The Color of Dying

by Carlos Colon

  In the eyes of those involved in the investigation, Ronnie Gunder burned to his death. There was no biological cause to speak of. But if they would have run the same tests Dr. Gunder did and had gotten the same results, one question could not have been ignored. How was it possible that the organism that she found was still alive almost four hours after her son’s death?

  #

  “The good doctor has accumulated a lot of knowledge,” said Travis with eyes of self-preservation.

  Dominic had files on Dr. Gunder that could fill a milk crate so I hadn’t yet completed reading them. I had to bring them back to his desk so they wouldn’t be noticed missing. But I did make it over to Staples to run copies of what I lifted from his desk including:

  THE GUNDER REPORT:

  A SCIENTIFIC ANALYSIS OF VAMPIRE MYTHOLOGY.

  “To date she has been discredited and is considered a tragic source of pity,” said Travis.

  “But ever since Simone killed her son, she’s gone everywhere doing research,” added Donny.

  “What do you mean everywhere?” I asked.

  “The doctor found a biological substance in her boy’s remains that was not, well, it wasn’t human,” said Travis. That much I knew but I played dumb. Travis continued. “She researched for well over a year, neglecting her responsibilities at the university, and as I mentioned, losing her credibility and the respect of her peers. But she didn’t care. She wanted to know everything there was to know about her boy’s death.”

  “I’m not trying to make a joke here,” I said, about my upcoming pun. “But this should have been a major red flag to anyone investigating my death.”

  “It was, young man. The police are not blind to the fact that a similar woman was at the site of two similar deaths but there are so few answers, they don’t know what to do with the information that they do have. Our opinion is that young Mr. Gunder turned while she was feeding on him and he fought her off.”

  “What? How is that possible?”

  “It’s rare but it does happen,” said Donny. “We think he put up a fight with her and she fled. And since he was weakened from the fight and probably confused, he probably stayed in that room long enough to get hit with the sunlight coming in through the window. She was probably smart enough to give up the fight and let him burn on his own.”

  “So when the doctor learned what she did from the results of her tests,” added Travis, “she looked everywhere to see if anything similar turned up in any medical reports around the world.”

  “Did she find anything?” I asked.

  Travis shook his head in grudging admiration. “She found traces of what was in her son in lab readings from a 15th century meteorite.”

  “Meteorite? Are you fucking with me?” I looked at them both but, by then, I already knew that sense of humor was not one of Travis’ strong suits.

  “And that’s not even the best part of it,” said Donny.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The meteorite was from Cluj County in the Mocs-Palatca region.”

  “Where is that?”

  “Romania,” replied Travis.

  “Romania? What are you gonna start telling me, some Vlad-the-Impaler shit now?”

  Donny smiled nervously. “The fact is that the doctor began researching mysterious deaths from that era and traced the beginning of our existence to that point in time.”

  I was waiting for them to burst out laughing.

  I waited a little more.

  Nothing.

  “C’mon guys!” They had to be pulling my leg.

  Travis made it clear they weren’t. “What do you know about Teresa Gunder?”

  “You’re afraid of her, aren’t you?”

  Travis clenched his teeth. “Again Nicholas, do you know where she is?”

  “No!” I snapped back. “What is it about this woman that’s got you all worked up? Nobody believes her anyway.”

  Donny explained a little more patiently than his partner. “Dr. Gunder has made a lot of progress in her research, and that’s with no one taking her seriously. But now she knows how we began, how we evolved, and just about everything else there is to know about us. She’s looked back through history, police investigations, and scientific findings. And while she remains out of sight and difficult to find, we think she is well on her way to developing a way of identifying us while we’re out in public.”

  “In other words, she is taking significant steps in learning everything she needs to know to eventually destroy us,” said Travis.

  Oh, so that’s the problem.

  “So, where is she now?” I asked.

  Travis was never the easiest to convince of anything. “You really don’t know where she is?”

  “No!”

  “She’s gone into hiding,” said Donny. “But if you read her report, you’ll see that she knows our strengths and our weaknesses. Travis is right. She will soon know enough to be able to destroy us.”

