Let the Long Night End
Part V
It Had to Be You
It had to be you, it had to be you
I wandered around and finally found, that somebody who
Could make me be true
Could make me feel blue
And even be glad just to be sad, thinking of you.
“When he had made two snips, he saw the Little Red Riding Hood shining, and then he made two snips more, and the little girl sprang out, crying, ‘Ah, how frightened I have been. How dark it was inside the wolf.’” — Red Riding Hood.
∆
OSKAR
1982, July 4th
Waynesboro, West Virginia
Oskar awoke to the sound of chirping birds, and an enticingly sweet aroma that had crept into the room where he slept. He breathed deeply and heard somewhere beneath his room the sounds of dishware being removed from cupboards, pairs of feet moving steadily back and forth. In that moment, before the weight of the day came for him, the young teenager wondered what his mother was making for breakfast. Blinking sluggishly, he rose from his bed, eyes widening when his bare legs shifted over the tatters of an unfamiliar blanket, in an unfamiliar room. This was not his mother’s apartment. This was not his apartment.
Then, he remembered. Shenandoah. The attack. Levi. Milton.
Oskar rubs the sleep from his eyes, belly growling loudly and somewhat painfully. He hadn’t eaten since yesterday afternoon, apart from a few slices of orange out in Shenandoah, and the lure of breakfast outweighed his anxiety of being face to face with his two new acquaintances again. Slipping on his – Levi’s – pajamas, he padded out of the room and down the stairs onto the main floor, moving quietly toward the kitchen.
Levi was there, as well as Milton, the former using a silver spatula to deposit delightfully yellow scrambled egg portions onto three separate plates already lined with slices of bacon, toast, and hash portions. Milton was preparing the dining room table, the shades pulled back to allow the gold and red splendor of dawn light into the home.
The older man notices Oskar’s approach, eyebrows raised into a gentle arc. “Oh, good morning,” he greets pleasantly. “We were just about to come wake you. Please, have a seat.”
Oskar timidly takes his seat, the very same he had sat in the night before. Milton easily balances the three plates on his hands and the crook of his forearm, distributing them around the table and taking his seat. He was dressed oddly, in clothes that looked rather robe-like, dark with burgundy undertones. Levi by comparison was lightly dressed in only a red tank top and gray shorts, padding over with glasses of white milk. He takes his own seat, and he and Milton bring two fingers to their shoulders, then foreheads, then fold their hands, heads bowed and eyes closed.
"Bless us, O Lord, and these, Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty. Through Christ, our Lord," Levi speaks smoothly, his words low but clear. “As we take into us your body and blood, we thank you for the daily grace you bestow on us and for your watchfulness over our lives. Amen.”
“Amen,” Milton repeats, and the two repeat their pre-recital motions once more.
Bemused, Oskar looks between the two. “What was that?”
“Saying grace,” Milton replies, looking unsurprised. “Your homeland is quite secular from what I understand. Not very religious, right?”
Oskar nods.
“Well, grace is our way of echoing the examples of Jesus and the apostle Paul,” the older man rhapsodizes, a spark in his eye. He gestures to the plates of food before them. “They made a practice of giving thanks to God before every meal, to show appreciation to Him and the life He created that sustains us. To be grateful for all things, little and small, so that we take nothing for granted.”
Oskar nods again, fascination tugging his lips up. “That sounds nice. Who is Jesus and Paul?”
Levi snickers softly, shiftily sliding his eyes from Oskar to Milton and back. “Oh, nobody important.”
Oskar frowns. “You’re making fun of me.”
“Maybe.”
“Levi,” Milton warns with little heat. “You’re being rude. If what Oskar told us was the truth, then he’s only really experienced anything approaching religiosity in the last few months. I’d wager his grasp of Catholicism is better than your handle on anything from Sweden.”
Levi snorts, but does not argue further.
Oskar chews his piece of toast, humming with pleasure when he tastes the honey lightly spread over the surface, delighting his senses. It wasn’t the kind of breakfast he was used to, but it tasted good enough. “I don’t know much. We do christening where I come from, though.”
“You were baptized?”
“Mmhm. When my mother and father were…” Oskar hesitates, his good cheer evaporated. “When they had me.”
“Ah,” Milton replies sagely, seeming to catch on to Oskar’s sudden recalcitrance. He takes a sip of his milk, then goes to work on a piece of egg. They eat in silence for some time, the quiet occasionally broken by the uneasy shifting of Levi in his seat or Oskar’s vocalizations when he bites into another portion of his meal. When his belly is full, he takes a sip of his milk and is surprised by its sweetness.
Feeling a little braver now that he had shared a meal with his two hosts, Oskar delicately poses a question of his own. “What kind of milk is this? It tastes a little sweet.”
“Almond milk. Easy on the stomach and reasonably nutritional,” Levi replies with surprising vigor. “Do you like it?”
“Yeah, it’s good. The food too.”
Levi’s cheeks grow a touch darker, and he averts his gaze, mumbling a token of appreciation. Milton simply grins at him. “My nephew doesn’t like to admit it, but he loves it when he gets compliments on his cooking. He likes to fish for them.”
Levi grunts and reaches across the table to swat his uncle’s shoulder, earning a reproachful growl in reply. “Oh, shut it. Maybe if you were a little more appreciative of my cooking I wouldn’t have to fish for compliments.”
