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Monday, August 3, 2020

Blood: A short story by Steven W. Shaw (Artwork to follow at a later date)

                                                                   Blood

                                                                         
                                                                           by

                                                          
                                      Steven W. Shaw




      The fireworks reminded him how much had changed. Even in himself. Arthur moved toward the window, the little television showing live coverage of the colorful display over New York harbor in the background. He could just make out a few specks of blue and red over the top of a skyscraper in his line of sight, and the booms, which would be mighty on the water but muffled by so much concrete and glass at this distance, came off like a cork popping several rooms away. He would have lived for something like this once, gathering his family up and taking them down to the waterfront where they could view the display in July’s dry evening heat. But now it felt distant, and a token of an era long since passed. It would have seemed even moreso had he been down on the waterfront. Just 5 years ago the harbor would have been filled with party boats and the waterfront teeming with onlookers, but he knew without proof of the television coverage, which stayed firmly in the air and on the explosions, that the area would be empty. The curfew kept all but the most daring or desperate indoors until daylight. The city streets had become something to fear again. He sighed, lighting up a cigarette and taking a long drag before turning around and changing the channel to catch some news. He knew Cathy would disapprove of his smoking, but thinking about it simply gave him another reason to continue. Besides, he reasoned, this was no longer a world worth growing old in. He examined himself briefly in the mirror above his bureau. Early middle age had not been kind. The
flecks of gray in his hair were getting larger by the day. And he seemed gaunt now, not like the man whose face beamed up at him from the framed wedding photo on the bedside table below. The only physical positive the turmoil of the last few years had brought him was a loss in weight and a tightening of the muscles on his chest. Miles of running for your life at night and hours of workouts designed to make you forget the present will do that for you, he told himself, chuckling at his own weak attempt at a joke. A newscaster began with the evening’s topics as he turned and headed into the bathroom to wash up. “Ten members of the organization “Brothers of the Undead” were apprehended tonight in what federal officials are calling a major coup in the war on terror…..” Arthur stopped soaping up, quickly grabbing the towel from the rack behind him and drying his face so he could watch the screen. There was fleeting footage of several hooded men being led into a building and a shot of a warehouse in the meat packing district. He’d heard rumors about what went on there, and though he had never been there himself, he worried that someone he might know would be under
one of those hoods. He only knew so much about what went on, he was simply a small cog in a very big machine. He just hoped word would reach him should the machine start to cave in on itself. For now and unless he heard differently, he would have to put his reservations aside and proceed with the plan. That meant getting a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow required a calm and steady demeanor. He turned the tv and lights off. The little pink nightlight in the corner remained on, as it always did. It was Kelly’s. She had always been afraid of the dark, and hard as he’d tried he could never ease that fear for her, so he had bought the nightlight with one of her favorite characters on it, Hello Kitty, and she had smiled and giggled as only six year olds can so that his heart beamed. The last of the fireworks boomed to a finish miles away, pulling him out of his memory, and Arthur sighed forlornly, turning over. That was all in the past now.



     It was muggy even without the hoodie he usually wore. The early morning July sun cast an arc of
glorious light down past the MetLife building and right into his pathway. He always walked to work. The exercise was good for him and the sights were even better for keeping him mindful of the task at hand, and what was at stake should he get caught, or fail. Just several yards ahead he could see 2 bodies, one a heavyset middle aged man and the other a female teenager, slumped against the curb like broken rag dolls. The man’s body had fallen spreadeagled and face down. Arthur could see the two large puncture wounds on the side of his neck. His body had the pale, milky-white pallor of someone whose blood had been drained. The female’s body had been propped up in repose, her hands placed gently over her chest. There were no wounds on her neck, and her skin still held the color of life even though hers had ended some time ago. But she hadn’t been drained, and they had shown respect. It was a professional hit on the man, not simply an attack. She had merely been in the way, Arthur presumed. Two police cruisers were idling at the scene, their colored lights still spinning as curious onlookers came to gawk. Arthur sighed and looked away, his eye catching a television broadcast inside a store window. He stopped there a moment, watching intently. What
appeared to be a woman in a specially designed black suit of armor was testifying in court. Not an inch of her body was exposed. Even her eyes were covered by thick black goggles. She spoke into a microphone through an intercom device on the suit. A panel of white-haired, stuffy looking older men sat on a podium raised before her. None of them seemed to be listening very closely. “I come before you with a simple question: Does this country stand for equal rights for all or just for the rights of those you see fit to bestow them upon? The nightwalker population in this city alone has tripled in the past two months. Are you seriously going to tell me that those people no longer deserve their freedom, or the basic civil rights granted to every citizen?” Arthur noticed she had used the most recent politically correct term floating about for the undead. Nightwalkers. He chuckled slightly. It was a good one. It made them sound almost like prostitutes, though hookers’ civil rights would be easier to argue for. A short, squat, balding man poorly wearing a Calvin Klein suit slammed his gavel down against the podium. “Were talking about diseased people. If these people had smallpox we wouldn’t be arguing for their right to vote, we’d already have them quarantined.” Much shouting ensued and then the courtroom tape bled into a debate by two talking heads from the local
station. Arthur shook his head, absent-mindedly clutching the blood bank identification he wore on a chain around his neck before turning and continuing on his way to work.



