"He's not. He just needs help."
"Help? Sure. Either way, you can't stay with him, Charlene. He's not normal. And no matter what, you'll never have a normal life with him. Please listen to me. Keep away from him, Charlene. Listen to your father who loves you so much."
But I love him, Charlene thought.
I sat on the bed next to Charlene. My eyes stayed hidden in shadow. However, my eyes carried a subtle indigo glow, from the refraction of the moonlight. I stared at the back of Charlene's soft wavy hair and waited for her to come back into his arms. I wondered what was running through her head, through the silence. I tried to comfort her, as she collected herself.
"Charlene. It's okay. Nothing's wrong. It's just a dream. You're fine. You're safe."
I lied.
Charlene remained quiet, staring into a dark corner of the room.
"I'm not going to hurt you," I assured her.
Charlene heard me, but she did not turn around to look at me. There were too many things that she did not want to face. Charlene wasn't ready to remember how different I was. She stopped herself short from calling him a freak.
I tried to speak to her again.
"It's okay, Charlene. It was just a dream. Please believe me. I'm not going to hurt you. I hope you trust me."
I didn’t know what else to say. Then, there was a minute of silence between us that seemed to last forever.
Charlene turned around and gestured at the chain of small bruises around her bicep. At first, I said nothing about it.
Charlene looked my way. But, she did not look at me. Instead, Charlene kept her eyes on my mouth, carefully looking at how my lips moved. She loved my lips, as much she loved me.
At least, she thought she loved me.
But, she was scared of me, now. "This wasn't just a dream, James. No. Not a dream. These are real nightmares! They’re real!”
I glanced down at her arm again, and my eyes widen with guilt. I tried to avoid saying anything. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to say that I was sorry, that I was responsible. It would be admitting that I did do something wrong. But, I couldn't ignore it, not for long. The bruises on her arm looked like fingerprints pressed into her skin.
They were mine.
"Did I do that to your arm?"
James knew the answer but played stupid anyways.
Charlene looked up at him, and I started to apologize, over and over. Charlene saw my lips moving. But, she did not hear a word of my apology. All I knew at that moment was that I was not the same person to her.
The truth was that she no longer knew the man in front of her. The great days that she spent with me had disappeared overnight.
All those memories were gone and thrown overboard, to be swallowed up by a black lake in a land without a name.
I saw Charlene's face covered with sadness and disappointment. I'd seen that same expression on only one other person before.
I saw that same look on my mother, a couple of hours after I accidentally killed her.
Shit. At that moment, I knew that I was going to lose Charlene. I was mad at myself for handling the whole situation with her in such a clumsily adolescent way. I messed up, again.
Damn it, I thought. For the first time in ages, I was so close to having someone to weather the storm with me.
I looked at Charlene and noticed that she kept avoiding my eyes.
The poor girl.
She looked through me, not at me. I felt hideous, like creature that belonged in the dark. Everything was going so much better between us, until tonight. On their first night, we spent the whole night together drinking, kissing and making love.
I couldn't help notice Charlene pulling further away from me. I placed my hand on her shoulder, but she shuttered at his touch.
"I'm sorry, James,“ she said
It was right there when I knew it was over. But, I needed to try, to reconnect with her, again. I caressed her chin and tilted her head up. Charlene slowly looked up and into my eyes, like a pair of white egg shell that she could not break through. She looked long into them.
How strange they are, she thought.
The longer she looked at me, the more she cry.
Oh God. My goddamn eyes.
By now, she felt that there were too many differences between us. One more time, she tried, though. She stared into my face, trying to find the man that she fell for. From her look, I knew that man was no longer there.
"I'm sorry, James. I can't do this anymore."
I remained quiet.
Charlene turned away from him. It was over before it had begun. There was a cold sweat around her neck and chest. Her pillow was wet, and her bed was no longer warm.
She got up, and I watched her walk over to the large bay windows overlooking Eighth Avenue. When Charlene felt a chill come through a crack in her window, she rubbed her arms with both hands.
I got out of bed and walked over to her. I couldn't let her go. The silhouette of her body looked beautiful against the glow of the orange streetlight. James held her and rubbed her cheeks with his. He would try to win her over again.
"Charlene. Don't be scared of me. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
"I don't know if that's true, James."
"What do you mean?"
"I know that you would never hurt me on purpose. But, you're condition is starting to affect me in a way that I never expected."
"What's affecting you? Tell me."
“Your eyes."
"What am I suppose to do? I've been hiding this part of myself my whole life. I can't change that. I can’t change who I am."
“James, you don't have to hide or change. I spoke to my father. And he can help you."
For a moment, I felt a let down by her words. The wall around our little world was crumbling away. How fragile it was. The imaginary future that I expected to live in was unraveling before me.
It was nothing more than a dark fantasy.
"Why did you tell your father, Charlene? I thought that I could trust you. You said that I could trust you."
