Damon

by Vanessa Hawkes

  I began to back away, involuntarily, dragged away by Time, and I left the scene just as Gram screamed, ‘We killed a man!’

  And then I was being dragged by orderlies down white hallways toward doom and despair, the previous scene fading in importance as my own frantic situation took over.

  When I woke at six the next morning and found Damon packing bags for our trip to Knoxville, I didn’t argue. The dream had affected me in a profound way. In a way that made everything around me – the house, my hands, Damon’s eyes – all seem urgently bright.

  Damon was right. I knew – somehow I knew – he was right. The old folks were hiding something. And we had to find out what, exactly.

  Before we lost our minds.

  I woke realizing I’d been carelessly going on about my pointless life, oblivious, while Time chased me - ruthlessly. We were running out of time. Daily.

  One day soon, I, and Damon, would be as far gone as Mama. And then it would be too late.

  If there was a way to prevent insanity from taking over we had to find a solution soon. Very soon.

  It had always been in the back of my mind. What if I turned out like my mother? According to Aunt Cynthia, Mama had been a normal child until her early twenties. And then the strangeness had begun. The paranoid behavior, the violent outburst, the delusions. By the time they’d realized she was seriously ill, it had been too late to do anything about it, except dope her up on medications.

  If Damon and I became like our parents, who would take care of us? Chester, Bella and Mrs. Jarvis were the only ones left of Gram’s family of friends, and they were old now, in their mid-seventies. Too old to take care of three crazy people, even if they were so inclined. They had been good friends with Gram and Grampa Harvey, and Elliot. But they weren’t family. They owed us nothing.

  We’d all end up in a mental institution. Lost and forgotten.

  The notion of that scared me half to death.

  So, I was going to Knoxville, regardless of the consequences.

  I knew I was defying Chester and jeopardizing my job and main source of income. I also felt I was being lied to - by the people I had always trusted most. And I knew if I lost my mind, nothing would matter, anyway.

  A secret had been guarded for the past fifty years, and while that secret might have been none of my business, and might have nothing to do with the illness plaguing mine and Damon’s families, it was all we had. Discovering that secret. Searching for an answer. Otherwise, we might as well have just sat back and waited for the end to come.

  I preferred to move and search and try and fight. While I still could.

  I couldn’t prove that the skeleton hand in the box was real, or had anything to do with my grandmother, or the others. Damon could have found that thing anywhere. I couldn’t claim my dream had been anything more than my imagination at work, perhaps combining real life with something I’d seen on TV.

  But the letters. I knew they were real. Gram setting up a secret meeting. And Chester warning Elliot to keep their secret from his own child. A child who had gone insane.

  All night, one particular line had replayed like a song stuck in my head. If you tell your son the truth, we’ll all be damned.

  Damon, Mama, and I were already damned.

  History was chasing us.

  We had nothing left to lose.

  Damon, I was beginning to realize, was a very busy person. The kind of man who got things done. By the time I got out of the shower and dressed, our bags were packed and Mama was up, fed, and ready to go. I liked that about him. I liked having help again.

  Since Aunt Cynthia had left four years ago, six months after Gram had died, I’d been struggling to keep up on my own. Mama wouldn’t tolerate the ‘evil conspirators,’ also known as home health care providers, in our house. Aside from Mrs. Jarvis next door, who checked in on Mama while I was at work, I’d been on my own.

  Damon had also managed to get his hands on a Bee Gees CD and Mama sat in the cramped backseat of his Mustang humming along with the upbeat disco music coming from the speakers.

  I felt a little guilty for never listening to her ramblings enough to know that she liked this music. I’d grown so used to blocking her out. If there was something she really needed, or wanted, she’d always told me.

  Or, so I’d thought.

  At any rate, Damon and I were free to sit in privacy up front, as we soared down the interstate toward Knoxville.

  “Whose hand was that?” I asked him. “In the box.”

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “But he was a vampire.”

  “That was a vampire’s hand?”

  He nodded, squinting at the road ahead.

  My mother had often talked about the government trying to get to information aliens had implanted in her head, she thought the devil wanted her soul, but she’d never gone so far as to create supernatural creatures like vampires, werewolves, or ghosts. I was curious about how Damon’s mind worked. And I was really beginning to wonder how far gone he was.

  “If they were all vampires,” I asked, careful to keep any blame from my tone, “why would they keep a vampire hand?”

  “They weren’t all vampires,” he said. “Only those still living. Chester, Bella and Mrs. Jarvis.”

  “Why only them?”

  “Vampires don’t die. They’re immortal.”

  “Okay. But what about the hand?”

  “I have a theory,” he said, sounding perfectly sane and reasonable. “The vampire was one of their own, one of their group. But something happened. He turned on them. They had to kill him. They kept his hand so he couldn’t return. Or, a reminder to the others what would happen if they dared turn on them. Or, maybe, for luck.”

  “Like a monkey’s paw?”

  He glanced at me as if I were the crazy one. “That’s a made-up story. Ridiculous.”