     He had never been in the boiler room before. It was dark and cramped, and filled with a
cacophony of noise which made it almost impossible to think. It had been a long, tiring day and he was usually already inside his apartment by this time, but hand-offs were always much safer once everyone but the janitorial staff had gone home. He left the light off but kept moving slowly forward, toward the little office at the back of the room where he knew Mr. Kettering, the cleaning crew supervisor, had his office. He had passed him 1 floor below, angrily mopping up an overflowed toilet, so he knew the office would be available. Before he had made it halfway across the room a figure stepped out of the darkness. Moonlight from a window somewhere cast faint shadows of light across his face. Tall and thin with a goatee. Arthur recognized him as Chambers, a member of the nursing staff, though his eyes remained obscured. This was the second exchange this month, which usually meant two things: demand was very high and he would be moving again very soon. They didn’t keep him in one place for long, especially with all the new government regulations and security. The fact that this was also Chambers’ second hand-off this month also did not bode well. It spoke of desperation. But Arthur simply did as he was told. “Hey man, you’ve lost some weight.” Chambers told him, his voice high and reedy but working at mellow charm despite their situation. Arthur nodded, removing the rolled up wads of cash he had placed inside the pockets of his pants and passing them to his accomplice. Chambers quickly stashed them and reached down to pick up a small metal briefcase sitting on the floor beside him. “Didn’t think Id see you again.” was all he could muster in the way of small talk.

     Chambers nodded gravely. “Vampire numbers are up. The people we work for are pretty desperate. Dunno how much longer we’ll be safe here though. Not with a haul like this. Even if we pay the right people off.” he answered, handing the briefcase to Arthur. “Take the exit at the back of the room, west alleyway. The guard there is sympathetic. I already gave him a taste.” Arthur nodded and began walking toward the door. Chambers’ voice stopped him. “Hey man, word is you used to be a cop. Had a wife and daughter. Why the hell are you doing this?” he asked, inquisitive but not demanding.

     Arthur turned slowly to face him. “Used to.” he responded, his voice heavy with the weight of those words. He didn’t wait to see a reaction. Within 5 seconds he was bolting through the exit and into the alleyway outside, passing the aforementioned armed security guard, who was pretending to be asleep, along the way. He nearly ran the 15 blocks home, clutching the cold, damp metal briefcase tight to his side, his breath coming fast and heavy as he moved. He HAD lost weight recently. A side effect of stress and worry and having a cigarette in place of many of his daily meals. But that didn't mean he was any less out of shape. He would have to work on that he thought to himself, finally crossing the threshold into his apartment and double locking the door behind him with a weary sigh of relief. He flicked the overhead light on and quickly put the entire briefcase into his freezer which had been emptied out and removed of shelving just for this purpose. The presence of ill gotten contraband somehow made the Texas Toast on the shelf above it seem all the more mundane. He closed the door and despite his better instincts sat down at the kitchen table and took out his Marlboros and lit one up, tilting his head back as he took a massive drag and expelled the anxiousness of the day along with the smoke in his lungs. His pulse was just starting to return to normal when his phone rang in his pocket. He didn't recognize the number, but he knew at this hour it couldn't be good news. "Yea?"

     "You're having company." a thick, heavily accented voice at the other end exclaimed.

     "When?" he asked, his heart beginning to race once again.

     "Early breakfast. Better stock up." the voice replied, afterward hanging up.

