Moon Mourning

by J. R. Rain

  I nod. I’d expect nothing less. I stare at the glaringly white polished floor. “If I’d have been faster…”

  “He’s gonna be fine, Sam.” Ernie pats me on the back.

  Michelle plops down at my right. “Yeah. Chad’s tough. Stop blaming yourself, hey, chica?”

  “Fui demasiado lento,” I mutter. “Demasiado lento.”

  She holds my hand. “Él estará bien.”

  “Hey.” Bryce snaps his fingers a few times in the air. “English, please.”

  Nico eases himself into a chair on the other side of the hall, bracing his head in his hand.

  “I should’ve stopped that guy from shooting Chad. I… I haven’t been right since the attack. My reaction time is too slow.”

  What am I even doing? I think. I’m in no condition to be out in the field.

  “Stop blaming yourself already.” Ernie nudges my shoulder. “Any one of us could’ve done the same… or worse. It could’ve been the two of you dead.”

  “Yeah, girl.” Michelle winks. “You walked off without a scratch. Reactions can’t be that bad.”

  What she doesn’t know is that I stood there like a target dummy and got shot clear through the heart. Yet somehow, I’m still here. And somehow, I’m not even hurt. Guilt and disbelief get into a swordfight in my thoughts. The group of us sit in silence, broken only by the occasional reassurance from the others, or a hospital staffer walking by. Chad’s parents still aren’t here, but they moved to Oregon a few years ago. It’s going to take them a while to show up. I really hope I don’t have to give them bad news.

  I’m not even sure how long we wait before a doctor in scrubs approaches. He’s got an upbeat look, so I stop clenching my fists hard enough to make diamonds and stand. “How is he?”

  “Mr. Helling is out of surgery and in recovery. The bullet went clear through him. Nicked a rib on the way out. He’ll be on an intercostal drain for a few days to alleviate fluid buildup in the pleural space. The puncture resulted in a pneumothorax, but we expect he’ll make a full recovery. He’s looking at about a week in the hospital at least, depending on how he responds to treatment.”

  Relief floods me. “When can we see him?”

  “Probably not until tomorrow. He’s in a post-op recovery suite now. By the time the anesthesia wears off and we’re safe moving him to a standard room, it’ll be well after visiting hours are over.”

  I look down at the floor, mentally willing the doctor to let us see him.

  A pause, then the doctor sighs. “All right. You folks can see him for a few minutes if you like, but don’t expect him to be responsive.”

  I blink, smile. Wow. “Thank you,” I say.

  We follow in a group down the hall, around a corner, and past two pairs of double flapping doors. The doctor leads us into a room with eight beds, two of which have privacy curtains around them. He approaches the occupied one on the right and tugs the curtain back enough for the five of us to duck in and surround the bed.

  Other than the tube coming out of his side, Chad looks okay, and quite deeply out cold.

  “Hey, man,” says Ernie. “Duck next time, okay?”

  “Helling, you really ought to stop going to such extreme lengths to get time off.” Nico pats the bed rail twice. “Next time, just ask.”

  “Sleep well, amigo.” Michelle wipes a tear. “Moon got the sons of bitches.”

  “You get better, right?” Bryce nudges the footboard. “Your first day back, Nick’s Super Burger on me. In fact, that goes for everyone.”

  “You got five witnesses, Anders,” says Michelle. “No take backies.”

  Bryce grins. “Not planning to take it back. Or backies, or whatever the hell you said.”

  I ignore them and edge up to the bed, grasping Chad’s hand and holding it as gingerly as I can without compressing the pair of IV needles. I’m sorry, Chad. For suggesting we go in. For not being fast enough. For being suspicious of that TV.

  Where I got the dream to become a federal agent from, I can’t remember. Somewhere between senior year of high school and my first year in college, a random idea turned into a driving obsession.

  I shake my head now. That was back when daylight was my friend. And normal working hours, too. But now…

  Now, I’m going to get someone hurt. In fact, I did get Chad hurt. This isn’t working. Me and daylight aren’t on speaking terms anymore. I’m going to get someone killed.

