Live Girls

by Ray Garton

  “Are you hurt?” Shideh asked softly, throwing the bolt with her foot.

  Casey could not reply; her sobs had gained such a momentum that, even though the hands and that God-awful claw—Jesus, she kept thinking, what was that, what the fuck was it?—were gone, she couldn't stop.

  Shideh bent down and, with no effort, bundled Casey up in her arms, carried her to the cushion, and gently lowered her, then sat beside her.

  Casey's sobs began to subside as Shideh stroked her cheek. When her tears stopped flowing, Casey realized that she was not out of danger. This woman was a monster, not even human, no matter how soft her skin, how gentle her voice, how beautiful her eyes...

  Casey closed her eyes again and pressed her head back hard into the cushion.

  “Stay away from that door,” Shideh said. “Don't even go near it."

  “What are they?” Casey asked.

  Shideh did not answer for a moment, as if carefully examining her reply. “My children,” she said finally. “Like you. But they were too quick to leave my care, too quick to feed on their own. They fed on bad blood. Blood filled with chemicals, dangerous chemicals. Drugs. Others ingested blood that carried the few diseases to which we are not immune. They're sick, crippled. But I care for them. There's a window down there and they could leave if they wanted, but they know better. They can't fend for themselves. They need me."

  As she listened to Shideh talk, Casey's eyes filled with tears and her stomach lurched sickeningly at the woman's words.

  “Like me?” Casey hissed, still not opening her eyes. “What do you mean, like me?"

  Shideh touched Casey's hair. “I thought I'd explained that to you already. I'm changing you, giving you something you never thought you could have. After tonight, you will no longer be the woman you are now. You will be able to change your shape, your appearance, with a thought. You'll be stronger than you thought possible. If you cut yourself, your flesh will heal within minutes. So will your muscles, your organs. If you look out for yourself, Casey, you can live ... forever."

  “No,” Casey whispered, shaking her head, trying to push Shideh's hand from her hair, “no, that's not true, it can't be true, you're lying to me."

  Shideh stretched out beside Casey and put her lips to Casey's ear. “I have slept with kings, Casey. With emperors, pharaohs, queens, and princesses. I have lived in castles that are now ruins, in cities that no longer exist. I've watched battles from the sky and fed on the dying and wounded, men you've read about in history books. It's not a lie, Casey. After tonight, you will be virtually immortal. You'll laugh at the ones you leave behind, at their beliefs about you. Crosses and daylight. Holy water. None of it's real, Casey, they're just fantasies, things they've dreamed up to make them feel they have some power. They don't. You'll be a god, Casey, invincible, if you allow me to teach you what you need to know."

  Casey kept shaking her head, eyes tightly closed, murmuring, “No, no."

  “You must let me teach you about your weaknesses. There are only a few, but they can be fatal. A nasty allergic reaction to garlic, a minor sensitivity to bright light, bloods that must be avoided. Otherwise, you'll be like them, the ones down there in the furnace room."

  “No..."

  “You don't want that, do you?"

  “Please, let me go."

  “Think of yourself as my daughter until you're able to break away and live on your own. Until you understand your power."

  “No, just let me go, please!” Her voice rose to a cry on the last word.

  Shideh placed her thumbs gently over Casey's eyes and lifted her lids. “You can't leave,” she said. “It's too late for that now."

  Casey jerked her head from left to right.

  “I don't want to be like you!” she shouted.

  Shideh straddled her and held Casey's head still in her large white hands. “It doesn't matter what you want, Casey,” Shideh said softly, smiling. "I want you."

  She leaned forward and placed her mouth over Casey's.

  Although she couldn't really afford it, Beth decided as she walked into the dirty dusk on Avenue C to take a cab instead of the bus. She had to be at work by seven, and it was almost six-thirty. When a cab finally pulled over, she got in and gave the driver Davey's address; she'd get to the Union a bit late, but she didn't care.