     Arthur snubbed his barely smoked Marlboro out in the ashtray on his kitchen table and tried to calmly ponder his options. But there was only one option, unless the people in charge told him to disappear, and he reasoned it was too crucial of a time for that to happen. He dialed the diner as he'd been told to do many times if this situation were to arise. Jerry answered almost instantly. He also knew the ramifications of a phone call at this hour. "I have to put something on ice. See you in 10." was all Arthur said before he hung up. Jerry knew the drill and would be ready when he arrived. Arthur quickly moved toward a little microwave beside his kitchen window, placing his phone inside of it and setting it for 2 minutes. As the little plate inside began to turn, he opened the drawer closest to the refrigerator where a number of other cell phones were lying amidst regular household clutter and pulled out the first one his fingers came upon. He removed the case from the freezer, bristling slightly as the harsh cold against his side raised goosebumps on his arms. He could just hear the sparks from the microwave behind him and smell the acrid scent of burning microchips as he stepped out into the hallway to begin his short journey.



     He made it to the diner in less than 8 minutes actually. Fear was great for record breaking. His brow was damp with sweat and he was panting uncontrollably as he approached The Tick Tock Diner with the case tucked under his arm. Full dark had just overtaken the city and the surrounding area was filled with shadows which did little to calm his nerves. He could see one lone light on in the back of the diner through the glass windows. His eyes darted about for signs of trouble as he knocked sternly on the front door. He heard a lock click and then Jerry opened the door. Normally a stout and jovial Italian man, now Jerry seemed haggard and terrified and appeared much smaller in the dim half-light. "When?"

     "Tomorrow morning." Arthur replied. "I'll pick it up as soon as they fuck off."

     "We can't keep doing this."

     Arthur nodded grimly. "Be careful going home."

     "Are you crazy? I'm staying here tonight. I don't trust the streets on my own." he said, slamming the door and locking it and disappearing once more into the darkness within the diner. Arthur waited a moment, then the little light inside went off as well and he turned ready to run back to his apartment. He could hear an animal mewling in anguish somewhere in the distance along with muffled traffic noises and random bursts of shouting. He started to run at top speed back in the direction of home but thought better of it as he was now a hyperventilating mess, so he slowed to a fast walk, trying to calm his nerves and his breathing as he moved. It was a crescent moon tonight so the streetlights should have been illuminating his journey mostly but the entire row on this side of the street had been smashed. He looked in all directions fervently as he moved. The street was empty except for him. Or so he thought. He was still about 2 blocks from his building when he felt something whoosh past his ear, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. A large shape flashed between him and his view of the moon and for a second he was enveloped in total darkness. Then he could see the sliver of the moon once more, but something had touched down on the ground about 10 feet in front of him with a loud clacking sound. He stopped short, recoiling, his shoulders raised defensively. The figure in front of him was crouching, and slowly began to stand. The clacking had been from her high heels, he saw now. Black stilettos. She finally came to a full stand about 2 inches over his head which made her easily six foot three. She was dressed in leather shorts and fishnets with a frilly black blouse. She'd probably been a dancer before everything went to shit if he had to guess. Her hair was candy apple red, and the darkness of  her outfit accentuated just how ethereal and unnatural her pallor had become. Her eyes were an unearthly yellow and feverish with hunger, though she seemed calm at first glance. And she was smiling. Not in a sexy sort of way, but in the way a lion might smile at a gazelle before delivering the fatal bite. He was about to speak when she slowly licked her lips, revealing the fangs behind them. She allowed her tongue to linger on one of them, her smile broadening as she did. She was toying with him.

     "Hi sweetie." she said in a voice both lilting and cracked with the weight of her condition. "Never seen you round here before."

     "You don't wanna do this." he told her firmly.

     "Oh but I really, really do."

     "I can see you're hungry but I'm FOU." was all he had time to say before she leapt up into the air and hung there momentarily, her arms outstretched, her mouth hanging open wide now, saliva dripping from the corner of her mouth as she imagined the sweet taste of his blood. She was still toying with him, taking the extra effort to suspend herself and prolong the attack, probably relishing the fear she expected to wash over his face, and the few seconds it took her to go through this dance was all he needed. He'd pulled out his gun from his jacket pocket and was aiming it directly for her heart. As soon as she noticed she gave up the dramatics and came hurtling toward him, her fangs leading the way toward the vein on his neck. He had time to get off one shot with a loud recall and the small projectile launched toward her. But she was fast, tilting her body so that the small wooden stake sliced through the flesh on her arm with a wet sound. But there was no blood, only 2 hanging flaps of pale skin. And then she was upon him, clutching the collar of his jacket. He tried to back up and get his gun arm raised again but her weight coming down on him made him lose his footing and he crashed down to the ground with a thud.