“I am appreciative,” Milton fires back. “I’ve got appreciation coming outta my ass every Saturday you make chili.”
“Okay, firstly that was the one time I’ve undercooked any dish. And second- “
Levi’s tirade trails off into bemused silence as the two Matthews men find their attention drawn to their young guest, who is covering his mouth in a vain attempt to muffle his laughter. Oskar tries to wave off their looks, but only succeeds in succumbing to another bout of giggling, doubling over.
Milton’s eyes widen, and he points a finger dramatically at Oskar’s red-faced guffaws. “See? He took one bite of that bacon and now he’s heaving. Proof right there.”
“Well if my cooking is so damn terrible then I suppose you’ll just have to cook for yourself.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Oskar’s mirth eventually dies down as his two hosts continue their back-and-forth bickering, the ghost of a playful smile on both their faces. The three enjoy their breakfast in silent, relaxed cheer, and a feeling almost forgotten to Oskar finds its way into his heart.
Contentment. A relaxed peace free of dark clouds, unspoken worry, bloody precedents. The last time he had felt like this…he almost couldn’t recall. Before coming to America. Before the break-in at Eli’s apartment. Before the blood pact, and all that had been uncovered with it.
It was that night, in my bed. Oskar recalls. Eli lying there with me, telling me ‘coooommmee, coooommmme, I have candy and… bananaaaaas.’
For all that they had shared since, Oskar knew that achieving that kind of sweet and easy peace with Eli was forfeit from the moment he’d seen his friend’s tongue licking blood clean from the floor as a rag soaked a spill. The price of the truth was the sacrifice of innocence.
“Have you both lived together long? Levi said he was your nephew.”
Oskar realized his error when all the joy around the table dropped from the air, as if a cold front had blown through and snuffed every candle into smoke. Milton’s eyes flash to Levi, who chews his food and stares at his plate silently, no longer smiling. Discomfort squirms in Oskar’s belly like a worm.
The elder Matthews clears his throat, feigning nonchalance. “Levi’s only stayed with me for about two years. Before that he lived with his father, who isn’t with us anymore I’m afraid.”
“Oh…” Oskar’s face reddens as he realizes his faux-pas. “I’m sorry, I didn’t- “
“It’s fine,” Levi interrupts sharply, eyes cold. He holds his glare for a moment, then visibly shrinks in on himself, fingers clenched tightly around his fork. “Just…don’t linger on it,” he grits out. “Please.”
Oskar nods mutely as Milton looks on, the picture of long-suffering tolerance. Eventually he rises from the table, plate cleared, and sets his utensils, glass, and dish in the sink whilst the two boys continue to pick at the remains of their meal.
After washing his hands, Milton returns to the table. “I’m going to be out for most of today, at our local church. Levi will stay here and help you with anything you need until I get back this evening. I’ll pick up some clothes your size and…” he pauses. “Some dresses for our other guest, too.”
“Um, sir…”
“You can call me Milton. Or Mr. Matthews, if you prefer.”
Levi abruptly stands and leaves the table, leaving his plate unfinished.
Oskar swallows as the sound of footsteps flees into silence. “Mr. Matthews, I appreciate what you’ve done for us. For Eli and I. Most people wouldn’t have listened if I told them about Eli’s condition. And you’ve been very kind to me. But what I need…”
He clenches his jaw and forces the words out. “I need you to help me get her back to my apartment tonight. And then it would be better if you both just forgot about everything. Eventually Eli will wake up, and it won’t be safe for strangers to be near her. I wouldn’t want either of you to get hurt…” Oskar stares at his feet. “You’ve been good to us.”
Milton hums, stepping forward to pat the boy on the shoulder. His small smile is one of understanding. “Think it over for now and we can discuss it tonight. I don’t feel the best about letting two kids back out into the wilds by themselves, but if you made it across the Atlantic then I can’t really consider you ‘just’ a boy, can I?”
He sighs, sliding his hand from Oskar. “Tonight,” he reiterates.
Oskar decides to make himself of some use and goes about the business of clearing the table while Milton travels upstairs to have a word with his errant nephew. He rinses and soaps the plates, in the process of scrubbing them clean when the two Matthews men return to the first floor.
“Oh, Oskar, you didn’t have to do that,” Milton protests. Levi merely tilts his head as if the sight of Oskar doing dishes vexed him in some way.
“I want to,” Oskar insists. “It’s the least I can do.”
The older man looks as though he’d like to push the issue, but a glance at his wristwatch steals his will to argue. “Well…if you insist. I’ll see you two tonight.”
“Have a good day,” Levi dismisses. He joins Oskar at the sink, transferring dishes and utensils to the countertop. After drying by hand, Levi takes the dishes and replaces them in the cupboard and drawers. Oskar keeps silent until he hears the front door swing closed and the guttural growl of Milton’s truck fading into the distance. When an appropriate amount of time passes, he decides to tentatively test the waters with his remaining host, a single plate left in his hands.
Best to lead with a compliment. “You’re a very good cook.”
Levi shrugs noncommittally. “I’m alright. My father was better, and my mother the best. They’re both dead. Don’t worry about bringing them up.”
