I Thought My Uncle Was A Vampire, But He Was Just A Creep

by Richard Cassone

  The young man still lay there dying, or barely living. A clock on the bedside table (Nicolai’s), which he had not noticed before, indicated that the time was ten o’clock, but on what day it did not tell. He found his clothes intact (still wet though) in a closet, and his possessions, money, ticket, precious Cyclops (now) belt, next to them, and his little black bag on the other side. He took a fresh, dry shirt from his bag, a bright blue-green checked one, and put that on, leaving the collar open. He had to wear the damp slacks because he had brought no other pair, but dry socks and undies he did have. He then slipped his belt through the hoops on his pants and buckled it with a clank. Before stuffing the wet clothes into the bag, he removed a light jacket (black); it’s going to be cold. At first he could not find his shoes, but then saw that they were hidden beneath a fallen towel in the closet.

  He descended the stairwell by his room and so arrived again on the first floor. Activity had died somewhat and he felt (and was) more conspicuous, dressed as he was now in his street clothes. He had intended to go through the front door but seeing again the window to his right (note: ground floor window) he thought to try that first. It opened easily, but looking out, Nicolai saw that it was actually twenty or so feet off of the ground: the hospital stood on a hill which declined sharply from the front. In any case, voices below revealed two orderlies smoking, cigarettes perhaps. He left the window open, it had made a dreadful noise when opened which Nicolai did not wish to be repeated, and headed down (casually, that’s the only way) to the crossroads.

  The nurses station was empty (stroke of luck there). The security guard was still at his post doing the better part of nothing. Well, he thought, here goes nothing (the worse part). He lifted his shoulders, looked straight ahead, and walked toward the exit. Everything was going well and he was more than halfway there when the doors suddenly burst open and who should rush in but Simon and Elizabeth. Elizabeth was sobbing and pulling with her right hand on her left. Simon appeared distraught and embarrassed, and he consoled her with a gentle arm about her waist, a look of utter confusion permanently embossed on his face. Behind them both, an effeminate looking man, wildly gesticulating, in a suit, seemed upset, and staying close, keeping an eye on Elizabeth’s hand, pushed them both along. A nurse came to them and the man behind them explained the situation to her. Nicolai having stood frozen far too long for his safety turned around and headed back toward the other end of the hall. He would have to return to his room or take the long drop from the window, chancing that those below had removed; there would be no second chance at the door.

  He turned the corner and a voice called out to him. He stopped. It was a nurse recently, unnoticed by Nicolai, returned to her station. She informed him that visitor hours were up and that he could not go the way he’d been heading, restricted to patients only it was. He could not tell her the truth, that he was a patient, they’d have him watched then for sure, and he could not return yet to the exit, the trio of fools plus nurse still stood there arguing. Nicolai hesitated, he did not know what to do. The nurse told him that he would have to leave. He peeked out of the corner of his eye, his cousin (forgot that) was still there; he argued some more, hoping to waste as much time as possible. The nurse retorted, in her best official manner, that she would have Nicolai forcibly removed if he did not comply with her requests. He paused. Forcibly removed? Say, that’s not such a bad idea. Imagine, a personal escort right past the guard and to freedom. Brilliant. He hesitated a moment more and when he saw Simon, Elizabeth, and friend escorted off to an examining room, he demanded (quite demonstratively) to be allowed to pass. Good to her word and bad disposition, the nurse picked up the phone and called security. Nicolai saw the guard at the entrance pick up his phone and then look toward them, he in turn made another call and two surly guards, running in time, came around the corner and toward him (must have been standing there out of sight the whole time). They grabbed him and he put up a little resistance for show, but otherwise allowed them to carry him right out the front door. They threw him on the ground and one gave him a swift kick for luck (no need for that, come on fellows) and then they left him alone.