  Stupid idea, she thought as she sat back in the seat and tried to get comfortable. That wasn't easy; Vince had thrown her a couple good ones before she left. Her left shoulder ached and she had an ugly bruise on her right upper arm. Her lower lip was cut.

  Beth knew she should wait until tomorrow afternoon when Davey would be at work. She still had the key—Beth always tried to hang on to keys, knowing that, sooner or later, they'd come in handy—so she could slip in while he wasn't there, get what she'd left behind, and get out. He'd never know the difference.

  But she wanted to see him. She knew that for her to show up would probably hurt him. Okay, so she was selfish, she admitted it. It was no surprise, she'd known it for a long time, and unless he was totally blind, Davey had known it, too. How could he not think so, the way she'd bitched about never having enough money, the way she'd gone out with other guys who did have money.

  Of course, money wasn't the only thing. If it were, she sure as hell wouldn't be with Vince. He had money, sure, but there were other guys with more of it, guys who would treat her better. No, that wasn't all.

  Vince's apartment was a virtual highway of drugs. Pills, heroin, coke, everything. Not that she needed them, but once in a while, maybe an upper or two now and then, maybe a snort. She wasn't like Vince, or the women Vince hung out with; she wasn't a junkie.

  Not yet, a nasty little voice sneered in the back of her mind. A voice she ignored.

  Davey didn't know about the drugs. Sure, they'd smoked some grass once in a while, but nothing more. Davey wasn't like that. Maybe that had been part of his attraction, that innocence and naiveté.

  That was part of the reason she was going to his apartment this evening instead of tomorrow while he was out—she wanted to see those little-boy eyes again, those eyes that she knew would look at her with affection, despite everything. She wasn't going to take advantage of that affection anymore. She just wanted to see it. Then she would get her things and go.

  When the cab stopped, she paid the driver. She couldn't afford to leave a tip and ignored the angry remark he tossed over his shoulder as she got out.

  Upstairs, she stood at Davey's door clenching her fists nervously at her sides. Maybe he wouldn't let her in. Maybe those little-boy eyes were gone.

  Her first knock wasn't loud enough, she knew that, and she had to take in a deep, steadying breath before she could knock again.

  No answer.

  “Davey?"

  Maybe he wasn't home after all.

  She knocked again, waited, then fished through her purse for the key.

  The television was playing; the news was on. There was movement in the bedroom.

  “Davey?” she called again, a bit louder.

  He came to the bedroom doorway, startled.

  Beth timidly lifted a hand in greeting and smiled. “Hi,” she said softly.

  Davey said nothing, he just stood there in jeans and a gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his hands resting on the doorjamb. His eyes were wide, as if she'd caught him at something. He looked ... different.

  “I still had the key, so I let myself in,” she explained. “I left some things here. I think. I mean, I can't find them, so I figured they were still here. Three pairs of shoes and my hand mirror. Remember the hand mirror my grandma gave me? I can't find it. So I thought I'd..."

  He still hadn't moved a muscle.

  “Davey, are you okay?"

  He slowly nodded his head. “Yeah."

  “I hope you don't mind that I just, you know, came in like this."

  He shrugged.

  Yes, he definitely looked different. There was something about his eyes. They were so round and stra
ngely alert, like maybe he had a buzz on. Not Davey...

  “So,” she said, “how are you?"

  “Okay.” He finally moved, stepping out of the doorway. “You?"

  “Fine.” She moved toward him to go into the bedroom for her shoes.

  “Your lip is...” He swallowed and looked away from her, almost as if he were ashamed. “It's cut."

  She said nothing, went to the closet, and poked around until she found them. “You got a bag, or something?"

  She heard him go into the kitchen. He came in with a brown paper bag and she stuffed the shoes into it.

  “Have you seen my mirror?” she asked.

  He turned away again; he looked nervous, maybe even a little afraid.

  “No, I haven't. Check the bathroom."

  Beth shouldered by him and heard his sharp intake of breath. “Davey, what is wrong?” she asked, more harshly than she intended.

