Part X: Hold Back the Night

Submitted by SpartanAltego on Mon, 08/27/2018 - 03:01

Let the Long Night End
Part X
Hold Back the Night

When you left
You took the sun right out of the sky
I'm wondering why you went away
Never told me, told me why
And then the sun goes down and the moon is clear
Scared to death 'cause your face appears

“Just a boy and a girl in a little canoe
And the moon shining all around
He paddled his paddle so
You couldn't even hear a sound
And they talked and they talked
Till the moon grew dim,
He said you better kiss me
Or get out and swim
So what you gonna do in a little canoe
With the moon shinin' all around?” – A Boy and a Girl in a Little Canoe

ABBY
October 20th

Abby awoke to the gentle sensation of fingers caressing her cheek. Leaning into the touch, she sighed happily, grateful for the company as her body slowly clicked awake piece by piece. “Mmm…Thomas…that tickles…”

A deep chuckle freezes her in place, the fingers continuing their feather-light movements. “Dreaming of old flames, are we?”

The vampire immediately flinches away, banging her head against the ceramic bathtub and cracking it. Unperturbed by the pain, she swats away the offending hand with venom in her eyes. “Don’t ever touch me again,” she hisses, pupils thinning into slits and the flesh of her face darkening.

Abraham watches her, amused. He is dressed in a loosely hanging white shirt and dark pants, his hair neatly combed. She remains in her favorite dark hooded sweatshirt and shorts, and she quickly raises her hands to pull her hood up, concealing her features somewhat from the creature before her. “I’m terribly sorry. I came to wake you, and you were simply so…divine. I’m afraid I couldn’t resist.”

Abby shakes her head. “I don’t care. You don’t get to touch me. Ever.”

“Are we renegotiating the terms of our bargain now,” he asks her, dark eyes glittering. His smile turns into a sneer, his own pupils thinning in reply. “You may find the new deal less than preferable to the current one. So watch your tone.” Abby stares him down, seething, but refrains from snapping back. It would do her no good, and she had already said what she wished to say regardless. Abraham sighs, as if she were being troublesome, and rises from his kneeled position beside the tub. “Are you adjusting well to this place?”

The question takes her aback, and Abby finds it hard to fathom a reply. Her ‘guardian’ watches patiently, waiting for her to speak. “I…I guess so,” she shrugs, as if her response didn’t matter. “It’s just another town.”

“You are not…” he pauses, frowning as though puzzled. “Lonely?”

Abby swallows, watching the man’s face intently. He appeared genuinely curious, even concerned – as if the thought that she was in distress sincerely troubled him. The gall of it makes her want to spit in his face, that he would dare act as though he cared about her after forcing their partnership through the worst means. But she swallows the acid bubbling up to her tongue and simply shrugs again. “I’ve always been alone.”

Abraham nods solemnly. “Yes. I suppose so. We are alike in that regard, I think.”

“We’re not alike at all,” Abby replies softly, but with supreme conviction. “You’re a monster.”

He frowns and does not reply, the shadows in his eyes roiling uncertainly. Abraham steps back, shrugging his shoulders. “So you say. I am what I was born to be. Most would aspire to the same.”

Abby keeps her silence, and eventually Abraham senses her recalcitrance and departs, leaving her to her thoughts. She draws a shuddering breath and closes her eyes, forcing back tears. We’re nothing alike. She repeats to herself insistently. Nothing.

She sits in her tub for a time, collecting herself. Abraham’s words had cut her deeply and, in their wake, she felt more keenly the loss of the one thing that had made her more human – and yet more monstrous. Thomas… she calls to him in vain, head bowed in prayer. Be well.

She hoped that, wherever he was, he had found the peace alone that they had never been able to enjoy together. It was why, despite the possibility of escape, she had never tried to part company from Abraham. He was already a monster – and so was she. At least in their partnership she would not have to face the guilt she had with her last and only friend: the knowledge that she had taken a young, smiling boy with goofy glasses and turned him into a cold, lonely murderer.

Abraham had threatened to kill him if she did not obey. He didn’t know what she knew – that Thomas had been dead for decades. Inside, where it mattered. And the only way he could be alive again was if she left him behind.

Perhaps Abraham was right. Perhaps they were both alone, and alike in that. But the similarities ended there. She may be a monster, but she would not justify it to herself or anyone else.

And tonight, for a little while, she would be more than just a monster. She would be…would pretend to be…alive.

Abby washed herself, then dressed and quickly left her room. Their small, bare apartment was empty – Abraham was gone and for a brief moment she let herself imagine that her rejection had stung him. That he had simply walked out of her life and left her behind. But that was a false hope: more likely, he had simply wandered off to do whatever monsters did when they were not feeding or resting.

