The Night House

by Rachel Tafoya

  “You misunderstand me,” I begin.

  She doesn’t say anything.

  “I haven’t been following you or anything creepy. I just…after I saw you that night, I’ve been really worried.”

  Relief washes over her, but not enough to cause her muscles to unclench. I decide not to tell her what I was doing before I got to Love Park. How I found myself wandering around the club where she first found me. How I went back to the South Street Diner, wandering slowly through the streets, hoping to catch a glimpse of her.

  I’ve never opened myself up as much as I did this morning. My senses were completely vulnerable. Shiloh was there to make sure I didn’t drown in it all. He was my anchor while I searched all of Philly for any trace of this girl.

  “I had to see if I could help you.”

  “Help?” Pale lips sound out the word. She leans back. “If you know anything about me, you know that I’m a little beyond your scope.”

  The sarcasm allows her to take control of the conversation. She folds her arms. I’m still scared she’s going to get sick on me, or that she’s going to make a break for it.

  “Well, you don’t know me very well.”

  “Which is what makes this stalking.”

  She’s losing her grip, I can tell that much. I’m still not connected to her, though. I can only read the surface of her. Discomfort. Embarrassment. Curiosity. This is my chance; I can’t screw it up again.

  Shiloh hovers nearby, keeping his distance, but he’s nervous. He wants to make sure I’m okay before he leaves.

  “I just want to talk to you, okay? Maybe buy you a decent meal,” I say.

  “I suppose you owe me for that kiss,” she says, with a sly smile. My face heats up.

  “You kissed me.” I hold my hands up. “I’m just trying to help out.”

  “Stop saying the H word.” The girl breaks eye contact. Her head droops, and she catches it in her hands. Blond hair falls to one side of her face, a curtain shielding her from me. She’s getting more tired, letting some of her defenses down. “I’ve had a bad couple of days, alright? Be nice.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m really not trying to freak you out.”

  “A-plus job, man,” she says with a sigh.

  Her hands fall to her lap. God, I wish I knew what she was thinking.

  “Please, just let me buy you some food. You don’t even have to talk, if you don’t want to.”

  She tilts her head toward me. Her hair parts, and I get a glimpse of her eyes.

  “You just had to be a nice boy.”

  A half smile emerges on my face, despite myself. “Sorry to let you down.”

  Bianca

  We head off back through the park. He walks with his head high, like he knows where he’s going. I watch him carefully, still waiting for the catch that will explain this anomaly. Who would be so stupid as to get involved with a vamp tramp?

  Assuming he knows what I really do.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask.

  He turns to me. “Well, if you’ll just follow me into this shady alley, there’s an unmarked white van waiting for us.”

  “Are you at least going to give me candy first? Maybe a bike?”

  He’s trying not to smile, but it shows through. The mop of brown hair just reaches his eyes. He’s a head taller than me. I’m trying not to let him make me feel small. It’s how sure of himself he seems. Like, maybe this isn’t totally crazy.

  “Do you have a favorite place to eat?” he asks.

  I let out my breath slowly. “Let’s just go to the South Street Diner.”

  “Really?” He sounds amused. “Out of all the places you could go, you pick the South Street Diner?”

  “It’s good.” It’s also cheap, and I feel horrible making him pay for me.

  This is the strangest situation I’ve ever been in. I keep expecting something totally random to happen. I’ll notice that the sky is green and everything’s upside down and this is just a hallucination. But nothing changes. Everything is normal, and that’s the strangest thing of all. We’re just two kids walking down the street.

  “Where do you live?” I ask in a rush. I’m trying not to look at him, but I can’t help myself. I think I might be glad that he came back. Maybe.

  “Over in Society Hill.”

  “Wow, now I don’t feel so bad making you pay.” I cross my arms. “You like it over there in Society Hill?”

  He shrugs, hailing a cab. “It’s better than a lot of other places I’ve been. Where do you live?”

  I’m not interested in giving a stranger the address to the Night House, so I ignore his question. “Who was that just now? The guy with you?” I can tell he doesn’t want to talk about him. “Come on,” I say. I feel the pull of withdrawal getting stronger. “You think I’m going to find him? Throw up on him too?”

  He laughs as we get into the cab. “He’s my best friend.”

  “He mad at you for ditching him?”

  “No…he knows what’s up.”

  We reach the diner quickly, and he pays before I can even pretend I have money for the cab. The noise of car horns is exchanged for quiet chatter and clinking silverware. The smells go from chemicals to coffee. A waitress seats us by the window and I stare outside, wondering where this is going.

  He still hasn’t said anything about vampires. What is he waiting for?

  He is scanning over the menu with purpose. I am trying to scan him. To figure out what the hell this is all about. I’m sick of waiting.

  “You’re not a mind reader,” I say after a minute. “You’d have given that away by now.”

  His mouth falls open.

  “Maybe you can see the future,” I try, putting my chin on my hand. “That might explain why you don’t know who I am, but you knew where to find me. But that would probably also mean that something bad is going to happen to me, because why else would you find me?”

  “I don’t…know what to say.”

  He is taking this way too seriously.