  Dammit! I’m a freakin’ vampire.

  Mary Lou and Danny were the only two people I’d ever confided in about the true depth of my drive to become a federal agent. When I’d mentioned to my parents that I was considering becoming a HUD agent, they weren’t too impressed. Dad thought I sold out to ‘The Man.’ So did my brother, Clayton. He takes straight after my father, down to the hippie lifestyle and weed.

  My dreams are crumbling around me…

  I wanted this job, and I fought for it through a whole mess of crap. Late nights of studying, grueling physical courses, sexism, Quantico… but it’s not worth Chad’s life. Or anyone else’s life. Only the presence of my entire squad being in the room stops me from breaking down. Truth is, I couldn’t feel guiltier if I’d shot Chad myself.

  How could I live with myself if he’d died? A lifetime of guilt, and, if the mounting evidence was true, an eternity of guilt.

  That moment replays over and over again in my head. Shot in the chest, I’d stood there helpless and entranced, and only reacted three seconds after Chad had been hit. By all rights, I should be dead.

  Maybe I already am.

  Or, more accurately, dead again.

  Someone’sss learning, rasps a voice in the back of my head.

  I squeeze his hand again. “I’m sorry, buddy,” I whisper. “I shouldn’t have come back.”

  Not your fault, whispers Chad’s voice in my thoughts.

  My head snaps up to stare at his face. He hasn’t moved. There’s no way he spoke out loud. Except I don’t have time to wonder if it’s wishful thinking or supernatural BS, because the doctor steps in.

  “All right, everyone. Mr. Helling needs to rest now,” he says.

  I squeeze my partner’s hand, let go, and trudge out behind the rest of my team. The badge and gun hanging on my belt weigh me down with guilt. At the curtain, I peer back at Chad.

  “Get better fast, ’kay?”

  Not your fault, whispers Chad’s voice again, and this time I clearly see that his lips never moved.

  I rub my eyes. Insomnia’s a real bitch.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Danger

  I stop the Momvan in my driveway at close to ten at night, after a marathon gauntlet of statements and reports.

  Perhaps I got lucky in that most of the interviews didn’t come until after sunset. Once it got dark, I went back to being my old self―no grogginess or hesitation, perfect clarity of mind. I still lamented my slow reaction time to the investigators, but considering they believe (wrongly) that I didn’t suffer a fatal gunshot wound, they regarded that as ‘survivor’s guilt’ or something. Chad was shot and I wasn’t―or so they thought―so I’m normal for feeling as if it’s my fault.

  Not like I’m going to admit I took a bullet that should’ve killed me and didn’t.

  I’m still not sure I’ve totally admitted it to myself.

  Danny’s at the dining room table working on the laptop. He looks up as I shut the front door. “Crap, Sam. How you holding up?” I nod and give him a smile. Truth is, I’m holding up damn fine, physically; after all, the hole in my chest is healed. Psychologically, I’m a total mess. I’d filled Danny in on the situation via a slew of texts, so I’m not surprised when he springs from the chair and jogs over, meeting me near the middle of the living room. “How’s Chad doing?”

  I hold on to him for a few minutes of silence, trying to decompress my thoughts before giving him a rundown of my partner’s condition. My partner who I’d nearly killed.

  “Glad to hear he’s going to be oka
y.” Danny smiles at me when I finish. “Now, what about you, babe?”

  “I had to shoot two men.” I want to shrug, but I don’t. Shrugging isn’t the right response here. Not when I almost killed two men today. I did watch two men die, but, even wounded and lying on the floor, Chad had better aim and reaction time. Something is really wrong with me during the day. So, I don’t mention that having shot them didn’t affect me much. For years, I’ve dreaded that moment and how I’d handle it if I ever had to take someone’s life. Now that it almost happened, I’m horrified at myself for being so blasé about it. I should care that I nearly took a human life. I should care that two men died right in front of me. I should care a lot…

  But I don’t. Something deep within my brain makes me think, they’re only humans.

  He cringes. “Sam…”

  “There’s something else, and I’m not sure if it’s worse.”