  He had to laugh. It had all been too simple. He had his second chance now, fortune had recognized his innocence and with a loud “I’ll second that” fortified his luck. But then, just as he was preparing to orient himself and find his way along the easy road he henceforth expected, that fickle-minded Fortuna found herself a new fancy, and shifting her attention that way (where’s that? In a moment, don’t rush it), smote Nicolai upon the head with a wet globule of birdie-doo (it might perchance have been some aberrant avis finishing the half done work of a friend, but never-the-less ordained by her) and carried on the wind Nicolai’s resultant exclamation to her new lover, who standing some distance away, awaiting the arrival of the police he’d recently called, heard it (who otherwise might not), and turned and saw a soiled Nicolai making his escape.

  Nicolai looked up just as Shyster (and who else?) saw him, and saw behind him (Shyster him) two patrol cars screech to a halt. He turned to flee back into the hospital, but the two guards who had so kindly showed him out did not wish to have their refuse returned (less it come, as he was told, during appropriate visiting hours) and stood firm in his path. The two fronts crashed into him and held him tight despite his fight and the last thing Nicolai did, before a sympathetic (to whom only he knew) doctor injected him with some temporary serum-sleep, was stomach-shine Shyster’s shoe, which if he were a fly might have preceded a tasty Shyster sandwich, but he was not albeit caught like one.

  As he regained consciousness, Nicolai thought to himself: My hands are tied, there is nothing I can do. Wait a second, he came to fully, my hands are literally tied. He looked to his right and he looked to his left and his hands truly were fastened to the bed posts with leather restraints. Looking down, he saw a similar strap across his chest and holding his feet taught, two more. Beyond there, framed between his right shoe and left big toe (the shoe and sock on that foot having been removed) were two lovely green eyes. He laughed, and not for humor’s sake, nor sorrow’s, but because the owner of those eyes was busy tickling his foot with a swath of her curly blond hair.

  “Enough fun, Lucille. He’s awake now.” Lucille pouted, but desisted and backed herself childishly against the wall. Shyster approached him and stood at the foot of Nicolai’s bed. “You’re lucky. She wanted to take you right there in bed, tied up as you are, but I prevented her. You can thank me later.” He had his mustache and beard on again, which was strange to Nicolai because, with what he could remember, he had not had them on when he’d been cornered at the hospital entrance. “Don’t worry, you haven’t been asleep long. Half an hour at the most. How do you feel?”

  “Bit of a headache, sore, bloody confused, but other than that, you know.”

  “I’m sorry about the headache. Unavoidable result of the drugs I’m afraid. A dastardly necessity, but quite unavoidable.” He was munching on something, several somethings, plucking them one at a time from a box he held; he offered one to Nicolai. “Maraschino cherry? Delicious, with undesirable side effects however.” He patted his bloated tummy. “The more for me then. I must say you’ve been something of a headache to me today. We’ve been looking for you since this morning. Lucille was supposed to keep her eye on you, but you gave her the slip, so she says, but I would think the new dress she is wearing probably had more to do with it than you, purchased on the run one might say if they were particularly clever.” Lucille blushed, but said nothing.

  “I understand that your conversation did not go so well this morning,” Shyster continued, “I’m not sure what you said, but it did not help you. A warrant has been issued for your arrest, yes here in America too. The inspector is a fool, but it seems a powerful fool. So my hands are tied you see [close-up: Nicolai’s wrist, bound. He pulls on it] but I would like to give you one more opportunity to come clean with me and then we will see what I can do for you. Perhaps I can prevent an extradi
tion. American prison will be much kinder to you, trust me there. What do you say?”

  Nicolai cried. “I did not do anything. My conscience is clear.”

  “Yes, but mine is not. Do not cry please, it is most unmanly. Lucille.” Shyster turned his back and Lucille wiped Nicolai’s tears away. From behind, Shyster looked shorter than Nicolai remembered, but when he turned back the illusion was broken. “Nicolai,” he said, “there is someone I would like you to meet. Lucille, bring him in.” Lucille left the room for a moment, but then returned with a man shrouded in black.

  “What is this?” Nicolai asked.

  The visitor then thrust off his shroud, and arms outspread, declared, “I am the bird!”

  Nicolai choked on his saliva. “Rooka! Lord, Rooka.”

  “Uncle vill do, avter all ve are family.”

  “But...this is wonderful. You are not dead. You see, Shyster, that I’ve been telling you the truth all along. You see?”