  His back was to her, his head bowed for a moment. Then he straightened up and lifted a hand to his mouth.

  “You smell nice,” he said.

  Beth smiled. He wasn't that different.

  “Thanks.” She went into the bathroom and, after a few moments of looking, found the mirror in the back of a drawer to the left of the sink. It was really pretty ugly; it had a gold handle and frilly frame with four sparkly rhinestones around the glass. But she didn't want it for its looks. She put it in the bag and went back to the living room.

  “You're living with Vince again, aren't you?” Davey asked, still not looking at her.

  “Yes. For a while, anyway,” she lied. “The apartment's kind of roomy, so, you know, I don't have to be with him all the time. Not a great area. It's on Avenue C near Fourteenth, but it's kinda cute. The building, I mean. A red brick place, kinda rundown, but, oh, I don't know."

  “He hit you."

  Beth touched her slightly swollen lip. “I ran into a door."

  “He hit you."

  She started for the door. “Okay, so he hit me, so what? Maybe I need a good whack once in a while, you know? Maybe if you'd given me one now and then I'd still be here!” She immediately regretted the words and turned to him. “Davey, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I don't want you to think—"

  Davey spun around and the look on his face cut off Beth's words. His lips were pulled back tightly, his teeth clenched. His nostrils flared and his head was craned forward slightly, as if he were sniffing the air.

  “You should go,” he said quietly in a tone she'd never heard before. Not angry, not hurt, but threatening.

  “Okay,” she said, “I will, but I just want you to know that—"

  “Go,” he whispered.

  “Jesus, Davey, what's wrong, you look like you're gonna pass out.” She stepped toward him, expecting him to collapse at any moment, but Davey took a quick step back.

  “Please, Beth,” he said, and for an instant the old Davey was back, the little-boy eyes looked at her softly.

  But only for an instant.

  The softness left his face, and his mouth opened wide as he turned away from her. For a half second, she thought she saw something different about his teeth, but his back was to her now and he was walking stiffly toward the bedroom.

  “Please, just go away now, Beth!” he snapped. He slammed the bedroom door and she thought she heard him sob on the other side.

  Beth rolled up the opening of the bag and left the apartment. In the corridor, she fought to hold back her own tears, to ignore the nasty bite of guilt in her stomach.

  “I'm sorry, Davey,” she breathed as she headed for the stairs.

  Walter Benedek was not anxious to leave the comfort of his dreamless sleep, so when the mattress beneath him stirred slightly, he rolled over and drifted off again.

  It had not been easy convincing Jackie of his story, but he'd kept at it. Having nothing she could see, or perhaps touch, had not made it any easier; Jackie was stubborn and reluctant to be convinced of anything without solid proof. She was finally swayed by the fact that Benedek possessed the very same skepticism she did. Then her disbelief turned slowly to fear. They'd sat on the bed as Benedek told her of the past three days’ events. As he went on, they moved closer and closer together, until they were leaning against the headboard in one another's arms.

  “You're shaking, Walter,” she'd said.

  “That's because I'm terrified. I'm sure they've found Vernon by now. They'll know I did it to him, and they'll come after me. And you."

  She'd looked at him then with the stern expression she took on whenever there was too much of anything for her to handle: too much pain, work, information.

  “Then let's keep them out of here,” she said to him. “I'll help you."

  Together, they'd spread the garlic around all the windows and even around the outside of the apartment door.

  Afterward, sick of the smell of garlic, Jackie had taken a bubble bath. Benedek had joined her. They'd sat in the warm water for nearly an hour, their legs intertwined, Benedek smoking leisurely, Jackie drinking a bit more brandy than usual. When they got out, they'd gently dried one another off then gone to bed, where they'd made long slow love for the first time in far too long.

  Lying close, they'd drifted into a deep, solid sleep.

  Until the mattress had moved and Benedek had stirred, trying to fall back to sleep.

  Until the whispers...

  Benedek grunted, swimming gradually to the surface of his sleep.