Oskar blinks, completely poleaxed by this sudden reversal. “O-oh. Okay, I wasn’t- “
A lazy tilt of the head accompanies a reproachful stare. “You were trying to see if I was still upset before you apologized. It was kind of obvious. I acted like an ass about something you couldn’t have known about, so you have nothing to apologize for. It’s fine.”
“Alright.”
Nodding mutely, the younger Matthews finishes replacing the kitchenware minus Oskar’s retained plate and turns to leave the room, picking at his freshly wrapped fingers, dark splotches visible beneath the top layers. Layers that hid…claws? Talons?
Eli could grow claws if he wished. But Eli was a vampire; incapable of walking in the daylight, subsisting off blood. Whatever Levi was – and Oskar was certain more and more that he was something past human – he couldn’t be infected. So what options were left, then? The hidden world of the supernatural was as much a mystery to Oskar as it had been before he’d ever met Eli, perhaps all the more impenetrable for the questions it raised and the absence of any satisfying answers.
Broken from his reverie by the sound of the main entrance being unlocked, Oskar realized that Levi had vanished from sight. Following the sounds, he finds the dark-haired boy pulling on his shoes.
“Where are you going?”
“Out,” Levi replies brusquely. “I need to burn some energy before I start climbing up the walls.”
“You’re not worried about leaving me here by myself,” Oskar asks with some surprise. “I could vanish. You don’t know where I live.”
Levi cocks an eyebrow. “Where would you go? No matter what you’d have to come back for your friend, since she can’t go out in the daylight. Calling the cops or getting the neighbor’s attention seems like bad news, too, from what you said. No. I’m not worried.”
It irritated Oskar how lackadaisical the older boy was about the whole affair, as if he were simple-minded and saying foolish things.
Levi pulls open the door. “I’ll be back in about an hour. If you need a snack or drink, you can help yourself to anything in the kitchen,” Levi pauses, frowning. “Except the frosted wheats. Those are mine.”
He stakes his claim with such petulance that Oskar can’t help but roll his eyes good naturedly, amused. “Sure, sure.”
Satisfied with that reply, Levi steps out on to the front porch. The sun is the color of honey, the sky cloudless and blue. Oskar basks in its light, breathing in the scent of freshly cut grass, absorbing the sounds of neighborhood life as a dog barks and somewhere a lawn mower hums.
Click. Cold. The door is shut, and he stands in place for a moment, pining for that feeling of the sun against his skin.
Then he goes to work. Firstly, Oskar climbs the stairs to the second floor and enters Milton’s room. Checking first the walk-in closet, he searches the shelves, looking for something he could conceivably stuff Eli inside. There! A mid-sized luggage trunk, with an extendable handle and wheels. The wheels clunk with each step as he drags it down the staircase, then into the cellar, the scent of fermentation mixing with Eli’s uniquely bitter body odor.
Grunting, Oskar lifts his friend into the case, folding and moving spindly limbs as he would a doll – a comparison that he finds distasteful – until Eli’s knees are bunched against his chest and his arms folded. A tight fit, but it worked. Oskar pulls the trunk lid closed and surveys the cellar stairway anxiously. Time to put all his new endurance and puberty-driven strength to the test.
Although Eli was unusually light for his size, he wasn’t feather-weight by any means. Twice Oskar had to stop and catch his breath on the flight up to the main floor, arms burning and heart thudding in his ears. Eventually, though, he made it – almost home free. Oskar eyed the main entrance warily, a small furtive part of him worried that it may swing open the moment he reached for the knob and in would walk Milton – or worse, Levi – just as he was about to leave them behind. He decided to exit through the back just in case.
Breathing deeply, he squeezes his fear between two imaginary hands until it is choked silent. Now wasn’t the time to be a scaredy-cat. Now was the time to be brave. Brave and strong. He checks the case twice-over for any holes, cracks, or other structural failings that could expose Eli to the sun’s glare. He finds none and is relieved.
Oskar reaches for the door knob. Hesitates.
…He should at least write them a note. Yes. Write a note, reassure them he would be fine and thanking them for their care. Then he would leave.
Oskar hunts for a pen and paper, smoothing the latter flat against the dining room table. He presses the pen to the plain white lined surface and thinks of what he wants to say.
“Thank you for breakfast,” he writes. “Sorry about the suitcase, I hope it wasn’t really expensive. Goodbye.”
He stares at the blue-inked words, then crosses them out and tries again. “Thank you for helping us. It’s better this way. Oskar.”
He goes through two more revisions before he arrives at a satisfactory standard. It reads simply: “Goodbye.”
‘Goodbye.’ He hadn’t even left a goodbye note for his own mother. The thought stings him, stirring up a deep-vein of anger and remorse that throws the note as a crumbled ball into the kitchen trash bin. Stalking to Eli’s case, he grasps it roughly by the handle and begins to guide it out onto the rear porch, closing the door behind him. Again, the smell of morning hits him, so alive that it overwhelms his numbed senses.
One step, then another. Another. Oskar lets his feet carry him faster. He could find a street post and then navigate himself back to the apartment from there. He had had made it a habit to obtain and memorize maps, landmarks, and streets of wherever he and Eli travelled as a precaution as well as to pass time. He estimated he was about a twenty-minute walk from where they stayed. No wonder he and Levi had crossed paths – this was a small town, after all.
