by Michael Bray
“I hoped that punch he took might have knocked some sense into him,” Garrett said, taking a long drink of his beer. “If anything it’s charged the son of a bitch up. He has barely paused for breath for half an hour now.”
Donald smiled and took another swig of his beer. “He’s a sharp one all right,” the old man said, eyeing Bernard with contempt.
“What do you mean?”
“He has the same thing as my sister. The gift of the gab. The golden tongue. He talks, and people feel compelled to listen.”
“Great,” Garrett said as he watched Bo leave the door marked staff only and walk down the meat aisle. He was pleased to see that the bruise on his face had grown considerably.
Garrett saw the haze of fear and uncertainty that swirled inside the old man’s eyes. He chose his words carefully.
“Thing is, Ray, if someone like him is left to talk for long enough, and people are desperate enough… well, I wouldn’t like to think what could happen.”
Garrett nodded and took another sip of his drink. It was crisp and cool, and he hoped it would take his mind at least temporarily off the gravity of the situation; however, Donald was right, and he too found himself watching Bernard. He didn’t like the way he was talking— calm but animated and…confident. He looked at the people around him. They were watching and occasionally nodding in agreement as Bernard launched into yet another enthused dialogue. Garrett wondered what the hell he was saying.
“We need to shut that son of a bitch up,” Donald said, giving Bernard another cold stare.
“If either of us went anywhere near him, I can guarantee the bickering will flare up again.”
“Yeah, I guess so. I would suggest someone else go and try, but I think our entire group is on his shit list.”
Garrett nodded and then turned to face Donald.
“I’m going to speak to the manager. See if I can negotiate a deal.”
“Ray, you do that and you may as well paint a damn target on your back. Killing yourself won’t solve anything.”
“I don’t have any intention of killing myself. The truth is, I feel responsible and our options are limited.”
“Still, I think it’s better if we keep as far away from those…things who are in charge of this place as possible. I don’t see any advantage to marching in there and potentially making things worse.”
“Look, I know you don’t agree with me, and I respect your honesty. Either way, my mind is made up and I intend to go ahead with this. I can’t do it alone, though. I could use your help.”
Donald sighed and finished his beer. “Hell, for the record, I think it’s insane, but I would never tell another man what to do with his life, so if you need my help you have it.”
“I appreciate it.”
“You might not when you get in there. Now, what did you have in mind?
Nicu
Twenty minutes had passed since Garrett and Donald’s conversation. Even so, such a short space of time felt like a lifetime for those trapped inside the supermarket. People had started to form into small groups, pockets of two or three who stood around, watching nervously and waiting for something to happen. Others like Bernard tried to be proactive and continued to talk to anyone who would listen to what he had to say. He now had fourteen interested listeners to his seemingly never-ending sermon. For as much as the ordeal in the supermarket seemed to be draining the will from many who were trapped, for Bernard, it seemed to be energizing him. Donald crossed the room, flashing Bernard a stony glare as he passed juggling two sandwiches, a beer and a can of soft drink in his arms. At seventy-four, he was the most senior member of the group, and yet he didn’t quite fit into the typical ‘pensioner’ stereotype. He had made sure over the years to look after himself, determined to do anything he could to keep father time at bay for a little longer. It dawned on him this was the first time he had truly been frightened in a long time, and had to go back to when he was a fresh-faced nineteen-year-old G.I in the army— something that at the time seemed like a fun thing to do instead of getting a real job, or at least it was until he was shipped off to Vietnam and experienced things so terrifying, so horrific it changed him forever. He discovered that war really was hell, so much so it didn’t take long to make him a statistic.