She leaves their temporary home behind, not bothering to lock the door behind her, and goes to meet Carmen. They gather at a playground behind Waynesboro’s local elementary, closed for the summer. Abby finds her friend waiting there, kicking at the loose woodchips and gravel by the swing-set with a faraway look.

A hint of mischief creeps into her, and she steps softly so that her presence will not be noticed. When she is situated directly behind the distracted girl, Abby cups her mouth with her hands and shouts “BOO!”

“Eeep!” The dark-skinned girl squeaks, flinching and turning around with wide eyes. Abby giggles at the gob smacked look on her face, winking coyly. “You really should pay more attention at night.”

“Abby! Why-you-little…” Carmen growls and pushes her softly. “You brat!”

Abby grins, sticking her tongue out. “Sorry.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It was funny!”

“Hmpf!” Carmen crosses her arms and turns from her slightly. “…Okay, it was a little funny. But you’re still a brat.”

They smile at one another, and Abby looks around. She spies a sign embedded onto the wall of the school: ‘Whitegrove Public Elementary’. “Why did you want to meet here? Playgrounds are for little kids.”

“I’m looking at one, aren’t I?” Carmen replies cheekily. Abby faux-scowls at her but does not argue the point. Satisfied with her minor revenge, Carmen finally smiles. “I have a soft spot for this place. It’s where I used to come with…an old friend. And it’s where I used to go to school, when I was little.”

“Who is your friend?” Abby asks curiously.

Carmen frowns and bites her lip, reluctant to share. Abby presses a little harder. “You can tell me. I’ve…I’ve lost friends, too.”

“He…” Carmen closes her eyes, sighing. “He was more than a friend. We were…together.”

“Like boyfriend and girlfriend?”

“Not exactly. It was…more and less than that. I knew him since we were children. We grew up together…” Carmen gestures to their surroundings. “We went to school together. Played together. Our families were close, so we saw each other almost every day. He was like…” she sighs again, shrugging. “I don’t know what he was to me. I only knew that it hurt when he wasn’t there anymore.”

“Did he die?” Abby asks softly.

Carmen shakes her head. “Only on the inside. Where it mattered.”

Abby stiffens, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “O-oh…” Carmen shrugs again, looking away. The young vampire searches for her courage. “Does he…still live here?” Carmen nods. “What’s his name?”

“…Levi.” The name comes as a sigh in the night, exhaled with regret and longing. Looking away, Carmen cannot see how Abby’s eyes widen in shock. “Levi Matthews.”

“How…” Abby runs her tongue over her teeth, thinking. “How did he die?”

Carmen smiles wanly and shrugs. “I don’t really, uh, want to talk about it. Sorry.”

“Okay,” the vampire replies, withdrawing slightly. What business did she have, asking about such things anyway? But if it’s the same Levi who lives with that man…with Eli…

“Anyway,” Carmen seems to brighten suddenly, standing straight. “I brought us here because it’s a little secluded, not a lot of noise, and we get a clear wide view…” she points up to the dark sky, where the half-moon hangs lonesomely amid a handful of glittering diamonds. “To the stars.”

“We’re stargazing?” Abby looks up, intrigued.

“Yeah, we-oh wow…”

Abby turns her eyes from the moon to Carmen, blinking. Carmen is staring at her with wide, curious eyes. “What?”

“Your…your eyes. They looked like they were glowing.”

“Oh,” Abby swallows, thinking quickly. “It’s a family thing. I got it from my mother. Our eyes are made a little weird and sometimes it looks like they glow, like a dog or a cat.”

“That’s wicked!”

Abby shies away, looking down woundedly. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“No, no,” Carmen takes her by the hands, smiling. “Wicked means cool. Your eyes are cool.” Abby perks up. “I wish I had eyes like yours. They’re really pretty.”

“Your eyes are pretty too,” Abby protests, though internally she is delighted by the other girl’s interest. So long as she kept certain parts of herself hidden, she could still share a little of what made her different…and keep the parts that made her dangerous locked within. She stares into the green of Carmen’s eyes and feels compelled to do…something.

Abby leans in, lips ready to plant a kiss…and she pauses when a small hand holds her back by the forehead. Carmen giggles at Abby’s put-out expression. “There’ll be time for that later. Right now, we’re doing…” she tugs Abby to lay down with her. “This.”

There they lay, legs and arms splayed out wide, heads resting in a bed of their own long hair. Occasionally Carmen points to a star and names it, while Abby commits each to memory. Some of the stars had stories to them, the older girl said. “A lot of them are tragedies, though. I like making up my own. Want to try?”

“Sure,” Abby traces the shape of a wolf with her finger. “That’s…Jerald, the greatest hunter of the wilds. He’s chasing a jackal that stole his brother and slew his father.”