  “Just tell me what’s going on.” I plead, tired of the game. “I’m exhausted, and hungry, and I don’t have a lot of patience.”

  “It’s been a couple of years since I had to explain it to someone.”

  My feet are tapping on the ground, and I can feel myself slipping out of control. “Are you working for vampires? Or are you a hunter? Which is it?”

  The look that crosses his face makes me want to crawl in a hole. He’s all “social services” when he tries to disguise his shock. He thinks I’m crazy. I shouldn’t have said it.

  “I didn’t mean to upset you.” He meets my gaze with a sad resolution.

  My gaze stays glued to the table. I’m not going to keep messing this up by opening my stupid mouth. I pull my bag closer to me, getting ready for this to end very quickly.

  The waitress appears, pen in hand. “How you guys doing?”

  “Good, thanks,” he says in that special tone of voice reserved for waitresses. “I’ll have a bagel with egg and cheese.”

  “Anything to drink?”

  “A glass of orange juice.” He weaves his fingers together. I sigh.

  “I guess I’ll have a turkey wrap.” I know my voice is quiet. I wasn’t planning on getting anything, but he’s so expectant. Turkey’s got iron, anyway. I shove my hands between my legs, to keep them steady. The tinges of aches and pains that come with withdrawal are nothing compared to the feeling that my brain is suffocating in my skull. I start to rub my thumb along my wrist, to feel the pain of the bites. To keep my mind off of it.

  When the waitress leaves, he takes a breath. “My name is James. I’m…I’m an empath.”

  He eases into the word, probably because he knows I won’t understand.

  “What is that? Some new term for psychologist?”

  “No,” he says with a smile. “It’s not my job. It’s what I am. I’m not a mind reader. I’m an empath.”
>
  I can tell he’s going out on a limb here. I don’t blame him. What he’s saying doesn’t make sense. I almost feel bad for not believing him.

  “Empath? Like empathy? You’re able to feel what others feel?”

  “Yes!” He nods enthusiastically.

  “So what?” I ask. “Lots of people are capable of empathy. They don’t get special titles for it.”

  He sighs. “You don’t understand. It’s not just empathy. Empathy is a condition. To understand what someone else is going through. I’m not that. I can actually feel what other people feel. It happens to me. If you were happy, I’d feel your happiness. If you cut yourself, I’d feel the sharpness of the blade.”

  I’m skeptical. I can’t hide it. Vampires, that’s one thing—they’re a different species. But I’ve never seen a human who could do something like what he’s describing. I don’t know what to say. Part of me wants to call him crazy, but the other part of me reminds myself that most of the world doesn’t know about vampires. Who am I to say what else is out there? Maybe there are more monsters than I could have ever imagined. Not that he resembles a monster—

  “I’ll prove it,” he says. He closes his eyes, like this isn’t weird. “Do something. Move around.”

  “Um…” I put my hand on the table. A few seconds go by and I’m about to declare this total bullshit, when he mimics my action, like a mirror. I take my hand off, quickly, like the table burned me. He does the same.

  “You can hear me moving,” I say.

  “No, I’m reading you,” he says. “I do this with my sister. It’s an exercise.”

  I start going through my bag until I get my sketchbook out. Then I doodle, just randomly. His hands are following mine. I tilt the sketchbook back, so he can’t see my hands or what I’m drawing. I make a large circle, and I watch him mime the same action. I add eyes, and a mouth and a nose and he is doing the exact same things on imaginary paper. I stop because I’m staring at him.

  “What the hell?” I say, my voice a whisper.

  He opens his eyes, sees the sketchbook. “You draw?”

  “Open your mouth,” I say, fear creeping through me. He can’t be human. He can’t be.

  “Uh…what?”

  “Open your mouth!”

  His lips part tentatively. I reach over and grip his jaw, tilting his head back. I’m scanning for fangs—for holes in his gums, lumps of tissue, evidence of nauth. For the smell of blood, the darkness in the eye and the strangeness of the tongue.

  Nothing. I slide, defeated, back into the booth. “I don’t understand. It’s a trick, it must be a trick…”

  “One more test,” he says. “Can I borrow a piece of paper?”

  I rip out a sheet of paper and hand him a pencil. He positions himself to start writing.

  “Draw something.” His voice is soft, encouraging. He closes his eyes again. “Slowly, if you don’t mind.”

  My hands are far from steady, but it helps to force them onto my sketchpad. With big broad lines, I draw something I know he’s never seen: my mother. His actions are delayed, but there he is, drawing her face. His drawing is a little shaky, and the lines don’t quite add up, but it is unmistakably her. He is following my motions, recreating my drawing, and his eyes are closed and there’s no way he can see what I’m doing.

  I pull the paper away from him, and he starts.

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  I put the two drawings side by side on the table. “You said James, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  There’s my version, and his, which is something I would have done ten years ago. When I glance back up at him, he is hopeful. It’s obvious. My mouth opens, but it takes me a minute to say the word.

  “Empath…” I trace the lines on his page. My mother’s big soft hair, and her long nose, like mine. “You know…you could counterfeit a lot of stuff like this…”

  “That’s not really in my career path.” He smiles at me.