"You can. But you have to get help, James. And if my father can't assist, then we’ll find someone out there who can.
"But..."
"All I can do is help you find someone who knows what is going on with you. Don't you want to know what you are?”
She said what, instead of who.
"You have to talk to someone about this, James."
"Who can I talk to?"
"Try me, then. Tell me something that you haven't told anyone."
"I did, and you freaked out."
"I'm freaking because you almost crushed my arm, James. But, I'm dealing with it now. And you should too."
"Damn it. I shouldn't have told you anything."
"Then, why did you say anything about your eyes, James. Your eyes.”
It was at that moment when my cell phone rang. It was the Chief.
22
The Hunger Inside
Joseph Hillard was a New York City sanitation worker who wore dirty olive green overalls and rode on the back of a garbage truck. He was a portly man who had a baby face and large hands. Joseph’s garbage collection route passed by the commercial storefronts on Queens Boulevard in Sunnyside.
In the morning, the streets were filthy with cigarette butts, beer bottles and empty grocery bags scattered throughout 30th Avenue, underneath the N train. All morning, Joseph diligently swept up the trash in the street. Then, he picked up piles of black garbage bags off the sidewalk. He worked through the night as the elevated N train roared above.
Joseph worked quickly, though. He grabbed two or three bags at a time, dumping them inside the back of the garbage truck that rolled at a slow and steady pace. Not all stops were smooth, though. Sometimes, he and the driver would switch places, when he was tired. This morning, it was Joseph’s turn to ride in the back of the truck.
Joseph jumped off the truck, to pick up his last bag on the commercial strip. He bent over to pi
ck it up with one hand. However, the trash felt like stone. He had to grab it with two hands. He lifted the bag and brought it close to his chest, like a weight lifter.
When the bag made contact with his chest, he yelled out
"Jesus!"
He felt a sharp pinch on his breastbone. At that moment, he saw a pair of eyes opening in the dark. The image of the bloodshot eyes popped into his mind, and they looked strange and weird. Joseph’s chest hurt. But, he didn't drop the black bag. He withstood the pain because he didn't want to look weak in front of his partner, who kept an eye on him in the side mirror.
Joe took the pain, as he walked the bag over to the back of the truck and finally dropped it inside the back of the trunk. Instantly, the sharp pain was gone. When he looked to see what it was, he saw a bent needle sticking out of the black bag. He noticed a little bit of blood on the tip. It was his.
"You okay?" Asked the driver.
Joe wore a headset that kept him in constant communication with the driver.Joe kept quiet because he didn't know how to answer.
Joe had become worried when he saw the needle. But, he didn't want to say anything. Joe thought about the number of drug addicts up and down the street. There more than a few, when he thought about it. There was a possibility that Joe could have caught something. But, he did want to say anything.
"I'm all right," Joe answered.
Joe wanted to keep away from some situation that would keep him from getting paid because he didn't finish his shift. He knew that the Department would definitely dock him, even if it were a medical excuse. The Mayor was a son of a gun, that way.
Instead, Joe kept cool. After his route, he promised himself that he would get things checked out by his doctor. He would have them run blood work and all.
After the commercial strip, the garbage truck headed into the residential areas to finish the route. The truck turned down Joe’s street first, as always.
It was a residential block, lined with a row of Tudor-style homes.
Joe held on to the back of the truck, listening to the N train passing through the neighborhood in the distance. He rubbed his chest and noticed a dark spot on his olive green sweater. It was in the same location of the sharp pain Joe felt a moment ago. He glanced at it and made nothing of it.
The headset that Joe wore crackled with life.
"Don't you miss her man?" asked the driver.
"Miss who?"
"That girl, you used to see on 31st."
"Come on man; I'm married."
"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah."
Joe hung on to the back of the truck, as the trees rattled with the wind, and a chill wind slid around his sweaty neck. He felt lucky to live an work in Sunnyside Queens for most of his life. Joe's house was coming up on the right in the middle of the block. He couldn't wait to see his little girl, Sophia.
23
The Man in the Cemetery
I always heard the voices of the dead when I passed by the cemetery. It was something that I lived with my whole life.
Late afternoon, I drove toward Calvary Cemetery. Two police cars sat by the entrance to prohibit anyone from entering. Among them, I saw the ghost of my father standing guard. He stood by the black iron gates, proudly wearing his old policemen uniform.
Since my father died, I ignore him just like the rest of the dead.
There was no point helping him out of his purgatory. He deserved it. He was a dirty racist cop. But, that’s another story.
On a black tarred roof, I looked at the pristine sky. As the sun died in the west, Calvary Cemetery appeared serene, from the top of a two story Pentecostal storefront church. I thought about the demon who stalked the women of eastern Queens at night. He could be anywhere in that damn cemetery. But, he was definitely here.
The sun gleamed on my silver badge, when the radio crackled with life.
“Detective Night. Over."
