by J. R. Rain
“I’m sorry,” I blub.
He takes some toilet paper and dabs sauce from my chin. “Why are you apologizing? None of this is your fault.”
“Because this is your sauce. And I so love it. I don’t know why…”
“I know, Sam.” He flushes the toilet, then hugs me. “I’m not taking this as an indictment on my cooking.”
Except there’s no consoling me at this point, and I’m sobbing and sniffling nearly uncontrollably. “I’m sorry. I love your sauce. I really do. I don’t know what’s happening to me. I need answers, and I need help. So much help…”
He holds me, rubbing my shoulder and rocking me for a few minutes.
“Kids are alone,” I finally mutter.
“Yeah.”
“There’s going to be spaghetti sauce all over the cabinets.”
Danny chuckles. “We haven’t been away that long. They’ll only have painted a couple of doors.”
I pull myself together and allow a smile. “Heh.”
After wiping my tears dry and doing my best to put myself together―without the benefit of a mirror―we return to the kitchen. Anthony’s got two fistfuls of spaghetti, which he’s attempting to jam in his mouth at the same time while Tammy’s trying to give him back the fork I dropped. We lucked out. The kitchen’s not a disaster again. Hooray for small miracles. I take the fork from Tammy and toss it in the sink since it hit the floor, and grab a clean one to feed Anthony. Neither Danny nor I draw attention to my not finishing my plate.
A cloud of gloom hounds me the rest of the night. Every cute thing the kids do gets me crying, as does every concerned/worried stare from Danny. Soon after we put the little ones to bed, he hops on the laptop and starts combing the Internet.
“What are you looking for?” I ask, sidling up next to him.
“I’m not sure, exactly. Something… anything that might explain what’s going on.”
I squat beside him and rest my head on his shoulder, watching (but not quite watching) page after page on Yahoo! go zipping by. Snippets of text here and there almost suggest he’s looking at occult references. Hmm. I guess we’re truly screwed if he’s starting to check out bullshit like that.
Still taken with guilt over throwing up his sauce, I snuggle closer, eyes closed. His scent teases at my awareness, a mix of his presence and cologne that I’ve always been aware of when he held me, but it’s different now. Really different. The essence of Danny is so strong I can taste it. Temptation grows, an irresistible urge welling up from within. My head moves as if on its own, and I kiss the side of his neck.
He squirms, but doesn’t pull away.
I keep kissing him for a while as he searches. He squirms again when I drag my tongue up the side of his neck, tracing the line of his carotid artery. The pulse resonates within my mouth, and that strange ache spreads over my face again.
The spell breaks.
No. Dammit! I said leave them out! I pull away, refusing to think of my husband as a food source. What in the eff is wrong with me?
Danny twists toward me and kisses me on the lips, oblivious to the bestial urge that had been forming in my mind. Seeing him interested in me again in a sexual way brushes that worry aside and I climb half into his lap, facing him, kissing and pawing.
We migrate to the bedroom.
“Wait,” I whisper, breathless. “Let me try something real quick.”
He nods. “All right…”
I rush to the bathroom, strip, and run the shower full hot. It’s a shock to stand in, but not even close to painful compared to walking Tammy to preschool across Dante’s Parking Lot. Spinning under the water like a rotisserie chicken, I give myself a few minutes before shutting the faucet and drying off. Wearing just the towel, I hurry back to the bedroom and climb in with Danny.
Since the sun’s down, I’m wide-awake and extremely turned on.
***
Danny’s sound asleep in bed.
I sit curled up, naked on the floor in the narrow space between the bed and the wall. Maybe I shouldn’t have done this? The shower did warm me up enough, but as soon as we went all the way, Danny’s enthusiasm receded. Trooper that he is, he kept going, but if the look on his face when we finished is any indication, he doesn’t have much interest in doing that ever again… at least until we figure out why I’m so cold inside too.
He’s never looked at me like that before, either. A ‘what the hell are you?’ kind of stare that chilled me straight to the heart. I don’t think he meant it consciously, which makes it worse, since it speaks truth.
