Live Girls

by Ray Garton

  “What do you mean?"

  “How much do you know about your condition?"

  “Not much."

  Benedek took in a deep breath and told Davey about his experience with Vernon Macy in the back room of the club.

  “The wound just kept healing up,” he said with disbelief, “right in front of me. Jesus, I don't know how many times I had to...” He coughed and shook his head.

  “I want to help you, Davey,” he went on. “If I can keep you from slaughtering people—like they do—I'll be satisfied. And I'd like you to help me."

  “How?"

  “I'd like to walk away from this, Davey, I really would, but I can't. I know they're out there and I know what they're doing. I can't just run to the cops or whoever and say, ‘You've gotta do something about these vampires, they're ruining the neighborhood,’ I've got to have a place to start. I can't even take this story to my paper. They'd never print it. Even if I could prove it. But I have to do something."

  He put the paper bag on his lap, reached in, and removed a wooden crucifix with a silver Christ on it. “Does this have any effect on you?” he asked.

  Davey stared at the cross for a moment, then shook his head.

  Benedek dropped the cross into the bag muttering, “Fuck you, Bram Stoker.” To Davey: “You looked in a mirror lately?"

  Davey nodded, smiling slightly. “Yes, and I have a reflection."

  “Quit smirking. You think I like this? This could land me a quick job on the National fucking Enquirer.” He took out a Ziploc bag, opened it, and reached inside. “Hold out your hand."

  Davey opened his palm and Benedek gave him three cloves of garlic.

  It seemed so ludicrous, Davey almost laughed. A vampire test! Send in the form below and we will assess your potential for a rewarding career in vampirism!

  Davey caught a whiff of the garlic and started to share the joke with Benedek but when he opened his mouth to speak he found that his throat had closed and his eyes began to water and swell and his lungs burned as if on fire. He threw the smelly lumps to the floor and clutched his throat, sputtering. When he tried to stand he tumbled to the floor, retching and clawing.

  It passed slowly, until his throat was open again and his vision had cleared.

  Benedek had sealed the garlic back in the bag immediately; the smell was gone.

  “Sorry about that,” he said, helping Davey to his feet and back into his chair. “You okay?"

  Davey nodded stiffly.

  “Well, that's a start.” Benedek wadded up the opening of the paper bag. “Listen, Davey, if I were you, I'd get the hell outta the city. Go to the country, suck on cattle, and stay out of trouble. I'm gonna do my best to bring all this out in the open in a way everyone can swallow, and don't ask me what that is, because I don't know yet. But when I do, it's gonna be open season on your kind. I don't think you're a bad person, and I wouldn't want anything to happen to you. Make the best of your situation now that you're in it. But do it outside of New York."

  Davey was still trembling. Why had that happened? It was only garlic, for Christ's sake. And how could he leave the city? Where would he go? How would he live? And what would he tell Casey?

  “I have to talk to Casey,” he said.

  “Your friend? She called my place last night. She was very worried about you."

  Benedek went to the door and turned to Davey.

  “You have my number,” he said. “Call and let me know what you decide to do. Take care of yourself, Davey."

  Davey called Casey but got no answer, then realized she would still be at work. He decided to wait until that evening.

  Standing at his window, Davey closed his eyes against the daylight. Even though the sky was filled with clouds, the day seemed bright.

  There was so much he didn't know about what he'd become, about what he was capable and incapable of doing. Maybe that was why Anya had not wanted to leave him alone.

  Make the best of your situation now that you're in it.

  Davey turned on the television and stretched out on the sofa to wait for the dark. As he relaxed, he felt the tingling beginnings of emptiness inside him.

  When Benedek got home, he found Jackie had left work early. She was curled in her favorite chair reading a paperback. In blue jeans and a brown plaid shirt, she looked deliciously comfortable.

  Benedek held two bags in his arms: the paper bag he'd taken to Davey's and a white plastic bag filled with garlic. The strange look he'd gotten from the Asian clerk at the produce market would be nothing compared to the reaction he was sure he'd get from Jackie; she'd probably think he'd gone around the bend.