He had been on patrol, walking through the intense, overbearing heat of the jungle with a platoon of fifteen other fresh-faced and frightened soldiers, all of them tense, all of them holding their breath whenever an animal moved in the undergrowth. It was during their third patrol since being sent over that they were ambushed, the jungle exploding in gunfire and the air filling with smoke as they scrambled for cover, not even sure where the enemy was It had all become real to him then, and he truly understood his life was very much in danger. He supposed he was one of the lucky ones. He was shot twice, once in the thigh and again in the shoulder, both clean wounds. Later, he was told by the doctor treating his injuries he should consider himself fortunate the bullet went straight through and out again without ricocheting off a bone and making mincemeat out of his innards or embedding itself in his brain.
His buddy, Johnny Grimes, a twenty-year-old kid from Ohio wasn’t so lucky; he took one to the head. As Donald stood shaking and covered in Johnny’s brains and fragments of his skull, he couldn’t get the image cleared from his mind of the Polaroid picture of the pregnant wife Johnny had so proudly shown them not an hour earlier. You could tell he was proud that he was about to be a father. He brought it up in almost every conversation. As Donald had looked at the pulpy mess which was all that remained of his friend’s head, he had made a promise to himself to get out of Nam alive and in one piece and to live a good, worthy life away from such horrors.
By the time he had been classed as fit to return to duty, the war was over anyway. Even so, he felt ashamed at the bitter irony that he had escaped with nothing worse than a slight limp, whereas poor Johnny’s widow would have to face up to a life as a struggling single parent. He sometimes wondered what happened to her, wondered how she got on in life and what that kid of hers might be doing now. He hoped both had done well, and wished he’d looked them up before little by little he started to forget. In fact, he hadn’t thought about it for years until the horrors of the supermarket had made him drag up those old memories.
The rest of his life he lived as carefully and as risk free as possible. People thought of him as a soft touch, and because he was quiet and often preferred to watch a conversation unfold rather than take part in it, he was underestimated. Nobody knew that underneath the laid-back exterior was a man who had seen the worst side of the war and lived to tell the tale. It was later during his life, as old age finally reared its ugly head and started to onset him with aches and pains, that he was at a loss for something to do with his days, something to keep his brain stimulated and active.
He decided on a whim to join an amateur dramatics group. He knew from the start he was never going to trouble the Oscars or find he was some undiscovered natural talent, but he enjoyed it immensely and was competent enough to get by and take part in a few local theatre productions.
These were the skills he used now as he dropped the sandwiches and clutched at his chest, letting out a pained cry as he fell to his knees. All eyes were on him, and he knew this would have to be the performance of his life. He could hear Helen, his precious loving Helen, fretting as people circled him and assisted. He felt bad for not telling her, but making the entire thing as realistic as possible was the key. He writhed and gritted his teeth and allowed his eyes to roll back into his head. He could see the people only as ghostly figures through the top of his eyelids.
Away from the commotion and the circle of onlookers who had formed around Donald’s distraction, Garrett walked quickly down the store towards the manager’s office. He didn’t look back, and tried to keep his pace as casual and steady as he could. The nearer he got to the door, the more his stomach vaulted and tumbled. The chubby employee, the one who had earlier chased the girl to h
er death was standing outside. He was now dressed and had thankfully cleaned the blood from his hands and face. He watched Garrett with a cold blue stare.
“You can’t come in here,” he barked, holding a podgy hand out in front of him. Garrett saw he hadn’t done such a thorough cleanup job as he had thought. He could still see the blood under his fingernails.
Come on, Ray, don’t lose your nerve now.
With as much bravado and confidence as he could muster, he batted the hand aside.
“I want to talk to the organ grinder, not the monkey.”
Anger and surprise flashed across the man’s portly face and then was gone.
“Mr. Nicu is busy. He will not see you.”
“I think he will. I want to talk about this little situation we have here.”
“No. I am under strict orders that Mr. Nicu is not to be disturbed.”
Garrett opened his mouth to speak when the door opened smoothly.
“Resoui, let the gentleman through,” Nicu commanded.
Resoui complied at once and stepped aside. Garrett was now face to face with Alex Nicu. He was pale skinned and slender. He had a natural charm and elegance about him, even if up close he was much shorter than he had first appeared.