  It was Jackie's voice.

  Something was making a heavy sliding sound.

  Benedek opened his eyes and squinted.

  Jackie was sliding the window open.

  “What, hon,” he mumbled thickly. “Whasamatter?"

  There were two hands pressing against the windowpane as Jackie lifted it, but something was wrong, because they were on the outside of the window, and that simply could not be because their apartment was on the eighteenth floor.

  Jackie stood stiffly at the window wearing her short, thin nightgown.

  “Jackie?” Benedek snapped, his sleepiness leaving him quickly as he sat up on the bed.

  Then he saw the face outside the window, a smiling face that seemed to bob up and down slightly in the mist, its eyes lost in deep shadows:

  Cedric Palacios.

  Perhaps it was a nightmare, because he suddenly found it nearly impossible to move, as if he were wading waist-deep in honey.

  “Jackie, get away from the window!” he shouted, but she seemed not to hear him.

  Jackie pushed the window up all the way and Cedric Palacios's arms moved forward as if to embrace her...

  “Christ, Jackie, mooove!” His legs were thick and stiff and numb, two tree trunks attached to the bottom of his body.

  But then they pulled back suddenly and Palacios made a painful groaning sound and retched as he backed away from the window but did not take his gaze from Jackie.

  The garlic, Benedek thought, it's working thank God it's working!

  She did not move from the window, no matter how loud Benedek shouted, “Jackie, get away, get away!” and Benedek knew that she couldn't hear him, she was hearing something else, something Cedric Palacios was telling her, sending to her without words, because Benedek knew she would not be standing at that window if she knew what she was doing.

  He tried to lunge toward her, to throw her away from those long powerful arms that were reaching through the window, that slid under Jackie's arms and began to pull her out of the room until her feet dangled from the window, and the thing that bothered Benedek the most, the thing he knew he would remember most vividly about that moment for the rest of his life, was that her legs did not kick, they just hung from the sill limply, slipping away like ropes over the side of a boat being pulled downward by the anchor as it dropped to the deep dark bottom, and Benedek threw himself forward hard with his arms outstretched and his fingers clawed to grab her ankles, but the legs kept moving and his knuckles only grazed Jackie's calves, they just touched for a mo
ment her skin, feeling the slight hint of bristle that had not been shaved, such a good feeling, a safe, familiar feeling he knew he would never know again except in his memory, the last feeling he would ever have of Jackie Laslo because she was gone, she was in the arms of Cedric Palacios eighteen stories in the air and Palacios was smiling as he held her tightly to his chest, and as her arms wrapped around him, he said in a voice as smooth as the movement of a snake, “Garlic. You are a very clever man."

  Still on the floor, Benedek wanted to scream Jackie's name, to make her snap out of whatever stupor she was in, but he couldn't, his throat had closed with rage and horror at the knowledge that Cedric Palacios would probably be the last person—the last creature—ever to hold Jackie in her life, and he could only watch as they were swallowed by the night.

  “Maybe too clever, huh?” Palacios sneered.

  And they were gone.

  There was a sound in the otherwise silent room and it took Benedek a moment to realize it was coming from him. It was a pitiful babbling sound, childlike and helpless. He clambered to his feet and went to the window. Clutching the sill, he leaned out.

  Crisp air hit his face and speckled it with tiny beads of chilly moisture.

  “Jackie,” he wheezed, “Jackie, sweet Jesus, Jackie.” Tears rolled unnoticed down his cheeks.

  Where would Palacios take her? The club? Probably. How long would they let her live?

  He hoped it would be long enough for him to help her.

  It was time to tell Riley. The detective was the only one prepared to believe the story.

  Benedek knew he had Riley's home number around the house somewhere but hadn't the patience to look for it. He went to the phone and punched out the number of the police department, trying to forget the image of her acquiescent form being pulled away from him.

  He shifted from his right foot to his left, rubbing his eyes and forehead with a big hand as he waited for an answer on the other end of the line.