A catch in his throat. He swallows heavily and begins dragging Eli’s trunk behind him, its weight a leaden anchor that makes him sweat and strain harder with each step. One block. Two. He had to leave the Matthews behind. Had to leave Waynesboro behind, even. It wasn’t safe for them as long as he was here. As long as Eli was here. When Eli woke he would be hungry and there were faces in this small town that Oskar liked. The people here were good, were nice…were…
Finally, he is forced to stop. He has barely made it half the distance to home, yet it feels as though he has walked ten thousand miles. Halfway home – to an empty apartment, an empty life of waiting. Months to go before fall came, and with it Eli’s company. And after fall and winter…another six months of isolation. Waking up to…nobody and nothing at all.
”Jag vill inte gå...” he breathes the words like a prayer. They come again, stronger: like a revelation.
”Jag vill inte gå.”
He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t want to be alone…and more than that, beyond himself, he didn’t want the Matthews to be alone. Or Eli, alone with him. Because the last night, and the morning that had come after…
He wanted to wake up to the sounds of a living home again. And someday soon, he wanted Eli, his best friend, to share in that experience. The way they had shared a first kiss, shared a first love, shared evenings spent playing silly games in the dark.
He had told himself that leaving was better for Eli, for Milton, for Levi. But now he knew otherwise; the truth was he was running away again. Because…
Because he was afraid.
Oskar was tired of being afraid. He was tired of living only thinking about others. He was tired of having to live half a life. That wasn’t what was best for him. It wasn’t what was best for Eli. This wasn’t the life that either of them deserved, hiding and running and always being alone. Even if it was alone together.
'Jag vill inte gå.'
So, he doesn’t.
- - - - - - -
“Äppel, päppel, pirum, parum . Kråkan satt på tallekvist,” Oskar sings lightly, lifting Eli from the trunk to rest against the small furnishings of flattened sheets and blankets he had scavenged. He gently brushes a lock of grey hair from his friend’s closed eyes, and wonders if it would be out of the question to ask Milton for a comb to keep Eli’s hair straight and clean. He didn’t think so.
The longer he pondered his decision, the more certain he became that he had made the right choice. Here was safe, here was…alive. Eli had shunned the notion of obtaining ‘helpers’ the way he had since before he met Oskar, believing them untrustworthy and dangerous to be left alone with. Now, though, they wouldn’t have to make a sacrifice one way or another – Milton and Levi would help them. Had already helped them. They could be trusted.
All he had to do was prove it when the time came.
Above, the sound of feet moving into the house. Levi was back.
“…Oskar?” Comes the call.
“Här!”
Footsteps. Levi comes into view, sweaty and disheveled, pausing when he sees the open trunk.
Oskar grins. “Välkommen.”
Levi blinks. “Beg pardon?”
“Welcome back.”
“Um. Thanks…” the boy replies uncertainly. He glances between the trunk, Oskar, Eli, then back to the trunk. “Are you leaving us?”
Oskar shakes his head. “Nej.”
“Well…good,” Levi replies with a faux-casualness betrayed by the way his shoulders relaxed and his fingers uncurled.
“Ja.”
“Okay we’re going to have to switch back to English here, Oskar. You’re straining my very weak grasp of Norwegian.”
“Swedish.”
“Whatever…”
∆
LEVI
1982, July 4th
Waynesboro, West Virginia
“This was where you lived?”
“Ja.”
Levi’s nose wrinkled as he examined the cracked beige walls and sealed-shut windows. He sniffed at the air and immediately scowled, displeased at the faint scent of early-stage rot emanating from the ceiling. “How much did you say you paid a month for this dump again?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Oskar shrugs as he collects his things. “Not staying here anymore.”
The thought seemed to make the boy happy; he smiled, and Levi found himself smiling back. He wasn’t sure what had provoked this sudden change of heart in the other boy, but for once Levi was content not to question providence. Oskar and his friend would be staying, as Milton surely wouldn’t object – and if he did Levi already knew exactly how to guilt him into relenting regardless.
His uncle was a Catholic, after all.
“Wow…” He murmurs, drawing Oskar’s eye. He points what appears to be a half-constructed egg made of impossibly small pieces. “This looks pretty aces.”
“Aces?”
“Cool.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah, it is. It’s one of Eli’s puzzles. I’ve been putting back together the last few months.”
“Looks like you’re making good progress,” Levi idly picks up the golden yolk meant to be left at the egg’s center, rolling it in his palm. “Is this…” his tone borders on flabbergasted. “Solid gold?”
Oskar nods. “Ja.”
Levi’s eyebrows raise, and he gently sets the yolk back in place. “Jeez. Well, at least we won’t have to worry about you making rent.”
- - - - - - -
They clear the apartment of its few belongings in short time. They weren’t much to look at – pairs of clothes, a Walkman, a Rubik’s cube, some puzzles, a folder thick with papers. Levi supposed it made sense that they wouldn’t have much in the way of personal belongings; easier to move on short notice. They leave the apartment behind without a second glance, taking a cab back home and depositing the baggage in Levi’s room.
“You’re sure your uncle won’t mind?”
