Nightfall -- Episode XX
After I've woken up a bit more, I'll do my screed about plotting. For now, back to Nightfall.
-55-
(breathe)
My vision swims briefly then sharpens--clear. Too clear. It’s like I can see every pore on his face--each one large enough to fall into--and each tiny hair on his arms--which wave like a small forest under the breath of a dragon--as the colored lights flash overhead and the clanging of dozens of winning klaxons rip through my ears.
(breathe)
Across from us, a casino dealer smiles as he pays out from the house funds. His eyes are silver, his fangs gleaming under a sudden strobe.
(breathe breathe damnit)
My teeth are chattering. Fingers clutch at the edge of the slot machine behind me for balance. My tongue is huge, stuck to the roof my mouth, moving--
(Tesla breathe breathe for me please)
His arms are around me and I’m melting into him, turning to look at the dealer but he’s only a casino dealer now, not a vampire at all, but just a man. I suck in a great gasp of air, turn to look up at Johnny--
(what the)
--and I blink twice. During the first
(hell)
glance, I see him as he always appears; Johnny, my knight in shining armor. But as I
(blink)
look at him, a pair ice-blue eyes stare down at me. Death’s eyes.
(blink)
And then, the vision is gone.
-56-
“I’m sorry, Tesla. I didn’t mean to startle you like that.”
“Startle is not the word I’d exactly use,” I answer. “Startle implies my heart rate was normal a few minutes later.”
True words. Half an hour later, even with three Cape Cods in my system and a cold washcloth on my forehead, I’m dizzy every time I sit up. That’s why I’m lying on the bed and Johnny is sitting at the foot of it drinking a can of Heineken and watching me with a careful expression. The drinks weren’t really necessary to restore my equilibrium--in fact, they make me feel as though I’ll throw up--but I remember Roxanna’s words of what seems to be decades ago and had grimly drunk them down despite my stomach’s protests.
Another thing is alcohol; for whatever reason, it's something that works really well at blocking them out.
At the time, I had thought the them she referred to had been the thoughts of others. That was partially correct; I couldn’t begin to count the number of times the quick beer I’d had on my lunch break at the motorcycle garage had turned to four or five slugs of whiskey followed by a beer an hour for the rest of my shift. In the morning, very few people came through. Afternoons were worse. I couldn’t have made it through the day if I’d constantly been hearing the thoughts of middle-aged bankers who were morally sure I was going to overcharge them on repairs... or the tough bikers who raped me in their minds. After a few drinks, I could even bear the Hell’s Angels wanna-be’s and their hot eyes crawling over my patched and stained jumper.
Occasionally, I had wondered what if it wasn’t just our family? What if there were x-factors out there who heard just as well as I do what most people would have murdered to keep hidden?
No more wondering. Here it is; one of them.
“You’re not an alien or anything, are you?” I ask only half-jokingly. “Because if you are, it would go a long way toward--“
But Johnny laughs, cutting me off. “That’s what I love about you, Tesla. You’re never down for very long. I realize this isn’t exactly the way the way you wanted to find out about this--it’s not the way I’d envisioned telling you, either--but down there... well, I had to say something. I’d never felt your thoughts like that, and as this episode proves, I’m only human. I reacted. Sorry about that.”
He stands, rooting in his pocket for a cigarette. “The thing is, that’s why I talked to you at the bar all those months ago. I could feel your thoughts, and I knew you were a good person. I think you know how many bad ones are out there, who hide fangs behind a smile, so I... I’ve learned to be cautious. The same way you have.” He lights the cigarette and inhales deeply, blowing bluish-gray rings toward the ceiling, where they diffuse and become lost against the strange washed-out paint.
“It’s not caution.” I sit up despite the pain in my gut, now interested. “It’s that old line from that Bruce Springsteen song; ‘End up like a dog that’s been beat too much/until you spend half your life just covering up.’ I didn’t even try for the longest time, except--“
The nights of the year after Roxanna died blur through my mind and I know the alcohol hasn’t stopped his seeing at least part of them. Most of them, most likely. If his face falls by the slightest degree in response, I cannot detect it.
“At any rate,” he continues without a pause, “the past, as they say, is the past. And the only thing humans have is the present and the future, right?”