     She straddled him, a look of fury taking over her face as she kicked the gun out of his hand and hissed quietly. "What kind of weapon is that? Who the fuck are you?' He didn't have time to reply. A second shape emerged from the darkness to his left and collided with her, and then her weight had gone. The two figures slammed down onto the pavement about ten feet to his right. The woman stood up, and just in front of her was a tall, thin blonde-haired man with a goatee. "Fuck off. He's mine." she snarled. The blonde man simply shook his head. She went up on her heels like she was about to pounce on him, but her opponent was much faster. Before her feet could leave the ground of her own accord he had leapt past her, knocking her into the air. He shoved his fist down onto her chest and her body smacked against the pavement hard. Before she even had time to react fully, the blonde man raised his hand, revealing long and elegantly sharp nails on each finger. Arthur just had time to see her eyes register the realization of what was about to happen and then the blonde man lowered his hand with a thrust, piercing the flesh of her neck like dry offal. She let out a bone chilling wail of pain, and then the blonde man swiped his clawed hand across her neck from left to right, severing her head completely. The head was still in the last throes of a wail of agony as it rolled to the left and banged against a sewer grate. There was a few seconds pause where the head and the body seemed to shudder as one, and then her entire body began to crumble into ash amid the smell of burning skin, until all that was left was a dark and dusty skull minus the lower jaw, its sharp incisors gleaming in the moonlight. The blonde man kicked the skull fully into the sewer then turned his attention back to Arthur, still lying on the pavement trying to catch his breath. He picked up Arthur's gun and slowly walked toward him. By then he was on his feet again and the two exchanged knowing glances. Arthur's spoke of relief, the blonde man's spoke of consternation.

     He thrust the gun back into Arthur's outstretched hand. "You know it's not safe at this hour. Even for you. Too many newbies and too many factions right now."

     "Thanks Peter." he told the blonde man, his face relaxing finally. "I had to. Getting raided tomorrow."

     The sound of approaching cars made them both nervous. Peter nodded. "Better get back." And then with a rush of air past his face he was gone. Arthur swallowed deep and ran the final 2 blocks to his front door, only stopping to take a deep breath of relief once he was inside his apartment and locking the door behind him.



   
     He was already showered and dressed and seated at the kitchen table trying to appear like he was blithely eating his corn flakes when the pounding on his door came. It was rare that they didn't simply break down the door. Perhaps his former position on the force gave them pause. He unlocked the door and was pushed backwards as four men in full tactical gear, rifles raised and at the ready, walked through the door and began to fan out across the apartment looking for other residents. He just stood there passively as the fourth man took position a few feet in front of him and kept his rifle aimed at Arthur's head. He could feel Jefferson Baines' presence before he had even entered the room as his large jackbooted feet lumbered down the hallway. And then he stepped inside, giving Arthur a quick once over filled with disdain, afterward motioning to the still combat ready officer to his right to join the others in the search. "Join the search, Guitarrez. Mr. Allister won't be giving us any trouble. Will you, Arthur?" Having already discovered that Arthur was alone, the other officers began opening drawers and scattering the contents everywhere as they searched for contraband.

     "Bit of a shit gig for you, isn't it, Baines? Harassing a former cop?"

     Baines stepped forward slowly until his chin was merely inches away from Arthur's face. He was a large beefy black man with a protruding belly which did little to mask his ferocious temper and a Winnfield beard and mustache which, in more pleasant circumstances, might have made him resemble a lion and made the other person chuckle. But Arthur knew that impression was false. Baines had joined the force around the same time as he had, only he had floundered on a beat for years with one too many aggressive force charges until the Nightwalkers had slowly become a reality, and then people with just his sort of lawsuit waiting to happen attitude in the ranks became a commodity. Once the Undead Force had been formed, all it took was a few laws in his favor and Baines was soon riding high. A curfew here, a special powers act there, and plenty of stakes, which he kept in belt loops around his waist. They'd been streamlined from the old Hollywood movies so more of them could be carried with ease, much shorter and thinner but still deadly to a vampire with the right accuracy. Even his breath was imposing as he let out a sigh and it washed over Arthur in hot waves. "Former cop. Current terrorist?"

     "You've got nothin on me." was his reply, to which Baines nodded slowly, afterward pulling him from the room as the search and destruction of his things continued.