“Go on!” Carmen urges excitedly. Abby thinks a moment. “He comes across a raven, who wants to stop the jackal. He’s been stealing children for generations and the raven was once one of them. So the Jerald and the raven, Erin, chase the jackal together. The jackal can’t lose them, because he can’t run faster than the raven can fly, and the raven caws to tell Jerald where to chase.”

“Do they get the jackal?”

Abby shakes her head. “The raven eventually gets exhausted and has to rest. Jerald goes on his own and follows the jackal to its home, but it overpowers him and tears his throat out. By the time the raven catches up, the jackal and Jerald’s brother are gone. The raven stays with Jerald’s body, cawing and crying, having lost his chance for justice.”

Carmen sniffs unhappily. “That’s a depressing ending. They should’ve caught the jackal.”

“That’s the story. Sometimes they have to have sad endings.”

“Nothing has to be sad. Sadness comes from choices. The ones we make and the ones others make,” Carmen touches Abby’s hand gently. “If the story is sad, it’s because part of you is sad.”

Abby is silent.

“Tell me that story again,” the other girl insists. “But this time, make it happy.”

Abby swallows heavily. “Okay…” she whispers. “The raven doesn’t get tired. He won’t let himself stop flying, because Jerald’s brother was his friend too. No, more than a friend – he was family. And the raven didn’t ever give up on family. So he flew and flew until the jackal could run no more, and together he and the hunter fell on the jackal. They bit and stabbed and shot at it, until both sides were bloody and tired.”

“Then, when it seemed like the jackal might win after all, Jerald’s little brother freed himself from his bonds and stuck the jackal in the belly with a knife. The hunter bit out the jackal’s throat and the raven pecked out his eyes, and together the three of them threw down the jackal’s body into a river. They win – the monster is gone, and they are all together again.”

Carmen claps. “Nice! That’s a much better ending, don’t you think?”

“It’s happier,” Abby agrees. But not, perhaps, true to reality.

Sometimes, monsters would always win.

“So, what’s the moral of the story?” Carmen asks. “What’s the lesson?”

Abby is silent for a time. Then, finally, she says: “Never give up on family.”

Carmen frowns, thinking for a moment with a funny look in her eyes. She smiles and leans over Abby. “That’s a good lesson to pick,” she leans down and lays a feather-light kiss on the younger girl’s lips.

And all is right with the world.

ABRAHAM

Abraham was troubled.

It was rare for him to experience distress, or fear, or shame. And in the many centuries of life he’d lived, only once before had he ever experienced them all simultaneously – an event he reflected on now as he wandered the dark streets of the small town he currently called home. He’d considered flight, but for some reason the idea of abandoning his human visage ran a trickle of revulsion down his spine, and instead he remained on foot, walking and turning in whatever direction the breeze took him.

Abigail called him a monster. It was hardly the worst thing he had been named. Similar insults had been thrown at his face from the passerby, the cattle, and the chosen. But somehow, the child’s words had stung him: the look of absolute certainty in her eyes, devoid of passion or resentment. A simple recitation of fact.

He was a monster.

For the second time in his life, Abraham could feel doubt nibbling at the edges of his conscience. I’ve never thought of myself as a monster, he muses, looking up to the ocean of glittering stars in the night. Only a survivor. And…a father.

Children often rebelled against their fore-bearers. Could Abigail’s attitude be chalked up to that alone? He was unsure…and afraid. In that haze of doubt and befuddlement, he found his feet had carried him to the doorstep of a most interesting place.

The home of the Matthews brood.

He lingers as a shadow on the doorway, dark and thin against the moonlight. Abraham can hear voices chattering within and sees light through the drawn curtains of the home. Almost of its own accord, his hand rises and knocks thrice against the wood.

The voices quiet, and he can hear footsteps moving to the door. It opens, and a young boy looking barely into manhood peers out, with pale skin, blue eyes, and black hair that smelled of chemicals. Abraham smiles politely. “Hello. Is this the home of Mister Milton Matthews?”

“Yes,” the boy replies with an admirably concealed accent – he was clearly from Sweden. Abraham had expected a Swedish child to be living here, but not this one. Who, I wonder, are you?

“Oskar!” Comes the call from within, another boy’s voice. “Who is it?”

“Someone here to see Milton,” the boy calls back.

Feet moving. The door opens wider, revealing Milton Matthews, dressed in light grey sleep-swear, his face relaxed and still creased with the tell-tale marks of a smile. He looks mildly surprised to see Abraham, and the visitor does feel rather shy as he stands patiently on the doorstep, unsure of his own purpose in being here.

