Watch

by Cass J. McMain

  He shook his head. “Is it a bar?”

  “No,” she laughed. “Well, I don’t know, maybe it is. They drink blood there. These guys, they say they’re vampires. It’s like a religion or something. Over on Hannet street. I mean, I’ve never been there myself, but we get some people in here, you know.” The girl slid his books into a sack, watching him. “Hey, man, you look freaked out. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just thought, with all these books…” she trailed off, shrugging.

  “Yeah. No, it’s fine. Sorry. I was just thinking about something else.” He took the books and left the store. Vampire clubs. He hadn’t known there was such a thing. Why didn’t Edgar go there, to get his blood?

  I might as well ask the moon why the sun rises, he thought. He’d been researching vampires for weeks and weeks, in bookstores where the clerks gave him raised eyebrows and in libraries where the ladies gave him stares. All he had done was confuse himself. He had started off to convince himself there was no such thing as a vampire, and ended up being sure of nothing. There were vampire tales going back as far as he could reach, and coming right up until the present day. And now apparently there were people actively pursuing it as a religion, in clubs where they drank blood openly, pretending to be vampires.

  As he walked down the sidewalk, Moony considered this. He’d never find Edgar at any such club. Edgar wouldn’t want to pretend to be a vampire. He wanted to really be one. Maybe he really was one. If these books were any indication, there were vampires everywhere, draining the souls and blood of people in all sorts of fascinating ways. Moony’s mind went back to the day he’d found Edgar with the bird.

  No more birds, Edgar had promised, only men. But that hadn’t been true, because the ten-year-old Edgar hadn’t been able to take on a man. So there had been more birds, many more of them, and other things besides, and Moony had tried not to see it. He had tried.

  But now his brother was going after the real thing: human blood. Had he killed anyone? Moony didn’t know, but he was sure Edgar had it in him. And what should be done? He couldn’t call the cops on his brother; he had no proof of anything. They wouldn’t listen anyway. They had hippies and acid freaks and demonstrators to worry about, they wouldn’t be interested in a guy who bites streetwalkers.

  And what if they had been? Moony wouldn’t have trusted the bars of a jail to keep Edgar contained in any case. Vampires aren’t kept in cages. His brother couldn’t be stopped that easily.

  Because he’s evil. Moony folded himself into his car and drove back to the office. Maybe if he kept watching, he’d somehow figure out a way to stop him. Maybe he’d see something that made him understand it better. Detect a pattern. For now, that was all he could think to do.

  Later that week, he bought a notebook and started keeping a diary.

  Chapter 6

  Things grew worse. Over the course of Cecilia’s pregnancy, they grew a great deal worse. Moony watched, from behind parked cars and hidden low in his seat, as Edgar increased his brutal pastime; two a week, then three, then more. The action became more frantic, and the sex more violent. At times, Moony felt compelled to sneak closer to the room, where he could hear the action taking place, hear the foul talk and the screaming of the headboards against the cheap hotel walls, banging repetitively as Edgar’s victims were sexually used with increasing force.

  Often Edgar would not even wait to find a hotel room, just taking his pleasure against the wall of an alley, quick and fierce. It amazed Moony to watch this and to see so many of the women walk off afterwards seeming unconcerned, wiping at their injuries as though they were a matter of course. Was this level of violence that common to them?

  Of course, there was also the blood. Moony discovered that while Edgar rarely bit his partners after sex, he almost always bit them at the start. And, too, he discovered that Edgar was hiding a small knife on him, which he sometimes used on his victims in addition to his teeth.

  Eventually his brother realized he was being watched. One night, Edgar took a girl against a dumpster. The girl screamed and kicked. Moony was watching, far back in the shadows, horrified. Horrified, but frozen and unable to act.

  Edgar dropped the knife as he climaxed against her, his face buried in her bleeding shoulder. But when he let her go, she backed away from him slowly, even stopping to adjust the strap of her shoe. When she got to the sidewalk, she turned and ran. Edgar laughed.

