They Come by Night

by Tinnean

  There were other… things… in this place, but none of them went near him since that fucker de Vivar made sure they knew if they did, he’d kill them. Matthew laughed bitterly. How could you kill the undead?

  Normals were brought into this hellhole and held by Benito or another one while de Vivar drank from them, but every few days it was Matthew’s turn again.

  “When will you let me go?” he asked Benito when the lackey brought him some sort of meat. He almost wished they’d let him starve to death. This place had no electricity, and the meat was grilled over an open fire. It didn’t taste like beef or chicken or lamb… in fact, he was afraid to think what it might be.

  “You’ll remain here until the master no longer has need of you.” Benito shrugged. “He asked a simple thing of you, and you refused him.”

  “You’re nuts, you know that? He never asked me to do anything!”

  “Rhiannon certainly made the request.”

  “Who?”

  “The blonde puta.” Benito licked his lips and laughed coarsely. “I would have liked a taste of her, but it was impossible to get her alone.”

  “I still don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  “You knew her as April.” De Vivar seemed to have morphed out of the shadows. He appeared to have more vitality, compared to when Matthew had first seen the son of a bitch this time around, but he was still dragging his ass.

  Yes, Matthew had mistaken her for April, his first and only love, but it hadn’t taken him long to see how very different the girl and the thing were. He just thanked God he’d never given in to her flattery. Grandfather would have been disappointed in him, and how could he live with himself knowing he’d… slept with one of those things?

  He ground his teeth and flexed his fingers. One of these days, he’d find something sharp and deal with de Vivar.

  Then he’d remove the boards covering every window in this place. That would give the things who dwelled here a nasty shock.

  And once that was done, he’d go after the monster and take it apart with his bare hands.

  MATTHEW SAT huddled in the shadows. It was night now, but earlier he’d managed to loosen a number of boards that covered the windows and get back inside the mansion before any of the things rose. Smug bastards, thinking he’d stay cowering in a corner until Benito came to bring him to de Vivar.

  Something strange had happened earlier, though. He’d had to work fast; he found even a single stray sunbeam hurt his eyes and made his skin feel as if needles were pricking it. He shivered.

  Right now, none of the things paid any attention to him. He could understand that. De Vivar was pitching a royal fit, and tension was in every line of every one of them.

  Not that there were as many as there had been. There had been mention of an Irish thing who had vanished shortly before Matthew had been brought here, and of course Rhiannon was long gone. He’d overheard Benito and another male, Miguel, talking about her disappearance. She wasn’t your typical dumb blonde; she’d made herself scarce after she’d done something that pissed off de Vivar big-time, and no one had seen her since.

  It was a damn shame. He’d have liked to stake her himself, once he’d realized what she was. Stupid bitch, thinking she could pull the wool over his eyes. His grandfather hadn’t raised any stupid children.

  He turned his attention back to de Vivar, and in spite of the fortitude Grandfather had instilled in him, Matthew couldn’t help becoming… tense himself.

  “Say that again!” the Spaniard bellowed. He glared at the things who stood before him. They all eyed him with caution.

  Benito’s normally olive skin tones faded to a pasty white. “Mi señor, the police of Mifflin—”

  “¡Basta!” De Vivar backhanded him across the face, sending him flying to the other end of the room. “I heard what you said,” he snapped. “What I want to know is why it’s taken so long for me to be informed of this fiasco.”

  Matthew had heard about it, since none of the things watched what they said in front of him—idiots. The cops had descended on the abandoned cemetery in Mifflin. They’d dug it up, and in the process had discovered and demolished de Vivar’s mausoleum. The head thing hadn’t been there, unfortunately, but that would be just one more job for Matthew to deal with.

  “So my home is no more, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, that puta of an American vampyr had the gall to interfere.”

  Matthew knew de Vivar was talking about an important American thing. Whatever it was she’d done had resulted in that monster his father had sired being spirited out of the country, just when Matthew had been so close.