Levi shakes his head slowly, sitting cross-legged on the bedroom floor, opposite Oskar. “He already wants you around, better for his conscience than knowing you’re out living on your own. He’s a big softie that way. All we need to do is come up with a good story about why you’re living with us – Waynesboro is a small town, and you’re obviously not from around here.”
“I thought of that,” Oskar replies easily, rummaging through one of his bags. He pulls out a bottle of dark fluid. “Eli and I keep some hair dye in case we need to change our looks. I could dye myself black to match her, say we’re your cousins visiting from another state. Would that work?”
Levi examines the other boy critically. “…Milton doesn’t have any family that lives close by besides...me. My aunt lives in New Mexico, so nobody would know better or be able to confirm we aren’t related. I have some color contacts I use for…” he stumbles over his words. “… You could use one of my pair to give yourself green eyes. Between that and the hair dye nobody should recognize you from when you were living alone.”
It sounded weak to him, even as he said it. He distracted from that knowledge by toying around with his finger wrappings, plucking at loose threads. When he had sufficiently entertained himself, he looked back up to await Oskar’s reply. “What do you think?”
“Mmm…” the boy hums lowly, nodding to himself. “I guess that could work. But aren’t contacts supposed to be fit to your eyes? What if yours don’t match mine?”
“Damn, you’re right. Well…okay, we could get you fitted for some and get you your own pair. Brown, green, whatever color you want. Just have to do it away from here. Can’t shit where you eat and all that.”
Oskar stares blankly.
“It’s a saying,” Levi explains hastily, realizing his guest’s bemusement. “Don’t do things you wouldn’t want other people to know about close to home. Safer that way.”
That seems to spark something in the other boy, straightening his slacked shoulders. “Keep evidence of your crime small and scattered over long distances so they can’t be traced. I get it.”
“You do?”
Oskar nods. “If you’re going to be a criminal the first barrier between you and getting caught is to put degrees of separation between you and the event. That’s how so many people get caught; they kill their wife or their cousin or someone they work with. The police investigate those people first because they usually are the ones with motive. If you killed a postman from three counties over who you met once a year ago, it gets a lot trickier. Better if you kill him somewhere the body wouldn’t be found for a long period of time.”
A pregnant pause. Levi stares until Oskar squirms uncomfortably, averting his eyes. “I read a lot.”
“I suppose so…”
Levi decides to let that particular topic lie for the time being. There could be more discussion on appropriately plotting Oskar’s eventual ‘induction’ into the family. Milton would have some ideas of his own.
In the meantime, Levi decided he had enough of getting the shit scared out of him for the day.
- - - - - - -
The two boys busied themselves with preparing dinner in the late hour before Milton was due to arrive home, music softly playing from Levi’s radio set. Levi had intended to undertake the task alone, as he had for years at his own insistence, but had been cajoled into allowing Oskar to lend a hand. He guided the other boy through the process of making cooking portions. First the head chef appointed his new assistant to dicing potatoes, then to slicing strips of bacon into fragments – Oskar had admitted with reddened cheeks that he had little experience cooking for himself.
Deeming that factoid unacceptable, Levi decided that tonight’s dinner would be a little more fanciful than usual to better introduce his new housemate to the delights of the kitchen. He pulled some center-cut tenderloin from the meat cooler and set about preparing the pastry necessary for a wellington main course while prodding Oskar to move on to cooking the bacon bits.
“Slicing it ahead of time is better than just crushing or breaking it up once it’s cooked,” the shallow-cheeked boy explains as he rubs lemon pepper seasoning into the beef. “Gets less grease on your hands and it looks nicer. Presentation is half the fun. Do you like onions?”
Oskar shakes his head, to Levi’s dismay. “Picky-picky, are we? Don’t sweat it, we’ll skip the onions this time. See that cupboard there? To your left – that’s it. Open that up and grab a casserole dish. We’re going to make some cheesy potatoes to go with that bacon. Get you really introduced to American cuisine.”
Before long the smell of sizzling bacon is heavy in the air, and Levi’s mouth grows wet as he inhales deeply and struggles to keep his fingers steady as he adds thyme, garlic, and mushrooms to the wellington. Sublime. He hadn’t cooked with a partner since…since…
The wetness of his mouth thickened, no longer appetizing but instead cold and slimy. Nausea threatened to spill up from his throat between his teeth. He clenched his jaw and fought it down. Tonight is mine, he raged against the encroaching memories. You don’t get to take this from me. Not this time.
Eventually he heard the rumble of the Jeep and flicked the radio to their preferred frequency.
“Olly olly oxen free,” comes the call.
Levi clicks on the microphone and leans in. “Do I find you here, old sinner? Long have I sought you.”
The engine’s rumble grows silent. Levi returns the radio to a musical station and whistles lightly. The wellington was almost done, the side dishes were finished and already set on the table with placements. All that was left was a little early clean-up. He rinses his utensils in the sink thoroughly, soaping and scrubbing them, aware of Oskar’s curious gaze. “You can ask, you know. I can feel your look. Say whatever it is you’re wondering.”
“Sorry. What is that about – olly olly and the old sinner?”
“It’s something Milton came up with,” Levi replies, waving Oskar over He wanted to have an alert system in place just in case we ever had company, unwanted or otherwise. Or if one of us needed to warn the other and were too far from home. I guess we’ll have to get you familiar with them.”