  Benedek had planned to set the garlic up—around all the doors and windows in the apartment—before Jackie got home. Now he wouldn't have that edge.

  “You're home,” he said on his way into the kitchen.

  “So're you,” she replied, and he could hear the smile in her voice. “We should get to know each other, we have so much in common."

  He put the bags down on the counter, took his coat to the bedroom, and went to Jackie's side. He slid his fingers into her smooth white hair, bent down, and kissed her.

  “Where've you been?” she asked.

  “All over town.” He put his arm around her and sat on the arm of the chair. “How come you're home so early?"

  “My last two patients canceled and I'm exhausted, so I came home to do absolutely nothing."

  “Good."

  “Walter...” She pulled her head back and looked up at him. “Are you okay?"

  “Tired."

  “You look exhausted.” She reached up and stroked his cheek, wincing at the scratch of his whiskers.

  “Need a shave, I guess,” he said.

  “You sure everything's okay, babe?"

  Through the worry in her face, Benedek could see love in her eyes and a gentle warmth passed through him. “Nothing to worry about,” he said softly, kissing her again.

  “Walter, why do you smell like garlic?"

  “I bought some."

  “Did you roll in it, or something?"

  “No.” He chuckled. “I, uh, bought quite a bit."

  “Are you cooking tonight?"

  No, not yet, he thought. Work up to it.

  “If you want me to,” he said, smiling.

  She tossed her book onto the sofa and wrapped her arms around his chest with a sigh. “I've needed a hug all day. I don't care what you smell like."

  “Me too.” He held her close. “Bad day?"

  “Mrs. Bennet lost her baby.” Her voice was muffled against him. “This is their third try. I was hoping ... I don't think she's going to be able to try again."

  “Sorry."

  “Hazards of the trade.” She looked up at him again. “The mortuary called. They left a message on the machine."

  “And?"

  “They wanted to know if ... if you were sure you didn't want some kind of, you know, ceremony before the cremation."

  “They're doing it today?"

  She nodded.

  Benedek's mouth became dry suddenly. He swallowed hard and said, “I'll call them in a while.” He looked at his watch; it was a little before three. “Would you like a drink?"

  She reached over to the lamp table and produced an empty glass. “Another brandy, Jeeves."

  Benedek took the glass and went into the kitchen. He poured her drink, picked up the bag of garlic, and returned to the living room.

  “Thanks. Aren't you going to have one?"

  “Not just yet,” he said, going into the bedroom. He hoped she wouldn't follow him. He took a couple cloves from the bag and went to the bedroom window. It was a long rectangular window that opened on each end. He pressed the two cloves to the windowsill and scrubbed them back and forth, grinding them in. He wrinkled his nose at the smell. He rubbed the garlic up and down the sides and above the window, then left the cloves on the sill. He was taking a couple more from the bag when Jackie stepped into the room.

 
She held the wooden crucifix before her, turning it around a few times in her hand.

  “Walter?” she said quietly. She needed to say no more. They had long since reached the level of familiarity at which questions could be asked with a word, an inflection of the voice, sometimes a single facial expression.

  “I bought that today,” he said, “for a friend."

  “What are you...” She sniffed. “Walter, what are you doing?” She placed the crucifix on the dresser and stepped toward Benedek as he went to the other window in the room. “Walter, what's going on?"

  “I'll explain in a minute. Just let me—"

  “I'd like to know now."

  He turned to her and saw that she was not only serious, she was worried. Benedek put the cloves on the sill. “I would've told you sooner,” he said, “if I'd had something to tell you. Until last night, I didn't."

  “Tell me what?” she asked, fear softening her voice.

  They sat on the bed together, and slowly and carefully, Benedek told her everything.

