Night Life

by Ray Garton

  When she had finished talking to Burgess, Karen stood and went into a small cocktail lounge. She took a seat in a small booth by the door.

  "Scotch on the rocks," she said to the waitress, then smiled.

  Karen and Benedek had returned to his place after lunch. Benedek had called his friends again and Karen had talked to them briefly.

  "Would you like to have lunch with us?" Casey Owen had said.

  "Sure, that would be fine. I'll be with my partner."

  "Partner?" Davey had said. "I thought it was just you."

  "No, I have a partner. We've been hired together to investigate this ... well, whatever it is. We both work for the same client."

  "Oh," Davey had said. "Well, I guess that will be okay."

  Now, sitting in the cocktail lounge, the thought of having lunch with a couple of "vampires" gave Karen a vague chill. But she shook it off quickly, telling herself the Owens probably had nothing more menacing than a kinky blood fetish. Maybe they had blood-drinking orgies with their fellow fetishists, but it probably wouldn't get more exciting than that.

  But something had frightened Walter Benedek, something that had stuck to his soul. She had seen the fear in his eyes, heard it in his voice. Davey and Casey Owen seemed to be good friends of his, but he feared other vampires. Nothing about him gave her the impression that he was delusional or manic, or anything other than a frank, reasonable, down-to-earth man who was genuinely afraid of something.

  Karen wondered if they would frighten her, too.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Benedek made spaghetti for dinner and ate it in front of the TV while watching a nature documentary on the Discovery Channel. It was a warm evening and he had the air conditioner on as dusk darkened to night.

  Bruno sat up on his haunches in front of Benedek and watched him eat. It was the dog's way of begging for a bite.

  "I've got nothing you want, Bruno," Benedek said. "I just fed you. The good stuff, too. Go eat it."

  Bruno did not move and continued to stare up at him with big puddly eyes, so Benedek ignored him. He watched the documentary, but didn't really see it.

  Talking with Karen Moffett had stirred up a lot of old memories. He found himself thinking about things that hadn't crossed his mind in years. Worst of all, it made him relive, in his mind, the horrible night he'd lost Jackie, as well as finding her again in that basement with all those hideous, hungry things.

  Karen Moffett had said her client had no intention of publishing his findings, but this was not the kind of story that stayed secret. Benedek thought he would feel tremendous relief if the vampires were exposed. Maybe then he could sell his story. Benedek had spent most of his journalistic career looking for a chance to sell out, but he'd been unable to find any buyers. Now he had a story that would make a great book, but no editor he knew would take it seriously for a moment. Of course, if it were backed up by the revelation that vampires walked among them, they'd probably fight each other for it.

  "Listen to me, Bruno," Benedek said as he got up to take his dish back to the kitchen. "Thinking about book sales while that nice young Karen is putting herself in so much danger, all because some clown wants to know whether or not vampires really exist."

  He went to the sink and washed his plate and fork clean, then put them on a drain rack to dry. He dried his hands on a hand-towel tied to the handle of the refrigerator door. He opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of Heineken.

  Bruno barked a few times, paused, then went into a fit of yipping. He stood in the center of the living room and barked loudly, upset. Between the barks, Bruno growled.

  "S'matter, Bruno?" Benedek said. He put the beer down on the end table beside his recliner, then went to the front door. Bruno followed him, still barking. He opened the door and turned on the porch light.

  Bruno put his forepaws up on the heavy screen in the security door as he yipped even more furiously.

  Benedek could neither see nor hear anything outside, but something had set Bruno off. He bent down and picked the dog up in his arms and held him close.

  "What's up your little butt, huh, fella?" He closed the door and locked it again. Bruno squirmed in his arms eager to get back to his barking.

  Benedek bent down to put the dog back on the floor, and he heard something. He quickly went to the recliner, got the remote, and muted the television.

  He heard it again. It was a creaking, thumping sound. At first, he thought it was coming from inside the house, but the second time he heard it, it clearly came from overhead.

  Someone was on the roof.

  He heard a different sound, this time something that was not connected to the house. It was a flapping sound, but it only lasted briefly. It was immediately followed by more movements on the roof.

  "Oh, my god," Benedek whispered. A cold explosion of fear in his chest spread throughout his body and made him tremble, made his heartbeat increase. He hurried into his bedroom and got the 12-gauge pump-action shotgun that leaned against the wall beside his bed. It was loaded and ready. He took the gun back up the hall to the living room.

  He had decided many years ago that he would fight to the very end, that if possible, he would take one or more of them with him when he went. Benedek had no intention of going out easily.

  The front window that looked out on the lawn exploded inward, and a pale figure flew through and hit the sofa, bounced off, and landed in a heap on the floor. He was naked, and he was a mass of muscle, bleeding from several cuts sustained while going through the window. He had long black hair that fell past his shoulders and a dark, trimmed beard and mustache. The cuts were already healing when he got to his feet and began to cough and gag. The garlic was getting to him.

  Bruno rushed up to the man, barking and showing his teeth.

  Benedek aimed, and fired.

  Most of the man's head disappeared in a splatter of red and black material. Bits of his skull and some of his teeth chittered over the hardwood floor as his body collapsed.