  “So what is she waiting for?” I asked.

  “Well, obviously the woman needs people to help her,” said Travis. “This is not a battle she can win on her own. The second that one of us finds her, she is finished.”

  “But no one believes her. You said it yourself.”

  “She knows about genetic resistance,” said Donny. “She thinks that she can find one of us with a conscience that can help with her research.”

  “In other words” said Travis, with his threatening eyes, “if she gets one of our kind on her side, we’re as good as done.”

  18

  “Oh my God, Georgie, you are so crazy,” says Veronica, still catching her breath, barely having landed from her cloud.

  We’d be quite a sight if someone would venture into the North Wing right now and peep into the waiting room. She’s lying halfway off the couch with her uniform and undergarments down to her ankles and I’m beside her with blood dripping from the bottom half of my face.

  “I’m crazy? Look at you.” I’m feeling myself smile—a real smile, one from within. I can’t remember the last time I did that, actually feel a smile. When I deal with people here at work or outside and a situation calls for it, I usually have to remind myself to smile. But here with Veronica it’s different, I’m actually enjoying myself. I’m enjoying the company of the person I am with. The smile just came out. “You think you might want to pull those pants up before somebody comes by here and sees you?”

  Veronica naughtily laughs and rises to wiggle her curvy ass back in her pants. Man, we’re actually having a moment.

  “Hay Dios mio!” My little undead guy has caught Veronica’s attention. He’s bloodied from where he’s been over the last few minutes but still locked and loaded. “You can’t get enough, can you?”

  We’re both satisfied customers and should really get back to work but it looks like Señora Veronica wants a little snuggle time. She nuzzles up and reaches for some napkins on the table next to my half-assed chili. Her attempt to wipe my face clean isn’t working. The blood isn’t coming off. Her solution? Licking the blood off my lips. “You see, baby? I’m a freak, too.”

  #

  Although we are both single healthy adults (the healthy part applying to her, being dead I wouldn’t exactly call myself healthy), Veronica and I did our best to avoid being seen when we snuck back from the North Wing together. Having a little rendezvous during work hours wouldn’t be something the hospital administrators would smile upon.

  Speaking of smiles, the look on Jimmy’s face speaks volumes. “Damn, man, I knew you were hittin’ that. I cover for you on break so you can ride that Mexican wonderland in the North Wing?”

  What? My shirt isn’t hanging out, my zipper isn’t open and I maintained a considerable degree of quiet. Did Veronica’s vocal range reach out all the way to the main part of the hospital? “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t try to deny it. I can smell the pussy on you from here.”

  “You heard?” No surprise since Veronica sou
nded like she was auditioning as a backup singer for J Lo.

  “Did I hear? Who didn’t hear? You could hear that shit in Hackensack.”

  “Then why didn’t someone come over and stop us.”

  “Stop you? You kiddin’? That shit was better than HBO! You got every woman in this hospital wantin’ to fuck you, now. What you packin’ in there, boy?”

  #

  Thanksgiving at the Rippey house seems a little quieter than usual. Rippey, Davey, Artie and Dominic are talking sports while on the 65” inch plasma, the Eagles are struggling to mount an offense against the Lions. Let’s make that, Rippey, Davey and Dominic are talking sports. Artie appears to have nodded off, which is understandable, the guy after all, is 87 years old. That doesn’t stop him from insisting that he drive, though. Dominic always offers to pick him and Ramona up. But no, “I can drive on my own,” he insists. Aging means never having to admit you’re too old.

  In the kitchen, Jessie and Ramona are helping Stefanie prepare the turkey. Noticeably absent is Nemeth, who by now should be somewhere incognito in the caves of Afghanistan.

  Accompanying Davey is his latest excuse for a girlfriend. From the tramp stamp and the pink highlighted hair, I’m guessing, recently rehabbed stripper that he met at the clinic. Far as I can tell she’s also not much of a football fan. She looks considerably bored sitting alongside Davey, leaning her head against his shoulder. But then again it’s not much of a game with the Lions up 31-7. That’s probably why Dominic’s taking the floor with his usual rant about the Mets.