     The interrogation rooms hadn't changed much, though he'd never been on this side facing the two way glass before. He'd been in this little room with his hands cuffed behind his back and around the uncomfortable metal chair for several hours now. Baines had tried almost every trick in his arsenal already, but Arthur had long ago become adept at being on the opposite end of questioning. He was in pain, but in between Baines' fevered questions he was doing his best to meditate calmly, trying to keep his blood pressure normal. "How many times are we gonna go over this, Baines?"

     Baines offered a fake grin. "Until I hear the truth. Where were you last night from 8 pm on?"

     "In my aparttment."

     "Doing what?"

     "Smoking and watching tv it was a regular Mardi Gras."

     "What'd you watch on tv?"

     "Horror of Dracula." he replied, sending that stupid fake grin back in spades.

     Baines couldn't help but snicker. "Peter Cushing is kind of a hero of mine."

     Arthur's face turned serious once again. "Oh c'mon Omaha, you've looooong since surpassed his vampire killing record. I've heard about the nightly tallys."

     Baines bristled at the mention of his nickname on the street. He nodded a bit. "You never congratulated your fellow officer on how many arrests he made in one night?"

     "Those people lived." he short back firmly.

     Now he shook his head. "They died long before I got to em. I look at it as putting em outta their misery."

     "So you're a noble killer?" he asked, almost rhetorically.

     There was a pause while Baines shifted in his seat and pondered his next line of attack. He opened up a manila folder sitting on the table between them and started rifling through the contents examining everything. Arthur could see his picture on the first page. "You're the noble one apparently. Sixteen years on the force, worked your way up to Detective First Grade, very few complaints issued.....by all accounts a friend to everyone."

     "I don't really need to be here if you're just going to give a replay of my personal history, do I? It kinda got old the first time around." he snapped, trying to diffuse the moment with humor. But Baines wasn't having it.

     "Nice wife, nice kid."

     "Watch it." he said sharply, his eyes blue flecks of steel now staring his opponent down.

     Baines was noticeably chuffed that he had struck a chord. "All that hard work gone in an instant because of some drunk driver at an intersection and the fact that you forgot to do your seatbelt."

     Arthur gritted his teeth and fought back tears. "Broke my neck."

     "But you lived. Cathy and Kelly weren't so lucky. I heard the car went up like a tinderbox."

     Arthur paused a moment to fight back his emotions. When he did finally reply his voice was calm and authoritative again. "Fuck you."

     "So tell me something, Allister. What was it that made you break bad after all those years of being a dutiful servant of the law? Couldn't stand being alone? Saw no reason to fight the good fight anymore now that you had nothing left to fight for?"

     He sneered. "Better get back to practicing with those stakes. Psychology's not your bag."

     "Oh so it's just a coincidence that a sixteen year veteran of the force up and quits one day and takes a job at a blood bank."

     "I studied nursing for 2 years before I joined the force but I'm sure you already know that since you've got my entire life history in front of you there."

     "So it was just a going back to basics sort of thing, is that right? Fuck the years of service and the pension?"

     They stared at each other for a long uncomfortable moment. Both men knew the other was playing them, but neither was willing to concede. "Maybe I just realized that the good fight wasn't as good as I thought it was."

     "Now who's being noble?"

     Arthur shook his head. "Nope. Just a realist. I saw people in concentration camps in the modern day. All while the guy who put them in there sang a song on the evening news."

     Baines recoiled ever so slightly. That was a few years ago but he had recognized his mistake almost immediately that night after the news cameraman had thrust a microphone into his face and asked what would happen to the dozens of nightwalkers they had rounded up in a waterfront raid and taken to the holding camps. He had sung Another One Bites the Dust by Queen briefly with a big shit eating grin on his face and his superiors had chewed him out for it afterward. Public relations had never been his strong suit. But that had also served as a clarion call for the legitimacy of his special task force and gained them millions of followers on social media. It wasn't just a minority that wanted the undead wiped out by any means necessary. He shook his head again. "It's fuckin sad, man. You shit your whole career away and for what? A bleeding heart?"

     "At least I've still got one." he replied, his smile returning.

     "They've completely brainwashed you, Arthur."

     "Baines, you haven't got proof of anything. The only reason I'm still sitting here is because I haven't called in any favors."