  Danny blinks. “Worse than you shooting someone?”

  “First off, I’m sorry for not telling you about the mirror right away. That said, you’re the first person to know this next bit.”

  He tenses. “What next bit?”

  I raise both hands to my chest and flatten my shirt so the neat, round hole in the fabric is obvious. “The bastard didn’t miss me.”

  Danny puts his finger on the spot, the tip warm against my skin. “You were shot. Here?”

  “Yes.” I hold eye contact. “It didn’t even hurt. No, that’s not true. Felt more like a sharp thump.” I knock on his chest about as hard as I’d hit a door. It probably should have hurt a lot more, but being barely awake plus adrenaline… or whatever I have now. “Like that.”

  “Is… the bullet still inside you?”

  In response, I pull the malformed lump of lead out of my pants pocket. “I found it on the floor after they loaded Chad on a stretcher.”

  “Sam… you removed evidence from a crime scene?” He gawks at it.

  “I removed evidence of something that didn’t happen. If they found this bullet that looks like it hit someone, but there’s no wound to go along with it…”

  “Right.” He paces back and forth, running his hands over his head in a repetitive, nervous motion.

  “There’s something else.”

  “Oh? There’s more,” he says, a little too loud, and swivels to face me, arms out to the sides. “Great. Hit me.”

  “I think my sister was right.” I fidget and look down while describing the sensation of fangs growing in my mouth, and how I couldn’t help but pounce on the geyser of blood coming out of Dale’s chest.

  Danny takes a step back, both his eyebrows climbing. “I don’t like the sound of that. You couldn’t help yourself?”

  “Well.” I pull my blazer off and drape it over the back of a chair. “I had just been shot, and that kinda pissed me off, and blood was everywhere. The guy was already dead.”

  “Mmm,” says Danny.

  For some reason, memories of the year we spent working on this house come on strong. Me in underwear and one of Danny’s old flannel shirts painting the hallway, him sneaking up on me and carrying me to the bedroom, paint roller still in my hand. The madness of re-tiling the bathroom. Danny wasting three days on the kitchen sink before caving in and calling a real plumber. Our first night here, sitting on the floor with no furniture while eating fast food. Wine at night, cuddling with Danny on the couch, realizing our dreams were gradually coming to fruition.

  And now, I’m a monster.

  Is my family safe? Could I possibly lose control and go after them? What if Danny cuts himself in the kitchen and I see blood or one of the kids falls off a bike in a couple years and skins their knee? How crazy would I get at the sight of blood?

  Tears gather at the corners of my eyes. I run down the hall and stand in the space between the kids’ rooms, twisting left and right to watch them both sleep. Part of me wants to go far, far away from them where I couldn’t possibly be a threat.

  Tammy squirms and fidgets, another bad dream coming on.

  The look on her face twists my heart into pieces. Even Anthony fusses, grunting.

  Damn, it’s as if they can sense my thoughts.

  Come on, Sam. Don’t be silly.

  I hear Danny coming up behind me, but he pauses, seeming afraid to get too close. That could just be my imagination. After all, I can’t really see him behind me, but I sense him and almost… almost sense his thoughts too.

  Crazy, just crazy.

  All of it.

  Lord help me. Like, seriously help me.

  The uneasy, sinister thing that’s been shadowing my thoughts wells up ever so slightly. I’m not sure why or how, but the understanding that the children are safe―at least from me―settles firmly in my consciousness. With that inexplicable security, I let go of the idea of abandoning my family. Last month, when that strange darkness manifested in the hallway trying to keep me away from Tammy’s room, I gathered my courage and forced my way past it. I know, no matter what happens to me, I will draw upon that same determination to protect my children.

  Even if the shadowy monster threatening them is me.

  I spin to face Danny―evidently too fast as he leaps back with a gasp.

  “S-Sam?” He starts to raise his hands like he’s talking down a madwoman with a gun.

  “I will never hurt you or the children, Danny. Do you understand that?”

  He lets his arms fall. “Yes, I do. I really do.” He pauses, his eyebrows rising. “But we don’t know much about your… condition, do we?”