I think back to earlier, when I had knelt beside him out in the dining room; the temptation to feed on him had been undeniable. Terrible, just terrible. Head down, my hair cascades over my shins, spilling over my feet to the carpet. Tears run down my legs from heavy, silent sobs wracking my body. I’m a danger to the people I love. How can I be sure I’ll be able to control myself? The attack did kill me. After all, it killed my family, my dreams, everything I’d ever worked so hard for and loved so much.
Truly, I don’t deserve to still exist.
Sorrow consumes me. Visions of suicide dance around my head like the demon actors of Hell’s variety show. The life I had is gone. I’m not sure what I am now, but it’s not safe for my family. I’m not safe for my family, and that kills me all over again. I could disappear in the night, go somewhere far, far away. They’d all be better off. I cry harder, realizing that my family would’ve been happier if I didn’t survive that attack.
I picture Danny’s face, getting the call.
“We’re sorry, Mr. Moon. Your wife was found dead this morning,” says an anonymous voice, part Nico Fortunato, part Chad Helling, part generic cop. “We’re investigating, but don’t have any leads. But from all appearances, it was an animal attack. Maybe a pit bull. Maybe coyotes. Maybe a chupacabra.”
Okay, that last bit gets me laughing. Great. Now I sound hysterical.
Tammy and Anthony are so young, they probably won’t remember me after a while… that is, had I died that night. Or if I run away. Either way, I’m sure their lives will turn out much better without me around. Fragments of an imagined future, the kids getting older, living alone with their father haunt my thoughts. Surly Tammy, a high- school outcast, never quite right since her mother died or disappeared. Anthony, fourteen years old, scrawny and shy. No friends, gets bullied, obsessed with finding who or what killed his mother.
Or just finding his mother.
“Oh, stop it,” I whisper to myself, sitting up and rubbing my eyes. “That’s not how they’re going to turn out.” I know I’m only trying to talk myself out of doing what I must.
And what is it you must do, Sam? I ask myself.
The answer, of course, is simple. I just can’t be a danger to my family. If something happened to them by my hand… how could I live with myself? I couldn’t of course. I couldn’t live, at all. Better to spare them―and me, and just get the hell of out of Dodge. Or Fullerton.
Leaving feels right, but it all feels terrible too. Too terrible to contemplate for long. Which is why I sit in silence for an hour or so more, trying to come up with any rational explanation for what’s happening to me. My line of reasoning keeps circling back to one illogical conclusion: I’ve become the unthinkable.
The truly unbelievable.
Which makes no sense at all. Vampires don’t exist.
But, I can’t argue with what my eyes have been telling me for the past two weeks. My eyes and stomach and skin and sleep patterns. And if I have become a fiend, if by some bizarre twist of fate that such beings really exist, then I really, really can’t sit idly by and let such a monster threaten the lives of my children. Or Danny.
I stand and walk down the hall, not bothering to get dressed. This will probably hurt less if there’s nothing between my skin and the sunlight. Silent tears run down my face, dripping onto my chest. I’m mourning my own death. Or, more to the point, I’m mourning the effect it will have on my family. I don’t care about dyin
g anymore. Protecting my children is all that matters.
The patio door from the kitchen opens with a soft scrape of metal. My nakedness glows blue in the moonlight of a clear sky. What perfect weather to die in. A cool breeze lofts my hair and caresses me in the embrace of Mother Nature. Am I still even part of this world? Is death the end or will I haunt this place? Surely, if I am a vampire, I’ve been cursed and won’t be welcomed to Heaven.
Hah. Of course. I’ve never really believed in God my whole life. At this moment, why do I find myself hoping He’s real?
Grass tickles my feet as I walk to the middle of our backyard and gaze up at the moon. Like some ancient pagan priestess, I stand naked under the sky and raise my arms to the sky. I don’t belong here anymore. My fingers stretch apart as I mentally command the cosmos to take me. Nothing matters but protecting my family.
Nothing.
I’ve only a few hours to wait.
Chapter Fifteen
A Small Hope
Soft grunts and mumbles coming from the house make me twist around.