They greeted Milton almost in unison, waving casually to the tune of “Hey” and “Welcome back.” Levi cherished the covetous way his uncle’s dark eyes flitted between the plates of still sizzling filet and the cheese-and-bacon potatoes that he and Oskar had furnished.
Milton clears his throat, closing his slightly agape mouth when he grows aware of the boys’ eyes on him. “Looks like I arrived just in time. Did you help make all this, Oskar?”
The boy nods, smiling faintly. “Levi did most of the work. I just helped a bit.”
“He’s modest,” Levi retorts, shaking his head gruffly. “That casserole is all him, plus he set the table. Couldn’t have made it better myself.”
It was a bit of a fib – twice Oskar had nearly cut his fingers open chopping vegetables, and Levi had taken over the final preparations of both the casserole and setting up the table. But the truth deserved to be stretched if it got the kid’s face all red and bashful. It was a little endearing, and somewhat reassuring to the ever-wary teen. Even Oskar, as frightening as he seemed as times, was still vulnerable to a little praise. There was a normal kid somewhere under all that strange crust of bravery, practicality, and a guarded aura about him that seemed ill-fitting for a boy who looked barely into his teens.
“Well, very well done then.” Milton smiles and Oskar smiles back.
Levi gestured for his two patrons to take their seats, whilst he carved slices of wellington to deposit onto each of the three plates along with a helping of centrifuged sow’s blood served with tomatoes in suspension drizzled across the plate in lazy swirls. He took pride in being both a showman as much as a servicer, and it was with no small amount of pride that he took in the restlessly eager looks on the faces of his uncle and acquaintance. When everyone’s meal was ready, Milton prepared to say grace.
“Actually,” Levi interrupted. “Oskar was interested in doing the honors this time. If you don’t mind.”
Another fib, and perhaps overplayed given Oskar’s mortified look. But the effort would endear him further to Milton regardless of accuracy. Manipulation could work even on the very aware, provided it was the right kind of push.
At Levi’s gentle encouragement, Oskar breathes deeply and closes his eyes. Before he can begin, he is startled almost two feet into the air by a sudden series of pops and bangs, nearly knocking his plate off the table with his spasm. His eyes flash between Milton, Levi, and the curtained windows, sparks of multicolored light creeping in and out in a blink.
“Fireworks,” Milton’s voice is underscored by another series of bangs, calm against the chaos. “It’s Independence Day, isn’t it? I’d forgotten.”
“Probably aren’t familiar with American holidays, are you,” Levi asks knowingly. Oskar nods. “Well, the short version is that today celebrates the official notice of separation of the colonies of America from British governance. Which we commemorate by making things blow up for an hour or two and waving flags around,” he rolls his emerald eyes balefully, wincing as the reports of the fireworks sting his sensitive ears. “A bit overblown, if you ask me. But the light show is pretty I guess.”
“Do you think we could go watch them after dinner?”
The question comes as a surprise. Levi glances at his uncle, who nods back. “Absolutely. We can wrap up the leftovers and leave them in the oven to keep them warm. Come back for seconds after sightseeing.”
“Aces.”
Levi grins. He was beginning to like this kid. “So, about grace…”
Milton leads Oskar through the recitations, patient but enthusiastic in a way Levi couldn’t remember his uncle being in years. They dine and chatter lightly about the weather, Milton’s day, the food, and eventually each finish their first course. Milton leans back in his chair and hums with pleasure, slouching and stretching his legs.
“So, Oskar, I promised we would discuss the matter of your staying here or leaving tonight. Have you thought it over?”
A quick nod. “Ja.”
“Made a decision, have you?”
“Ja. I want to stay, if that’s alright.”
Milton seemed ambivalent over that answer, as expected, and his eyes immediately drifted to Levi to gauge for a reaction. He receives a small nod in turn. Pulling himself up into a straight position again, Milton folds his hands on the table, shoulders forward. “Of course it’s alright. I wouldn’t be much of a man at all if I turned away a pair of kids looking for a home. We just have to think about how we’re going to make this work. If I might ask, what led you to this decision?”
All eyes are on Oskar, now, who seems uncomfortable with the question. Levi watched him intently – he was curious, too, why Oskar had gone so sharply from desiring to flee to wishing to stay.
“I just…” Oskar pauses, swallows, and begins again. “I just like you both, is all. Eli is my best friend, but…he’s asleep right now. He’ll be asleep for months to go. I woke up today and got to remember what it was like to not have to wake up completely alone. I don’t want to lose that.”
Levi stared at his empty plate, eyes unfocused. He could appreciate that kind of lonely hunger.
“So, if it’s okay, I’d like to stay. Just until Eli is awake at least. Then we can leave.”
“Deal. We’ll have to get your things from wherever you were staying tomorrow…”
“Way ahead of you,” Levi interjects, smirking. “We haven’t been idle.”
“Oh?” A suspicious look dawned on the old priest, the look he always got when he realized Levi had been maneuvering him.
“Their effects are all upstairs. We were thinking of posing him as Aunt Maribeth’s son. They already have the hair dye, we just have to make a trip out of state to get him fitted for some color contacts.”
“Sounds like you’ve given this some thought.”
“We have. How do you feel about it?”