  “No, we don’t. And, quite frankly, we may never know. It’s not like there’s a how-to manual out there about being a vampire… or whatever the hell I am.”

  “The funny thing… I bet there is. Maybe all these novels by Anne Rice, Bram Stoker? Maybe they’re on to something the rest of us are just catching up to.”

  “Maybe.” I start to chuckle, but it melts into a sigh. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me not coming home from work anymore.” My fingertip teases around the hole in the fabric. “If this didn’t do it…”

  “But it should have,” he says. “I mean, that shot should have killed you.”

  I hear the tremor in his voice, and nod. There’s no denying it. “Yeah, I think so. It would have killed Andre the Giant, I think.”

  Danny nods, turns away, swoons into the wall. He keeps nodding and shaking. He slides to the floor, and I’m pretty sure my husband is having his first mental breakdown. I want to break down right along with him, but I can’t, not now. I stand there for a second feeling helpless as he sits on the floor, shaking with sobs. When I snap out of the fugue, I swoop down beside him and wrap my arms around him.

  “I’m still here, Danny. You haven’t lost me. I’m not going anywhere.”

  At first, his embrace is hesitant, but he clings tighter as his grief belts out in gasping breaths and huge tears. This is how my worst-case scenario nightmare pictured him reacting to the police showing up to tell him I’d been killed. But I hadn’t been―at least, not today.

  I hold him tight, even as I feel him slipping away, which is a terrible, terrible feeling. And all because of that night three weeks ago. So much of it is a blur, but… in light of recent events, it’s starting to seem more and more like I did die in the woods of Hillcrest Park.

  Did some power beyond understanding hear me begging not to be taken from my family and grant my wish, or would this have been my fate, regardless?

  Danny’s grief wanes in maybe half an hour, and he sits there in the hall, staring blankly into space.

  “Look on the bright side,” I say. “If it is true that I am what we think I am, I’m going to look young for the rest of my life. Eventually, people will think I’m your daughter. You’re a lucky man. Your wife will never grow old.”

  He glances at me, his face a mask of loss. It takes him a second to react to my words; finally, he chuckles. “That’s only a little creepy. There’s got to be a way to fix you, Sam. I will find it.”
/>
  I lean against him, my head on his shoulder. “If we can fix it, I promise I’ll do something safer so I don’t get shot again.”

  He shrugs. “Like you said, I don’t have to worry anymore. You’re basically bulletproof now.”

  “Technically not, since the bullet went through me, but functionally… I suppose.”

  “Don’t be semantic, sugar butt.”

  “Sorry.”

  He reaches across his chest and cradles the back of my head, stroking my hair. “Where are we headed, Sam?”

  “I’m not sure. I’ve never been down this road before. But, we’re together. That’s what matters.”

  “How are you handling it?”

  “As well as can be expected, I guess. Still feeling guilty over Chad being shot.”

  He keeps running his hand over my head, petting me like a cat. “How is that possibly your fault?”

  “I could’ve objected to going in. We should’ve waited for the ATF to get there. But… my reaction time. I’m so groggy during the day. I don’t belong in the field like this. I can’t function, at least not during the day. Hell, I keep falling asleep at my desk. I think my time at HUD is over.”

  He slips his right arm around my back and pulls me close. “I can’t say I haven’t been hoping you’d eventually say those words. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to be safe, but I’m worried it’s too late now.”

  “I’m still here… and I’m evidently a lot harder to kill. Hell, I might be safer now than I ever was.”

  “We’ll find some way to fix you.” Danny kisses the top of my head. “I won’t stop trying.”

  I grin, poking him in the ribs. “That day I smacked you in the face with a door was the best day of my life.”

  He chuckles. “Except I didn’t ask you out until a few weeks later.”

  “Yeah, but you never would have if I hadn’t sent your biology report flying all over the place.”

  Danny groans. “It took me over an hour to put all the pages back in the right order.”

  I examine my fingernails. Jesus, do I have claws? I tuck them back into my palms. “So… what sort of job do you think a vampire could possibly do for a living?”