Tammy’s little voice reaches my ears despite the distance and an exterior wall between us. She must be having a nightmare, tossing and turning in her sleep. A weak scrap of thought coalesces in the back of my head that she’s aware of what I’m going to do. I bow my head.
She’ll be better off without me.
A soft wind lifts my hair, bringing with it the scent of grass and old grease. I’m confused for a moment until I remember our backyard wall is adjacent to a Pep Boys. I shake my head, clear my thoughts. I’d never tried to kill myself before. This is a first for me. And with death still a few hours away, I’m not sure how best to pass the time. Maybe I should do a final load of laundry. That would sure help Danny. Maybe clean the bathroom a little more. My mid-dinner wipe-down hardly seemed enough. Maybe I should send emails to all my loved ones and tell them I’ll miss them. That sounds like a nice thing to do. What about, you know, going down the list of all the major religions… and making sure I’m good with their gods. Nothing beats covering all your bases. I wouldn’t want to end up in Hell, although I suspect I’ve gotten a taste of it these past few weeks.
Right as I decide to send Mary Lou a long, heartfelt, snarky text about how much I’m going to miss her, and that I will do my best to ‘swing by’ and say hello―maybe move some stuff around her house―Tammy’s fussing gets louder. It sounds like she’s trying to say something in her sleep, but can’t form words.
I’m sorry, Tam Tam. I can’t risk harming you. If what I’m afraid might be true is true, having me anywhere near you is going to complicate your life in ways I can’t even imagine. You don’t deserve to be saddled with me. You deserve a normal life, a happy life. I’m sure Daddy will protect and love you and―
“Mommy,” mutters Tammy, her voice slurred with the fog of deep sleep.
My hands clench into fists. I shiver, but not from cold. Guilt hits me in the gut. What am I doing? Giving up? Really? Is that the best I can come up with? Just give up and kill myself? Come on, Sam. Hold it together. They need you.
I can’t walk away from my family.
Tammy’s restless mumbling continues, drawing me back into the house.
After locking the patio door, I pad down the hall to the bedroom and pull my nightgown on before rushing into Tammy’s room. By the time I get there, she’s stopped tossing, but still fidgets with a worried expression.
It makes absolutely no sense to think that she somehow knew what I almost did, but to see her starting to calm down right as I snap out of that bleak spiral of despair is too coincidental to ignore. I crouch beside her bed, brushing a hand over her head. Watching her fills me with guilt at ever thinking I could simply surrender. The pain I’d cause them by killing myself isn’t worth it. Mary Lou always called me ‘willful.’ I can do this. I can control myself, even if the unbelievable has become truth.
I won’t abandon them.
I can’t.
Tammy smiles at me in her sleep. At least, I think she’s directing it at me.
I keep brushing her hair with my hand. So many insecurities whirl around my head about what’s happening to me, but no matter what, I will protect Tammy and Anthony. This disease, or whatever I have, will not come between us. I won’t surrender. Never.
After a while, Tammy’s resumed sleeping soundly. I cross the hall to check on Anthony, who also appears to be having a pleasant dream. He grins when I run my hand over his head. I don’t know what the future holds, kiddo, but I’m not going to make you grow up without a mommy.
The night is quiet, save for two cars somewhere outside going by. A dog bark and coyote howl follow some time later. I kiss Anthony once more on the head and walk into the hall, traipsing aimlessly back and forth from the kitchen to my bedroom door.
When last I had this much excess energy, I went jogging. Stupid. Though, perhaps not. If whatever attacked me had been coming for me specifically, my idiocy might’ve worked out for the better. At least, for my family. If he’d broken into the house to get me, I’m sure at least Danny would’ve been killed trying to protect me.
I’m half-tempted to go for a jog again, but it bothers me that I’m not the least bit hesitant about the idea. Like, you’d think after what happened, I’d have developed a phobia of the dark or some PTSD type reaction to the idea of a late-night/early morning jog again. Yet, for reasons I don’t fully understand, I feel untouchable. It’s the middle of the night and nothing can hope to threaten me.
