Descending Son

by Scott Shepherd

  With the power restored, Jess was on the office computer. He had immediately logged onto Wikipedia and typed “Civatateo” into the site’s browser. Jess waved his friend over to the desk and again showed him the church photograph on which Tracy had scrawled the word.

  “You found out what it means?” asked Benji.

  Jess nodded at the computer screen. Benji leaned over his shoulder to see the one word he had highlighted.

  VAMPIRE.

  5

  He found Harry in the backyard hitting golf balls into a large net. Jess, as he had done on the makeshift basketball court, stood and watched his brother, marveling at the concentration and tenacity with which he methodically struck the balls. He wondered if Harry had always been this way. Was his competitive, no-nonsense determination something passed down from their father? Or was it a byproduct of growing up under Walter’s heavy thumb while their mother was relegated to the backseat? The age-old question—nurture versus nature. Then again, Jess had been gone a very long time and Harry hadn’t been playing team sports when he left. Maybe his kid brother was just trying to lose himself in something to avoid thinking about the past few days.

  Jess wished to God he could do the same.

  Harry turned around to pick up a different club and saw him. “You look like shit.”

  “You don’t look so hot yourself.” It was the truth. Harry appeared to have aged in the past two days. He really was a teenager—troubled, angst-ridden, and not squeaky clean.

  “Haven’t been sleeping much.” Harry punched a wedge shot into the net.

  “I don’t think any of us are.” Jess had come here specifically to ask him about Walter. He had spent the entire drive over wondering how to broach his father’s return without appearing to be a madman. He knew muttering “vampire,” or the newfound Spanish word he was having trouble pronouncing would only result in a call for white-coated men with butterfly nets. But Harry had inadvertently left the door open wide enough—not for the entire truth, but at least for Jess to give fair warning.

  “Anything particular keeping you up?”

  “My mind’s still playing tricks. I keep hearing things.”

  Jess lowered his voice, wanting to be sympathetic, not accusatory. “Dad?”

  “How did you know?”

  Jess treaded carefully. “He’s on your mind. It’s understandable.”

  “I guess I’m just having a hard time accepting he’s gone. The funny thing is, it’s not like we got along when he was alive. I barely existed ’round here. It’s like they shipped me off to school and that was it. When I came back for vacations, Dad would stare at me with this expression like, ‘I thought we got rid of you.’ ”

  “Now you are imagining things. Dad loved you. He just wasn’t the most demonstrative guy.”

  Harry laughed. “You making excuses for our father. That’s a good one.”

  “Maybe it took the guy dying to show him a little respect.” Jess picked up one of the golf clubs. He twirled it in his hand before casually broaching the subject again. “So, what exactly are you hearing?”

  “Dad’s voice. I know that sounds nuts. It’s probably just the wind and my brain working on overdrive.”

  “Might not be as crazy as you think.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Jess knew there was no way to come right out and say it, but he was going to do whatever was necessary to protect his little brother. “I’ve been hearing things too.”

  “Really? Like what?”

  “Voices. Calling my name.” Jess hesitated. Then he came to a decision. “Trying to sound like Dad.”

  Harry looked confused. “Trying?”

  “I think there might be someone out there who wants us to think Dad is still alive.”

  “Why the fuck would they do that?”

  “Who knows? Dad pissed off a whole lot of people. Could be some nut trying to punish his family by terrorizing them.”

  “Have you told the police?”

  “Not yet,” Jess responded truthfully. “It just happened this morning. I thought I was having a nightmare. Then I remembered what you told me at the golf course, how you thought you heard him calling you. It got me thinking someone might be out there screwing with us.”

  Harry shoved his club back in the bag. “People can be pretty sick.”

  “Which is why you have to promise, no matter what you hear or think you see, you’re not to let anyone inside the house. Especially at night.”

  “What? Why night?”

  Jess realized he had gone too far and started to backtrack a bit. “If someone’s trying to make us think he’s Dad, he’s not going to show up in broad daylight. We’d know he’s a phony the moment we saw him. But if it’s dark… it’s easier to fool people. You hear something… you think you see someone in the shadows… that’s all it takes. You open the door a crack, and before you know it they’re inside and it’s too late to protect yourself.”

  It wasn’t lost on Jess that he was subscribing to Benji’s theory that a vampire needed to be invited in before wreaking havoc.

  Meanwhile, Harry hung on his brother’s every word. He looked genuinely frightened at the thought of an intruder, but still had no idea that Jess was talking about it being an undead one. Jess placed a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder.

  “Just promise you’ll be extra careful until we figure what’s going on here.”

  “I promise.”

  “Good.” Jess felt bad about scaring Harry. But if anything happened to him, Jess would never forgive himself if he could have averted it.

  “You oughta talk to Mom, though,” said Harry.

  “How come?”

  “I think she saw something too. But she won’t talk to me about it.”

  But when he went upstairs to check on his mother, Jess found her asleep with a breakfast tray lying on the bed beside her, the food practically untouched. One bite had been taken out of the rye toast and Kate had had maybe two sips of tea.