  Yet, vampires weren’t? Before I could speak he gave me that look again.

  “Vampire stories were based on legend, on truth,” he said. “Thousands of years before any books were written or movies were made. Vampires exist. Magic monkey paws don’t.”

  Okay. So, the monsters in Damon’s story were restricted to vampires alone. I decided to change the subject. “You’re the first guy I’ve ever dated who owned a car, not a truck. This is really nice. Is it new?”

  “Pretty new,” he said. “Does dating mean sex?”

  “What?”

  “Just a ballpark figure.”

  “What?” Was he asking how many men I’d been with? And my mother was in the car. Though, she probably wasn’t listening.

  “Or am I different?” He kept his gaze fixed on the road throughout this entire exchange.

  “Oh, you’re different, all right,” I told him.

  He frowned at my lame yet cryptic response and gave me a rather menacing glance out of the corner of his eyes. “Or am I like the others?”

  “You’re not like the others,” I told him, seriously this time. “You scare me. They never did.”

  He smiled and held my hand, then stared ahead with what appeared to be a smug expression. I turned to check on Mama. Her medication was doing its job and she sat still, seeming to enjoy the music, though she was no longer humming, instead watching the scenery with her deadpan expression. Inside, her thoughts and emotions might have been whirling and raging, but her face would never give away her secrets.

  “Have you ever been to Knoxville, Mama?”

  She turned her head slowly to look at me. “I was born in Knoxville,” she said.

  “That’s right, you were. I forgot.”

  “The first time.”

  I turned farther in my seat to have this little conversation. “You were born twice?”

  “Born two,” Mama said. “With a brother. He was sold to the devil. You want to sell me, too. I’ve seen you standing outside, talking to the devil.”

  “You had a twin brother?” I’d never known that. I did now know about Gram’s infant son. “He died as a b
aby? But, Mama, that can’t be right. The picture was taken in 1959, when Gram’s baby boy died, and you were born in 1962.”

  She stared at me as if I bored her immensely, her usual expression. I knew not to equate her facial expressions with her true thoughts and emotions. I let it go. She was getting her facts mixed up again, that was all.

  Damon nudged me and nodded at the console between us. “Take a look in the envelope.”

  I found Corky’s picture and handed it to Mama. Leaning as far as I could, I pointed out Damon’s grandfather. “Do you remember him?”

  “That’s my mama,” she said, pointing to the faces. “And that’s Uncle Corky. That’s Aunt Bella and Uncle Chester. That’s Aunt Verna.”

  “What about this man here?” I asked, pointing again to Damon’s grandfather. “Who’s that?”

  “That’s Uncle Elliot.”

  “Elliot was Damon’s granddad, Mama.”

  “Uncle Elliot brought us a little boy to live with us. Then, he stole him away again.”

  “That was Damon.”

  She blinked at the back of Damon’s head. “That’s our little big boy?”

  I’d already told her that, but I knew she still wasn’t quite certain who Damon was, or what his role was in our lives.

  “He changed,” she said.

  “We both did,” Damon said, giving my thigh a squeeze.

  Her gaze remained locked on his head. “Why did he come back? To see what I was doing?”

  “He remembered living with us, that’s all. He wanted to see it again because his grandfather died.”

  “She spies on me. Every day, I see her creeping around. She wants to sell me to the devil like she did her man.”

  She was staring at someone in the photo. “Who does?”

  “Aunt Verna.”

  “She checks on you while I’m at work. You know that. She and Gram were best friends. She’s your godmother. She worries about you. I gave her a key so she could make sure you’re okay.”

  “She tells me things,” Mama said. “When you’re not there. She tells me she knew better. It’s the children. They brought the monster with them. Inside them. To be reborn. I should never have been born, she says.”

  I glanced at Damon wondering if he’d been telling Mama his stories. “What does that mean? What monster?”

  Damon shut off the music. “Did they tell you their secret?” he said to the review mirror.

  “Do you remember them all talking?” I asked Mama. “About anything secret?”

  “I remember everything,” she said. She closed her eyes for a long moment before opening them slowly. “I see everything.”

  “Did they ever meet in secret? Maybe at our house?”

  “Always there,” she said. “Before Mama ran away. They vanished then. No more aunts, no more uncles. They sided with the devil.”

  “Gram ran away?”

  Her head bobbed a slow, almost imperceptible nod as her breath rose and fell. “To hide under the ground.”

  “Vampires,” Damon whispered.

  I sent him a warning glance. “She means when Gram died and was buried. That’s all. She sees what we see but she remembers it in a different way.”

  “Or,” Damon said, “she knows exactly what she’s saying.”

  “Do you ever remember them being upset about something?” I asked my mother. “About hurting someone?”

  “Ask her about blood,” Damon said. “Ask her if she drinks blood.”

  I wasn’t going to ask her that. I knew she’d drunk blood in the past, years ago, before her illness progressed to the point Gram had had to ban her from the kitchen. Mama was the reason I still drank blood today. But, I really didn’t want anyone to know about all that - even Damon, who wouldn’t have blinked an eye at such a confession.