  He leaned against the dumpster, looking into the darkness near where Moony was crouching. “Are you still there? Watching?”

  Moony stiffened, afraid. He didn’t reply.

  Edgar squinted into the darkness. “I know you’re there. I’m sure it’s you. You can’t imagine how it feels, Martin,” he said. Then, incredibly, he raised a blood-covered hand and ran his tongue up the length of the palm. “I get hard all over again just thinking about it. You should try it.”

  Moony averted his eyes and rested them on the knife at his brother’s feet. He wished he had the courage to reach for it, to rush in and stab this thing, this horrible thing that stood in the dim alleyway with blood all over his chin, and spotting down his chest. But he lacked the strength to do anything, and when Edgar reached down and began stroking himself with his bloody right hand, Moony ran, ashamed.

  When he got home, Viola told him Cici had gone into labor and was at the hospital. They couldn’t find Edgar. Did he have any idea where his brother was? Moony lied, shaking his head. No, he had no idea. “He’ll turn up soon,” he said.

  Corky was born the next morning. When Moony and Viola visited Cici that evening, Vi commented on how small the baby was. Much smaller than hers had been.

  Cici nodded, tracing her finger over Corky’s miniature nose. “She’s a mite. That’s what Edgar says. She’s just a mite, less than a bite.”

  Moony’s face went pale. Nobody noticed.

  Chapter 7

  Moony got a phone call from Edgar about a week after the alleyway incident, feeling him out on the subject. Was he going to the police? No, Moony had told him, he wasn’t planning to. Did he understand? No, Moony had said, he couldn’t begin to understand.

  “Please stop doing this, Edgar. Stop … stop seeing whores. Stop with the … the blood. It’s not healthy. You have a little girl now.” As though a baby made a difference; but it seemed to, for a while. For a while, it was quieter. Edgar had agreed, made suddenly meek. He would stop all this nonsense. For the baby.

  For his part, Moony did not trust Edgar, and for many weeks he continued to stalk him, waiting on the street for Edgar to drive into the night, waiting to catch his brother at it one more time.

  What he would do if he did, he wasn’t sure.

  Chapter 8

  Moony felt his heart jerk as he pulled up near Edgar’s house and realized he didn’t see his brother’s car. Has he left then, gone to… hunt? And I missed him?

  It was Vi who had made him late. She’d started in on him the minute he got home from work. Asking why he was always leaving before she even served dinner, asking if he disliked her cooking; asking if he was having an affair with another woman.

  That part had made him laugh. He had never considered the notion.

  “Then what is it, Martin?” She always called him Martin when she was upset. “What is so important that you are gone from home almost every night?”

  He hadn’t been able to answer that. Now, sitting in front of Edgar’s house and watching Cici move back and forth behind the curtain, he frowned. He’d expected to find Edgar here. There had been nothing for weeks. Unless he had missed them. Could he have been missing them?

  Moony decided to knock on the door.

  “I’m sorry, Edgar’s out of town. Business trip.” He had accepted a travelling work assignment. Cici drew the door back slightly, her robe slipping up her raised arm, exposing it. She shook the sleeve down again quickly, but not before he saw the bruises there. “Can I leave him a message?”

  Moony reached forward and took her sleeves in his fingertip
s, slid them up her arms. Bruises, all up the length of them. Bruises and scars.

  “Cici … what is this?” But of course he knew.

  She pulled away and held her arms behind her, out of reach. “I’m afraid I don’t have any coffee made. Would you like—”

  “I don’t want coffee.” He reached for her again, and took her shoulders in his hands, drawing her closer. “How bad is it, with Edgar?” When she didn’t answer, he added, “Does he … does he bite you?”

  Cici drew away again, shrugging. “I think I’d like a cup.” She moved toward the kitchen. Moony followed her, his eyes trailing down her back as she moved. When she turned around, his eyes met hers.

  “It’s fine,” she said. “It’s nothing.”

  “It’s not nothing!” Moony moved forward briskly, and grabbed her by the shoulders again, this time lifting her hair from the side of her neck and turning her head. There was a fresh bite-mark there, and though Moony had expected to see it, still he drew his breath in with a sharp, pained hiss. “He bites you. How long has he been doing that?”

