child with nothing to live for,” Emma replied coolly. “A child who is beaten every day of her life and who prays for death.”
Joe shook his head. “No,” he said.
“You must feed,” said Emma. “And soon, or you will be overcome by madness.”
Joe looked at the girl. Even in sleep she seemed troubled, her eyes moving rapidly beneath the lids and her limbs twitching. He knew she dreamed badly, chased by something that meant her worse harm than he might do to her.
He forced himself to crawl to her. Kneeling beside her, he saw that her skin was covered in blue and purple roses, the marks of cruel hands. Her dress was thin and torn, her nails ragged and dirty. She had not been loved.
“Take her,” Emma instructed.
Joe put his arms beneath the sleeping child and lifted her. She weighed nothing, filling his arms like feathers. He cradled her to his chest and looked into her face. His fingers stroked her short blond hair.
Holding one thin wrist in his hand, he raised it to his mouth. The skin was mottled with dirt and bruises. He kissed it gently, then felt the skin break beneath his teeth. Blood splashed over his tongue, and he drank eagerly despite himself.
For a moment the girl stirred, her dreams interrupted, and he feared she would open her eyes and look at him. But quickly her expression became calm. Her breathing deepened, and the worry in her face began to fade, replaced by something close to peace. The blood flowing into Joe’s mouth slowed as the fierceness in the girl’s heart ebbed away.
“You do her a great favor,” said Emma.
Joe drank deeply. The blood revived him, and with each passing minute he felt himself growing stronger. When finally the girl was dead, he released her wrist and gently laid her on the floor. He tried to feel remorse for his actions but found that he instead felt only relief. The pain inside him was diminished, and his body radiated power and vitality.
“The worst is over,” said Emma. “Now, with each new feeding, you will become stronger.”
“And what if we don’t feed?” asked Joe.
“We die,” Emma told him. “But it is a death that takes years. Hundreds, perhaps thousands. Little by little, everything that is still human about us is torn away, leaving only decay.”
“What else can kill us?”
“Some say fire,” Emma replied. “Some say water. I have proof of neither. Star has told me almost nothing. He knows I would use it against him.”
“But you said that together we could destroy him,” said Joe.
Emma nodded. “Yes. I believe there is a way. We must drain him.”
“And what good will draining him do when he has no life to lose?” Joe demanded.
“It will weaken him,” said Emma. “And when he is weakened, we will imprison him. Without food he will slowly wither away.”
“After a thousand years!” Joe exclaimed.
“Perhaps,” Emma agreed. “And until then we will watch over him.”
Suddenly the full meaning of what he had agreed to came to Joe. He sank to the floor, looking up at Emma. Was he really to spend a thousand years or more as the watchman for Star? Would he see many lifetimes come and go?
“It has to be done,” said Emma. “There is no other way.”
Joe fought the rage that was threatening to consume him. He felt tricked, but he knew he had chosen freely. If
Emma had failed to tell him all of her plan, it was also his own fault for not asking.
“And how will we drain him?” he said quietly.
“I will give him the one thing he has always asked of me,” Emma answered. “I will let him lie with me tonight. Afterward, when he is spent, we will take him.”
Joe looked at her. Her face was cold, and he knew she was thinking of what she would be giving up to bring about Star’s end. He was not, he saw, the only one who was to sacrifice something dear to him. They had made a bargain, the two of them, and both were paying dearly for it.
“Come to my tent tonight,” Emma said. “After midnight. When you hear me singing, it will be time.”
She left him with his thoughts and with the corpse of the little girl. The girl he dragged into the corner farthest from him, where he couldn’t see her. But still he smelled her, smelled the sweet scent of death that surrounded her like a flower. Soon, he knew, the smell would be replaced by the stench of rot. But for the moment it intoxicated him, and he spent the hours until nightfall breathing it in and familiarizing himself with its potent effect.
When finally darkness descended, he opened the door to his hiding place and jumped to the ground. He was no longer unsteady on his feet, and the brightness of the night before was now only a glimmer that shone over everything. Beyond the field he saw the lights of the carnival and headed for them.
It did not feel like returning home. The tents, the attractions, the trailers that had been his home for so many years—all of them felt changed. But he knew it was he who was changed, and that he was for the first time seeing the world as it would look to him for the rest of his days.
“Joe!”
The voice startled him. It was Harley, emerging from his trailer. He was drunk. Joe could smell it in his blood. He felt a longing begin to stir in him, and he willed it away. Harley approached him.
“Where the hell have you been?” he asked Joe. “We’ve been looking for you all day.”
“I wasn’t feeling so good,” said Joe.