  Rye toast with marmalade and English Breakfast tea. His mother had eaten the same thing every morning for as long as Jess could remember. For years Lena had brought it up on a tray and Kate ate by herself. She didn’t turn on the television or read the newspaper. She sat in silence.

  Downstairs, Sarah and Jess would have their breakfast at the table next to the kitchen’s bay window. The nanny usually joined them; Lena would fill in on the woman’s day off. It was a rare morning when Walter would sit at the same table. He was usually gone by the crack of dawn and only made an appearance on one of their birthdays or a national holiday. Even then, he would read the paper and say nothing more than “pass the salt” or “you need to ask to be excused.” As soon as Harry was old enough to sit in a high chair, he ended up in the parentless breakfast nook as well, with the nanny and his older siblings left to watch and feed him.

  Meanwhile, Kate sat in bed upstairs all alone. As he got older, Jess started to think of it as “Mom’s Time.”

  She never talked about it, but Jess got the impression his mother needed this time by herself to face the day. He never doubted that she loved her children. It wasn’t like Kate was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and had servants waiting on her hand and foot. Far from it; she came from a solid middle-class Orange County family and met Walter in college. But his father was larger than life, a man who ruled any room he entered. As a result, Kate devoted most of her time to taking care of his needs, which must have taken a heavy toll on her. Jess figured “Mom’s Time” was what allowed and reenergized her to do this each and every day.

  Occasionally, if Jess wanted to talk to his mother about something, he knew he could sit with her while she had breakfast. It was the one time they could be by themselves. He didn’t abuse it—and now realized the most honest discussions he’d ever had with Kate were over rye toast with marmalade and a cup of English Breakfast tea.

  Kate was a loving mother. Jess never questioned that. But her life with Walter kept her more th
an occupied. She never woke Jess up in the morning or put him to bed. She never helped with homework or read a bedtime story out loud. The only exception was when he was six years old and had to spend three nights in the hospital to have his tonsils removed. Kate sat by his bed and dutifully read him the first half of Mary Poppins, which he eagerly listened to while devouring scoops of ice cream. But when they got home, it was the nanny who finished reading the second half of the book to Jess. At the age of six, he thought it odd his mother didn’t want to find out how Mary Poppins ended. Today, standing by the bed watching her toss in fitful sleep, Jess wondered if Kate read to him in the hospital because for once in her life she was out of the house and free.

  When breakfast was done, she’d ring a bell that echoed throughout the gigantic house. Lena would come upstairs and take the breakfast tray away but Kate would have already disappeared from bed. Minutes later she would emerge from the dressing room in perfect Palm Springs societal wear, ready to take on her role as Walter Stark’s Primary Devotee.

  She would appear downstairs like clockwork at nine, ten on weekends. The only exception had been the months right after Harry was born. Kate had gone through tremendous health problems giving birth to her final child and spent half a year recuperating in bed. For a while, the family thought they might lose her, but she eventually regained her strength. When she started appearing downstairs at nine o’clock, the fourteen-year-old Jess knew all was right with the world again.

  Jess glanced at his watch and saw it was almost noon. Thoughts of that dark time crossed his mind again. He tiptoed around the edge of the bed and stood over Kate, checking to see if she was still breathing. A whimper escaped her lips; a bad dream. Jess leaned over and kissed his mother ever so gently on the forehead, then took a couple of steps back and waited for the whimpering to stop. The deep labored breathing of sleep eventually took over and he went back downstairs.

  As he came down the steps, Jess used his new cell phone to get in touch with Cisco back in Los Angeles. Soon after taking over the dispatching seat, Jess realized that some clients didn’t pay their bills. Some honestly forgot, while more than a few had no intention of putting a check in the mail and instead vanished off the map.

  That was where Cisco came in.

  Jess was turned onto him by an insurance company client who swore the man could find a needle in a hayfield. Cisco possessed mad computer skills that usually ran down the losers in less than a day. That made him a natural go-to for Jess who wondered when, if, and where Tracy James might have used her credit card in the past forty-eight hours. Cisco promised to get back to Jess as soon as he could and said “Adios,” and Jess walked into the kitchen.

  Lena immediately offered up breakfast. Jess said he would be fine with some cereal and poured a healthy dose of Rice Krispies into a bowl while she went to fetch some milk from the fridge. Then he pulled out the crinkled photograph of the church in Santa Alvarado. He flipped over the picture and once again studied the scribbled word. Its Spanish translation troubled him more than ever, and he figured asking Lena about it couldn’t hurt.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of something called the Civatateo?”

  There was a large splat behind him. Jess whirled to see Lena had dropped the milk carton on the floor. Liquid was everywhere; he got down on his knees to help her clean up.

  “I’m sorry,” Lena said. Jess noticed she was overtly upset, barely able to get the two words out.

  “It’s just a carton of milk. Are you all right?”

  She couldn’t catch her breath. Jess tried to get her to calm down. When Lena was finally able to breathe, he helped her up on her feet. “What’s wrong?”

  “Why would you be interested in that?” Lena asked nervously.

  “Do you know what it means?”

