by Dan Alatorre
“Okay.” Jett raised his glass. “‘Soonjay called.’”
They downed their drinks. Jett’s throat burned like he’d ingested gasoline. He swallowed a few times, fighting the urge to cough.
Worst limoncello ever.
Erri smiled at him, holding back a laugh. “Your blood is warmer now, yes meester Jett?”
Jett nodded, not quite able to speak yet. “Yes,” he finally squeaked.
The girls laughed.
Jett shook his head, an exaggerated wince on his face. There was no point in pretending he’d enjoyed it, so he went for a laugh. “How can you drink that? No offense.”
“We were raised on tuica.” Erindira walked back to the kitchen, her slender hips swaying gracefully. “It is very strong, like limoncello, but it is not—how do you say?” She turned to her sister. “Care este cuvântul pentru ‘scump?’”
“Expensive.” Tatiana inspected the bottom of her little glass, tipping it upward over her rich, full lips to catch the last remaining drop. The liquid fell to her tongue and disappeared over her big, warm smile.
“Ah, yes. Expensive.” Erindira leaned on the counter, putting a hand on her hip. “Here in the States, we can get all the limoncello we want. It is very inexpensive. But tuica, it does not exist.”
“Well,” Jett said, “maybe one day we can get it. We’ve been looking for alternative fuels.”
The girls stared at him.
“It’s a joke.” He shrugged. “We need different fuel to power our automobiles. This could do it.”
Erindira laughed, throwing her head back. Her thick locks spilled over her shoulders. “You better stay away from tuica, then.”
“Good idea.” Jett cleared his throat and patted his chest. “I think I will.”
Folding her arms, Erindira gazed at her new neighbor. “So how long have you lived here, meester Jett?”
“Oh, I told your sister,” Jett said. “We’ve lived about here six years.” He smacked his lips. The burn of the limoncello lingered on his tongue.
“Is it always this quiet?” Erindira asked.
Funny, that’s exactly what Tatiana asked.
“Yes, it’s a quiet place.” Jett said. “I assume that’s part of what lured you to it.”
“Lured?” Erindira leaned away from the cabinet and walked toward him. “What is lured?”
“Lured you. Uh, part of what appealed to you was how quiet it is here.”
“Yes.” Erindira sat next to Jett on the couch—near the middle, and close to him, even though there was plenty of space toward the other side. She draped her arm over the back of the couch, smiling. “My sister and I, we like a quiet neighborhood for our work. Unfortunately, we need to move often.”
His drink worked its way from Jett’s stomach to his legs, warming them—as they’d indicated. “That’s very strange limoncello. I feel like . . . like I can feel it going through me.”
Tatiana nodded. “It warms the blood.”
“Salday carpay. Right.” Jett’s tongue was thick. His words slurred as he said them. Maybe the beer and the limoncello combined was too much on an empty stomach. Why hadn’t he eaten a sandwich?
Erindira put her hand on his. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”
“No, I think I should be getting home.” Jett made a quick move to pull his hand away without appearing to rush. He knew European social norms were different than those in America; he didn’t want to insult anyone.
“There is a nice workshop in the back.” Erindira stood.
“A garage, yeah,” Jett blinked, trying to clear his head. The warmth of the limoncello had settled there. “Alma’s son built that, I think.”
Tatiana cocked her head as she rose from her chair. “Alma?”
Jett nodded, his eyes wanting to close. “The lady you bought the house from.”
“We . . . we . . .” Tatiana glanced at her sister.
“We went through a real estate man.” Erindira chuckled. “Several, in fact.”
“Good help is hard to find.” Jett’s head was fuzzy. He put his hand on the arm of the couch to steady himself.
“Are you okay, meester Jett?” Tatiana’s voice seemed to echo off the walls.
“I think, no.” Jett gripped the arm of the sofa. “I feel . . . I may be sick. May I use your bathroom?” He pushed himself to his feet, staggering toward the hallway.
“No, not that way,” Erindira said. “It’s upstairs.” Her voice came from over his shoulder, but seemed doubled—like she was saying her words twice but at the same time, once from close by and once from far away.
Jett forced his eyes open, spying the base of the staircase. “No bathroom on the first floor?”
“It’s being remodeled.” There were three of Erindira’s voice now. Whispers and echoes, all rolled up into one.
“Ladies.” Jett put his hand on the railing. “I’m not sure I can navigate the stairs.”
Erindira was next to him. “Let me help you. Tatiana, take his arm.”
Jett shook his head. “No, I just need to—”
“Come, meester Jett.” Tatiana gently pulled him toward the back of the house.
“Where are we going? I won’t puke on the stairs.”
The humid outside air swept over Jett’s face and hands. The workshop loomed in the distance. Tatiana’s firm grip guided him forward.
“Why are we outside?” he asked.
Her voice was smooth and calm. Exotic. Enticing. “I think your blood got too warm from the tuica, meester Jeff.”
He raised a wobbly hand, shaking a finger at her. “Limoncello.”
“We don’t have limoncello. We drink tuica, from our homeland, like our father and his father before him.”