  I start packing up my sketchbook, not really sure what else to do. This is not helping the dizziness in my head.

  “Were your parents like this?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Dunno. I was found on the steps of the Children’s Hospital of Philly.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “It’s okay. I never knew them. Can’t miss something you’ve never known.”

  “Real convincing,” I say to him because I can see the hurt in his face. He looks mildly surprised. Then he just kind of smiles.

  The waitress reappears then, setting down plates and glasses.

  “Anything else?” she asks.

  “No, thank you,” James tells her.

  I spear some turkey out of the wrap and eat it. It tastes salty. I realize how hungry I am and start digging in. James watches me, and I feel a little self-conscious.

  “If we’re doing this, you’re eating too.”

  “Oh, sorry,” he says. He takes half the bagel, biting into it.

  “So what do I have to do with all of this?”

  He does a nervous little half smile. “Well. When I first saw you, I thought maybe you were like me.”

  Now I’m confused. “Why on Earth would you think that?”

  “Well it’s just…when I saw you the other night, something in me snapped. I sort of lost control of my ability.”

  “Oh God, is it because of the kiss?” I cover my mouth. Did I mess up this kid’s head because I did something stupid when I was high?

  “I honestly don’t know. That’s why I tried to find you again.”

  Damn it, I’m feeling sorry for him. “I’m guessing you’re one of a kind.”

  He nods slowly. “I’ve never met anyone like me.”

  “And you were just…trying to make a friend…”

  “Don’t feel sorry for me now.” He smiles. A chill runs up my spine.

  “You can…feel that?”

  “Yeah, sorry. If you want, I can try to stay out of your head.”

  “I guess it’s okay…for now,” I tell him, though I’m not sure it’s true. I still can’t quite comprehend this whole thing.

  “Well, now that it’s out in the open…do you want to try being friends?” He has a goofy little grin on his face. One of his shoulders is raised up, like he’s nervous.

  I start to smile, but stop myself. “You don’t want to be friends with me, James. People in my line of work…it just can’t happen.”

  “What exactly is your line of work?”

  “You don’t know?” I stare at him. “You saw my wrist.”

  “It’s okay not to be perfect—”

  I cut him off. “You’re an empath. How have you not noticed them?”

  “Noticed who?” he asks, concern dripping from his voice.

  “You really don’t know…” I gather my things. “This was a mistake. You’re really sweet and I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but this is way over your head.”

  James the empath touches my arm. “This is about the marks, isn’t it? The…bite marks?”

  I swallow the shame he makes me feel and pull away. “I thought you knew. I would never have come here if…”

  “I’ve already trusted you with my biggest secret,” James says. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want, but you can at least finish the meal.”

  I don’t know what to do. He’s got a point. It can’t be easy being the only empath. He just wanted someone to understand, and now I’m shutting him out.

  But I don’t owe him anything.

  “Come on, you’ve got nothing to lose,” James tries to smile again. He has no idea how true that is. My gaze sinks to the table again.

  “I guess I just wanted to try being friends. We could help each other out, you know. And I could buy you food whenever you wanted.”

  He’s making me laugh. “You want to be my friend, knowing I’m not an empath like you?”

  “Yes,” he answ
ers with perfect clarity, no hesitations.

  “You must be crazy.”

  He shrugs. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I think you and I have a lot more in common than either of us think.”

  “This is your idea,” I say with more force than I meant to.

  “I will take the blame,” he says with a smile. “Is that a yes? Can I see you again?”

  I sigh. “I really just don’t want you to be wrapped up in my life—”

  I stop because he is touching my wrist. My gloves cover my scars, but I know he feels them.

  “Please. Just let me try.”

  His eyes are a trap, and I wind up staring into them for too long. He unsettles me in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant. Something about how he stares makes me feel like he wants this, maybe more than I do.

  Because I do want this. I just can’t trust it.

  He squeezes my wrist, not painfully, just a reminder.

  “James, you’re not the only thing out there that isn’t normal.”

  “So you are—”

  I cut him off, “No, James, not me. It’s who I work for…what I work for.”

  “People like me?” His eyebrows cinch together.

  “They’re not people.” My voice is a harsh whisper. “I already told you what they are.”

  “I don’t…”

  But he does. I watch him connect the dots. He turns away from me. “The wounds. The sickness, that was blood loss. But…is it even possible? I mean, I know I’m weird—”

  “Trust me, you’re quite pleasant compared to them,” I tell him.

  “My sister’s favorite book is Dracula…” He laughs, but I know he doesn’t find it funny.

  “How do you think those myths even started?” I start tearing up the turkey wrap, not eating it, just ripping it into bits. “There’s always some truth to fairy tales.”

  “Some truth,” he says. “Not the entire truth.”

  “They’re good at hiding.”

  “And you work for them? They…you get…bitten?”

  It’s an admirable effort for him not to sound disgusted. I shrug at him.

  “It’s money, and…” Before I can stop myself, I blurt, “And there’s this drug. It’s called nauth. It’s part of the job. It’s in their saliva, you know? Like a hunting mechanism—” I stop talking because he’s not listening. I messed up. He’s going to bolt.