Milton is silent for a time, brow creased. His lips quirk into a lazy arc, a hint of light sparking within those dark eyes of his. “Well, I can’t say I’d object to another nephew. It’s about time Maribeth got settled down anyhow.”
He gives Oskar an approving nod, smiling. “Well…welcome to our home, Oscar Matthews. We’re happy to have you.”
“Amen,” Levi murmurs.
∆
MILTON
1982, July 6th (Morning)
Waynesboro, West Virginia – The Matthews Home
Levi was gone when Milton rose early Tuesday morning, leaving behind a pot of freshly brewed coffee and a note pinned on the fridge. He wished the kid would’ve said something before vanishing so suddenly, given Milton a little time to come up with a reasonable excuse for when Oskar woke up. Which, by the sounds of movement upstairs, was precisely ten seconds ago.
Sipping from his mug, the old man found himself once again in an unenviable position; weighing the merits of honesty versus compassion. He wouldn’t be deceitful with the boy. He was quite resolute on that point. However, the fact of the matter was that Levi’s secrets were Levi’s to share – not his. Milton’s nephew would have to tell his ‘cousin’ about his condition in his own time, perhaps the same point at which Oskar decided to be completely forthcoming about the ‘sickness’ afflicting young Eli downstairs.
Oskar had said enough, that first night they had all come together. But Milton was in no hurry to break free from the blissful embrace of ignorance on that subject, and all its implications, until it came in its own time.
Some secrets were best left undisturbed for as long as was practical.
“Morning,” Milton greets as Oskar pads blearily into the kitchen, drawn by the scent of coffee. He gingerly accepts a mug from the older man and sips at it slowly.
“Good?”
“Mmmhm.”
“Good. One of the best things to get your day started. Clears you out, too.”
Oskar’s nose wrinkles. “Yuck.”
“Hey, I’m just saying. Sleep alright?”
“Fine. You?”
Milton smiles, looking down at the mug in his hands, watching the dark swirls of liquid energy mix with his drops of vanilla extract creamer. “As well as I usually do. Levi had to leave for the day, should be back by noon tomorrow.”
“Where did he go?”
“Mm…I suppose you could say he had to go get something off his back. He has a condition, too. Not quite the same as what you’ve said about this Eli of yours, but it’s something he needs to leave to deal with every so often.”
“Oh…” The boy looks downcast. “Is that why he smelled? And looked sick?”
“Noticed that, did you? Yes, that’s part of it. He has a…I suppose you could call it a cycle he goes through. The closer he gets to the end, the worse it gets until it’s done. He gets grouchy, too, as you’ve noticed.”
“Eli gets the same way when she goes through her…I guess it could be called a cycle too.”
“She? Or he?”
Oskar suddenly becomes mute. Milton waves a hand dismissively. “Don’t sweat it. I had a suspicion when I looked at him, the night we met. Your slip-up was just confirmed it, is all. He’s certainly the most beautiful boy I’ve ever laid eyes on, but I know a boy when I see one. You knew, right?”
A small nod.
“Why not say so from the start? I understand keeping some things secret, but why say your friend was a girl?”
“…” Oskar sighs and sets his mug on the marble countertop, folding his arms. “It wasn’t my secret to tell. Eli is…he’s been through things. And it’s up to him whether he wants other people to know about them. Is that wrong?”
“Quite the contrary.”
“Thank you.”
Milton shrugs and allows that be his final say on the subject. Rubbing his eyes, he takes a heavy gulp to finish the last mouthful of coffee still in his mug. “Well, given that we have the house to ourselves today I’d say now is as good a time as any to clear out the guest bedroom. There’s not too much to move and most of it is boxed already, so it can wait until after we’ve both cleaned up and woken a bit more. Mostly we have to worry about dusting, wiping down, and airing out the place. Then I was thinking we could head down into the cellar and see about arranging some better accommodations for your friend.”
They part company to bathe themselves and get dressed; Milton chooses an old grey wife-beater and dark pants. Oskar comes out wearing a teal tee shirt and a pair of brown cargo shorts.
Together, they ascend the steps to the third floor. To Milton, the locked guest room door looks like teeth clenched shut to hide the dark within a mouth of woe. He unlocked the door briskly and pushed it open, stagnant air rushing out after months left undisturbed.
Milton steps inside, observing the dark red walls and the layer of dust across the cotton carpet and stained dark wood floor, made visible by the light coming from the hall and the dim illumination from the single window that faced away from the sunrise. A two-poster bed with deep navy sheets and pillows, a white throw blanket draped on the top layer. Clothing, trinkets, and all else that remained of its previous occupant were packed in cardboard boxes and plastic bins, marked with a single name: Jacob.
The old man stared at the trails of dust hanging suspended by light and air, weaving soft threads of silky shadow between the particles until a familiar face was almost visible. The man had green eyes, just like his son, and a distance to his gaze as though he were staring through to the back of your skull.
Milton stood facing away from Oskar to hide the redness of his eyes. “Sorry if it’s a little dusty in here. We’ll clean up before moving your things in. It’s been a long while since we had any guests.”
“Don’t worry, it’s nowhere near the worst place I’ve had to sleep.”
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
“Okay.”
- - - - - - -
The Next Day…
“Who the hell are you?”
