by Jon F. Merz
Okay, so I’d helped. But it would be her constitution that bore out her survival, not mine. In the morning, she’d feel like the victim of a hit and run with twelve tractor trailers. Sick, but alive. And that’s what counted.
The radio station whispered soft music into the room while I watched her. Vivaldi’s the Four Seasons. Winter. Non allegro molto.
Haunting stuff.
With each pull on the strings, I watched Talya more intently than before. What was it about her that drew me in so much? What was it about her that made my mind generate excuses for a forbidden relationship between a human and a vampire?
Vivaldi must have known about love. His music spoke of it in every movement. With every note of music that drifted out of the speakers and fell into my ears, passion preceded it.
Talya.
She tugged on my heart with an unconscious effort that both excited and scared me.
My stomach ached.
Desire seemed to well up from deep inside and overflow almost at once, causing incredible fluctuations between my pulse and the adrenaline rising like the tide in my blood.
I’d been in love once before.
Only once.
Seem strange? You try being a Fixer. You try being all over the world, out to maintain the Balance, out to make sure no one causes ripples that can’t be explained. Try doing all that and still have enough time to figure out the wacky ebbs and swells of your own heart.
Right.
There’s no way you could.
No way I could, either, for that matter. And yet, strangely, now, I wanted to.
Robin. My mind drew her image up as easily as if I’d seen her twenty minutes ago. Her radiant smile, voluptuous breasts, and extraordinary curves had possessed my mind from the moment I’d lain eyes on her.
High school. A breezy September morning in my freshman year. The sun had danced through the yawning branches of the linden trees outside of the schoolhouse as she walked toward all of us in the yard. My heart jumped into my mouth, my breath stopped and my stomach hurt like no other pain I’d ever felt before.
She’d had that effect on a lot of people.
Including Cosgrove.
We’d pretty much been enemies for a few years now. Stronger and bigger, I could beat him up with no discernible effort.
But Cosgrove’s cunning made him a formidable enemy. Never content to battle me in the open, he’d planned his battles with meticulous care, always ensuring the environment right before launching an attack.
Back then, they’d been the kind of schoolyard stunts that kids pulled all the time on one another. I’d be framed for cheating, passing notes, or calling someone names. I hadn’t, of course, but Cosgrove had made it look so perfectly convincing, that I took the blame.
I usually settled up by beating the snot out of him.
Robin’s appearance at school changed everything.
In the space of a few weeks, Cosgrove and I had a new focus: we both fell in love with Robin.
And again, while I had the good looks, Cosgrove had the brains and finesse. The result was that Robin dated us both for a time. But gradually, she began enjoying her time with me more. I couldn’t have been more pleased. More happy. We made plans, the kind of young naive plans kids make when they think the world will stop for them provided they only have the courage to love each other.
We’d be married.
Children.
Everything…perfect.
Cosgrove made sure it never happened.
That night.
That cold, windy, rain-soaked November night during my Senior year, I returned home after visiting relatives out of state. Robin and I had plans to meet by the brook that cut across the town line at midnight. A small cabin sat concealed in the forest by the brook that served as our rendezvous point. I’d lost count of how many times we’d passed hours locked in passionate embraces, feeling the warmth of each others’ skin grow hotter with each nuzzle, with each tender kiss. That night it would be especially nice, making love and listening to the rain pitter patter the roof top.
Soaked to the bone and freezing, I arrived at the cabin. No light came from within so I suspected I’d gotten there first. Anxious to start a small fire so she wouldn’t be cold and to get out of my own frigid clothes, I opened the door.
Inside the cabin, the smell knocked me back off my feet.
Blood.
A fucking abattoir.
Desperate, I found a small dry stick just inside and lit it with a match. Adrenaline already pumping, I lifted my makeshift torch and saw what Cosgrove had left me.
Robin.
The inside walls oozed with coagulating blood. Her body, her beautiful, nubile body hung suspended from the timber rafters, dripping the remnants of her fluids to the damp floor.