     "Fine. Let me map this out for you." he took a deep breath then closed Arthur's file. "We know you were involved in the blood bank heist yesterday. We also know that you're FOU. We found several burner phones in your apartment and several destroyed ones in the garbage. We're watching you. So choose your next move carefully or there won't be a favor in the world that will save you."

     "Is that it?" Baines stood up, walked over to Arthur, bent lower and unlocked his handcuffs. Afterward, he motioned toward the door. Arthur was nursing his wrists as he exited the room and breathed a sigh of relief.




     Christopher Street was abuzz even though it was only just past 11 in the morning. But it was July and the city was alive with tourists who now made the most of every minute of daylight due to the curfew and the dangers at night. Arthur headed in the direction of the waterfront, content momentarily that he had dodged the unmarked police cruiser that had been following him as soon as he set foot out of the station. A few jumped turnstiles and hasty subway transfers was all it had taken. They obviously were more concerned with brute force and intimidation than sophistication in the department these days. If he was really honest with himself, he did sometimes miss the camaraderie of it. Riding with a partner, coffee after his shift with the guys. And the positive change he was able to make in his city, and the stroking that did to his ego. He tried not to think about the past very much. The weight of it was crushing. Far more encroaching than the banality of his existence at the blood bank. He found that he was fighting back tears again slightly. He stopped for a second, took a long, deep breath of the acrid summer air filled with a melange of engine fumes and barbecue grill smoke and calmed himself. Then he started walking again. A loud throng of shouting marchers were heading toward him. It was a Friends of the Undead march, a pretty common sight every weekend since the truth about the holding camps had gone viral. He enjoyed picking apart the crowd to get a sense of just who was protesting. Whether it be black, white, male, female, gay, or straight. But one of the fascinating things about this particular movement was just how diverse it really was. There were frumpy Caucasian housewives marching next to big burly black construction workers. For the first time he could remember in his lifetime, something had equalized every strata of the population. A pandemic was a funny thing. And that's what the politicians were calling the advent of vampirism into the world. Calling it that made it easier to declare that an end to it was a possibility. To them it was something to be wiped out. The small crowd of a hundred or so were marching uptown, being followed by both a group of counter protesters and a small cadre of officers. One little boy in the very front was holding a sign as high as he could manage. It read "Love All - Respect All". A man in the smaller crowd of counter protesters on the sidewalk beside him was shouting directly into his face and pushing a large wooden cross around his neck as close to the boy as he could. It was almost comical since crosses had proven not to work as a nightwalker repellent almost immediately and the boy wasn't one anyway since he was walking in the sunlight without a protective suit, but the Anti-Vampers, as the media had dubbed them, latched onto the Holy symbol for their movement anyway, as if it gave them some sort of moral superiority on the issue and validated shouting obscene things into the face of a little boy. Arthur despised the politicization of it all. The march steadily approached and Arthur was about to make a hasty retreat, unwilling to be seen by the police escorting the counter protesters, whether they knew of him or not. But then the group made a left onto Greenwich and he let out the breath he had been holding. He waited a few minutes until the people carrying up the rear had exited his line of sight, and then he resumed his walk. The diner was just a few blocks away now.

     He stepped through the door as the little bell attached to it tinkled, alerting all to his presence. Jerry was behind the counter talking to one of his waitresses. Arthur caught his attention for just a second, but it was enough. They both nodded and Jerry knew that shortly he would need to have the case ready. It was fairly empty at this time of day, but a few couples were chatting away in booths at the opposite end of the diner from where Arthur hastily headed. He sat down in the last booth as Darla approached. She looked a bit more tired than usual and her long auburn hair was tied up in a bun. "Hey Arthur. Usual?"

     "Yea thanks." She nodded and went off to get his breakfast order together. It was then that he noticed Ian and Carter seated at the counter, several stools apart, but still in the midst of what seemed to be an engrossing conversation. He often involved himself in their chats while he ate here. They were regulars, and the talk usually kept him grounded as he did very little of it at work anymore. Ian was the first to notice him. A middle aged man with a receding hairline and a proudly displayed yarmulke on his head, he was gregarious and often the more fierce debater of the two. But that was more likely because Carter was simply debating for argument's sake and didn't really give a shit about most topics one way or the other. He was a closet nihilist. Ian was dressed in his usual suit and tie and Carter, a tall, lanky black man with a thick, tight afro, in jeans and a Metallica tee shirt.

     "Art! How've you been?"

     Arthur shook his head. "I've had better days. how bout you guys?"