“Mister…Abraham, was it,” Milton greets, reaching across the threshold. They shake hands. “I wasn’t expecting you. Is there something I can help you with?” He glances back to the boy – Oskar. “Oskar, you can go back to Levi and Eli. Thank you for answering the door.” The boy nods and retreats, casting one last curious look Abraham’s way as he does so.

The creature of night clears his throat. “I…require counsel,” he speaks automatically, his sense of control oddly absent. He feels naked, laid bare. “My niece, she…I’m concerned. About her. I don’t know what to do.”

“I see,” Milton appears to be nothing but sympathetic. “Well, come in. We can sit and talk awhile.”

The barrier vanishes, and Abraham steps inside, nose twitching as he is hit with a barrage of smells – freshly cooked meat, the smell of berries, and a faint odor of dog and sweat. Past that, he can smell the blue-water scent of the boy: Oskar. A sharper, more acidic smell that he does not recognize. And the smell of cold rigor and blood…his Eli. He ached to reach for that smell, to touch its source, revel in its presence. But now was not the time. Now…now was a moment reserved for himself and Milton alone.

Matthews lived well, that much was clear. Abraham eyed the décor appreciatively as he sat across from the head of the household, particularly enraptured by the kitchen chandelier that twinkled with shades of red, green, and purple and cast flecks of color throughout the room. He carefully angles his gaze so that the glow of his eyes will not show, and politely turns to face Milton when the ‘older’ man clears his throat. “So, what was it you needed to get off your chest?”

Abraham sighs. “I feel as though I’m walking the path to a crossroads: one path, I hope, will lead me to the brightest night. But the other two are only dark days. Going back is not possible, yet I fear to step forward…” he clasps his hands, blowing air from his nose. “…My niece hates me. She believes I am…not good, for her. For anybody.”

“The voices of youth are loud and not often tempered by mercy,” Milton’s manner is gentle. “Why do you believe she hates you?”

“She…” Abraham hesitates. “I’ve been harsh with her in the past. She blames me for moving her from her old home, away from her friend. I’m not sure how to reach her.”

“I see,” Milton folds one leg over the other, hands in his lap. “Well, does she understand why you had to move? What circumstances brought you here, if I might ask?”

A pregnant pause. “Visiting family. Or, rather, intending to. I have been…reluctant, as of late, to approach. And have delayed, as a result.”

“Why?”

“I…” Abraham’s words hitch in his throat. He swallows. “I’m not entirely certain I would be welcome. So much time has passed, and I…I fear that I will be rejected. Again.”

“And your niece, along with you.”

A tentative nod. Milton takes that in, exhaling softly. “Your niece, does she want to see this family of yours too?”

Abraham chuckles wryly, shaking his head. “No. No, I think not. Which is part of why I’m not rushing to see the two halves meet. I’m uncertain how they will take one another.”

“The other part being that you feel your family will reject you.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re…afraid. Of that feeling.”

“…Yes,” Abraham whispers. “Terrified. Like I’ve never been. I don’t want to give up on her, or my family. But perhaps it would be better for them…for me…if I simply weren’t here,” he frowns. “That came out improperly. Or it did not. I’m unsure.”

“Suicide is the enemy, friend,” Milton cautions sternly. “Think of your niece. Where would she be without you here?”

In some run-down apartment, living with that old man, oblivious to the world and apart from it. Yes. That was true, wasn’t it. Abigail’s distaste for him was misplaced – the man she lived with had killed for her, too. Why was it proper for him, but not for Abraham? They had lived well, hadn’t they? No fear of discovery thanks to his careful oversight. Two beasts fed for the cost of one: if preserving lives mattered to her, then their partnership was for the best, was it not?

“You should never give up on your family,” Milton urges, eyes alight with a secret fire that touches Abraham within his heart and makes him sit at attention. “Family isn’t about being easy, or liked, or even wanted. It’s about doing the best you can for the ones you have, whether it’s appreciated or deserved. If you’re considering giving up, then perhaps that is why your niece is so distant from you. Children can sense that. Show her you haven’t given up. That you want to keep trying. Meet this family you’re so scared of and see for yourself their judgement, whatever it may be.” He sighs. “That’s my advice. Speaking as a man who did give up, once.”

His words are wise – Abraham cannot help but respect this strong, embattled old man. Eli had been in good hands. And would continue to be…for now. But more intriguing than his advice is his experience. “Who did you give up on? If I’m not pressing past the bounds of propriety.”

“Ah…” Milton is clearly reluctant. Abraham stares into his eyes, putting a little more force into his words…and something more. “Tell me. Please.”

“…” The pastor sighs, rubbing the front of his shirt, touching a crucifix hanging by a silver chain around his neck. “I’d…rather not discuss it, tonight. If you don’t mind.”

Abraham leans back slightly, curious but willing to let the issue drop – for the time being. “Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your time Mister Matthews.”