  None of the things seemed to have an answer for de Vivar—had he really expected one? From his expression, Matthew had the feeling the Spaniard considered himself to be surrounded by imbeciles who all needed to be dead.

  Well, he agreed with him.

  “I had planned to make Tyrell Small my pet, but I have had enough. When I get my hands on him, I’ll drain him to the last drop!” de Vivar declared.

  The others gasped—Matthew didn’t understand what the big deal was. De Vivar had drained any number of normals, and they’d had to dispose of the bodies. What was one more?

  “Miguel.” De Vivar addressed the thing who often sat with Benito. “I want you to fetch me the sabor.”

  “Maestro.” Miguel looked uneasy. “The day watchers guard him by day, and the oameni de pace guard him by night.”

  “And where are my adepţi?”

  “Gone. They’ve been destroyed.”

  De Vivar howled, his fury so great Matthew would swear the timbers of this old building shook.

  But this gave him the perfect “in.” The monster needed to be a long time dying, but maybe the important thing was him being dead.

  Matthew rose, staggering a bit before he could steady himself, and then stepped out of the shadows.

  “I’ll get him for you, maestro.” It killed him to refer to the head thing as “master,” but he’d do whatever was necessary.

  They all turned to stare at Matthew.

  “You?” De Vivar’s expression suddenly became even harder. “Why would you do that for me?”

  Grandfather had never believed in dissembling, but Matthew wouldn’t be dissembling. Not that it mattered: needs must when the devil rode.

  “I have no love for Tyrell Small.” The name was like poison in his mouth.

  “And what do you want in return?”

  “My freedom. I have friends….” A lie. Grandfather had taught him family was paramount to everything, and he’d been content with that. “…and family….” An even bigger lie. The cousins all seemed to be gone, and he refused to acknowledge his siblings—Luke, Sarah, and Bethany, not the twin brats his mother had produced. “They miss me. I miss them.” And that was the biggest lie of all.

  De Vivar studied him intently. What was he looking for?

  “Very well,” the thing finally said. “Bring Tyrell Small to me, and I’ll release you.” He bared his fangs in a grin. “You have my word.”

  Like I’d believe you any farther than I could throw you. But Matthew grinned back at him. “I’ll need transportation. My car is in the garage of my apartment complex. It won’t be daylight for some time. Will one of your… people help me to get there?”

  “Benito, you will take Señor Crist where he wishes to go.”

  Benito bowed and came to Matthew. “If you will follow me?”

  Matthew trailed after him. Once they were out of the mansion, Benito grasped his arms.

  “Now tell me where to go.”

  Hell? But Matthew simply said, “Take me back to where you first picked me up. I can make my way home from there.” Because no way did he want this thing to know where he lived.

  Benito tightened his grasp, and then the force of the wind tore at Matthew’s breath. Try as he might to stay conscious, it became impossible to breathe, and he blacked out.

  HE REGAINED consciousness a few blocks away from Donnel
ly’s. As soon as Benito knew he was steady on his feet, he said, “Do not think to play games with el duque. If you do, we’ll find you.”

  “Look, I want de Vivar to have that—to have Tyrell Small as much as he wants him. How am I supposed to get him to the mansion? I was out cold coming and going.”

  Benito seemed to consider that, then reached out and pressed the fingers of both hands to Matthew’s temples. It felt as if his skull was going to be crushed, but before it reached that point, Benito dropped his hands.

  “When you’re ready to bring the sabor to el duque, you will remember.” And then he was gone.

  And Matthew was in the same place he’d been in two months ago. He began walking home.

  MATTHEW CAME to a dead halt just outside his front door. Where in hell was his mail? He’d fully expected to find it scattered across the worn carpeting that ran the length of the hallway, but there was nothing. He glanced up and down the hall. He’d never met the neighbors who lived behind the doors that were the same bland, just-spilled-tea color as his, but could one of them have taken it in? Reluctantly, he knocked on the door across the hall.