I ignored the call, while I continued to survey the land.
“Detective Nigh…”
When I turned off the radio, I heard some laughter below and to the right. There was an old bar where the guys from the 108 Pipe Fitters Union met for drinks on the weekend.
Again, I looked through the binoculars, scanning the cemetery for the sign of the Beast. In my heart, I felt like I was close to finding the serial killer that’s been stalking streetwalkers down Queens Boulevard. I was was sure that he would creep out of his tomb after the night came.
Violet was right. All I had to do was confront the place that I hated the most. Now, she was gone.
But sometimes, I still had my doubts. Was the cemetery the source of all the evil that I felt in the last couple of weeks?
But, the map confirmed that.
This evening, there was a chance that I could stop the Beast before he killed again.
I remember Violet asking me why I avoided the cemetery. The truth was that there were too many ghost in there. Except for father, everyone in the cemetery met their own crossing, at some point. However, it was their voices that kept speaking to me, haunting me, every time I passed by the cemetery. Their voices felt like waves.
Temporal astral residue, I thought, especially here. The closer I was to the cemetery, the louder I heard them. Sometimes, the voices were so strong that it seemed like they were still here on this plane of existence, with me.
Only their voices remained, like echoes through time, resonating throughout everything inside that black place, from a blade of grass to the heaviest forms of adorations.
From time to time, I heard screams. Sometimes, I heard laughter. I heard all kinds things in there. However, there was alway one spirit that always unnerved me when I went to the cemetery. Maybe, that’s why I never wanted to face who I was. I never wanted to face him after he died. I never wanted him to see what I freak I turned out to be.
Suddenly, I heard a whisper.
The whisper came from someone standing behind me. I turned around to look and found nothing. Then, I looked down at my car parked on the sidewalk. I looked around everywhere I could. There was no one and I felt silly for jumping at the sound of the wind.
That was all. It was…the wind. That was how my mother explained it away, when I was a child.
I stared at the trees rattling over the wall of the cemetery. It was just the fingers of the wind running through the trees. Dry leaf raced over a boundary of grass and concrete.
I needed to collect myself. I knew that my mind was now starting to play tricks on me.
The cemetery always messed with me.
A strong wind brushed against my face and I welcomed the coolness of the night. The sun was fading. The night was coming and the Beast was going to emerge. I knew it.
A red glow arched over the sky.
That damn voice. The voice felt natural, as if it came from the inside of my ear. I really have to snap out of it.
I thought about calling Charlene. She was always able to calm me down and make me feel normal. I thought that maybe she could come by and keep me company. However, I didn’t know what I was going to find tonight. It was better that she stay away, if anything bad occurred.
The voice spoke again.
It sounded alarming more than threatening. It sounded like the bottom of a glass jar scraping against a slab of concrete.
Was that just my imagination, too? For some reason, I felt compelled to reason with it.
There's something out there. It's my instincts that is trying to speak to me, trying to tell me something, more than anything else. Maybe Violet was right. Maybe, the answer was here, the whole time. Maybe there is something that I should have figured out, but I haven't quite put together.
Just listen to the wind. That's all. The wind.
I knew that it wasn't the wind that spoke to me. It was the night. It was always the night. I was sure that I heard something, like the sound of growling dogs. I just had to focus on something and on nothing at the same time. Then, the voice would speak again. If I concentrated hard enough, the vo
ice would sound as clear as the tires of a car rolling pass, as clear as the sound of a flock of birds taking flight above the trees.
"Snap out of it, man," I told myself. “You can’t live a normal life like this, listening to voices that don't exist? No. Not at all. I should get the hell out of here. I should just walk away, right now. Nothing is going to bring those girls back. It's over. I'm gone."
I kneeled and placed the binoculars on the roof of the squad car. I jumped down unto the street floor and grabbed a bottle of water from the cooler that I stored in the back seat. I took a drink from it and tried to clear my mind. I leaned on the side of the car and stared at the sun setting over the cemetery.
It was a beautiful sight, enchanting.
"It's over. Violet’s gone. I don’t have to worry about her showing up, anymore. The Beast took her, to God knows where.”
As I took a second sip from the water bottle, I could not stop thinking about the voice.
"Jesse Torres was his name."
I couldn't stop thinking about whatever it was that was trying to get my attention. The voice. Jesse. The wind. I knew that all three were really the same.
And when they all came together, they all came from the same place, the night.
The sound of the street gradually disappeared. Now, there was only a slight hum that I heard. I closed my eyes and concentrated, but not too much.
Then, I heard the voice again.
"Why did they rip me apart?" asked Jesse Torres.
I honestly don't known why people do such horrible things to each other. How can I answer something that I don't really have the answer to. I just found you in that tub. That was all. I didn't do anything to you. I didn't kill you. What is it that you want from me?
I spoke to the voice, as if I were talking to a part of myself, rather than to something outside myself.
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