  14

  ____________________________

  CASEY HAD NO IDEA WHERE SHE WAS OR HOW LONG SHE'D been passing in and out of sleep. Sometimes she wasn't even sure if she was dreaming, or if the sounds she kept hearing in the dark little room were real. They came and went like a breeze: cries, laughter, scratching, voices: “...smell it ... so hungry..."

  She didn't know if it was daytime or night, if a week had passed or an hour.

  After Shideh had doused the candle and left the room, Casey had wanted only to sleep. She'd felt at ease and content and groggy. As she slept, she dreamed of Shideh's touch, of her angelic white hair and her red eyes, of the way her tongue felt inside Casey. Once—Casey was sure it had not been a dream—Shideh stepped out of the darkness smiling, her white skin bare.

  “It's time again, love,” she'd whispered, lowering herself over Casey's face. She'd smelled Shideh's sex as it gently came to rest on her mouth.

  Their lovemaking had seemed to last forever, ending, as before, with the sucking that filled her up so.

  Afterward, Shideh had untied her and given her a cushion to lie on. Once she was alone again, Casey fought to stay awake. If she could muster the strength to get up now that she was no longer tied, perhaps she could find a way out, or at least find out where she was. Her arms and legs, however, felt like lead; she could not lift them from the cushion. She was too weary even to be angry. So she slept.

  The dreams continued: murky red dreams that swirled and waved. And the sounds...

  Frantic, purposeful scratching and thumping.

  Garbled voices:

  “...can smell it..."

  “...it's mine..."

  “...she'll let us..."

  Casey twisted and tossed on the cushion.

  When she was finally awake—when she was certain she was awake and the dreams had stopped—she realized someone had lit the candle again. And she could still hear the sounds. They had not been a dream.

  She tried to sit up. “Who's there?” The room seemed to be shifting around her, but it was only the candlelight wavering over the walls and floor.

  Someone was hunching in the corner.

  The stillness and silence of the figure made Casey's chest tighten with fear. Trying to lift herself up on her elbows, she rolled off the cushion and thudded onto the hard floor. She turned her head toward the corner.

  A moment later, she laughed—a brief, hissing laugh through her nose.

  It was a table with a small lamp on it.

  But what was that incessant thumping? Casey was certain it was in the room with her. Then she saw the floor move. Her eyes were level with the flat surface, and with the next heavy thunk, she saw a section of the floor just a few feet before her rise only for an instant.

  Casey squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them, trying to focus. With two more thumps, the section of the floor jerked up twice. A trapdoor.

  “Who's there?” Casey asked again. Her throat was so dry, it hurt to speak.

  There was a harsh, urgent whisper, but the words were garbled.

  Someone beneath the floor was trying to speak to her.

  "What?" she snapped, crawling toward the voice.

  “...to help you! We want to help you!"

  Was it another dream? Was she still asleep?

  “Davey?” she asked hopefully. She wanted to cry with relief. “Who are you?"

  “Friends. We've come to get you out."

  “Yes,” she breathed. “Please get me out of here!"

  “Open the trapdoor.” The voice sounded thick, as if it were coming through a throat clogged with phlegm.

  “How?” Casey propped herself up on her hands and knees. “How do I open it?” The room swayed a bit each time she moved.

  “Pull the bolts on the—"

  There was a sharp whisper of protest from another voice, but it was quickly silenced.

  “Pull the bolts and open the door,” the first voice continued. “We'll get you out."

  Casey swept her hand back and forth over the floor. She felt the edges of the trapdoor, the hinges, a bolt.

  She fumbled with it, slid it back.

  “The other one, too!” the voice hissed anxiously. “On the other side!"

  Casey could not move fast enough. She didn't know who they were or how they had found her, but that didn't matter. She wanted out!

  Her arms collapsed beneath her and she slammed to the floor, but reached out, groped with her fingers until she found the other bolt. Her hand tried to get a grip, but she couldn't.

  “Open it!” the voice growled.

  “I'm trying, I'm trying!"