Maybe because I really am a vampire.
I sigh at the ceiling. Or maybe at God.
Yeah, right. Vampire? More like a head case.
And I’m a head case that has to be awake in about three hours for work. I trudge to my room and crawl into bed next to Danny, determined to fall asleep.
Except, one hour of staring at the ceiling drags into the next.
Chapter Sixteen
Fraying
Wednesday at the office, I’m working on my fourth qwerty sandwich.
I’m particularly tired and listless, and more than a little bit hungry. My body reacts with all the nimbleness of a supertanker, requiring great effort to initiate motion, and even more to stop. Anyone looking at me would think I’d smoked enough weed to transcend time itself.
Yeah, insomnia sucks.
One uncoordinated swing of my arm knocks a plastic cup across my desk, a cup I’d been using to hold pens and thumbtacks. I know, an odd combination. Anyway, I reach for a cluster of thumbtacks on the floor and promptly impale my finger on one. Not just impale but, damn, the sucker’s embedded all the way to the flat plastic part against my skin. I yelp and pluck the minuscule dagger out of my flesh. The hole closes right in a second. Like, right before my eyes.
Well, that’s not normal.
I stab myself again, this time in the thumb, and muffle a cry of pain. A second later, I pull the tack out and watch the hole close again. I can’t help but do it a few more times. Okay, this is psychotic… and mesmerizing.
“Sam?” asks Nico.
“Gah.” I jump.
Nico flinches back. “Whoa. Sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
“It’s all right.” I throw the pin back in the cup and smile at him. “What can I do for you?”
“Umm, why are you here?”
I raise both eyebrows. “That’s kind of deep and metaphorical for eight in the morning isn’t it?”
He laughs. “I mean right here, right now. You’re supposed to be testifying at the grand jury in an hour.”
“Crap.” I rub the bridge of my nose. “It slipped my mind.”
“Everything all right?” Nico steps into the cube and lowers his voice from boss to big brother. “I’m a little worried.”
“Other than going through an industrial quantity of sunblock, I’m okay.”
He nods, as if he knows what the hell I’m talking about. “What about sleep?” he asks.
“What is this thing called sleep of which you s
peak?”
“That bad?”
“I felt like running again at two in the morning.”
“At two in the morning, I’d already gotten up twice to go to the bathroom,” said Nico, rubbing his chin, then snaps his head at me. “That was too much information, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah, maybe. Who cares? I just need sleep.”
“Well, I’m going to insist you see someone if it continues past the end of this week.”
“Fine,” I say, grabbing my purse, too tired to argue, but appreciating his concern. “Where’s Chad?”
“You haven’t checked your email? He had car issues and plans to go straight from the mechanic to the courthouse.”
I glance at the screen. The email’s right there. Looking at words and comprehending them are apparently two different things. “Right. Email.”
Nico flares his eyebrows at me, but doesn’t say anything. Lucky for me, I started off with high scores and a reputation for being meticulous. If I’d been a slacker, I think I’d already be suspended.
“On the way,” I mutter, darting past him and rushing down the hall to the bathroom.
I duck into the ladies’ room and use the giant mirror to check my foundation make up for holes. It’s so damn eerie to see openings where my eyes should be, since I’ve obviously not put makeup on them. Still, my forehead, cheeks, and neck look solid enough―if somewhat plastic.
Our department-issue sedan is still in the lot since Chad went straight to the courthouse, so I hop in that and hit the road. I’m freaking out enough about being late to the grand jury that I avoid blacking out on the drive to the federal courthouse in LA.
Good news: There’s a covered parking deck.
Bad news: It’s full and I wind up having to park across the street in a private one that charges $18.
It’s not the money I’m moaning about, though. I can’t exactly walk into the courthouse wearing that stupid hat and sunglasses. If I look like an insane woman, the grand jury’s going to laugh me off and ignore everything I say. So, I leave the hat and oversized sunglasses in the car and walk to the end of the parking deck, standing for a moment at the edge of shade to psych myself up.