“Come in, Mr. Garrett,” Nicu said, motioning to the office. Garrett tried not to think too much about how Nicu knew his name, or that he was about to lock himself in the room with some kind of…whatever Nicu was. The consensus was that they were cannibals, but Garrett was starting to think they were something else, something you only see in films or read about in books. The word beginning with ‘V’ and one he couldn’t quite bring himself to say even though his pale-skinned host bore all the right hallmarks if folklore and Hollywood were to be believed. Too late to turn back, Garrett entered the office and Nicu closed the door softly behind him.
II
Back in the store, the rest of the shoppers stood and fussed around Donald, helping him to his seat and giving him small sips of water. Only Bernard wasn’t involved. He had watched Garrett slip inside the door to Nicu’s office, and smiled to himself.
“Got you, you son of a bitch.”
The Impossible Ultimatum
Nicu’s office was cold and smelled faintly of polish and leather. Nicu sat behind his imitation oak desk, watching Garrett, an amused semi-smile on his thin lips.
“Please, sit.”
Garrett complied, and wondered, not for the first time, what the hell he was doing. He looked around the office, trying to gauge some sense of who Nicu was, but it was as pale and unreadable as the man himself. Eggshell colored walls, indistinct green carpet, no photographs, or any other personal features. It was sterile and made Garrett immensely uncomfortable.
“I must apologize for Resoui. My son is impatient, to say the least.”
Garrett was thrown off guard by how polite and articulate Nicu was. There was definite upper class sophistication about him. He nodded without responding, still trying to work out who Alex Nicu was. It wasn’t easy, as there wasn’t a lot to go on. He would have put him somewhere in his mid to late thirties, and it was an age Nicu would have been able to pull off with ease if not for his eyes, which were a deep, almost opaque brown and looked to be filled with knowledge and a confidence beyond anything Garrett could ever hope to comprehend. Even without such an obvious name, Garrett would have guessed Nicu was Romany. He had the long hooked nose and high cheekbones typical of the race. Nicu smiled, and Garrett looked away and tried to make his scrutiny less obvious.
“I understand you must have many questions.”
“I do.”
“I must confess I find it curious the other people in the store respect you, for the most part, and yet… you come here in secret.”
“Yes.”
Garrett felt his skin grow cold as he watched Nicu hang on to every word that was said. It was as if Garrett was a unique creature Nicu had never seen before, and he appeared both amused and at the same time, almost overcome with a sense of childlike wonder.
“I assume you have come here to bargain for your collective freedom?”
“I thought that was the reason,” Garrett said as he lowered his gaze. “In truth, I don’t know why I came here.”
“Isn’t it obvious? The people out there look to you for guidance. In such a situation, I’m sure you felt any action, however futile, was better than no action at all.” Nicu smiled, and now he didn’t look like a wonder-filled child. He looked like a lion toying with its prey.
“I don’t know. I suppose so.”
“May I ask you a question, Mr. Garrett?”
Garrett nodded. He didn’t like the way Nicu was watching him. He leaned forward slightly and bore his ancient gaze right into Garrett’s soul. He imagined he could feel Nicu probing around his head in search of the truth.
“Are you afraid?” Nicu asked, the left side of his mouth turned up into a cruel smile.
He considered lying, but knew that somehow, Nicu would know.
“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I’m afraid.”
“And yet you come to me alone to discuss the possibility of release.” Nicu leaned back and smiled, breaking the mesmerizing spell of observation. “Curious. Curious indeed.”
“Look, I’m no hero. I don’t crave the praise of these people. They’re strangers I don’t even know. All I want is to get home to my family.”
“So you come to plead for your own freedom?”
“Yes— No. Look, is there no way we can resolve this situation without people dying?”
“People die all the time, Mr. Garrett. It’s the way life is. And how lucky we are that they do, for if not, the world would be a despicable, vastly overpopulated place.”