  Lena nodded, vigorously. “The question is—do you?”

  Jess wondered exactly how to handle this. He wasn’t ready to unspool his suspicions under the Starks’ roof for fear of how they would be met. He picked up the photograph, placed it back in his jacket pocket, and proceeded with care.

  “I looked it up. It’s some kind of vampire, originated in Mexico.”

  “Where did you hear about this?” The nervousness had not gone out of Lena’s voice. If anything, it had increased.

  “I saw it written somewhere. Why?”

  “It’s something you should stay away from,” warned Lena.

  “You believe in vampires?” Jess asked.

  “When I was growing up in Mexico, my family would tell me stories about the Civatateo.”

  “What kind of stories?”

  “Ones whispered by my grandparents, aunts, and uncles. About little children disappearing in the middle of the night.”

  Jess could see a deep-set fear emerge from the woman, the sort whose roots were in tales first heard at an impressionable age. What began as stories often festered inside and never lost their grip on one’s heart, no matter how old they were.

  “My aunt said it took her fiancé.”

  “He was taken by a vampire?”

  “He went into the jungle and never returned.”

  “Might have been a case of cold feet,” said Jess.

  “Maybe. But I believe there is much that can’t be explained. Just as I know there are things that shouldn’t be discussed.” She lowered her voice as if her dreaded Civatateo might be listening. “Why are you asking about this?”

  Jess realized to get Lena to open up, he was going to have to give up a little bit himself, even if it meant twisting the truth around. “I think some people believe there might be one in Palm Springs.”

  Lena made the sign of the cross. “Is that what happened to your father? Was he killed by the Civatateo?”

  Jess thought that through. Accepting that Walter had come back from the dead, he probably didn’t rise by himself and turn into a vampire. Following this insane logic, one might conclude it took one to become one. But Jess wasn’t prepared to tell Lena her late boss was making a nasty habit of hovering outside the doors of his friends, foes, and family.

  “There are a lot of sick people in the world, Lena. Unfortunately, I’ve seen more than my fair share in Los Angeles. There are those who drink too much, pass out at night, and wake up naked the next morning with blood all over their hands. They are convinced they turned into a werewolf the night before just because the last thing they remembered was itching a lot. In truth, they had a bad reaction to really strong alcohol and went on a murderous rampage they don’t remember. So I guess it’s not farfetched for someone to think they’ve become a Mexican vampire and killed my father in a blind rage.”

  “Do the police believe this?”

  “The cops don’t even think my father was murdered. They are content saying he died of a heart attack.”

  “It was like that back in Mexico.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Someone would disappear and everyone was told they just ran off. A body would be found ripped to pieces and people were supposed to believe they were attacked by a wild animal.”

  “Was anyone ever arrested or caught?”

  Lena shook her head. “This was a long time ago—before I was born.”

  “What supposedly happened to this thing?”

  “It went back.”

  “Back where?”

  “To the earth and water from where it came.”

  The certainty with which Lena said this roused Jess’s curiosity even more. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “The Civatateo came from a woman who died in childbirth. When she was still barely alive, she tried to hold off death long enough to give birth to a healthy baby boy. She desperately continued to struggle during delivery, but her grip killed the child. Then she died and they were buried together in a river beneath the ground. The next night, the child, filled with the strength from its mother’s struggle that had killed them both, rose from beneath the earth. It went to the crossroads and attacked the weak and innoc
ent. Most were thrown in the underground river where their blood mixed with the water and became a feeding ground for the Civatateo.”

  “You said ‘most.’ What about the rest?”

  “They were turned.”

  “Turned?” The word sounded creepy even coming out of Jess’s mouth.

  “Into one of its own.”

  “How many Civatateo were there?”

  “Very few. The vampire child grew into a man and was very careful about whom he turned. The Civatateo would feed on someone for months until they were ready. The victims would find it harder to be in the daylight, because it was the one thing that could kill the Civatateo.”

  Jess remembered his father’s horror when he tried to push him into the sun. Plus, he would never forget Walter running in the desert, trying to escape the breaking dawn. “Sunlight?”

  Lena nodded. “Eventually, the victims could exist only at night. That was when the Civatateo had to make a choice. Completely turn its victims so they could become one of its own, or destroy them.”

  “There is no other way to kill the Civatateo?” Jess was surprised and not thrilled with how easily the Spanish word now slipped off his tongue.

  “None that I was ever told.”

  “So why didn’t it just stay forever? Why go back into the earth like you said?”

  “It didn’t want to. Supposedly it was lured there and trapped in a place surrounded by light that never went out.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  “I don’t know,” said Lena.

  “Where is this place?”

  She shook her head, indicating she didn’t know that either. “By the time I heard the stories, that answer lay with the dead. This was good because there was less chance it would be disturbed. Less chance of the Civatateo coming back.”

  “Maybe someone found it.”

  “That is hard to believe. Most have never heard of the Civatateo. It was a local legend.”

  Jess realized even though he had known Lena most of his life, he had no idea exactly where she came from in Mexico. She might have told him once, but he was probably in first grade.