Milton heard the words, dangerously low and even, just barely from the fringes of the guest bedroom. He and Oskar had finished clearing and cleaning it the night before, letting it dry and air out for the evening before moving the boy’s possessions into the room. He had just been inspecting their work while Oskar made himself some lunch, when he had heard the door shut and the sound of Levi’s voice announcing his presence. Now he hurried down the steps as quickly as his hobbled left leg would allow, straining to hear the next exchange of words over the sound of blood rushing through his ears.
“You’re hurting me!”
“Who. Are. You?”
“Levi,” Milton barked as he rounded the corner from the stairs, arrived at the entrance. The older boy had grasped Oskar by his left arm and was squeezing with barely restrained force, deadly intent in his eyes that shone with no sign of recognition. The newly hairless and fair-skinned teen broke from his fixation with Oskar, blinking dizzily as though waking from a fugue.
“Levi,” Milton’s words were eerily soft-spoken. “Let him go – now.”
“Uncle? Who is this?”
“Levi! Release him.”
“I…” Levi’s eyes returned searchingly to Oskar, then his vice-like grip on the pale faced boy. He recoiled as if stung, fingers snapping open as he stepped back. “I’m so sorry,” he stammered hoarsely.
Oskar touched the spot where Levi had grabbed him, hissing and pulling back almost immediately. Milton knew that feeling intimately – his nephew had a powerful grip. Now that the immediate danger had passed, he needed to push forward before Levi, who looked to be rapidly descending into a meltdown state as he realized the magnitude of his error, frightened Oskar further with his behavior.
“This is your cousin Oscar,” he began pacifyingly. “He’s only been with us a few days, so it’s okay that you can’t remember him right now. It’ll come back to you. Right now I need you to go up to your room and wait for me there. Will you do that for me?”
“Y-yes.”
Levi casts a guilty look at Oskar, who nods back calmly. He trots past Milton and up the stairs, head bowed.
“What was that?”
“I’m sorry, Oskar. I’m so used to it by now I didn’t think to tell you; Levi…well, when he goes away he comes back kind of dreamy. Sometimes he remembers most everything he ought to. Other days he has it come back to him in fragments. It might take him a day or two before he remembers who you are again.”
“Does Levi…hurt people? When he goes out?”
Milton swallows. An unexpected question with an uncomfortable answer. “…Only himself,” he admits softly.
Oskar looked up to the point where the stairs met the next floor. He says nothing.
∆
OSKAR
1982, July 14th
Letters to Mom, Entry # 33
Dear mom,
I’m not alone anymore. Eli is still asleep, but I met some new people who are helping us. One of them is named Milton, and his nephew Levi is the boy I met the other day and wrote about. A lot has happened, so much I don’t think I could write it all down even if I tried. Too soon.
But I’m living with them now. I have my own room and Eli is asleep in the cellar – we finally got him a better spot to sleep. Milton emptied one of his barrels, cleaned it out, and filled the inside with blankets and stuffing. I told him we didn’t have to worry about holes for breathing but he put a few in anyway. Said Eli ought to be ‘snug as a bug’ in there, safe and hidden.
He seems like a good man. When I saw all the alcohol I thought of dad, but he’s not like that. I’ve only seen him drink once, and he never got ‘drunk’ drunk. Just a little quieter.
Levi still confuses me. Sometimes it seems like he’s happy I’m here, we play games and he shows me around town, little places he visits. I never realized how much I blocked out my surroundings when I went on my runs – there’s a library here! He let me use his card to check out some books. But other days it’s like I bother him and he doesn’t want to be around me. I don’t know why. At least he remembers me again.
I have black hair now. Brown eyes when I go outside. Milton took me to get fitted for some color contacts in Portsmouth, paid the doctor a lot of money to keep it quiet. It’s weird looking in the mirror.
Love you,
Oskar
- - - - - - -
1982, July 20th
Oskar knew something was wrong when he walked down the steps from his room into the hall and saw that Levi’s door was still closed. He glanced at the electric clock mounted by the hall-light switch: nearly eight-thirty. Oskar had never woken up before either of his housemates in the weeks since he had arrived, there was always a smell of breakfast being made and the sounds of feet moving through the dining and living rooms when his eyes fluttered open and chased the last vestiges of sleep away.
Now everything seemed terribly silent, and the air hung with a heavy tinge of bile and sweat.
He reached out a hand, rapping his knuckles twice against the door. There was no reply, but the door knob turned and Oskar found himself coughing as a terrible smell hit his nose, like overripe fruit.
Levi stared past him, eyes sunken and glazed. He was naked, to Oskar’s befuddlement, and absolutely drenched in sweat. Trails of dried mucus were visible from his nostrils to his lips.
“Yes?” The question came out in a low, wet rasp. The older boy was clenching his jaw, moving his lips minimally to speak.
“What’s wrong?”
“A million things,” Levi replies lowly, barely above a whisper. “It’ll be better tomorrow. Just need space.”
“You look terrible. And you stink.”
“Yes.”
“Is it because of your…” Oskar chews the inside of his cheek. “Your sickness?”
It’s not a question. Not really.
“Yes. It is.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No.”
Oskar nods, trying not to let the sting show. He holds his sigh until his back is turned, keeping it low as it flows out his nose. Just like with Eli’s hunger pains. He was powerless –
“Oskar. Thank you.”
The boy turned, but the door had already slipped shut.