Jeff looked down at the ground as it went by under his feet. “I can’t feel my legs”
It was as if Tatiana was carrying him, like her arm under his was causing him to float.
Erri pushed open the garage door. Inside was black.
“Come, meester Jett.”
“No, ladies, I just . . . need to go home and lie down.”
He could hear his words slurring now, despite his best efforts to enunciate.
Erri’s soft voice was in his ear. “You can lie down here.”
She reached up and grabbed a pull chain, tugging it and turning on an overhead light.
Jett stared at three large wooden boxes resting in the garage.
“What is this?” He tried to pull away from Tatiana, but her hands seemed to effortlessly hold him.
Erri stepped between the boxes, smiling. “What do you mean? It is a workshop.”
“It’s not.”
“What do you see, meester Jett?”
“Boxes.” He reached out and put his hand on the smooth wood. “Are these . . . coffins?”
“Meester Jett.” Erri took his other hand. The room floated out from under his feet and he glided to her. The limoncello lingered on his tongue, still burning his throat.
He coughed, pounding his chest. “What was in that limoncello?”
“Not limoncello. Tuica.” Erri chuckled. “And this is a special vintage, from our homeland.”
Jett seemed to be floating over the boxes. They were filled with dirt.
“It warms the blood,” Erri said. “Because we hate cold drinks.”
A light swung into the room. Jett squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden brightness. Tatiana let go of his hand, recoiling.
Kendra, the neighborhood busybody, held a camping lantern up high. “What’s going on in here? That’s a married man.” Kendra’s necklace, a big silver cross, flashed in the light.
Tatiana hissed, backing away from the lantern’s beam.
“Y’all better turn my friend’s man loose. Now.”
Glanding at Kendra’s necklace, Erri let go of Jett’s arm. He slumped to the floor.
“Come on, Jett.” Kendra put her hand under his arm. “I don’t know what’s happening, but I don’t think you want any part o
f it.”
“We aren’t harming him.” Erri glanced at Kendra, then to her sister. “He had too much to drink, didn’t he?”
“That’s right,” Tatiana said. “He—he just came over to say hello, and—”
“And he’s leaving now.” Kendra helped Jett to his feet. “Let’s go, Jett.”
She backed away, the strangers remaining against the walls of the shed as if they’d been pinned there. A distant rumble of thunder rolled across the swaying treetops as the first raindrops of a coming storm fell from the sky.
* * * * *
Jett sat up and glanced around. He was on a couch. Morning light spilled into a living room. A flower print blanket covered his legs.
He knew the room from a party—the yellow, flowered wallpaper meant he was in Kendra’s house.
He never cared for her much. Too snoopy, usually, but her husband was okay. After last night, though, she might have gone up a few notches in his book.
He rubbed his throbbing forehead. Tatiana, Erindira—what had they wanted?
Kendra called out from the hallway. “Jett, you awake?” Footsteps followed.
Jett declined breakfast from her and her husband but accepted the short ride home. A good sleep seemed like a better idea than messing with his stomach.
The sky was clear. The storm had passed.
As he sat at his desk later in the day, a sheriff’s car pulled up out front. Alma’s house stood tall in the background.
The moving truck is gone.
He walked out and greeted the deputy. “What’s up, officer?” He peeked across the lawn and into the living room. The house appeared empty. No lights were on. No boxes or furniture were visible through the window. The little orange light on the doorbell was dark.
The deputy sat in his vehicle, talking on the radio for a moment, then got out. “How are you today, sir?”
They shook hands.
“Fine, officer,” Jett said. “Anything I can help you with?”
“Oh, just having a chat with the FBI. They asked me to come check out this house.” He put one hand on his hip and pushed his cap back with the other one. “You live across the street, is that right?”
“Yes, sir. Right there.” Jett pointed to his home.
“See anything strange going on around lately?”
Jett shrugged. “I guess that depends on what you call strange.”
“Yeah.” The deputy nodded, eyeing him.
Jett didn’t know why he was being evasive. His whole night had been strange. But maybe it was because he’d been rescued from two pretty women by his nosy neighbor and didn’t quite know how to explain that yet.
“Uh, you said the FBI sent you out here?”
“That’s right.” The deputy glanced at Alma’s house. “Got a call to be on the lookout for a couple of . . . well, I guess they’re kind of like squatters. The report says these two women come to a vacant house on a holiday weekend when a lot of people will be away, and they use a moving van to act like they’ve just bought the place and are moving in. The truck gets them noticed, so to speak, which sets up their alibi. Then they shut off the power to the neighborhood and light up their house with a generator to draw someone over.”
Jett shifted on his feet, a knot growing in his abdomen again. “Kind of elaborate for a hoax.”
“It’s not just a hoax. They’re murderers. The FBI wire says they get an unsuspecting victim, kill him, and box him up in a crate—and skip town the next day. A few days later, they set up shop and do it again. We’ve found bodies in Casper, Wyoming, Salt Lake City, Utah, Arlington, Virginia . . . a dozen other places in the United States, and a bunch more in Europe—that we know of. And now the killers are here, maybe.”