  “Qvite the contrary, my boy, I am dead.”

  “Please, Uncle, no games now. You must tell me what has been going on. And unbind me. You can see now for yourselves that I am innocent. Truly though, Uncle, you’ve had me doubting myself.”

  “And I have doubted you too, Nicolai. I see that I vonce placed too much trust in you and a greed grew vhere I had planted hope. Vhy Nicolai, Vhy did you kill me?”

  “Uncle, I am sorry if we haven’t spoken in so long, but you must understand that you lead an unusual lifestyle. Perhaps I was wrong in not contacting you, but you know that each of my visits was unpleasantI think if you can rememberfor you as well as for me. Stop playing these games. I am so happy to see you alive. Have them unbind me so that I may embrace you. Dear Uncle Rooka, dear, dear Rooka.”

  It was Shyster who replied, “So that you may embrace his neck with your death grip you mean, in the same manner in which you took out your Aunt Rifka perhaps? Oh yes, we know of these things too, and all debts will be paid in full have no doubt. The only way is to confess, only then may I help you.”

  “Yes, boy, come clean. My fortune you vill never have now. That is lost to you, but peace ov mind you vill enjoy. Confess and I vill instruct Jack to use all ov his powers to insure your safety. Yes, and mine.”

  “Will you confess, Nicolai? Did you kill your Uncle Rooka?”

  “Did you kill me?”

  Lucille was overcome, “Nicolai, why? He’s such a nice man.” Rooka pinched her on the bottom and she squeaked.

  Shyster again: “Did you kill him?”

  Did I? No.

  “Vhy did you do it?”

  “Oh Nicolai, such a nice man.” Squeak.

  “Did you kill Rooka?”

  “I did not! I did not! Stop, please. I am innocent!”

  The swirling voices stopped and in the silence Shyster spoke, “Good, did you get it on tape Lucille? Play it for us.”

  Lucille revealed a small tape recorder from her bosom (thought she looked unusually stacked today), rewound the tape and pressed the play button. Nicolai heard his own voice come from the speaker: “Yes, I killed him. I murdered Rooka.”

  Excuse me?

  “We have you on tape now, Nicolai.” Shyster smiled and then was serious again. “There is no hope left for you, but I am a man of my word, and as I said will try my best to insure that you remain in this country and we may perchance even be able to avoid execution, at least for a time.”

  “But Mr. Shyster, Jack, Rooka is standing just there. How I ask you, can I have killed him?”

  Rooka spoke, but had somehow lost his accent, “I’m sorry, but it was the only way. A little trick I am afraid.” He pulled off his cloak and removed some face make-up along with some fake eyebrows and teeth. It was Shyster. “A combination of stage make-up along with a potent drugadministered by myself, the hospital I assure you had no knowledge of my surreptitious prescriptionwhich along with a few gentle suggestions forced you to see what I required you to see. Lucille, please let us end this masquerade there is no need to cause our friend any more distress.” The other Shyster then, the first one, removed his beard and other assorted applications and became suddenly Lucille. “Sheri,” Shyster spoke to (so confusing) Lucille, the first or previous Lucille, “you may go now. Thank you.” She removed no make-up and remained as pretty and Lucille-like as she had a moment ago. “Ah, but of course, on this you are confused. Sheri is Lucille’s sister, twin sister, not identical however as they differ on a single point, but I don’t think they would have me reveal what that is.” The sisters left together. “Sheri, please give the tape to the sergeant on your way out and tell him that I shall require his presence presently. I shall call him in a moment.”

  “Then Rooka,” Nicolai asked in desperation, “is truly gone?”

  “That I am afraid is irreversible and by the hand that he loved best.”

  “But I did not kill him.” He was as sure of this as of his end now.

  “The tape tells a different story.”

  “That is not my voice on the tape. I did not say those things, could not. How could I when they are not true?”

  “Ah, but it is and you did, and you have it seems spoken a great many things which are in fact untrue.”

  “I will demand a voice analysis.”

