Night Child

Copyright by C. E. A. Hazlewood 1995.


1

The rational light of day wanes across the big city, and unnoticed, an army of phantoms whispering secrets that could drive one mad, occupys the purple dark. Through the night men and women scrub and polish the shiny towers. In shadowed corners, people fight and struggle to love and stay alive. And from a distance one hears the faint popping noises which announce another death; more blood to anoint the grimy streets. It mixes with the constant garbage: dust, oil, piss, dog shit, and cigarette butts, as though a casual offering to some strange, demented god. No matter, perhaps things will appear different come morning light.

********

At several hours before daybreak, the IRT No. 2 subway train roared its way into a tunnel beneath the East River rattling the five occupants of its last car. Nelson Pressman was headed from Brooklyn to his job as a night clerk at Harlem Hospital. A large man, his intimidating presence was in direct contrast to his gentle nature. That tough look had helped him maneuver safely through some of the city's roughest neighborhoods. Muggers would think twice before approaching the big man in his travels through the dangerous night.

He raised his wrist to squint at the gold Rolex which was like a warm glow against his cool black skin. It said two thirty. Shifting in his seat he glanced at the four other occupants of the car. A woman he sees on the train almost every night on his way to work was sitting diagonally across from him. They've nodded casual greetings to each other, but never really had a conversation. That's a damn shame, he thought, as he chuckled quietly. She's a really good looking lady. Nelson noticed her white uniform, crisp and clean, and how the slick white stockings clung smoothly to her shapely calves. He figured maybe she worked for a hospital too. A nurse, perhaps. He kept sneaking sly looks at her. Yup, Nelson thought, a very pretty lady, a bit on the plump side. But he liked 'em plump. Tonight her hair, glossy, like black feathers, fell loose over her shoulders; and even the sickly subway light couldn't distort the creamy delightfulness of her butterscotch skin. He wondered what it would be like to touch it, to taste it. He sighed. Oh well, it's two thirty in the mornin' what better time to fantasize--besides, it helped keep him awake.

An abrupt volley of harsh snorts emitted by a man sleeping in a far corner at the opposite end of the subway car briefly distracted Nelson. The man was so dirty it was hard to tell from a distance if he was black or white, old or young. Poor guy was probably homeless. More likely, just drunk. And it was cold tonight too. Why can't they do something to help these people?

At the stop in Brooklyn Heights, a distinguished, worried looking man had come on. Nelson figured he might be some kind of executive, maybe a bank president. But the guy was so nervous, he obviously was not accustomed to riding the subway -at least not at this time of night. Must be some really big emergency that forced him to travel like the rest of us, Nelson thought. Maybe his chauffeur is on strike. Nelson smiled at his own small joke. The man ran his fingers anxiously through his silver sideburns, blue eyes darting all around. He stood up once and peered at the subway map near the door, turned back around, straightened his charcoal grey overcoat, and sat down again. He looked at the big black man to his left, and shifted a seat over in the opposite direction.

Nelson's smile faded as he observed the last occupant of the car sitting right across from him. Something about the boy. . . he peered closer, yes it was a boy, not a grown person. . . unnerved him. For one thing, he couldn't understand how any parent could let a child run around all hours of the day and night. He couldn't imagine allowing his own two teenage boys out the house by themselves after ten at night, much less at two in the morning. Was this boy in trouble? Should he say something? Naw, this was New York, people get killed here all the time for not minding their own business. But he couldn't help trying to make out the face hidden within the shadows of the thick, black, hooded jacket. All Nelson could see was part of a mouth and chin. The boy kept his hands pressed deep into his pockets. And he was extraordinarily still. Damn, how old was this kid? Twelve? thirteen? He felt drawn to the boy. There was something naggingly familiar about him. The way he sat, his posture. Something. Nelson had just decided to try talking to the kid when the train clattered more than usual, and with a high metallic scream it shuddered to an abrupt halt in the tunnel between Brooklyn and Manhattan. The lights blinked out for a second, then came back on. For a moment, everyone exchanged startled glances, excepting, of course, the sleeping old man, and the kid, who remained immobile.

Once again Nelson opened his mouth, about to speak when near him the door leading from the adjoining car slammed open. Four noisy youths piled their way into the car and stood there for a while bunched together. Three were tall, muscular young men, probably in their late teens, all black--plus a younger, freckled- faced white kid. Like his pals, a generous amount of his Calvin Klein undershorts showed above the baggy bluejeans he wore way down his behind. One of the young men held a small 'Ghetto Blaster' turned up to maximum. Nelson recognized above the rhythmic noise, the mournful voice of the rapper, Snoop Doggy Dogg. A stupid name, but his own kids liked that stuff. The boys sang along loudly to the music, banging on the walls as the white teen, a small mousey guy compared to his vivid companions, pulled a huge felt marker from his pocket and began making graffiti scrawls on the already scarred train walls.