     "I'm good. The firm had it's busiest week ever. I'm going to have to start turning some people away."

     "Working on that Class Action suit for the life insurance companies?"

     Ian nodded. "They're trying to deny death benefits to the nightwalkers' families."

     "Well they are still breathing, aren't they?" Carter interjected, as always playing devil's advocate.

     "Technically, no. So the defense is having to define exactly what designates a human being as being alive. If it's simply the act of breathing...or having your heart beating, my clients have already won. But that disavows the presence of a soul. Of brain activity. Nightwalkers still think. They have cognitive reasoning. They know what's happening to them. Dead people don't normally do that."

     Arthur chuckled slightly. "You sound like you're working for the defense."

     "We're not in court, and I have my own opinions but I don't let it interfere with what the client wants."

     "So what are you opinions, really?" Arthur asked. Before the conversation could continue, Darla brought him a mug of hot coffee and a plate of bacon and eggs. He was ravenously eating before the next person could speak.

     Ian spun his stool all the way around to better face the other two men. "By strict definition, nightwalkers are dead. They don't breathe, bodily functions have ceased, they don't age anymore. Certainly, the life they had is gone."

     "So how can you fight against their families?" Carter asked, mock disdain in his tone. Ian took a thick wad of cash out of his suit pocket and thumbed through it, laughing afterward as he put the money back and Carter shook his head. "That's cold." he said, taking another bite from his buttered bagel.

     "Until I get my own firm, I can't afford to have a conscience."

     "Have you been watching the hearings?" Carter asked the other two.

     Ian and Arthur both nodded almost in unison, then Ian replied. "They've got a loooooong uphill battle there. It took my people hundreds of years just to get themselves decriminalized."

     "Are you talking about the gays or the Jews?" Carter shot back.

     Ian flashed his middle finger. "Fuck. You. And take your pick, either one of those things could have gotten you killed at numerous points in history."

     "Oh, I wouldn't know anything about that, would I?" Carter responded, half in humor but with a steeliness in his voice. "You could at least take your hat off and pretend you didn't sleep with guys. That didn't work so much for my people."

     Arthur spoke up. "Boys, your respective peoples have both been equally downtrodden. If anything, Ian has the leg up on this argument only because he's got 2 strikes against him in the equality bingo game."

     "I'm an atheist too, does that give me any points?" Carter jokingly asked. At that, all three men laughed and the tension was broken. "Seriously though, you think they'll make any headway?"

     "Speaking just from the point of view of a lawyer, it doesn't look good." He sipped his tea in between sentences. "Do you want them to?"

     Carter thought hard about his answer. "Dunno. A few of my friends from the old neighborhood have crossed over so to speak. I...haven't had contact with them. But I kinda want to. That's gotta be hard. They're taking the fugitive route right now. I wish they'd turn themselves in. At least then they could be registered and have the law somewhat on their side."

     "Oh yeah, turning yourself in and getting registered worked out so well for my people, didn't it?" Ian replied sarcastically.

     He shook his head "I just don't abide living in a police state forever."

     "At least you're not public enemy number one anymore as far as the police are concerned. You moved up a peg."

     "Hey, the way I see it, if shootings go down and I'm standing there, it don't matter who they're really aiming for."

     "No matter how we feel about the fact that nightwalkers are dead, there's no denying they're still here with us. That has to count for something, I guess. They've certainly answered one of the biggest mysteries in life. What happens after we die."

     Carter guffawed. "Yea, it just goes on and on like it did before till the end of fucking time. Or until the Vamp Squad puts a stake through your heart."

     "Maybe." Ian conceded, sipping his coffee slowly. "Nothing can happen more beautiful than death."

     "Whitman." Arthur replied, to which Ian nodded.

     "What do you think, Art?" Carter asked.

     Ian responded before he could. "Arthur used to be a police officer I would think his take would favor the night raids and the UF."

     "Why do you think he's not a police officer anymore?" Carter shot back.

     Arthur waved away the defense, finishing up his breakfast and pushing his plate aside. "It's a little more complicated than that."

     "You can't fool me." Carter said, smiling as he swallowed the last bite of his sesame bagel. "You still would have quit the force even if that accident hadn't happened. I heard your daughter crying about the nightwalkers at breakfast that time." Arthur bristled at the memory. He'd almost forgotten that Carter had held numerous conversations with his family in this very diner before his world had come crashing down on him. "But she wasn't crying because she was afraid of them. She was crying because she felt sorry for them."