  “Jesus, bring some fucking bats to the World Series, why don’t you? I’ve never seen anything so fucking pathetic. I’m telling you, as long as those Wilpon’s own the Mets they’re never going anywhere.”

  “C’mon Uncle Dom,” gestures Davey towards his lady friend—one that hardly anyone would think would be offended. Davey shakes his head as Dominic reaches for his Budweiser on the snack tray.

  Rippey isn’t much of a follower of sports but he gamely tries to get in the conversation. “Well, at least they made it to the World Series, right?”

  Dominic shoots him a shut-the-fuck-up look and addresses the stripper. “Sweetheart, what’s your name again?”

  “Amber.”

  “You like baseball, Bambi?” Either his hearing isn’t what it used to be or Dominic’s just fucking with her. Knowing Dominic, I think it’s the latter. I love that about him.

  Amber doesn’t bother to correct him. “No, not really,”

  “Well, if you ever decide to root for a team, don’t let it be the Mets. They’ll make you want to shit.”

  This conversation’s making me want to shit. And I don’t even shit. I’d rather hang out with the ladies, even though being this close to Stefanie without her knowing of my presence is something I can never get used to.

  Rippey rises up from his chair, following me into the kitchen. It’s almost as if he jealously senses me in the area. I even have to move aside so he doesn’t walk right into me.

  He nudges up behind Stefanie, putting his arms around her and kissing her on the back of her neck. Go ahead. Put my heart through the meat grinder, you prick.

  “How are you feeling, honey?”

  Stefanie nods her head without turning.

  There’s a somberness in the air. I don’t know what it is but it is definitely here, and no one is saying anything that would indicate why.

  Still feisty at 86, Ramona appears to be irked at Rippey’s presence in the kitchen. Like Patti, Dominic’s ex, Rippey has always been an outsider. The difference is that Patti was a bitch. Rippey, as much as I hate to admit it, is a good guy. He actually deserves to be treated better.

  Dominic ambles into the kitchen over to his mother. “Mami, why don’t you go sit down? The girls got it.”

  “You sit down and watch your football,” answers Ramona.

  Dominic persists by taking his mom by the shoulders and turning her around towards the living room. “Come on, Ma. Go sit next to Pop. Food will be ready soon.” Dominic turns to Stefanie. “Ain’t that right, sis?”

  Stefanie forces a smile. “Right! Are you good and hungry?”

  “Oh yeah, sis, bring it on!”

  Yeah, there’s something wrong. It definitely doesn’t feel right in here. The mood is forced, not celebratory at all.

  Reluctantly, Ramona heeds her son and slowly paces back to the living room, taking a seat next to her snoring hubby.

  In the kitchen, Jessie tears up.

  Dominic quickly notices and strokes his niece’s hair “How you doing, baby? You alright?”

  She wants to reply but she looks afraid to.

  Rippey answers for her. “She’s still a little shaken up by everything.”

  Dominic nods and puts his arm around Jessie’s shoulder. “Hey, forget about that asshole,”

  Stefanie scolds her brother. “Dominic!”

  “It’s not that, Uncle Dom,” says Jessie.

  Dominic nods his head and rubs Jessie’s shoulders. “I know, honey. But look, we’re all together. We’re gonna have a nice turkey...” Jessie shakes her head. Her uncle is barking up the wrong tree. Dominic turns to Stefanie and Rippey, looking for a clue. “Well, what is it then?”

  Dead silence. The only sound is from the TV where the Ford Field fans are cheering another Detroit touchdown.

  A film of tears coats Jessie’s eyes. “He seemed so real.” A blink of her eyelid pushes a tear down her face. Stefanie puts down the salad and hugs her daughter who weeps on her mother’s shoulder. Rippey looks over sympathetically.

  “Honey, you’ve been through a lot,” whispers Stefanie.

  “You’ve been under a lot of stress,” adds Dominic.