  Cici lowered her eyes. In truth, Edgar bit her all the time. He couldn’t get an erection without the taste of blood in his mouth. (Later, Moony would find knife marks and not know that this had been her idea, the knife: it was less painful than teeth.)

  Now, in the kitchen with the lights bright and the coffee perking, Cici shrugged again and said only, “he bites, sometimes.”

  And Moony knew that; how well he knew, for he’d seen it happening time and time again. But he hadn’t imagined it happening to Cici, somehow. Not to Cecilia, whom he had once considered asking to marry him. Cecilia, who had once been his girl.

  As though reading his thoughts, Cici shook her head. “I chose the wrong brother.” She narrowed her eyes, and there were tears in them.

  “You did.” There was a pause, and then, “Why? Why did you? Choose him.”

  And Cici told him of the lies Edgar fed her: that his brother was a thief, that his brother was cruel to animals, that his brother liked to hide in the brush near the school and peg rocks at the children playing in the playground.

  “Do you remember that girl he had there, at the dance that night?” When Moony nodded, she went on, “He told me you had raped her, that you had gotten her drunk at a party and raped her.”

  “That I—” Moony was shocked deep in his soul. How could his brother have lied like that? “My God, Cici! You know I could never—”

  “Of course I know, now! Of course.” It was her turn to put hands on his shoulders. “But I didn’t know, then. I mean … we were kids, we were young. And he was so… convincing. By the time I knew better, it was too late. You married Vi almost immediately…” Then she said, “I’ve always regretted it. But I was young, what did I know?”

  “It was only five years ago, Cici.” But she did look older, now. They both did.

  When she leaned into him, he seized her and locked his lips to hers, pressing her against the pantry door in a lustful near-panic.

  “Don’t wake the baby,” she whispered.

  Later, as they lay under the half-cover of the sheets, he saw the bite marks all over her body; her neck and shoulders had the worst, but there were bites along her arms and legs, and on her breasts. Because Edgar bites. Sometimes.

  “He’s dangerous.” Moony covered his mouth as he said this, and his eyes closed. As though he wanted to pretend he hadn’t known. As though there had never been dead birds hidden in the kitchen trash, as though he had never lied to his mother and told her it must have been a neighborhood cat on the prowl.

  Nodding, Cici laughed lightly.

  “The nights he goes out…” Moony started. His words failed him, and he trailed off, shaking his head.

  “I don’t know what he does. Awful things, I imagine.” She closed her eyes. “About a month before Cork was born, he came in one night… there was blood on his finger. Dried on. And I asked – I shouldn’t have asked, I don’t know what I was thinking – I asked him about it. I asked, you know. Where the blood came from.”

  “What did he say?”

  Cici shook her head. “Nothing. He just sucked the blood off his finger and laughed at me. God, Moony, I’m scared to death of him.”

  “You should just…” but here Moony faltered. What should she just do? Leave Edgar? He doubted that would even be possible. Edgar would track her down. And even if Cici and Corky did get away, there were other people, other victims. Edgar wasn’t going to stop.

  Edgar wasn’t ever going to stop, unless someone stopped him.

  Chapter 9

  Moony sat at his desk in the ticking dark. He’d been unable to sleep. Viola had mumbled an offer of warm milk but he’d declined it and rolled out of bed instead. She’d given him a cold look when he got in late that night, and the night before, but hadn’t said a word. He knew she suspected an affair, but of course it wasn’t this that kept him out nights.

  He sighed and unlocked his desk drawer, pulling out the diary. It helped to write, sometimes. He traced his finger over the lettering on the cover. Vampire, he had written there. Now, he wished he had written something else, but wasn’t sure what. It just seemed off. He pulled out a marker and went over the lettering, adding a “d” at the end. Vampired. Better. He opened to the next blank page.

  Tonight he might have seen me again, but I think he did not. Maybe he could smell me, but he said nothing. He didn’t find a girl tonight. It will go bad for Cici. I wonder how many bites she can endure before she is a vampire too. One of the vampired.