“But I don’t have a--“
“No!” His eyes snap furiously as the beer can crunches slightly in his hand. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever fucking say that again. You’re not going to go out like that, Tesla Marie Radulovich. You’re not going out like a sheep into the night. Not if I have a goddamn thing to say about it. You’ll never--“
And then I am kissing him, pulling him down to me, his words mixing in my ears with Roxanna’s on that night long ago. I’ve lost one, but I will not lose another. The kiss becomes a swoon and as our arms tighten around each other, I feel his mind burrowing into mine and melding there. It is delicious; warmth on every side and
(love love love)
(yes)
-57-
“Tesla?”
“Yes?”
“This room is costing a lot of money, isn’t it?”
“You’re very observant. Don’t worry, it’s--“
“No, it’s just that it seems like a waste. I mean, to have this beautiful room and then go out and sit in casinos and smoke. We can do that just as well here, can’t we?”
And we do. For the next four days, we do not leave the room. The hastily-bought groceries tide us over, as do the alcohol and cigarettes. We... make love. I can say those words now without laughing or crying; we made love. There is a difference, you know, and I think that during those nights--what I now think of as the final nights--we were the lucky ones who discovered what it can be like.
Have you ever done that? Honestly, have you? To hold somebody next to you and feel the heartbeat throughout their entire body next to yours, as--
I’m sorry. I always think that talking about it will make the pain go away, but it doesn’t.
For those few days, I can almost believe in a kindly God again. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
Of course, it ended. All things do, both good and bad.
You didn’t know that?
Believe me, I do.
-58-
Reality intrudes at the worst possible times; I’ve noticed that over and over again throughout the years. Perhaps Cameron was correct when he told me one drunken night: “Reality? Hey, it’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”
My balloon bursts on the morning of the fifth day. The water is running in the bathroom as Johnny showers and I lie in bed, watching Wheel Of Fortune on the cable box. We get over one hundred and twenty channels in this room, something I had questioned Johnny about when reading the summary of features of the Niagara Suite. He’d shrugged and said that perhaps some people were less adventurous concerning the night life than others. This many channels were possibly needed for some to have a good time while on vacation, even given the plush features of the Niagara Suite. Therefore, even at 9:08 p.m. on Saturday night, there is an episode of Wheel Of Fortune to be found.
Then it happens.
It has been there the entire time, waiting, and since I expected it to come sooner or later I do not cry as the renewed knowledge comes back to me like a black tide. For all my defiance and verve, despite my new lust for life, I am going to die. I am going to die. Mansfield said more to me after my preliminary diagnosis. Much more. I have been able to hide it from Johnny thus far by hiding it in the back of my mind much the same way I did with Roxanna’s death, and the irony is not lost on me. Far from it, in fact.
Remote control in hand, I get up and lie on my stomach facing the television, my head at the foot of the bed. I stare at the television until it seems as if I can--
“I know,” Johnny says quietly from behind me. “I tried, but... you still feel it, don’t you? Yes. It's right there in the front of your mind, pressing on you. It feels like it’s become your entire universe, doesn’t it? The black is everywhere.”
I nod, not turning around, head bowed. “If you really heard me, then you know it is.”
“All right, then. This is what we do; tonight, we go down together.”
Now I look at him. Above the white bathrobe he wears, his face is set. “What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? You think your life is terrible, don’t you? Yes? Poor, miserable Tesla.” His voice has venom to it. “Let me tell you something; it could be worse. It could be a lot worse.”
“Things can always be worse,” I respond. Though it tries to be one, it is not a joke.
“Yes, they can be. So this is what we do; tonight, we palaver. It’s an Arab tradition. We drink, we eat, we smoke, and we share stories. Only tonight, it’s a dark palaver. Tonight, we’re going to give the black its due.
"You ever heard of this old television show called Queen For A Day? Wonderful, wonderful concept. They’d get three housewives up on stage, and each of them would compare stories about how awful their lives were. Little Tommy needing money for his school lunch so she had to sell her diamond ring from her dead husband, fighting off rats in the basement when going down to can fruits, that sort of thing. The winner got a refrigerator, provided they had electricity in their house. Great show."
He walks over to the edge of the room, looking out over the nightlife of the city.
“Tonight, we're playing Queen For A Day. Tonight, we tempt the dark by paying homage to it. We’ve had our holiday in the sun, and now it’s...” he cocks his head to one side, then shrugs. “Like pulling teeth. We’re going to do a root canal in the finest oral tradition. If you're bound and determined to stay in the dark, then let's throw some light on it so we can see what it really looks like. You game? Two apiece sounds fair; they can be about you, or about someone you know. Actually, I think it would work better if it was both. If you’re willing, I’ll go first.”
Somehow, it makes sense and I nod, already preparing my story. Like I said, the world is a crazy place.