In the center of our tiny oasis, staked to the floor, was her heart.
I heaved, slumped to the floor, slipping in my own vomit, and wailed-sputtering, sobbing, gasping as my world, my love, my life disintegrated into infinite grief.
By the time I returned home with Robin’s corpse, Cosgrove had vanished.
And the Council, the very same Council who had sworn to uphold the laws of the Balance, the laws of our society, had written it off as a juvenile bout of temporary insanity.
Maybe my destiny as a Fixer had been set long before my birth. I believed for a long time, and maybe even to this day, that it fully realized itself that night in the woods.
The rage, the sheer rage, the erupting emotions, the insanity of my thoughts and the notions, ideas, and desires I wanted to wreak upon the world, upon everyone, absorbed every ounce of my being. I wanted them to feel my loss, my pain, my agonizing dismay over a lost love.
My emotional apocalypse.
It took almost a full year to even come to terms with it.
It took even longer to hide it away, deep inside where it couldn’t be seen by anyone else.
But it was there.
And I still intended to make Cosgrove pay for what he’d stolen from me.
Talya shifted in the yellow light, snapping me out of the memories. I realized I was sucking in gulps of air and calmed down.And while I watched her in the yellow twilight of the room, while shadows played long across the expanse of my heart’s longing, Robin’s face danced across her’s. Morphing, intermingling, changing, vanishing, and reappearing again and again while my eyes struggled to keep time with the changes.
Robin’s death happened a long time ago. And yet it felt as recent as yesterday. When I let it.
Talya.
Tonight, I’d made a choice to save her life.
I could have let her die.
I could have taken Cosgrove out.
Perfect range. I’d made longer shots.
One shot, two at the most. It would have been over.
But Talya would have been over, too.
Any other Fixer wouldn’t have given it another thought. They would have wasted Cosgrove. They would have let Talya die there, alone, depleted. Written off as just another casualty in the struggle to maintain the all-important Balance. It’s a sacred duty after all, the Balance must come first. That’s what they hammered into us constantly at the academy. Always, the Balance.
But something happened up there.
I think it scared me so much, the thought of losing her on that black pitch roof, the thought of losing another Robin, that I responded without even giving it any consideration.
I’d played it off as her being another one of Cosgrove’s victims. As her being Simbik’s fiancee. As her being someone I respected. An ally I needed. A resource I could trust.
That’s how I’d comforted myself with my decision.
That’s how I’d excused letting Cosgrove flee into the night, free for the time being to take another life from the city, while his plans for domination continued.
Lies.
All lies.
Funny what you’ll tell yourself when the truth’s too frightening to admit.
But I was be
ginning to think maybe something else made me do what I did.
Robin’s face swam past me again and settled over Talya’s. But only for an instant.
Then it was Talya again.
All Talya.
And in that moment, there in the hotel room, while she slept, I realized my world had just become a lot more complicated than it had ever been before.
And I felt powerless to stop it.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Talya felt like shit the next morning. Having most of your blood drained and then receiving a vampiric infusion isn’t the kind of thing your system can rebound from easily. So she hurt. Bad. Fever, dry heaves, chills, the works. Her body struggled to regain control over something that resembled a detox done at Mach 5.
With the worst over by midday, I made an excuse and headed home. I left her recuperating in a hot bath with promises to call her soon.
At home, Mimi greeted me at the top of the steps with a stern look that seemed to ask where the hell I’d been and didn’t I know it was long past dinner time? Phoebe led the way to the food dish muttering the entire time. But they both clammed up once I’d gotten some food into the ceramic bowl. I changed their water and then put a call into McKinley. He answered immediately.
"Lawson, where in god’s name have you been?"
"What’s the problem?"
"Problem? There’s no problem. Why should there be a problem? I mean, it’s not like I’m your Control. It’s not like I even have a vested interest in your safety and well-being." He paused. "The problem is I haven’t been able to find you, Lawson. I didn’t even know if you were still alive."