“Milton,” the other man says, rising with him. They shake hands. Abraham smiles and repeats the name, testing the word. He decides he likes it. “Until we meet again, Abraham. Good luck to you.”

The vampire smiles. “Thank you for inviting me into your home.”

OSKAR
October 22nd
Letters to Mom, Entry # 37

Dear mom,

Happy belated birthday! I hope wherever you are, you can feel this and know I am thinking of you. I wish I could be there with you. I wish I could show you all the friends I’ve made, the places we’ve been, the things we’ve done. It’s all like something out of a comic book. Mountain lions, vampires, werewolves. If someone told me I would’ve seen all those things and more before I even turned fourteen I’d have thought they were nuts!

Uncle Milton (hope you don’t mind if I call him that) has been taking me out to the woods for target practice. I think I’m getting better! At first, the guns kind of scared me, but now I don’t even flinch when I shoot anymore. I still miss a lot, but every once in a while, I hit the target and Uncle Milton whoops like I scored a goal. It’s really ‘aces’ as Levi likes to say. I can’t wait to show off to them.

Eli is still adjusting. Levi likes to pick fights with him, though usually Eli just ignores anything he says or does. Sometimes, though, he gets real mad and I have to stop it before they get into each other’s faces. Sometimes Eli likes to play pranks on Levi when he’s sick or loopy from his cycle – he found a dog-grooming kit from somewhere and stuck it in Levi’s part of the bathroom and hid his normal toothbrush and nail clippers! Those two…!

It’s nice, though. Having this weird little pack of ours. Not being apart from the whole world like we were before. I think Eli will see that, eventually. And besides, since we’ve been here nobody’s died. Except for poor Mr. Newberrie. By now, Eli would’ve had to have taken at least three people. But with the church and the blood drive, we’ve kept things calm and nobody gets hurt. If that means I just have to stop a few fights every once in a while, then that’s fine by me.

Tonight we’re going to –

Oskar is interrupted from his writing by a knock on his bedroom door. Closing his letter-book, he calls in his visitor: Eli, who is dressed in a golden tee-shirt and light grey sweatpants. He pads swiftly over to where Oskar sits, leaning down to kiss him in greeting on the cheek. “God kväll. Skrivar till din mamma?”

“God kväll,” Oskar beams back. “Ja. Just avslutar. Sov du gott?”

Eli shrugs his small shoulders, rolling them around his pale neck. “Liksom alltid. Jag glömmer fortfarande ibland var jag är innan jag verkligen vaknar.”
“Det är bra, eller hur?”

”Ja. Det är bra.” Oskar is unconvinced by Eli’s neutral reply and pokes him in the chest. Eli blinks, and shuffles a little under his piercing stare. “Jag är inte van vid det här. Att vara med alla dessa ... människor. Det har varit länge, för mig.”

The ‘older’ boy exhales softly, taking his friend’s hands in his own, which seemed to almost glow with pale light against his own sun-kissed flesh. “Jag vet,” he replies gently. “Men det är bättre hitåt. Vi gick inte att göra det på våra egna. Nu gör vi inte måste.”

“Ja,” Eli replies, trying a reassuring smile. “Så vad ville du göra ikväll? Din anteckning sa att vi skulle gå ut.”

Oskar simply winks. “Du kommer se.”

They depart his room, hand in hand, and take the steps down to the main floor. Milton and Levi have finished packing in the dining room, the latter shirtless and barefoot, clad only in a pair of light shorts. Milton waves them over, sharing a meaningful look with Oskar while Eli examines their bags. The vampire tilts his head. “Are you going somewhere?”

“We are going somewhere,” Milton corrects. “Tonight’s a special night. We’re all going out.”

“To?”

Oskar nudges his friend. “Don’t ask. It’s more fun that way.” Eli blinks, clearly curious, but nods in assent. The rest of preparations take place in quick order and the foursome cram into Milton’s truck with Levi and Oskar in back and Eli sitting up front with Milton.

The ride takes them out of town and toward US-33 W, which they remain on for two long hours of travel while the moon creeps higher into the skies. Levi fidgets in his seat often, and Oskar takes it upon himself to distract his restless ‘cousin’ by playing “I Spy,” encouraging Eli to play along. The two of them easily trounce the young boy with their superior vision, but he doesn’t mind: tonight isn’t about him, not really. It’s about bringing his new family closer together.

Eventually, Milton’s charted course takes them into narrow trails into a forest and he parks his Honcho off to the side where it will not impede others. “We’re here.”

“Here,” Eli echoes curiously, looking around. “Where is here?”