-55-
(breathe)
My vision swims briefly then sharpens--clear. Too clear. It’s like I can see every pore on his face--each one large enough to fall into--and each tiny hair on his arms--which wave like a small forest under the breath of a dragon--as the colored lights flash overhead and the clanging of dozens of winning klaxons rip through my ears.
(breathe)
Across from us, a casino dealer smiles as he pays out from the house funds. His eyes are silver, his fangs gleaming under a sudden strobe.
(breathe breathe damnit)
My teeth are chattering. Fingers clutch at the edge of the slot machine behind me for balance. My tongue is huge, stuck to the roof my mouth, moving--
(Tesla breathe breathe for me please)
His arms are around me and I’m melting into him, turning to look at the dealer but he’s only a casino dealer now, not a vampire at all, but just a man. I suck in a great gasp of air, turn to look up at Johnny--
(what the)
--and I blink twice. During the first
(hell)
glance, I see him as he always appears; Johnny, my knight in shining armor. But as I
(blink)
look at him, a pair ice-blue eyes stare down at me. Death’s eyes.
(blink)
And then, the vision is gone.
-56-
“I’m sorry, Tesla. I didn’t mean to startle you like that.”
“Startle is not the word I’d exactly use,” I answer. “Startle implies my heart rate was normal a few minutes later.”
True words. Half an hour later, even with three Cape Cods in my system and a cold washcloth on my forehead, I’m dizzy every time I sit up. That’s why I’m lying on the bed and Johnny is sitting at the foot of it drinking a can of Heineken and watching me with a careful expression. The drinks weren’t really necessary to restore my equilibrium--in fact, they make me feel as though I’ll throw up--but I remember Roxanna’s words of what seems to be decades ago and had grimly drunk them down despite my stomach’s protests.
Another thing is alcohol; for whatever reason, it's something that works really well at blocking them out.
At the time, I had thought the them she referred to had been the thoughts of others. That was partially correct; I couldn’t begin to count the number of times the quick beer I’d had on my lunch break at the motorcycle garage had turned to four or five slugs of whiskey followed by a beer an hour for the rest of my shift. In the morning, very few people came through. Afternoons were worse. I couldn’t have made it through the day if I’d constantly been hearing the thoughts of middle-aged bankers who were morally sure I was going to overcharge them on repairs... or the tough bikers who raped me in their minds. After a few drinks, I could even bear the Hell’s Angels wanna-be’s and their hot eyes crawling over my patched and stained jumper.
Occasionally, I had wondered what if it wasn’t just our family? What if there were x-factors out there who heard just as well as I do what most people would have murdered to keep hidden?
No more wondering. Here it is; one of them.
“You’re not an alien or anything, are you?” I ask only half-jokingly. “Because if you are, it would go a long way toward--“
But Johnny laughs, cutting me off. “That’s what I love about you, Tesla. You’re never down for very long. I realize this isn’t exactly the way the way you wanted to find out about this--it’s not the way I’d envisioned telling you, either--but down there... well, I had to say something. I’d never felt your thoughts like that, and as this episode proves, I’m only human. I reacted. Sorry about that.”
He stands, rooting in his pocket for a cigarette. “The thing is, that’s why I talked to you at the bar all those months ago. I could feel your thoughts, and I knew you were a good person. I think you know how many bad ones are out there, who hide fangs behind a smile, so I... I’ve learned to be cautious. The same way you have.” He lights the cigarette and inhales deeply, blowing bluish-gray rings toward the ceiling, where they diffuse and become lost against the strange washed-out paint.
“It’s not caution.” I sit up despite the pain in my gut, now interested. “It’s that old line from that Bruce Springsteen song; ‘End up like a dog that’s been beat too much/until you spend half your life just covering up.’ I didn’t even try for the longest time, except--“
The nights of the year after Roxanna died blur through my mind and I know the alcohol hasn’t stopped his seeing at least part of them. Most of them, most likely. If his face falls by the slightest degree in response, I cannot detect it.
“At any rate,” he continues without a pause, “the past, as they say, is the past. And the only thing humans have is the present and the future, right?”
“But I don’t have a--“
“No!” His eyes snap furiously as the beer can crunches slightly in his hand. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever fucking say that again. You’re not going to go out like that, Tesla Marie Radulovich. You’re not going out like a sheep into the night. Not if I have a goddamn thing to say about it. You’ll never--“
And then I am kissing him, pulling him down to me, his words mixing in my ears with Roxanna’s on that night long ago. I’ve lost one, but I will not lose another. The kiss becomes a swoon and as our arms tighten around each other, I feel his mind burrowing into mine and melding there. It is delicious; warmth on every side and
(love love love)
(yes)
-57-
“Tesla?”