“Look, forgive me if I don’t quite follow what’s happening here. Frankly, I don’t care what you are but—”
“What we are, Mr. Garrett?” Nicu said with a questioning smile.
Garrett didn’t like that smile. There was something sinister and predatory about it.
“I mean…I don’t know,” he mumbled, lowering his eyes to the imitation wood of Nicu’s desk.
“I think you know well enough what we are, Mr. Garrett, even if those you keep company with do not.”
“So tell me. Confirm it,” Garrett fired back, risking looking directly into those bottomless eyes.
“Ah, but that would be too easy. I would like to hear it from you.”
“Why?”
“Because you fascinate me for reasons I don’t yet understand. Now, please, indulge me.”
Garrett hesitated, hovering on the fine line between bravery and terror. He looked Nicu in the eye and said the word that had been plaguing him for some time.
“Vampires. I think you and the rest of the people working here are vampires.”
It didn’t sound as ridiculous as he’d expected now that it was out in the open. In fact, if anything, it made everything feel more real. He waited for a confession, for his slender host across the desk to plead his innocence or admit his guilt. Neither of those things happened. Instead, Nicu sat back in his chair, folded his hands neatly over his chest, and smiled.
Lee / Accusations
Donald’s recovery was going well. Helen flustered and flapped, the concern in her frightened face doing nothing to ease Donald’s guilty conscience which was screaming at him for being such a heartless son of a bitch.
“Helen, for Christ’s sake, just relax and stop fussing. I feel fine now.”
“You didn’t look fine. I thought you were having a heart attack,” she said, her voice wavering.
“You won’t get rid of me that easy. Please, just relax and go grab a bite to eat or something, okay?”
She wrung her hands nervously, her cheek twitching as she struggled to figure out what to do.
“I’m sorry, I just…I couldn't cope without you, that’s all.”
The ever present guilt bit him a little harder, and he had to remind himself it was all for the greater good.
; “Look, Honey, please. I’m fine. Would you mind grabbing me a coffee?” He pointed to the large self-serve Starbucks machine nestled between the men’s and women’s restrooms.
“Yes, yes of course. You just wait there. Don’t try to move now.”
“Honey, please. I’m fine. Do you need any change for the machine?”
“No, no I have some. You just relax and try not to get too overexcited,” she said, her face pale.
“I promise, I’ll stay right here. Please, I could go for that coffee right now.”
“Of course, I’ll be right back,” she replied before reluctantly making her way towards the humming vending machine.
As soon as she was gone, Donald turned his attention back to the door to the manager’s office which he could just make out from his vantage point at the bottom of the store. Garrett had been gone for a while now, and Donald had made the subtle but definite shift from mild concern to outright worry. Lee walked over and sat on the floor beside Donald.
“He’s still not back yet, eh old man?” he said, taking a slow sip of his beer.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come on,” Lee said with a laugh. “The heart attack thing was good but not that good.”
Donald struggled to find something else to say, but Lee cut him off with a warm grin.
“Relax, fella. I know why he did it.”
Donald decided there was no sense in lying, not after the deceit he had already pulled on his wife, and nodded. “He’s been in there for a long time. Maybe too long.”
“I wouldn’t worry yet. I get the feeling these arseholes need us to keep calm. They can’t afford a mass panic.”
“So you’re saying we should just sit tight?”
“What else can we do, old man? Take a look around, will ya?”
Donald did. Everywhere he looked there were small pockets of frightened people. The only current exception was Bernard, who if anything seemed to be growing more and more confident. He was thankfully out of earshot, but Donald could see by his gestures and the intense way he was speaking that he was either completely unafraid or worryingly crazy. Perhaps he was a little of both. Donald counted seventeen in all that were now listening to him, over half of everyone in the store if you didn’t count the broken shells of people walking endlessly around the aisles. Lee continued with a smile.