Nelson tensed. He could usually sense when teenagers were just being rambunctious, or if there was going to be trouble. His heart beat a bit faster. Oh yeah, there definitely was gonna be real trouble tonight. He thought of his gold watch, an anniversary present from his late wife. He was sorry he wore it, but his cheap everyday one was broken. Nelson glanced at the other people. They were wearing their disengaged New York look, trying to act as if nothing was going on that concerned them, hoping they weren't about to face real trouble, praying the train would move. But, of course, there was absolutely nowhere to run.

The white kid with dirt colored eyes, now joined by the bald one they called C. J., was working on the walls and the windows, making big undecipherable letters. They leaned over the young boy to get to the wall behind him. The kid remained still and impassive. The two moved on, their marks obliterating whatever clean space remained on the glass windows. The white kid, occasionally hiking up his loose jeans, walked on the seats in order to reach the ceiling. With his head up, he stumbled into the woman sitting there.

"Yo, Eric," yelled a guy standing near Nelson, "You gonna walk all over that honey?" His voice had a deep, lazy, Southern drawl; his gold chains and his one gold tooth glinted as he spoke.

"I could think of other things to do with her."

Eric sniggered.

The woman lost any pretense of indifference and looked frankly scared. Her eyes were big and black as she hugged her bag tightly against her stomach. Gold Tooth ambled over to her. "You one fine lookin' lady, what say we have a li'l fun?"

Nelson tensed, calculating the odds. The fellow with the boom box was still standing near him. The others were now gathered around the woman.

"Oh, ah see you married," drawled Gold Tooth. "Let me see that ring, ya know, I like gold, see the tooth?" He grinned, then reached down quickly and grabbed the woman's hand. She cried out when he twisted her fingers and tore off her wedding band. Nelson had had enough. He couldn't let these punks do just whatever they wanted. He erupted to his feet like a small volcano. And immediately froze at the sound of a click.

"Where you think you goin' bro?" Something hard prodded into his back. Oh god, it was the boombox kid, and he had a gun.

"Sit down. And by the way, gimmie that watch, it's for my friend here, he really likes gold."

The commotion in his corner drew the others attention. As they looked towards him, Nelson was astonished to see from the corner of his eye, the nervous executive whirl into action. "Leave that woman alone!" he yelled, as he spun attempting some kind of karate kick aimed at the small of Gold Tooth's back. But hampered by his long coat, horribly. . . he missed!

"Noo. . ., " Nelson whispered, and shut his eyes tight, convinced that the poor brave fool was good as dead.

Laughter. They were laughing!

"Hey, C.J., this dude thinks he's Bruce fuckin' Lee." Now, in a kind of weird dance, they were all imitating the man's botched move, kicking, spinning, and generally having fun, while the man stood there mortified, his wary face, very pale. In the middle of his laughter, Gold Tooth brought up his powerful left arm, and almost casually, drove it hard across the man's face, knocking him two feet backward. There was a dull wet sound as his head smacked sickeningly against the metal handpole. And, gushing blood from a flattened nose, the man did a slow motion slide onto the dirty floor. Nelson groaned. In the corner seat the old bum snored. Everyone else was silent.

"Nobody tries to do me an get away with it muthafucka." Gold Tooth's soft drawl was chilling. "Get his stuff-and the coat, and don't get any blood on it."

In the dull light, gold chains glinted against the polished mahogany of the young man's skin as he threw his arms around Eric and held him close. He gently stroked the boy's unruly brown hair like a pet, or a lover, "I think you'll look really good in this coat, put it on."

They left the man where he fell, semi-conscious and bleeding on the cold floor of the stalled subway train.

Nelson desperately wanted to be somewhere else. Anywhere else. He looked at the bright advertisements on the walls-AIDS Testing-Pepto Bismol-a nice pink family in bathing suits, hand in hand, splashing in a wide blue sea. Come, Vacation in Florida-Uh huh, I can sure use that one, he thought, wryly.

"Keep the gat on that big nigga, it's time to have some fun."

With Eric as lookout, and the boombox kid still holding a gun on Nelson, C. J. and Gold Tooth approached the terrified but defiant woman. "C'mon baby, it's time to give it up, we ain't gonna hurt yuh." But even as he said that, the bald man grabbed her around the neck jerking her backward, while Gold Tooth hooked his fingers into the front of her uniform and pulled forward. Silvery buttons spilled onto the floor making tiny pinging sounds. She tried to scream and was punched in the mouth.