  “Was the monster Mrs. Jarvis talks about a vampire?” I asked her instead.

  “The dreams came for me again,” Mama said. “I jumped on board and….” She closed her eyes again for a long moment. So long I thought she’d fallen asleep. I was about to turn around when she suddenly opened her eyes. “We were upset. Mama was upset.”

  “That’s right,” I encouraged, hoping to keep her in the conversation as long as possible. “What were they upset about?”

  “They were in the living room,” Damon said. “Dressed in black. They’d killed someone.” He glanced at me, an almost menacing glint in his eyes. “That’s what vampires do.”

  I grabbed his arm. “How did you know that? Did I tell you the dream I had?”

  He looked down at my hand in a way I recognized. My mother had given me that look many times. I quickly let go.

  “That was my dream,” he said in a threatening tone. “I have their memories in my blood.”

  “What about me? Do I have their memories in my blood?”

  “We’re the children of vampires,” he said. “Memories live in vampire blood.”

  “So, we’re vampires, too, then?” I was still confused about all that. Chester, Bella and Verna, according to Damon, were vampires, still alive because they were immortal. But, the rest had died. Our grandparents were dead, so they weren’t immortal. Then, how could we, he, Mama and I, be vampires?

  Damon didn’t answer, but he’d started me thinking. “If we’re vampires, then why are we afraid of Chester and Bella? If they’re vampires and we’re vampires, then we’re the same. Why would they want to hurt us?”

  Damon’s eyelids fluttered, his cheeks turned bright red, and I realized I’d asked a question he couldn’t answer. Not a good idea. Impossible questions had been responsible for many of my mother’s violent outbursts over the years. The world she had created had very specific rules, truths that fit together in an absolute way, with no room for variations. Asking questions that strayed from her version of reality posed a threat to her beliefs. And made the person asking those questions highly suspicious. An outsider. An enemy.

  Damon had apparently created his own version of reality where vampires existed and were a threat to us. At the same time, he believed he was also a vampire.

  “The question isn’t whether we’re all vampires,” he said, staying calm. “The question is why they never told us.”

  Fair enough. Honestly, I was more interested in how Damon, and maybe my mother, knew about my dream. And whether we’d all had the same dream.

  “They were all upset in the dream,” I said. “They’d killed a man and they weren’t cold and callous about it. They were panicked. Although, it’s odd. Why would they all pose for a picture at a funeral? Who does that?”

  He glanced at me and I knew what he was thinking. Vampires. There was no telling what vampires would do.

  I still couldn’t get over the dream issue. “Did we all really have the same dream?” I asked him. “Or, were you talking in your sleep?”

  The instant I said it, I knew that couldn’t have happened. Mama had been asleep in her own room. But something weird had happened last night.

  “Did you slip me drugs?”

  Damon glanced at me. “Drugs have no affect on vampires.”

  “Then why did I get tipsy off the wine?”

  “My blood is your drug.”

  “And what, now I have the memories in my blood after you spiked my wine?”

  “Probably. You’re late to the game.”

  “What does that mean? I’m not as crazy as you two? Yet?”

  The instant I’d said it, I wanted to take it back.

  Damon glared at me for so long I worried he’d drive off the road. “You think I’m crazy because I’m trying to save us?” he said. “You, me, even your mother?”

  “You’re not allowed to use the C-word,” Mama said. “It’s aggressive.”

  “Sorry, Mama.”

  “Get aggressive with me, missy, and I’ll rip your head off.”

  “Sorry, Mama. I’m calm.” I stared straight ahead. “I’m not looking at you.”

  “Look at me and I’ll rip you head off,” she said, ra
ising her voice. “You mean nothing. You’re a bug under the wheel of my bicycle. I’ll crush your head. You’re nothing but yellow guts in the dirt.”

  I stared at the road ahead, resisting the urge to glance over my shoulder. The last thing we needed was for my mother to lose control in the car.

  At the next exit, Damon pulled off, and suddenly we were away from the activity, and witnesses, of the interstate. We were on a deserted side road in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by trees.

  “What are we doing?” I asked, not liking the isolation.

  Damon slammed on the brakes, put the car in park, and then sat there, staring straight ahead, breathing heavily.

  Suddenly, I wished for a cell phone. I’d always wanted one, to be normal like everyone else, but I’d always considered it an unnecessary expense. Now, though, I felt like I needed one. Not for convenience, but for protection. I had no way to contact anyone if I needed to. Including the police.

  Damon opened his door and got out. He tilted his seat up, leaned in, and spoke to Mama privately.

  I knew the look she gave him as he backed away and sat down behind the wheel. She wanted to attack him, but her meds kept her imprisoned in her own skin.

  Damon slammed his door and peeled out, setting us speeding off again. We approached a stop sign and Damon hit the gas, deliberately running it. Thankfully, no one was coming.

  I dared a glance back at Mama, who was staring daggers at the back of my head. “What’d you say to her? Did you threaten her?”

  Damon glanced in the rearview mirror. “That’s between us crazy people.”