  Benedek walked over to the body and put the barrel of his gun to what remained of the creature's skull, and fired again, destroying it.

  A shudder passed through the naked body on the floor, then it convulsed for several seconds before falling still.

  Looking at the broken window, Benedek wondered how many were out there. The one on the floor had been willing to risk a reaction to the garlic to come through that window. Would the others?

  Benedek looked down at the vampire's body on the floor. It had gone from a pale white to a greyish-yellow hue, and it was beginning to peel. The smell that rose off the rapidly decaying corpse was sweet and awful.

  He bent down, picked up Bruno, and carried him down the hall to his bedroom. He closed the door and locked it, then put Bruno on the floor. He went to the phone on his nightstand, put the gun on the bed, picked up the receiver, and pressed 911.

  "Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?" the woman on the line said.

  "I'm being attacked," Benedek said, his voice hoarse and dry. He was a little winded as well.

  "Who's attacking you, sir?"

  "I don't know. I shot one of them. He broke into my house, he came through the window. He came through and tried to—"

  A thunderous slam against the bedroom door created a crack that started at the top and went halfway down the center of the door. Just outside the bedroom, he heard more coughing and gagging and hacking.

  Benedek dropped the receiver, got his gun, and raised it.

  A few things happened then, but they happened so fast that all Benedek knew was that the gun had been taken from his hands. What happened was this: The door exploded inward and a svelte, naked female came in. She became a blur as she moved from the door to Benedek. She took the shotgun from him and slammed the butt into his face. It caught him right on the nose—it broke both lenses in his glasses—and for a moment, he felt dizzy. He felt a dribbling warmth coming from his left nostril and knew his nose was bleeding. Benedek stumbled backward and
dropped onto the bed. The room tilted around him as he lay back on the bed, his feet still on the floor.

  Another figure entered the room, this one big, male.

  "I found this in the yard," the male said.

  Benedek lifted his head just enough to see, through his cracked lenses, that the vampire held a chain. It was the chain Benedek used to tie Bruno up when he went outside. He didn't want Bruno to run loose so he could go out in the road and get hit by a car, so he tied him to a post on the porch on a long chain for awhile, with food and water nearby.

  The vampire doubled the chain up, wrapped some of it around his hand. The chain made a small whooshing sound as the vampire brought it down on Benedek like a whip. The end of it bit into his face and opened an inch-long cut beneath his eye.

  "No!" Benedek cried as he rolled over onto his stomach.

  The chain came down hard on his back again and again.

  Benedek shouted his anger and pain. He wanted to kill the vampire whipping him. He knew that wasn't going to happen, but he wouldn't take anymore whipping.

  He rolled over as the chain came down again, but this time, he caught it and jerked it hard. The vampire stumbled forward to the edge of the bed.

  Benedek clenched his teeth and growled, "Knock it the fuck off." He pulled himself up into a sitting position, and tried to stand.

  The woman slammed the butt of the gun into his head again, this time across his temple. In a flash of white, Benedek found himself lying on the bed again.

  The naked woman got up on the bed and straddled him. She had short red hair and an angelic, freckled face. She coughed a wet, hacking cough and her eyes looked puffy and glistened with tears.

  Benedek felt weak, unable to resist.

  She bent down and said, "This is for writing that fucking article." She bent his head to the side and plunged her fangs into his neck.

  The pain of the bite was intense, but it was soon overwhelmed by the sucking he felt. The woman's lips smacked against his neck. The tip of her tongue was on his skin.

  A small electrical current seemed to run from Benedek's neck to his genitals, and he became aroused.

  "Don't get carried away," the naked man said. "I get half, remember."

  Benedek fought to think clearly. They had found him, and he was sure it was no coincidence that they found him on the same day Karen Moffett had stopped by for a visit. They had been following her— she needed to be warned.

  But he wouldn't be able to do that, he knew, because they were going to bleed him dry.

  She kept sucking and sucking, and Benedek felt as if his soul were leaking out of him. He was being drained of all energy and will to live.

  The room grew dark.

  The woman pulled away from him, licking and smacking her lips as she got off the bed.

  "Okay," she said, "the rest is yours."

  Benedek felt a bite in the other side of his neck, but wasn't able to pay it much attention because he could not concentrate.

  The sucking sounds continued and Benedek felt himself draining away.

  The room became very dark, and Benedek drifted off for the last time.

  The woman's name was Polly, and she had been nineteen years old for fifty-eight years. She felt sated and a little sleepy—she could do with a nice nap. But it would have to wait until she got back to the city. There was no way she could sleep with all that garlic in the house. It made her eyes sting, made them puffy and teary, and made her throat swell. She kept coughing, which became gagging.

  "We have to bring the head back with us, remember," Polly said. Her voice was hoarse and raspy.

  Her partner's name was Woody. They'd lost Jack.

  "I remember," Woody said. "I suppose you want me to cut it off."

  "You know I can't handle the messy stuff, Woody. Get a good butcher knife from the kitchen. Or a cleaver, if you can find one. And hurry—this garlic is getting to me."

  Woody left the bedroom. While he was gone, Polly wandered around looking at things.