Interesting. "Why wouldn’t I be alive?"
McKinley paused. "Well, you are hunting Cosgrove-"
"And?"
Another pause. "Police report came over the wire about a disturbance last night at a club called M80. Thought it might be you."
"I told you I was down at the Alley last night."
"Yeah, but-"
"But you think I was at M80." I sighed audibly into the phone. "You think I’m lying."
"What? No, it’s not that at all-"
I smiled. "Well, you’re right."
"I am?"
"I was."
"Was what?"
"At M80. The disturbance, the ruckus, that was me. Cosgrove showed up. I almost got him, too."
"Almost?"
"Obviously, I didn’t."
"Oh." Funny how he didn’t seem too disappointed. "You’ll be trying again tonight, I assume."
"Not tonight."
"Why not?"
"Tonight’s my seafood cooking class over in Brookline."
"Seafood cooking class?"
"I’d sure hate to miss it."
This time McKinley paused a while longer. "Lawson, you hate seafood."
"Yeah. I also hate stupid questions. Of course I’m going to try again tonight. It’s my job, dammit."
"Well, keep me informed, would you?"
"You sound like a fucking broken record."
I hung up the phone. Of course McKinley knew I’d been at M80 because Cosgrove probably shredded him a brand new sphincter for letting him walk into an almost perfect ambush.
What a shame.
I wanted to talk to Zero, but I couldn’t take the risk of using my home phone. It pays to assume the absolute worst and I always did. If McKinley thought I had a clue about the conspiracy, he probably had my phone tapped.
That meant no direct telephoning to Zero. I had to use a pay phone somewhere across town to be sure it was reasonably secure. Of course, that meant Zero also had to get to a pay phone because his phone could have also been tapped. I could have called his cell phone, but I had no idea of knowing if he’d receive it or be out of range. I’d have to wait for him to contact me.
I checked my watch and saw that nearly two hours had passed since I’d left Talya. I already missed her. I shook my head. Since when had I become some damned silly old romantic fool? I found the whole situation utterly unsettling.
Mimi finished her meal and came wandering over licking her chops. She sat down, looked up at me and chirped once to be picked up. Phoebe began trying to dig up the tile floor and bury the food dish under it. She never succeeded but it never stopped her from trying. I respected her tenacity.
Mimi snuggled close and I caught a whiff of the fish dinner and promptly put her back down. Her breath stunk.
I called Talya. She picked up on the fourth ring.
"Everything okay?"
"It was. I was resting."
"Sorry, I didn’t-"
"Don’t worry about it, Lawson. I understand you’re concerned about me. Thank you."
"We don’t have to go out tonight, Talya. You could take a
night off."
"That’s not an option, Lawson. You know that."
"Yeah, but I thought I’d give it a shot anyway."
"Pick me up at eleven o’clock. I’m going to get some sleep now."
The phone went dead on me and I replaced the receiver. I wasn’t really tired yet despite not having slept much last night. I went downstairs to the cellar and started working combinations on the heavy bag.
My small dark cellar had low ceilings and walls made out of old granite blocks the foundation had been built on. Old coal dust still littered the corners, a souvenir from when they’d burned coal instead of oil for heat. I’d positioned a small workout room toward the front of the house, a woodworking shop near the back, and my old worn leather heavy bag centered in between.
The duct tape wrapped around the middle was starting to wear thing, with strands of silvery string coming off like gossamer threads. Knuckle indentations pockmarked the bag from the repeated beatings I’d inflicted upon it.
I started slow on the bag, feeling it give and creak on the supporting chains as I threw jabs into it. I switched to a jab-cross combination and got into a rhythm. I did high-low-low-high-middle-middle and back again. Every time I sent one of my hands thudding into the bag, I saw Cosgrove’s face teasing and taunting me. I punched the bag a lot harder.
