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It would probably be next to impossible for someone to identify with the sensation of a baseball bat smashing full-force against the back of your head. The most obvious reason being that if any mortal receives the thwack that I just did, it would be lights out—probably forever. At the very least, you would never recover to the point where you could say, “Man, that shit hurt!”
For me the sound is a dull eight-hundred-pound thud followed by the fizz of a champagne bottle after the cork pops. Or the static on the TV when you disconnect the cable. Being that I am already dead, my reaction is more like, “What the fuck!” while my wits are chased down by a centerfielder on the warning track. Yes, good old Nicky is still taking his lumps trying to be the good guy. You know, the good guy that also devours humans for survival.
At my insistence, Dominic’s been calling every night so I can meet up with him to track Simone. I’m not comfortable letting him hunt by himself. Over the daytime, I have no control over Dominic no matter how much I try to discourage him. And that’s when he runs the risk of exposing himself to a Renfield.
“What do you mean, Renfield,” he asked. “You mean like that guy in Dracula?”
“That’s exactly what I mean, Dominic, the guy from Dracula.”
Like the Count, many of us use our mind control to employ Renfields to guard our coffins during the daylight. Many misinterpret the fictional Renfield as a character driven by loyalty. That’s bullshit! The reason he protected old Vlad at all costs is because his mind was completely fucked by the Count. That’s why they all wind up with permanent brain damage. And while Dominic might be armed with his NYPD Glock 22, if he gets caught off guard by a Renfield, he’s as good as dead. Those loons are programmed to kill.
I’ve been staying at Travis’ apartment because it takes some time off my commute to New York. Also, I honestly don’t feel right leaving him alone with Donny gone. And though there isn’t a chance in hell you’d ever get him to admit it, I think my being here actually brings Travis some comfort. The guy is completely broken. He can use a friend. These days, he can’t even focus on trying to find Simone, especially since we’ve been starving ourselves to prevent her from sensing us. Me, I still have some reserve left from my last helping at the hospital. Travis, on the other hand, probably isn’t in the best shape right now to face any sneak attacks.
I asked him if he wanted to join us tonight but he declined the same way he has every night since he lost Donny—by saying nothing. He just sits on the couch staring at the walls of his apartment, going through his database of memories. And that’s all that he has. When you’re dead there are no photos, videos, Facebook profiles, nothing. Memories are all Travis will have to remind himself of the times they had together. And he will be lost in them for quite a while.
In the meantime, there’s a red-haired beast that needs to be slayed. For the past few weeks, Dominic and I have been focusing our efforts in the Long Island area where the Goth teens lived. We’ve broken into foreclosed homes, abandoned businesses, closed-down factories and other dark safe places where our nemesis might be hiding her coffin. Dominic felt her presence a couple of times over those nights but it was always from a distance. That allows plenty of time for her to be somewhere else by the time we arrive.
Dominic’s determination to find Simone is taking its toll. Lack of sleep, combined with the venom that has penetrated his veins, has his face looking pale and gaunt despite his pudginess. But knowing him, he’s never going to stop. Dominic thinks he has some kind of super-detective adrenaline that can get him through anything. Truthfully, the worst thing that can happen is that he finds her. He’s no match for the demoness that made me what I am. He’s just a 280-pound happy meal waiting to happen.
The current fucked-up economy adds to our workload by giving birth to an endless stream of boarded-up businesses, homes and factories—places where a nomad predator can crash during the day. It makes Simone a considerable needle in New York’s urban and suburban haystacks. A short while ago at one of the less desirable neighborhoods in Nassau County, Dominic and I approached another of the dozens of foreclosed homes that we’ve combed through. This one had boarded windows with cock, pussy and other examples of eloquence spray-painted over them. There was also a collapsed wire fence that suggested some driver had one too many and made a left when he should have made a right.
I stepped over the fence lying on the unkempt grass and grabbed the corner of a plywood board with the intellectual scrawling, easily prying it from the front window.
While I placed the board on the grass, leaning against the house, Dominic tried to raise the window. “It’s locked from the inside,” he said.
“Let me try.”
“It’s no use,” he insisted. “It’s locked. Just smash the window.”
Dominic scowled as I raised the window with minimal effort. It just needed a little undead oomph.
I stuck my head in to peep into the dark room. To the left there were no signs of life, nor any of the undead. But, like the car that took down the fence surrounding the house, I should have looked right.
The thunderous force of the baseball bat crashed against the back of my head, driving me face first on to the house’s wooden floor. Hairline fracture. Again my skull has been breached, the fucker made perfect contact. Not expecting anyone that took such a wallop to remain conscious, the assailant with the Louisville Slugger was taken by surprise when the intruder leapt up and grabbed him by the throat.
Dominic swiftly pulled out his gun and shone his flashlight through the window. “Police!” Two screams wailed out from the far corner of the room, drawing the beam from Dominic’s light.
Sitting on the floor, huddled against the wall was a trembling, young mother with a frightened little girl in her arms. Dominic shone the light back on the man with the bat, who was gasping for air under my grip. I set the man down. He was not a Renfield, just a dad. A dad doing what a dad does, protecting his family.
No further words were spoken. The only sound was that of the terrified girl sobbing in her mother’s arms. I stepped aside and let the man walk over to his family to calm them. After he joined them, they looked back at the freak that was somehow still standing after taking that blow. They were squatters. People are going through difficult times these days. And through these difficult times, that little girl needs to know that she is safe under the watch of her father. He did what he was supposed to do. He protected his family. I did what I was supposed to do. I walked away. Daddy defeated the monster. They are now safe. Even with my head being smashed nearly open, my feeding from the hospital the other night is enough to keep my senses intact—no chance of a close call again like the other night at Rego Park with the young mother and her baby. I still don’t know what the fuck that was all about. It’s like I find new shit out about myself every night.
Dominic curses in frustration as I climb back out into the yard. He probably doesn’t even give a shit that my head was just used as a piñata and that I have a few choice words of my own.
His cell phone vibrates in his pocket. Dominic pulls it and reads the caller ID. It’s Jessie. His eyes meet mine. We’re thinking the same thing.
Dominic answers. “Jess?”
“Uncle Dom?” There’s heartache in my daughter’s voice. I can sense the tears streaming down her face.
I don’t need to hear anything more. Everything my little girl is saying can be made out from the film of tears welling up in Dominic’s eyes. His voice cracks. “I’ll be right there, honey.” He places his cell back in his coat pocket.
Los Ruidos emerge. “I’m going with you.”
The tears flow liberally from Dominic’s reddened eyes. “You can’t.”
“Dominic, she’s my wife! I have a right.”
“Right? You have a right? Mira, este hijo de puta! What right do you have? You’re dead! You don’t have any rights! You don’t belong here! Don’t you understand that? You’re dead!” With revulsion, his eyes dissect the apparition that is me.
Do I understand?
Yes, Dominic, I do understand.
If you only knew how much I really do understand.