Now the young boy stood, startling both Nelson and the gunman. He had been so silent they'd forgotten him completely.

"Enough!" It was a command delivered in a tone that expected to be obeyed. But it was just a husky boy's voice.

The boy had walked halfway to where they were assaulting the woman before they noticed him. Nelson was desperate. Oh god, what was the kid doing, he'll get killed!

"I may let you live if you stop this now!" the calm voice announced from inside the deep hood.

2

Gold Tooth and C.J. stopped what they were doing and focused on the slender hooded figure standing there. More amused than anything else, C.J. laughed, "You betta sit your ass back down little boy, or you gonna get exactly what she's getting." And they laughed again. Nelson called, "Come on back here son, there's nothing you can do."

The boy walked over to him and pushed back the black hood. Thick auburn dreadlocks shedding coppery highlights framed the pale opalescent face. The hair cascaded over his shoulders falling almost to his chest. And a slow smile, at once eerie and angelic, dimpled the youngster's waxen cheeks.

Nelson gasped in surprise, "Ronnie! Oh god, I knew you looked familiar!," he automatically moved forward a step, but then his quick smile faded and he backed away, confused. . .and afraid, "But how. . .?"

Nelson was chilled to the bone. He stared at the youngster, heart thudding. He had known Ronnie, his neighbor, for all the thirteen years of his life; had babysat him, taken him on vacation with his own son Michael who was his best friend-and six months ago he had been at the cemetary to weep when they lowered the boy into the ground. Yes, Ronnie was dead-was supposed to be six feet under.

They heard the woman whimpering, and Ronnie, narrowed green eyes burning with an unearthly fire, brought a long-nailed finger up to his lips. Then he pointed at the armed "boombox" youth who stood, staring back at him, mouth agape in bemused wonder. He'd completely forgotten about holding his gun on Nelson. Seizing the opportunity, the big man moved swiftly sideways, crushing the gunman against the wall with his big body. A small dull snap, like a dry twig breaking, and the guy fell to the floor hissing, a deflated, limp balloon. The gun spun away from his hand. Recklessly, Eric dived for it under the seats, he grabbed the handle with both hands and rolled over onto his back, only to find himself straddled across the hips by Ronnie. Snarling, the boy, savagely slapped the gun out of Eric's trembling fingers and ground his hips down on him. Ronnie then leaned forward until he was practically lying on the teenager, savoring the throbbing excitement of the human heart pressed against his own silent chest. He let his long hair fall around Eric's head, until all that the frightened teen could see was the young vampire's terrifying face radiating its infernal beauty, its eyes blazing just an inch away from his own.

"I know what you like. . ." whispered Ronnie and flicked his tongue across the warm, mortal mouth. Then he giggled, for even as the panicked young man frantically raised his hips and bucked trying to throw him off, he was sensing desire at the center of Eric's fear. Wearying of the game, Ronnie knocked him unconscious with what seemed little more than a tap.

At that moment, the train vibrated back to life. Jolted by the sudden movement, and confused by the baffling activity at the other end of the car, C.J. and Gold Tooth both froze in position. C.J. still held the squirming woman tightly around the neck, Gold Tooth had ripped away her undergarments. His pants were down as he knelt on the seat between her legs. Ronnie made a small animal sound, and his hair whipped to a blur as he whirled and leapt into the air. He landed half way across the car, feathersoft, and silent, behind the startled C.J.. Wrapping a slender arm, strong as steel cable around the man's neck, Ronnie pressed his cold face tightly against the cheek that radiated mortal heat. He could hear sweet life-blood pulsing, pulsing, within the body. He closed his eyes and shuddered ecastically. Veins swelled, throbbing at his tremples and forehead, Ronnie's face seemed distorted, almost fluid, as his lips stretched wide to let the translucent curved incisors slide into place. C.J.'s strangled scream into the night was lost in the noise of rushing engines. And his consciousness drained away with his hot blood into the relentless, fish-cold mouth upon his neck.

Scared, almost out of her mind, the woman had slipped onto the floor. She crawled on hands and knees, scrambling over the unconscious body of the executive, and rushed to Nelson who held her, shushing her, calming her down while deliberately not looking to where the screams and sucking sounds were coming from.

Gold Tooth stayed as he was, petrified, locked in the same position, unbelieving, mesmerized. He stayed even when Ronnie, in a quick motion, twisted C.J.s neck. A snap, and the head faced backwards. The boy simply dropped the heavy carcass onto the floor like a plaything he'd grown tired of. Gold Tooth's joints unlocked only when Ronnie began advancing on him, slowly, smiling sweetly, his coral mouth rosy as if painted with lipstick.