Milton remains silent, gesturing to the truck bed. They pull out their packed belongings and begin following the trail deeper and deeper into the woods. Occasionally, Milton pauses and asks Levi for direction, relying on his nephew’s luminous eyes to guide them to their place. Eventually their destination comes within sight: a grand hilltop amid the forest, growing into a rocky outcropping that reaches with stubby fingers toward the night sky. When they reach the base of the hill, Milton turns to Eli. “I’ll need you to carry Oskar up there, to the top. Can you do it?”

Eli nods, frowning. “But how will you get up?”

Milton grins and jerks his head in Levi’s direction. “My nephew ought to be able to carry an old man.”

Levi grumbles under his breath, but Oskar can see that he is excited – he, too, has been looking forward to this trip. Oskar ensures his bag is secure to his back and then clambers onto Eli’s back awkwardly, having to hold his legs up so they do not touch the ground. Eli bears his weight easily enough and looks up to the cliffs with a determined expression. His fingers lengthen and hook into claws with vicious ends, and he easily plants them into the sheer rock and begins to climb at a startling pace.

Looking down, Oskar can see that Milton has also hopped aboard the back of Levi and is being carried at a similar rate, the young Matthews using his moon-grown claws to easily dig into the cliffs and relying on his great endurance and restless stamina to pull himself and his uncle up.

The climb goes by in a blur, the two denizens of the night easily propelling themselves and their human companions closer and closer to the moon in the sky. Eventually Oskar cannot find the courage to look down anymore and clings ever-tighter to Eli’s body, amazed at the cool confidence with which the other boy scales the walls and leaps from crevice to crack. After ten minutes they have reached the top, and Levi follows shortly thereafter with Milton in tow. The four of them take a moment to look around from their view atop the peaks, silently reveling in the beautiful view of the night-drenched forestland, the small farms and communities visible in the distance, lit by moon-reflected fire and cold chips of starlight.

Oskar can see a small smile playing at the edges of Eli’s lips, and the sight is all the more beautiful to him in the moon’s light. “This is a nice view,” the vampire admits admiringly, looking to the others. “Does this place have a name?”

“Seneca Rocks,” replies Levi, picking pieces of dirt and rock from underneath his fingernails and flicking them over the edge. “Specifically, the south peak above Seneca Creek. If you look down you can see the water.” He points, and Oskar follows his direction – far below, a dizzying drop of distance away, he can see the twinkle of dark river waters rushing in the night, splitting the forest ever so slightly.

“It’s a nice place to sit down, take a moment,” Milton smiles at Eli. “I know you’ve lived probably longer than I have, so maybe places like this wouldn’t be so striking anymore. But Oskar here, he thought you’d like it.”

Oskar blushes as Eli shoots a beaming smile his way. “I do,” the eternal boy agrees. “But you can’t have thought all this up for my sake?”

“Well, now, that’s where you’re wrong,” Milton chuckles. He sits down on the bumpy rocks, patting the ground. They all take their seats in a small circle, and Milton pulls out a small electric blue lamp and sets it between them, so that their faces are all cast in aquatic rays of light. He clears his throat, and he, Levi, and Oskar begin to open their packs. “Oskar tells me you don’t celebrate your birthday.”

Eli frowns warily. “No…”

Milton nods, unsurprised by the admission. He withdraws twelve candlesticks from his pack and plants them on the ground, lighting each one with a flick of his zippo. “Well, I don’t think that’s quite right. You’re young, and someone your age ought to have birthdays to remember.”

“I’m…not really young,” Eli replies tentatively. “You don’t have to do anything for me.”

“It’s not about having to,” Levi interjects levelly, meeting eyes with the vampire. “It’s about wanting to. That’s what birthdays are – celebrating because you will, not because you must.”

Milton smiles approvingly. “Levi’s got the right of it. Oskar said you didn’t know your birthday, so we couldn’t plan an accurate date. But then he talked about the day you met, and we figured an anniversary celebration would do just as well. So!” He claps his hands twice and clears his throat. His voice, deeper and more melodic than Oskar has ever known it to be before, begins the chorus, Oskar following suit with Levi. They sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to an increasingly squirming Eli, whose eyes glisten but do not shed tears, teeth shining in a small smile as he follows their bidding and blows out the candles.

“Did you make a wish?” Milton asks after the deed is done, the smell of smoke tickling their nostrils.

Eli shakes his head. “No,” he smiles at Oskar. “I have everything I could wish for.”

Milton smiles, and even Levi cracks a small smirk at that remark. He is the first to present a gift: hands diving into his pack, he tells Eli to close his eyes. He presses a small, round case into Eli’s hands, then tells him to open it. Eli does so, and a shark bark of a laugh bursts from his lips. Oskar begins to giggle hysterically when he sees what Levi has given his friend. Levi had brought…a pair of sunglasses. Eli stares at them giddily for a moment, then puts them on and flashes a ‘peace’ sign, turning Oskar’s giggles to outright laughter.