  “What?” The man who yanked open the door was dressed in boxers and a torn wifebeater. He was in desperate need of a shave and some mouthwash.

  Matthew swallowed. “I’m Matthew Crist. I live across the hall. I’ve been away for a while, and I was wondering if you might have taken in my mail.”

  “No.” He slammed the door shut.

  Maybe someone had stuffed the mail under his door? Fortunately, his house key was in his pocket. He took it out and unlocked the door.

  The first thing he noticed was the light on his answering machine. No one had ever left him messages before. He pressed the icon.

  “You have one new message.”

  Huh.

  “Matt, it’s Luke. It’s not a good idea to go out of town and not stop your mail. That’s an open invitation to get robbed.”

  Busybody. Why didn’t he mind his own business?

  “I came by to see you just after Easter and found a shitload of mail outside your door. I brought it in—”

  What? He scowled at the answering machine. How had Luke been able to get into his apartment?

  “—and left it on the peninsula in your kitchen.” Apparently he wasn’t going to tell Matthew how he’d done it. “I’ve stopped by every week since then, and I’ve paid your utility bills and your rent, but I’m worried about you, Matt. Call me when you get home!”

  Son of a bitch. The last thing he wanted was contact with his brother, but he’d have to get in touch with him, if only to pay him back. He hadn’t even thought he might not have an apartment to come home to.

  But he couldn’t call him now. He had things to do. He knew where the monster lived, and it was about time it was dealt with.

  The apartment was stuffy, and maybe that was what made his own odor so noticeable. His finger hovered over the Delete icon for a second. It had been so long since he’d heard his brother’s voice….

  He tightened his lips, deleted the message, and went to the bathroom to shower and shave. He’d also need something to eat. There were some Hungry-Man dinners in the freezer. He’d have a couple and then go stake out the monster’s lair.

  HOW FUCKING lucky could he get? As Matthew rounded the corner, he spotted the monster backing out of its driveway. It didn’t see him, but he slowed his car anyway and let it get some distance ahead of him.

  Where was it going at this hour of the morning?

  Matthew followed it, surprised when it turned into the parking lot of Pritchert Foods. He parked a few spaces down and strode purposefully to the supermarket. He already had most of what he needed, but this was serendipitous.

  He went to the produce department and picked up a bunch of bananas.

  “It looks like they’ve got a good bunch, don’t you think?”

  Matthew turned to see the monster standing not two feet from him, and for a second, it was as if he stood before his father. His grip on the bananas almost crushed them. He was afraid if he made himself smile, it would be more a grimace. “Yes.”

  “I have to pick up a couple myself. I make chocolate banana shakes, but I ran out last night and had to use strawberries instead. It was pretty good, but banana is—Is something wrong?”

  He’d been staring at the monster. “You look a good deal like my father.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes. His name was Benjamin Small.”

  The monster’s jaw dropped. “Seriously? That’s my dad’s name!”

  “Are you….” He had to force the name from his lips. “Are you Tyrell?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Matthew. I’m your oldest brother.” He almost choked on the words.

  “Oh, my God, talk about a small world!” It burst into laughter. “I’m sorry. I was laughing at the pun. It’s a small world, and we’re Smalls.” Its laughter faded.

  Matthew wanted to knock it down, but instead he forced a smile. “You’re right.”

  “I’m sorry,” it said again. “I’m being silly. It’s just that it’s wonderful to meet you!”

  “Yes.” Matthew made himself hold out his hand.

  “I’m sorry.” Why did the damned monster keep apologizing? “I… I can’t touch people.”

  Of course you can’t, Matthew thought snidely. He had no doubt it was him the monster couldn’t touch.

  “I’d love to talk more with you, but I’m expecting company. I’ll be at Dad’s later today, though. Could you come by?” It took the paper it was holding, turned it over, and scribbled an address on the back.

  “Thanks. I have to go.” He couldn’t meet its eyes, so like his father’s. “My… my wife is pregnant, and she asked for bananas.”