"No....no..this can't be happenin', this ain't no fuckin' movie...it can't..."

Forgetting that his pants were down to his ankles, Gold Tooth tried to run, but he tripped and crashed onto his bare behind. He didn't even try to stop and pull up his baggy jeans, but attempted to push backward, away from the creature's inexorable approach.

Peals of Ronnie's childish laughter suddenly filled the air. "Na na Na na na, look-what-I-can-see," he sang, the boy laughed again and pointed to Gold Tooth's crotch, Gold Tooth looked down at himself . "Oh shit!" In all the excitement, somehow he'd remained sexually rampant. Overwhelming fear did not allow embarrasment, but he tried urgently to wriggle his pants up his legs. Ronnie moved swiftly. Gold Tooth felt like he had been punched hard in the stomach, but in a blink the kid was standing in front of him again.

Bowling Green next stop, intoned the garbled voice from the speaker. Nobody paid attention. The old man still slept.

The boy vampire, with a cute tilt of his head, now looked like almost any normal kid, and stood there watching intently as Gold Tooth pulled up his wet pants. Wet pants? Gold Tooth looked down puzzled and uncomfortable. Dull realization sank in as he looked at the bloody empty space between his legs and then at the pitiful thing the boy held up then dropped into his lap.

At the Bowling Green stop, Ronnie lifted the unconscious executive easily, like a child in his strong arms, while Nelson and the woman stumbled off the train and onto the platform of the empty station.

As they stood there, they heard the old bum on the train finally wake irritated, from his deep, drunken sleep, "What you hollering for," he asked Gold Tooth, "What the hell is goin' on here?" The doors slid shut, cutting off Gold Tooth's hoarse screams. The train sped away.

The bright orange-colored station with its shiny tiled walls lent an edge of reality to their situation; here they could almost pretend things were normal--except for the vampire among them.

While they dialed the emergency number for the badly injured executive, Nelson and the woman, her blouse pinned together agreed on what to say. They'd keep it simple: They found this man beaten up and robbed on the train and they called for help. No more, no less. The guy certainly couldn't tell them any different. And anything else they said would be unbelievable.

Ronnie, satiated with blood and filled with its warmth, tried to reduce their natural human fear and aversion, by cloaking his preternatural nature in normalcy, but was not altogether successful. The woman, dazzled yet repelled by his strangeness, his unearthly beauty, thanked the boy with a trembling voice, but kept her distance.

In one wild subway ride everything Nelson believed in, everything that formed the foundation of his understanding of good and evil, real and unreal, had been turned upside down. Now any incredible thing was possible.

When they found Ronnie he was almost gone from loss of blood, his jugular ripped open, they assumed by some animal. Everyone thought it might have been Pedro, Manuel Acevedo's pet pit bull. Manuel claimed it couldn't have been Pedro, that he was too tame, and anyway, the dog and Ronnie had played together for years. But in the end, neighborhood pressure forced them to destroy the docile pooch that everybody once loved. Well, thought Nelson, I guess it really wasn't Pedro.

The boy stood looking at him with such open innocence. Nelson was confused. Geez, weren't vampires evil? Weren't they at least supposed to look evil? But tonight, it-Ronnie, saved us; there was a lot of blood, still, he looks a lot more like an angel than a demon. Ronnie came up close to him and Nelson stepped back slightly, almost overwhelmed by the contained power, the ethereal glamour that enveloped the boy. With a characteristic tilt of his head and the reddish locks tumbling about him, Ronnie asked in his familiar smoky voice, "How is Mikey, I really miss him, I want to see him." Lost for a moment in the sea-green of the boy's beguiling eyes, Nelson mumbled "O.k." then, "Uh, wait a minute. . ." He tried to visualize telling his fourteen year old son that his best friend is now a vampire and wants to see him. Michael and Ronald had been inseperable. Michael was very young when his mother died, so Ronnie's death had really been the first he ever had to deal with and it devastated him. His son hadn't been quite the same since.

"Oh, thank you, thank you. . .don't worry, I won't frighten him, we understand each other perfectly, you'll see," He smiled, dazzlingly. Thank god, no fangs, thought Nelson. He sighed, then realized...damn, I just did what all the movies said you shouldn't do. I just invited a vampire into my home! For a second, an image of his apartment festooned with crosses and garlic came to mind, but Nelson vigorously shook the vision from his head.

Another train pulled loudly into the station just as the medics came through the gate with a stretcher and walked toward them.

Nelson looked around to suggest that Ronnie leave, but the little vampire was already gone.