  Moony sat back, chewing the end of his pen for a moment. Then he folded the cover down again and took up the marker. He added a “The” over “Vampired.” After some reflection, he turned back to his entry and resumed writing there.

  It’s not a real word. But what is real? My love for her is real. If she is turned, vampired, will my love be gone? And what of the baby? Will he take her blood, too? Cici worries about it but she never says anything. How can she stay there? How can she get out?

  His eyes were tired. Moony rubbed at his face and ran his fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp. The words before him were fuzzy and hard to focus on; he knew he should go try to get some sleep. He hadn’t had more than a few hours sleep any night this week, maybe the whole month. He began to close the diary, then stopped and added one more line.

  There is truly no rest for the wicked.

  Chapter 10

  Cici and Moony met at lunchtime in the shady heat of the park, where Cici spread a blanket out and let Corky crawl on it. Moony settled nearby, nose at Cici’s shoulder, smelling her perfume. “People will see us like this and think we are lovers.”

  “We are lovers.”

  “I mean, they will think we are a couple.”

  Cici smiled. “Do you worry someone you know will see us?

  “No,” he lied. “Do you?”

  “Edgar is out of town. Who else would care?”

  Moony lay back on the blanket, and ran his fingers over Cici’s bare ankles. “Corky might start asking questions.”

  “She’s only two.” Moony raised an eyebrow at her and she went on, “She’s too young to know anything.

  “Little pitchers.”

  “I never understood that saying. Here. I’ve brought you a present.”

  Moony looked up at her. “Your smile is a present.”

  She knelt over him and reached into her shirt, drawing out a chain. “This was my grandfather’s.” On the chain was a thick silver cross.

  “No, I can’t… Cici, you need to keep that.” Moony turned toward Cici in the afternoon shadows. “He’s dangerous, we agreed—”

  “He’s dangerous to both of us. And I have another cross.” She held up another chain, a delicate one. “A small one that fits me better.” She pressed the old cross into his hands again. “Wear it. Please. At least at night. Look – I had it engraved for you.”

  Moony, touched, read the inscription. “Cici, this is beaut
iful. Thank you.”

  Cici pressed herself against him. “Edgar has been talking in his sleep. He says horrible things. I’m afraid for you. Please promise me you’ll wear it, and that you’ll be careful. Stay away from him.”

  “What does he say?”

  “Just sickening things, crazy things. I don’t want to talk about it. Please.”

  “I can’t stay away, Cici. You do know that, right?”

  She shrugged, eyes on Corky. The baby had gotten to the edge of the blanket and was eating ants. “I wish he would just go away, forever. I wish his plane would crash and he’d never come back.”

  “That would kill a lot of innocent people, you don’t want that,” Moony said, nuzzling her neck. There were fresh bites there, bad ones. He was used to her having bite marks, hardly even registered them anymore, as though they were birthmarks which he had seen over and over. Then once in a while, there would be bad ones like these, shocking him all over again.

  She glanced up, seeing his stare. “It was bad, last night. He wouldn’t let me use the knife.” Edgar had just finished packing for his trip. And he had wanted blood, and more than blood. Edgar had wanted to hear her scream. “I guess he was… stocking up.”

  As she described the previous night to Moony, his eyes filled with tears, and then with something else. Maybe several other things.

  Martin Moonrich had failed to act in the past, but he would fail no more. He would kill his brother.

  He had to.

  Chapter 11

  Though he had left the park that day with determination, it took him a long time to put any plan in motion. Genuinely wanting to kill his brother wasn’t enough. Telling himself he would do it brought him only a little closer, though after some months he did buy a silver dagger for the purpose, and carried it with him in the folds of his jacket. As he watched his brother on their nightly rounds, he’d sometimes feel for it there. He knew though that he lacked the required skill for this job. He’d have to be fast. He would have to be very, very fast. To that end, he began spending at least half an hour in the bathroom almost every night, practicing with the dagger.