“Here?”
“Well, no one’s been reported missing yet, but we got a call from a neighbor about a moving truck being here yesterday, and this neighbor happened to know the house didn’t get sold. Seems she’s a real busybody.”
“Yeah,” Jett said, a chill going down his spine. “I, uh . . . I know the type.”
“But with the holiday weekend and the truck and all, it fit the profile. Anyway, we were on the alert from the FBI warning, so the boss asked me to swing by and check it out.” The deputy sighed, staring at Alma’s house. “You didn’t see anything, did you?”
Jett rubbed his chin, wondering how to explain his strange encounter the night before.
“Worst part is,” the deputy said, “these killers are originally from somewhere in eastern Europe, and apparently they think they’re vampires. The victims are drained of blood somehow, after being drugged by an alcoholic drink of some sort. I don’t have all of those details yet. That’s for the lab guys.” He shook his head. “Crazy, huh? Vampires in Florida?”
“Yeah.” Jett nodded. He gazed toward Kendra’s house, the feeling of the ominous black freighter hull welling inside his gut again as he wondered how long he’d be filling out forms at the sheriff’s station that afternoon.
Tonight We Hunt The Beast, Lads.
He stormed about the tavern with a lantern in his hand
A tall and thick and wild-eyed sort, Cregg had but one demand.
“Tonight we hunt the beast, lads. Make no mistake—he’s there.
I knew him first, a night like this. I feel him in the air.”
Some of the gathered group were drunk; others merely scared,
But Cregg’s veracity was plain when he pulled back his hair.
“I got this on a night like this!” His scar was long and pink.
And as he went toward the hearth it gave me time to think.
A monk along to bless the fight? Another sword to throw?
I pulled my robe tight to my waist. Could I dare to not go?
They came to me, this flock, each week and gathered at my door.
If I displayed my cowardice, they’d gather there no more.
“Give us your blessing, father and show to us the way
For we will need all weapons now if we’re to win the day.”
I said my words and watched their eyes, these farmers that I knew,
But fear had gripped my heart so firm, my faith could not undo.
“Will I be going with you, Dad?” his son arose to say.
“I’d be proud to have you with me, boy, and close to me you’ll stay.”
Did I get bolder with each drink, or did I get less so?
Cregg tossed his ale into the fire and watched the embers glow.
A child had more nerve than I! The shame, too much to bear.
I shook my head and sipped my ale and slipped down in my chair.
The beast awaited, that I knew, outside and in the dark.
Another beast was growing, too—the fear inside my heart.
“It’s time,” Cregg said and stormed the door. His furs flew with his speed.
“Mount your horse and bring a torch. We’re going where it be.”
The villagers assembled then and mounted on their steeds.
He pointed to the woods and yelled, “The beast is there! You’ll see!”
I’ve heard many stories o’er my years that I wished were not true.
Tonight, firsthand, I’d learn one more. The dread inside me grew.
Cregg thundered off into the woods, his lantern just a glow;
The others followed right behind, and I, the last to go.
We rode an hour, maybe more, into the chilly dark
And as I fixed my cloak and hood, Cregg’s shouting gripped my heart.
“Tonight we hunt the beast, lads!” He reared back on his horse.
“Just down the hill and up the next.” He pointed to our course.
The lantern lit his weathered face, his eyes alight with rage.
I trembled at the sight of it and wished that I had prayed.
Then off he rode into the night, the others right behind.
I was the last to nudge my horse, convinced I’d lost my mind.
The thundering herd went o’er t
he peak. The fight had now begun.
I pulled the reins and stopped my horse. Was it too late to run?
The clash of swords, the beat of clubs, the howls of many horse,
the screams of men, the awful cries—until it’d run its course.
It happened quick, then all was calm. Which way to flee? I feared
wherever in these woods I ran, the beast was surely there.
And then a roar came o’er the hill and bounced across the woods.
My horse shuddered in the cold as I pulled down my hood.
A silhouette upon the hill stood tall and glared at me.
‘Twas Cregg, drenched red from head to foot, his son beside his knee.
“The beast is here,” he said to me, “and still the beast remains.”
He looked at me as his chest heaved. The sky began to rain.
But if the beast remained, then why would he and his son live?
Or was there more to this bad night that I had yet to give?
“Come, priest,” said Cregg, then turned away. “The beast is not yet dead.”
My horse advanced against my will, a humming in my head.
Atop the hill I saw the scene laid out beneath the moon
A sea of blood stained all around—and then I knew my doom.
The beast had taken all and killed them here in its bloodlust,
And wanting more, it came to find me hiding in the brush.
“Tonight we hunt the beast, lads.” Cregg raised his sword on high.
“The beast has won the night, my priest, and now’s your turn to die.”
He tricked us all! The beast was Cregg! He swung his blade, and then
As my blood spilled, I knew some night he’d fool them all again.
A Settled Matter
It was all quite settled: I would kill my wife.
I’d long considered the means by which I’d get rid of the crag—my abbreviation for the crusty old hag. Even though she wasn’t really old—only thirty-five—the train had left the station and was only headed in one direction.