Thirty minutes passed in a breath and left me covered with sweat. Good warm-up. I walked to the weight bench and threw up three hundred pounds for two reps after I’d pyramided up from one hundred. My pectorals felt stretched taut by the time I finished doing three sets of flyes.
I switched to biceps and cranked out some alternating dumbbell curls thinking about how to get McKinley and Cosgrove in one room and finish them both off. I couldn’t figure it so I leaned back and did some lying triceps extensions and then when my arms felt ready to cave in and let the weight crash down on the bridge of my nose, I thought about Talya again.
I dropped the bar and walked back upstairs. I took a sixteen ounce glass out of the cabinet and filled it up with some chilled juice. I sucked it down in three gulps. It hit fast and I felt great, restored, and refreshed. But a nap would make things even better so I wandered upstairs with Mimi and Phoebe swirling around my feet as we went.
My bedroom faces out onto the street and I drew the blinds shut to close out as much light as possible. I crawled into bed and
waited for Mimi to join me on my aching chest and Phoebe to nudge herself under the covers.
It took me twenty seconds to fall asleep.
***
My phone rang at exactly three o’clock. Once.
It rang again two minutes later. Twice.
I sat up in bed dislodging Mimi and Phoebe simultaneously from either side of my pillow. Back in the early 1980′s, Zero and I worked a couple of tough track down cases for the Council over in London. The local Control had developed an unnatural taste for the blood of young blonde boys. When Zero and I touched down, he’d already killed three.
Unfortunately, word of our imminent arrival reached him before our plane and he went to ground. Disappeared. And while he played ghost, he dispatched several hit teams to try to kill Zero and I. That meant we’d had to watch out backs constantly. Communications bec
ame compromised.
So, we developed a code.
And eventually, we killed the Control.
I sat still in bed. If it was Zero attempting to contact me, he’d call again in two minutes and let it ring once again.
He did.
I showered, dressed quickly, and drove down Centre Street to the Dunkin’ Donuts. The corner pay phone sloped at an odd angle, its side walls dented and covered in multi-colored graffiti. Even the receiver looked like combat zone surplus. Jutting out of the tar and cement sidewalk, it looked close to death. That’s exactly why I felt reasonably safe about using it. I slid some coins into the slot, heard the telltale beeps and dialed Zero’s cell phone number.
"Bring back some memories, did I?"
I smiled. "You bet."
"Where are you?"
"Pay phone. Seems safe. You?"
"Mobile. But close. I need to see you. Visited your dad lately?"
"No."
"Might be a good time to."
Message received, I hung up, got back into the Jetta and drove down South Street towards Forest Hills. Under the bridge I turned left and shot up parallel to the overpass, then stayed right just after the rotary turning into Forest Hills Cemetery.
I’d forgotten the inherent natural beauty of this park. Linden and maple trees reflected the expanse of autumn’s color palette, frosted in red, yellow, and orange hues. By the main building I threaded through the old iron portcullis and wound my way down to Rosedale Path. On my right, scores of Canadian geese paused on the smooth pond waters before continuing south for the winter.
I rolled past the innumerable Chinese grave sites and found my way to the solitary headstone bearing my family name, just under the small Japanese red maple tree at the curve in the road.
It always felt good to come here and visit. It was something I hadn’t done in a long time.
Humans might find it bizarre that a vampire visits his dead father. Well, no one lives forever; even vampires die. My dad lived to the ripe young age of 290. That’s not a long time for a vampire. And I always felt cheated by his death, that he hadn’t seen me graduate from Fixer training, that he hadn’t seen some of my personal triumphs in life.
It was the standard kind of hang-up anyone would feel about a deceased parent. We always want them to be proud of us, to love us for our successes and our failures with equanimity. I often wondered if my father was proud of me. I wasn’t the easiest kid to raise when I was younger. And some of the things I’d developed an interest in no doubt made him wonder who the hell his son was turning into.