“Yes?”
“This room is costing a lot of money, isn’t it?”
“You’re very observant. Don’t worry, it’s--“
“No, it’s just that it seems like a waste. I mean, to have this beautiful room and then go out and sit in casinos and smoke. We can do that just as well here, can’t we?”
And we do. For the next four days, we do not leave the room. The hastily-bought groceries tide us over, as do the alcohol and cigarettes. We... make love. I can say those words now without laughing or crying; we made love. There is a difference, you know, and I think that during those nights--what I now think of as the final nights--we were the lucky ones who discovered what it can be like.
Have you ever done that? Honestly, have you? To hold somebody next to you and feel the heartbeat throughout their entire body next to yours, as--
I’m sorry. I always think that talking about it will make the pain go away, but it doesn’t.
For those few days, I can almost believe in a kindly God again. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.
Of course, it ended. All things do, both good and bad.
You didn’t know that?
Believe me, I do.
-58-
Reality intrudes at the worst possible times; I’ve noticed that over and over again throughout the years. Perhaps Cameron was correct when he told me one drunken night: “Reality? Hey, it’s a nice place to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live there.”
My balloon bursts on the morning of the fifth day. The water is running in the bathroom as Johnny showers and I lie in bed, watching Wheel Of Fortune on the cable box. We get over one hundred and twenty channels in this room, something I had questioned Johnny about when reading the summary of features of the Niagara Suite. He’d shrugged and said that perhaps some people were less adventurous concerning the night life than others. This many channels were possibly needed for some to have a good time while on vacation, even given the plush features of the Niagara Suite. Therefore, even at 9:08 p.m. on Saturday night, there is an episode of Wheel Of Fortune to be found.
Then it happens.
It has been there the entire time, waiting, and since I expected it to come sooner or later I do not cry as the renewed knowledge comes back to me like a black tide. For all my defiance and verve, despite my new lust for life, I am going to die. I am going to die. Mansfield said more to me after my preliminary diagnosis. Much more. I have been able to hide it from Johnny thus far by hiding it in the back of my mind much the same way I did with Roxanna’s death, and the irony is not lost on me. Far from it, in fact.
Remote control in hand, I get up and lie on my stomach facing the television, my head at the foot of the bed. I stare at the television until it seems as if I can--
“I know,” Johnny says quietly from behind me. “I tried, but... you still feel it, don’t you? Yes. It's right there in the front of your mind, pressing on you. It feels like it’s become your entire universe, doesn’t it? The black is everywhere.”
I nod, not turning around, head bowed. “If you really heard me, then you know it is.”
“All right, then. This is what we do; tonight, we go down together.”
Now I look at him. Above the white bathrobe he wears, his face is set. “What do you mean?”
“What do I mean? You think your life is terrible, don’t you? Yes? Poor, miserable Tesla.” His voice has venom to it. “Let me tell you something; it could be worse. It could be a lot worse.”
“Things can always be worse,” I respond. Though it tries to be one, it is not a joke.
“Yes, they can be. So this is what we do; tonight, we palaver. It’s an Arab tradition. We drink, we eat, we smoke, and we share stories. Only tonight, it’s a dark palaver. Tonight, we’re going to give the black its due.
"You ever heard of this old television show called Queen For A Day? Wonderful, wonderful concept. They’d get three housewives up on stage, and each of them would compare stories about how awful their lives were. Little Tommy needing money for his school lunch so she had to sell her diamond ring from her dead husband, fighting off rats in the basement when going down to can fruits, that sort of thing. The winner got a refrigerator, provided they had electricity in their house. Great show."
He walks over to the edge of the room, looking out over the nightlife of the city.
“Tonight, we're playing Queen For A Day. Tonight, we tempt the dark by paying homage to it. We’ve had our holiday in the sun, and now it’s...” he cocks his head to one side, then shrugs. “Like pulling teeth. We’re going to do a root canal in the finest oral tradition. If you're bound and determined to stay in the dark, then let's throw some light on it so we can see what it really looks like. You game? Two apiece sounds fair; they can be about you, or about someone you know. Actually, I think it would work better if it was both. If you’re willing, I’ll go first.”
Somehow, it makes sense and I nod, already preparing my story. Like I said, the world is a crazy place.