Next comes Milton’s gift: a small stand and a case of several puzzle pieces of varying color. On the box is an image of a globe, comprised of all the individual pieces and set on an angle to spin on the stand. “It’s got a hollow space inside, too, like that egg of yours. Figure you could find something to do with it, help pass the time when you’re bored. And it’ll get you familiar with the States, too.”

Eli smiles and thanks him, turning expectantly to Oskar for his next gift. Oskar swallows and puts his hands into his pack, pulling out two pairs of small, soft, wrapped figures in vaguely human shape. Eli carefully peels back the wrapping and gasps delightedly when the first is unveiled, quickly unwrapping the second, then the third and fourth and holding them aloft: Oskar had sewn together several different colored socks stuffed with tiny bits of fluff into four distinct individuals: Eli, with big beady black eyes, tiny fangs, and small black bat wings hanging from his shoulders. Milton, with a tiny slip of paper attached to his hand with a cross scribbled atop its surface and a bear-like snout. Levi, with a head of scruffy black hair and sharp green eyes, and wolfy canines that contrasted with Sock Eli’s. And finally, Oskar himself, with his true blonde hair and blue eyes beaming brightly, with a monkey’s face and a banana in hand. All of them had small hooks in their sock-hands that allowed them to be interlinked, so that the four hung as a single chain of sock-people; a sock-family.

Eli hugs them to his chest, wordlessly glowing with appreciation. The sight of it makes Oskar smile. “Happy birthday, Eli.”

The boy tilts his head, as if bemused. Oskar watches him – dark hair moving with the wind, bathed in moonlight, surrounded by the scent of smoking candles and with gifts at his feet. The small smile that Oskar had always treasured, devoid of sadness, regret, or fear of what may come.

A real boy, once more.

“…Elias,” the pale boy whispers. Oskar’s eyes widen – was he…?

Eli gives Oskar a small nod, then turns his attention to Levi and Milton, who watch him curiously. “It’s the name I was born with. Elias. I am…I was…a boy.” He gestures to between his legs. “Once. Now I’m…not.”

Levi blinks rapidly, looking to his uncle. Milton nods once. With increasing panic the wolf-boy turns to Oskar who, feeling playful and light, decides to render only a single coy wink.

“Well…damn. Um,” Levi clears his throat awkwardly, looking off to the side to hide the shine in his eyes. He can’t seem to find his tongue and busies himself with rustling through his pack once more. To Oskar’s surprise, he withdraws a small package secured in bubble wrapping. “Here. This was your real gift. I was going to wait until we left, but, um. You were really sincere just now and I feel like an ass, so. Yeah.”

Eli takes the gift gingerly, turning it in his hands and slowly peeling away the wrapping. A small, golf-ball sized piece of boxwood, a nut of sorts that was smooth and slick with a polish that made it gleam in the light of the moon and the lamp. Grooves and small notches run along the sides, front, and back, with a small divot in the center and a hinge at the top, with a small chain of beads looped through it. “Open it at the top, first. Then, see that divot there? Put your nail in there and pull it back, gently.” Levi directs.

Eli follows his instructions. First, the nut folds open, the bottom half partially hollowed. Eli tugs at the first divot and one half of the top of the nut opens, folding back like the pages of a book. A second divot lets Eli pull back the opposite half. He holds it close to the lamp-light so that Oskar and Milton can see.

Inside the nut, the top and bottom halves have been carved intricately into pictures: at the top, Oskar recognized a scene that was playing out before his very eyes – Eli, sitting alongside himself, Levi, and Milton, surrounded by twelve candles with the moon in the sky. And in the bottom, carved neatly in cursive English that stand out against the rest of the shell, words: “It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons.”

Eli’s mouth opens, eyes flickering between the lavish gift and its maker in disbelief. “It’s beautiful…thank you.”

Levi shrugs modestly, but Oskar can see his pride peeking through. “It’s nothing. Happy birthday…” he pauses. “Elias.” Levi runs his tongue over his teeth. “Huh. That’ll take some getting used to.”

Milton prods one of the candles thoughtfully, humming to himself. After a moment, he retrieves his lighter and sets about re-lighting the partially spent wicks on each candle, turning to Eli expectantly. “Well? We were using the wrong name, so I suppose we ought to do it over. This time try really hard to think of a wish, okay?” He winks.

Elias smiles.

LANGLEY

“You get ten minutes – not eleven, not ten and thirty seconds. Ten minutes and you’re out.”