     Arthur sighed, standing up and placing a twenty on the counter before responding. "Doesn't matter much either way now, does it?"

     "Hey Art, I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to..."

     He nodded. "I know. It's still hard, though. Take it easy, guys. I gotta go have a word with Jerry but I'll see you around." he said, walking toward the main counter where Jerry was now wiping the surface. As Arthur approached, Jerry motioned for him to follow him into the back, so he did, leading him down a stairwell to the basement, a dark, dingy area with supplies stacked up all around them. Jerry opened a small freezer and pulled out the metal case. Arthur took it, relief washing over his face. "Thanks."

     Jerry merely nodded, motioning toward an open set of cellar doors at the top of a stairwell on the far side of the room from where they had entered. He could see daylight through it. "Take the back exit. Stay safe." His voice belied the confidence he had hoped to convey. But Arthur knew the score. A little worry was certainly not uncalled for. He was through the doorway in seconds, and heading down the alley toward the back entrance of his apartment building several blocks away.





     It was muggy in his apartment in the haze of the early evening July heat, even with ceiling fans running at top speed in every room. He had checked the street down below his apartment window numerous times now, trying to assess just how closely he was being watched and exactly how a hand off might take place. They were either surveilling him from quite a distance away or giving him some space to lull him into a false sense of security. He had seen no one who set off his suspicions yet. But he was too battle hardened to believe that they weren't really there. He'd been at this for a long time now, and he knew how the game was played. He was getting restless waiting for the other shoe to drop though. He let the blinds fall back into place and turned around, queuing up a record on the turntable. After a few seconds of needle scratches, Saint-Saens filled the living room from the portable speaker on top of the bookshelf. He sat down and was just beginning to close his eyes from exhaustion when a loud bang rang out from several blocks away, followed by screeching tires and gunshots, distant but still frighteningly loud. He ran to the window just in time to see several undercover cars speed past from wherever they'd been parked out of his line of sight. Then there was a quiet knock on his apartment door. He grinned, letting the blinds fall back into place as he walked toward the door and opened it. Amaya was standing there, resplendent in a blue Summer dress, her nails painted blue to match. Over six feet tall, black, and with long hair in cornrows down past her shoulders, she was striking to say the least. The only thing that might give away the fact that she had long ago ceased living were her eyes. Nightwalkers' pupils remained dilated after death. "Hey Amaya. I'm compromised."

     She nodded, stepping inside once he motioned for her to enter. "They know. We're working on something. Keep your phone on."

     He closed the door and quickly retrieved the metal case from his freezer, handing it to her. "Guess you got rid of Baines?"

     She couldn't help but smile, despite the fact that he had assassinated countless friends of hers. "We just gave him something more exciting to occupy his time for a little while."

     He couldn't help but betray his calm exterior as he replied, his voice cracking slightly at the thought of having to go underground and relocate. "Do you know how this will work? I won't be able to work at a blood bank anymore"

     She slowly shook her head, offering him as comforting a look as she could muster. "That's above my pay grade. But there are other ways to help. Try not to worry." He chuckled nervously, prompting her to reach up and caress the side of his face softly. Her touch was cold but still calmed him immensely. "You know that you're making her proud, right?"

     He gritted his teeth and fought back tears for a second, then nodded. She nodded as well, turning and exiting the apartment with the metal case in her hand. He locked the door behind her and then moved back toward the window, peeking through the blinds at the quiet street corner down below. With curfew in effect there was no activity, so his eyes immediately landed on the petite little blonde girl standing under the streetlamp on the corner looking up at him forlornly. She was wearing a pretty white sundress and her hair was up in a ponytail. She hadn't aged a day since he had seen her last, which felt like a lifetime ago. There was unmistakably love in her eyes as her gaze met her father's, and she smiled slightly despite the fact that Arthur's face was ashen with the weight of the moment. They stared at each other for an almost electric moment, then Kelly nodded and turned, walking off into the darkness where Cathy would undoubtedly be waiting for her. Arthur stayed in the window for a while, hoping he might get another look at her despite knowing that they were no doubt already halfway across the city. One lone tear stole its way down his cheek. "Death ends a life, not a relationship." he quoted, afterward his face returning to its haunted visage as he let the blinds fall back into place.



THE END

     

2 comments:

  1. An intense story with a relatable main character! 👍👍

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    1. Thanks John! I really appreciate your opinion :)

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