  “And will find that it verifies what I have said. Nicolai, you have been pitted all along against far wiser and smarter and may I say better men than yourself. I am sorry that it has come to this, but if you will take a last piece of advice, then accept my offer to represent you. I would not see Rooka’s nephew, nay even though you killed him, ill-treated. I know the intricacies of the case well and have the favor of your foreign accusers. It would end, I can’t say well, but better for you that way. If you had let nature take its course, Rooka might have innocently died by now and you would have had wealth beyond your dreams. I will never be able to fathom what turns the mind criminal, truly criminal I mean. Yes, there are those who from poverty are given to illegality, but then there are the genuinely criminal, to the core. This criminality may lie hidden for years, even a lifetime, but for you and for poor, poor Rooka, this was unfortunately not so. Good-bye, Nicolai. Will you have me as advocate?”

  He saw no other choice, “I will.”

  “A wise decision, you have for once allied yourself well. I’ll have the sergeant come in now. He has some formalities to complete. I’ll be in touch soon.” Shyster left, but before he did, returned the box of chocolates on which he had been munching to the young man’s bedside (somehow it was him munching, though Lucille supposedly had held them). There was but a single one left.

  The sergeant came in along with several other officers and detectives. They asked him many questions, basic questions, to which he replied truthfully. They asked him about Rifka and had found the new ring Nicolai had given to her. This made him cry. They never asked about guilt or innocence, that apparently would be left to others. After some hours then, they all left, and Nicolai was left alone, still bound, with only a guard posted at his door and a very ill young man in the bed next to him, separated from him by a still half-drawn curtain.

  It was a shock to have seen (or thought to have seen, a mean trick) Rooka alive, standing before him there. In some strange way though, it was really Rooka, born of Nicolai’s memory of the old rogue, aided by a few wisps of crepe hair properly applied, but built primarily of recollection; the intonation in his voice, the sensual stare of his eye (just the left one, the right always looked normal), those could not be (or would require special talents to be) mimicked. I will miss you, Uncle Rooka, and have finally found what life should be like without you.

  Before the night was over, and before he’d got far along this line of thought or yet begun any further and much more depressing (many were available) lines, Nicolai had a final visitor. He lumbered in looking none too well, unnoticed by the posted guard. He looked careworn, shirt untucked, cap askew, some dark lines under his eyes. He was bent over a large wheelbarrow filled with reels o
f film. The general stopped and dropped his load (in a nice way) at the foot of Nicolai’s bed. Apparently, he’d had no time or heart for the usual theatrics and was far too tired to throw even a regular shadow on the wall or floor. As Nicolai watched, he set about his business and quickly found the particular reel he wished to show and had it loaded and running in short time. Nicolai did not resist or even speak, for even a cartoon short would be welcomed at this moment. He shut his eyes and watched: 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

  He saw a door. It was open, and in the frame stood the silhouetted figure of a man. He (Nicolai, presently) was looking at the man from behind, perched perhaps in a cobweb upper right corner where the hallway wall met the hallway ceiling. The man in the door stood, allowing the light to pour past him and into the room. The door was Nicolai’s, he could tell by the number and style and the familiar key (which he could see from that vantage point) resting in a pool of dust on top of the door frame. He knew what he saw and expected some fresh revelation from this new third person advantage. At least he thought he knew what he saw, there was one little inconsistency (hardly worth mentioning, really) which began bugging him: the key. The key was still on top of the door, which was unusual because he used that key (always, unfailingly, didn’t have another) to open the door; and yet the door was open. He looked a little more closely at the figure, at himself he thought. A bit chunkier then, yes? Quite a bit, and shorter. The figure turned his head about to check something in the hallway and Nicolai saw that he wore a bushy beard and mustache.

  Shyster entered the apartment, Nicolai’s apartment. The camera (Nicolai) did not follow him, but a few moments later, Shyster reappeared with a bundle under his arm. He closed the door behind him and in the process dropped the object he had thieved. It landed on the carpeted floor of the hall with a thud, face up. Before Shyster scooped it up again, Nicolai quickly caught the Queen’s eye, and he thought it winked. As Shyster hurried down the hall and around the corner, Nicolai saw himself come from the other direction, brush up against the man, continue along the hall, and enter the apartment.