Langley nods, barely hearing the reprimand as he opens the passenger side and slips out from Burns’ car, planting his feet on the pavement. His eyes are set on the Matthews home, dark and silent as the grave. Milton’s little entourage had departed in tow with him twenty minutes ago, and with no sign of imminent return Langley knew that now was the time to enter the wolves’ den and see for himself what they hid in their borough.

Or, he imagines cheekily, a vampire’s den.

He picks the lock in little time, having purchased three similar door-locks to practice on until he could reliably crack each one. Slipping the door open slightly, he pauses to listen for the sounds of movement within the house – just in case. Greeted by nothing but silence, he enters swiftly and clicks the door shut behind him. “Honey, I’m home…”

Langley closes his eyes and breathes in the warm, wood-scented air, then begins his exploration. Although he rather doubted there would be incriminating evidence to be found in the kitchen or living area, he checks regardless, taking note of the placement of chairs, utensils, places that seemed more used than others. Finding hiding spots wasn’t so difficult, to Langley’s eye: one simply had to know their target and their habits. Some people liked to keep their secret things close – others, hidden deep beneath the floorboards. Some advertised their secrets to obfuscate the true importance of them.

He wastes only a minute on each section of the first floor, then pauses, contemplating the basement steps and the stairway leading to the second floor. He looks up, then down – the basement, first. The profiler steps carefully down to the basement landing, flicking on his torch-light and holding it aloft to better examine his surroundings. He whistles appreciatively when he spies the cases of vintage wine amid shelves of non-perishable goods, tapping the top of a barrel with his knuckles. “Who needs communion wine when you’ve got this?”

He is just about to move past the barrels when something catches his eye, just at the corner. Langley frowns, drawing his torch’s beam to the floor…
Imprints in the dust. Next to the third barrel in the line, which was strangely spotless compared to the rest of the collection. His frown deepens. What if…
He taps the second barrel with his knuckles, hearing nothing. Reaching out, he knocks on the third – the sound echoes back to him: empty. Putting his light between his teeth, Langley tests the lid and finds it loose – pulling it back reveals a totally dry interior, devoid of alcohol yet packed tightly with sheets, comforters, and even a small blanket with several long strands of black hair attached.

“…Okay, Matthews,” he mutters, closing the lid back down carefully. “You have my attention.”

Checking his watch, he quickly gives the remaining wine barrels a quick examination, finding nothing. Next: the second floor, with three separate bedrooms. He checks the one farthest from the stairs first, and quickly concludes it belongs to the elder Matthews: gun cabinet, a nice bed, a nightstand with a copy of A Grief Observed. Checking under the bed, then the closet, he finds precious little that piques his interest the way the repurposed wine barrel had. There was a piece missing…

The next room yields little save for a faint odor, like spoiled tuna and unwashed dog. The bathroom medicine cabinet is missing.

He moves to the final bedroom, with only four minutes left to search. The smell of this room strikes him immediately – musty, but carefully hidden beneath the scent of cleaning products and candles recently lit. Some dust and cob-webs still hang in the higher parts of the room, and a test of the window finds it jammed shut from disuse. Another place left undisturbed…until recently, it would seem.

A small chest filled with clothing rests at the foot of the bed. Lining the walls are posters of various films, and toys rest on shelves – mostly brain teasers, including a nearly completed Rubik’s Cube. Langley picks it up and idly tosses it in his hand as he pokes around the rest of the room, dropping to his knees to check underneath the bed.

“…Hm,” he mutters, reaching into the depths and sliding out a large binder filled to excess with papers, with ‘Oskar’ written in black across the surface. Langley pauses…that was the name of Milton’s nephew, wasn’t it? But spelled with a ‘k’, which was unusual for Americans.

He flips open the folder and quickly skims the first page – a diary, of some sort. He cannot read the words, however, as they are not in English, and so he flips quickly through whilst making note reoccurring words. Eventually, he stops – close to the end, the entries begin to be written in English. “I need the practice, since we’re in America now,” the note reads. Letters to his mother, it would seem – but not Milton’s sister, who lived in Los Alamos, New Mexico.

Oscar Matthews was not a Matthews at all.

One-minute left. Langley flips to the most recent page, and begins to read…

- - - - - - -

Burns is half-way up the path to the house when Langley coolly strides out the back door and around to the front, having locked his original entry-way to avoid arousing suspicion. Wordlessly, he shakes his head at the fellow officer and gestures to the car.

“You’re never this quiet,” the older man remarks after they have driven out of town, hitting the dark stretches of road that lay empty for miles ahead and behind. “Did you find anything in there?”

He turns to his stone-faced partner, who stares blankly out the passenger window. “…Damien? Did you see something? What’s got you mute all of the sudden?”

Langley blinks slowly. “…I didn’t see anything,” he frowns, but the emotion doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Not one damn thing.”

He refuses to speak for the rest of the trip.