  “She is? I’m going to be an uncle? Awesomesauce! Please bring her with you!”

  Jesus, how could one little lie erupt into a volcano of them? “If she’s feeling up to it.” As if he’d let this monster near a child of his!

  “Okay. Well, please tell her I said hi. I’ll… I’ll see you later, Matthew?” It sounded shy and almost hopeful. What an actor it was!

  “Yes.” Oh, it would see him sooner than that!

  “Cool beans! Bye now.” It selected a couple of bananas, put them in its cart, and walked toward the dairy aisle.

  Matthew looked down at the paper in his hand. The handwriting was surprisingly tidy. On one side was Benjamin Small’s address, while on the other was listed bananas, orange juice, bacon, eggs, bread. How could it be so… ordinary?

  He turned on his heel and headed toward the front of the store.

  At this hour, only one checkout lane was open, but it didn’t matter—no one stood on line. Matthew gave the cashier the bananas, and she weighed them and rang them up. He handed her a ten-dollar bill, and when she’d completed the transaction, he stuffed the change in his pocket.

  “Paper or plastic?” she asked him.

  “Uh… neither. I’m going to eat them right now. In the car.”

  She looked at the bunch he was holding and shrugged. “Okay. Come back and see us soon.”

  “Yeah.” He rushed through the door. This end of the parking lot was fairly empty. As casually as he could, he glanced around to make sure no one was watching him. When he got to the rear of the monster’s car, he dropped the bananas. “Shit, that was clumsy of me,” he said, just in case anyone was watching. He crouched down and quickly stuffed the bananas in the twin tailpipes. Then he went to his own car and waited.

  About ten minutes later, the monster came out, pushing a cart that held three plastic bags. It took out a key, aimed it at the car, and the trunk lid slowly lifted up.

  With the bags loaded in the trunk, the monster slammed down the lid and walked the cart to the corral. Matthew gnashed his teeth. Why did it have to do that? People just left the carts any which way in the parking lot.

  It looked at its watch. “Whoa! I’d better hurry!” It opened the car door and got
in.

  The engine turned over, and the monster put the car in gear. The car went forward about a half dozen feet, and then began to jerk and shudder. Within seconds it had stalled out.

  Perfect.

  Matthew held his breath, poured some chloroform on a washcloth, and tucked the cloth into his back pocket. He strolled casually to the driver’s side and tapped on the window.

  “Having a problem?” he asked when the window rolled down.

  “Matthew! I guess so. I never had any trouble with Lucy before—”

  “Lucy?”

  It chuckled. “My car. I call her Lucretia MacEvil.”

  “Nice name.” He thought he was going to throw up. “Suppose I take a look under the hood?”

  “Would you? I hate to confess I’m not much of a car person.”

  “Why should you be?” He motioned for it to pull the hood latch.

  “Well, all my friends can pretty much service their cars. Me? I know the gas goes in one end and the oil and water the other end, and I need to plug it in to charge it, but that’s about it.”

  “Ha-ha.” He went to the front of the car, raised the hood, and propped it so it wouldn’t fall on his head. He wasn’t a car person either, and he had no idea what he was looking at, but he probed this and pushed that.

  The monster came to stand beside him. “What’s wrong?” Thank God it kept some distance between them.

  “I’d say the problem is the hut sut on the rillerah. It’s clogged.” He took the cloth from his pocket and pretended to wipe grease from his hands. A quick glance showed the lot and the surrounding area empty.

  “What’s that sm—”

  Matthew grabbed it and shoved the cloth over its mouth and nose. Of course there was panic in its eyes—it knew it was going to pay for being what it was: a monster.

  It was surprisingly strong, but he was stronger. In a matter of seconds, its struggles ceased, and he caught it as its legs folded under it and it collapsed.

  Somehow he managed to get the monster to his car and onto the backseat without vomiting. He turned it onto its belly—chloroform had soaked its collar and should keep it unconscious until he got it to de Vivar’s cesspit.