  With another thump, the unbolted side of the door rose a couple of inches, then slammed shut. Stale air gushed from beneath the floor and Casey nearly gagged at the smell of rotting meat.

  Her hand recoiled from the bolt as if scalded.

  “Open the fucking door, cunt!” the gurgling voice demanded. “Open it!"

  Casey backed away from the trapdoor.

  The free corner rose again, but did not snap shut. Casey saw two eyes, large and rheumy, peering at her from the darkness; the smell became almost unbearable.

  “Pull the fucking bolt or I'll break it!” The eyes widened and Casey felt her breath being pulled from her lungs and the eyes reaching behind her own, sliding into her skull like a mist and tugging on her nerves, her muscles, until her arm was lifting with a jerky motion, reaching for the bolt again.

  “Open the door and I'll help you."

  Her fingers trembled with resistance, but the creature's eyes were too powerful. Their hypnotic gaze pulled her arm closer to the bolt.

  I can't let this happen again, she thought desperately, I won't, but the thought was snatched from her mind like a cookie from a jar.

  “You can come down here with us,” the voice went on. The anger was gone; the creature spoke soothingly with the faintest hint of a childlike singsong rhythm bobbing beneath its words. “There's a win ... dow..."

  Her mouth formed the word no, but her voice was not there.

  “We'll keep you safe from her, safe. You know what she's doing to you, don't you?"

  Another voice hissed accusingly, there was a struggle beneath the floor, and the door slammed shut.

  The eyes were gone.

  Casey gasped, as if suddenly released from a stranglehold, and jerked her hand away, collapsing onto her back.

  “No!” the voice spat. “I want her now, I don't want to wait, the smell ... I want her now!"

  The other voice whispered reproachfully.

  Casey stared at the door, realizing that whatever was down there was far worse than what had been happening in the room. She had to relock the trapdoor, had to pull the bolt back so the corner of the door could not be lifted. She dragged herself over the floor, stretched out a watery-weak arm, and splayed her fingers toward the bolt when the corner of the door lifted with a sharp creaking of wood and a hand—a dreadful hand with puffy, pu
rplish skin and pink, infected lumps that glistened with draining fluids and sharp gray bone sticking from the fingers where flesh had been torn away—clutched Casey's wrist firmly and pulled her arm into the stinking darkness beneath the floor, pulled it in up to the elbow until she could feel hot sticky breath on her palm and a rough tongue sliding up her middle finger.

  Casey closed her eyes tightly, knowing what would happen if she looked through the opening, knowing that one glance of those two powerful eyes would take from her what little strength remained. She turned her head away and pleaded, “Let go of me let go oh Jesus Christ please let go!” She jerked hard on her arm, but the hand would not let go. The skin was rough and clammy and the naked bones that stuck through the tips of two of the fingers threatened to break through Casey's flesh.

  There was a rush of movement in the darkness below, the sound of sighing voices.

  There were more of them.

  She felt another hand on her arm and opened her eyes, screaming because there were three more arms pulling on her, hands with fingers missing or no fingers at all, and pulling its way up from the darkness, squeezing between the arms, was something not at all human: a knotted, twisted claw.

  She screamed until she could scream no longer, then sucked in a deep breath and screamed again.

  "Stop!" The voice came from behind Casey and was so loud it seemed to fill the room. “Let her go!"

  Casey turned her head to see Shideh towering over her, flat round nostrils flaring with rage.

  All but one of the hands dropped away and slid back into the darkness.

  “Let go!” Shideh ordered again.

  “I won't wait anymore!” the voice beneath the door gurgled. “I'm hungry!"

  Shideh bent down, took Casey's arm, and pulled it out until the bloated, diseased hand was visible. She wrapped her graceful fingers around the creature's wrist and flicked her arm upward. The wrist broke with the sound of a crisp celery stick being pulled from its stalk. An animal-like wail rose from below and the door clapped shut. Something fell heavily beneath the door and the wailing continued for several seconds before dissolving into a pitiful whimper and dying away.