  The top of one dresser was covered with framed photographs. She did not understand the mortals and their memories—they seemed to spend half their lives in the past, in one way or another. They had to photograph everything, then they showed the photos to others, who usually weren't really interested in any photos but their own. They made baby books and scrapbooks and yearbooks—they were all so wrapped up in their pasts that they didn't see what was going on around them now.

  Polly lived for the moment. She'd decided decades ago that if she was going to live forever, she wasn't going to clutter up her life with things like memories and nostalgia. The moment was all that mattered— and at the moment, she would much rather be out dancing in a club.

  Woody returned with a large butcher knife, coughing into a hand. "I couldn't find a cleaver," he rasped.

  "Try to be quick, okay?"

  Woody went to the body and wasted no time. He began cutting all the way around the neck.

  Polly left the room and stood out in the hall. She did not have a strong stomach—unless she was feeding, in which case blood and violence did not bother her in the least—and she could hear the sound of Woody cutting the head off. The sound was not audible out in the hall.

  "Okay, I’m done," he said, and Polly returned to the bedroom. "I wish I had something to carry it in," Woody said.

  "Well, let's see what we can find," Polly said as she went to the closet. "Ah, he was a bowler." She bent down and unzipped the blue-and-white bowling bag, and removed the ball, put it on the floor. She turned around and handed the bag to Woody. "Here, use this."

  "Perfect," he said.

  "Now, can we get the hell out of here?" Polly said before coughing several times. "This garlic is really bothering me. And these small towns give me the creeps."

  CHAPTER TEN

  Davey and Casey lounged on lawn furniture and watched Jimmy Kimmel Live on the flat roof of their pool house. Casey had a laptop open on her thighs. Applause arose from the small plasma TV as the late-night talk show broke for a commercial.

  It was a warm summer night and the sky was clear. Stars twinkled through the filter of pollution in the air. From the pool house roof, they could see the lights of Perry Stabler's house across the canyon—Perry was a cinematographer who threw a lot of parties.

  Casey's fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard, then she said, "Oliver says, 'You know, sometimes you remind me way too much of my mother.'"

  A small table with a round top stood between their lounge chairs, with a plate of grapes and sliced apples in the center and a glass of blood on each side. Davey chewed on a grape as he considered her line. Then he said, "Rachel says, Tm not surprised I remind you of your mother—that's what you're looking for!'"

  Casey's fingers clattered on the keyboard, then she said, "Oliver says, 'Don't analyze me! I pay someone very good money to do that, and once a week is enough.'"

  Davey laughed, "Hey, I like that."

  Casey smiled. "Yeah, me, too." She picked up the tall glass on her side of the table and first sipped from it, then took a couple big gulps before putting it down.

  Davey saw her staring at the television. He knew she wasn't watching the commercials—she was lost in thought and something was bothering her.

  "Is tomorrow worrying you?" he said.

  "Doesn't it worry you? Just a little?"

  "Of course it does. More than a little. I'm doing it more for Walter than any other reason."

  "Yes, but if Walter's story gets out, our story gets out."

  "I know, and I've talked to Walter about this a number of times. I've always told him that if he does it, I want him to do it without outing us personally. He understands. I don't want to be the poster children of the big vampire outing."

  "But he's already identified us to someone," Casey said. "To this Karen person."

  "That's why I believe she's not media-related, because obviously Walter believes that, and I trust him."

  It was true. He knew Walter wo
uld never set him up in such a way—Walter knew something like that would destroy their friendship. They didn't have much in common, but they were like war buddies. They had gone through a powerful, life-changing experience together, and it had created a great bond between them.

  "If you say so," Casey said. "Rachel says, 'You should get your money back, it's not working.' "

  Davey said, "Hm. Not too sure about that one."

  "Me, neither."

  " 'You should get your money back,' I like," Davey said. "But it needs something punchier at the end."

  They were silent for awhile as they sipped their drinks.

  "You're afraid of what might happen, aren't you?" Davey said.

  "I don't understand why you're not," Casey said.

  "Who said I'm not? I'm just as afraid as you are."

  "Then why are we doing this?"

  "Because if the story is going to break, we're at least in a position to control our involvement in it. Hell, if I have to, I'll give them money to keep us out of it."

  They stopped talking to watch Jimmy Kimmel interview a beautiful young contortionist.

  "They're so brazen now," Casey said, her voice little more than a breath. "It's almost like they're not even trying to hide anymore. You read about them every week in the paper—people disappearing, an attack that was foiled or aborted. It's never identified as a vampire attack, of course, but we know better, don't we?"

  "That's another reason I don't want to be at the center of this story if it breaks. I want to be behind it. Don't worry, they won't come after us. We're too high profile, now. They're a lot bolder, but they're still careful about press, and about getting attention."

  "True, they don't like any attention at all." Casey rubbed her left temple with her fingertips. "I'm getting a headache from worrying about this so much."

  Davey said, "Casey, think of all the people they kill. They've got to be stopped. The truth has to come out about them eventually, or they'll just go on slaughtering people."

  "I know, I know. I just didn't want to be this close to ground zero."