  “I know what I saw,” responds Jessie, quietly, but with emphasis.

  Dominic, Stefanie and Rippey exchange sullen glances. They think Jessie’s wheels are coming off the tracks.

  Rippey gently tries to reel her back in. “Jessie, you know that’s not possible.”

  “I saw his face,” says Jessie. “I know what my father looked like.”

  Davey comes in from the living room, leaving his little sex pet staring blankly at the television. “Hey, dinner almost ready?” His sister is in her mother’s arms, crying. Davey nods for Dominic to follow him back into the living room.

  Davey whispers. He doesn’t really need to. With the Ford Field crowd cheering the extra point on the TV, no one could hear anyway. “You know about that drug dealer that got killed in Brooklyn?”

  Dominic’s troubled by the oddly timed question. “Yeah...”

  “I was there.”

  “Pero que carajo! What do you mean, you were there?”

  “I was there outside his apartment. I got into a fight with him.”

  “What!” Dominic struggles to keep his tone down. “What the hell were you doing there? Did you—”

  “No, no listen, that’s not what I’m trying to tell you. Listen.”

  “Pero mira, Jesus Crísto!”

  “Uncle Dom, please listen. That thing that happened to him, I don’t know anything about that. I was there trying to help a family find their daughter. But when I asked him about her, he pulled a gun out on me.”

  “A gun!” Dominic’s eyebrows meet at the center of his forehead.

  Davey nods. “I went after it and tried to take it from him, but when I reached for it, the guy just flew back like someone grabbed him and threw him against the wall.” Great! Now my son too, is questioning his sanity. On the other hand, what if I wasn’t there? Davey could have been the one dead instead of that Darryl. “When he hit the wall, he dropped his gun,” says Davey. “I wasn’t sure whether I should go for it or not. But then he did go for it. And when he did,” Davey can’t believe what he’s about to say. “His head snapped back. It snapped back like he got kicked in the face.” Dominic’s eyes narrow, making Davey feel the need to assert his clear-headedness. “Uncle Dom, I’m not crazy. It felt like someone else was there.”


  “What? Someone like who?”

  “Look, I don’t know how to explain it other than, have you ever been in a room by yourself and felt like there was someone else in there watching you?”

  Dominic’s eyes open into widened glare. His breathing intensifies. He’s practically blowing smoke out of his nostrils but he doesn’t answer.

  He doesn’t need to.

  19

  “Dominic, are you seriously going to order that shit?”

  “Fuck you, you scrawny little bitch. At least my sister makes nice warm meals for you when you come home from work. Patti won’t even microwave me a TV dinner.”

  Dominic was twice my size and easily could have broken me in half, but he let me get away with shit that no one else could say to him. “Look at you. Who the hell eats a twelve-inch sub all by himself? What are you 300 pounds? No wonder Patti won’t have sex with you, if you get on top of her you’ll kill her. If she gets on top of you, she’d be banging her head against the ceiling.”

  “You’re up,” said Dominic. “Shut your fucking face and bowl.”

  It was only our close bond that enabled me to be such a merciless ballbreaker. And on our bowling nights at the lanes on Tarrytown Road in White Plains, he was a captive audience. We participated in a league there with some of his buddies from the NYPD and every week our team would witness Dominic’s gluttony when he ordered from the sports bar attached to the bowling alley. His sub would be loaded with ham, provolone, salami, turkey, lettuce, tomatoes, oil, vinegar, and whatever else they could get their hands on in the kitchen. By the time they finished with his sandwich, not only was it twelve inches long, the fucking thing was twelve inches thick. On top of that, he would order two liters of beer so the food chunks could float around his guts like dead rats in a sewer.

  One night Dominic’s order came in while he was taking his turn bowling. He was completely focused on the lanes because he was working on a 200 game. Unable to resist, I took the waitress who brought in his sandwich aside and paid for it without him noticing. I then hid it underneath my jacket. Our other two teammates and the opposing team played along. They laughed quietly as Dominic came back to his seat, looking towards the sports bar, wondering where his sandwich was.