Hair, Greg - Werewolf 01, page 13
He could see a smile that he hadn’t seen in the entire week he had known her. She was beaming. So was Landon.
“Sure,” he said.
She led him out of the dining room and into the massive kitchen where she told the staff of five to give them some privacy.
“I’m not mad anymore,” she began. “I know you didn’t mean to do it. It was your first change, and you were confused. If I were to resent you for this, I would have to resent meeting Landon as well. My ex-boyfriend Scott tried to help, but he couldn’t because he didn’t understand what I was going through. Landon understands me. I do believe that you gave me a gift—two actually. The first gift was when you made me a werewolf, which then led to the second gift, meeting Landon.” She blushed. “I just wanted you to know that I forgive you. You’ve become a great friend.”
Her arms flew around him, pulling him closer for a warm embrace. He reached his arms around her and squeezed tightly. Her body was the most wonderful thing he’d ever touched. Landon popped his head into the kitchen.
“Hey, guys, Nicholas just got a note that the Senate has convened. They want to see all of us.”
LillyAnna let go of Jamie and walked out with the others. All Jamie could do was stand there with his hand on the cold steel of the kitchen counter, listening to bacon sizzle on the burner. He looked down to see his fingernails had extended about an inch. He left the kitchen and joined the others down the hall as they made their way to the Chamber.
After extending all appropriate courtesies, Joseph, the Consul Vampire, spoke. “A terrible incident has occurred in the town. One of our own has, either willfully or unintentionally, caused the death of an elder villager. I know that you have been made aware of this. Rest assured, we will find the person responsible, and a punishment will be handed out.”
“However,” said Seamus, “we have more pressing matters at the moment. We have received a communication from our contact in the FBI at Quantico that urgently requests our assistance. It seems there’s a serial killer in the US who has no discernable pattern. He or she moves from city to city randomly, kills one woman, removes their heart, and then moves on. We’re sending your team, Landon, to track this person down and dispense justice swiftly.”
“I humbly accept, sir.”
“You will stay tonight,” said Joseph, “leave tomorrow, and return upon completion of your mission so that LillyAnna and Jamie may fulfill their training requirements.”
“Yes, sir.”
Seamus handed a file folder to Nicholas, who then gave it to Landon.
“You will find inside all known information regarding the killer,” said Seamus. “Photos of the crime scenes, a map of the US with those cities marked, and more detailed maps of each city that shows where the victims lived and where their bodies were found.”
“Understood. Will Ryker be joining us?”
“No,” answered Joseph. “He will be staying to help flush out the werewolf that caused the villager’s death.”
“Very well,” said Landon. “We’ll be ready first thing in the morning.”
Jamie and LillyAnna followed Landon out of the Chamber, back down the Great Hall to their respective bedrooms, and began packing for their trip back to the States.
Moments later, Annelise knocked on LillyAnna’s door and poked her head in.
“Hey,” said Annelise, “we haven’t had any girl time. Mind if I come in and help you pack?”
“Not at all,” LillyAnna said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you anyway, how did you and Ryker meet?”
Annelise walked over to the closet and pulled out a few of the werewolf’s winter outfits. Her half-hearted smile belied the pain she was trying to hide. A tear dropped to the floor.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Of course, not. I was born the daughter of a peasant in the year 1366 in Denmark,” Annelise began.
At the age of twenty-one, the beautiful, statuesque blonde was attacked on the outskirts of her village by a werewolf and left for dead. As she lay dying, wondering why the beast didn’t kill her, a vampire, Louisa, found her and took mercy upon her. Only immediate death or the bite of a vampire can stop a werewolf’s bite from taking over.
Louisa taught Annelise how to feed and survive. She also explained to the new vampire that she could never return to her village for death awaited her once people discovered what she had become. As a consequence of her newfound life, she never saw her family again. Eventually, Louisa and Annelise parted ways, the latter wandering from town to town for another eighty-two years until she met Ryker.
She made her way to Copenhagen for the first time, where she saw Ryker walking among the townspeople. He was indeed as handsome then as now, his blond goatee just as prominent. He was her first and only love. They soon began seeing each other every day, only during small windows of opportunity, however, for he wasn’t permitted to court peasants. There were more appropriate women from whom he was to choose a wife. His father, Christopher III, was King of Denmark, which made Ryker the prince.
Ryker would always tell her to meet him somewhere within the forest away from all other people. His father soon uncovered the truth, however, and forbade his son to see her any further. His son obliged, or so the king thought.
The next time they saw each other was the first night they made love. That night had been one of the coldest in recent memory, and he brought with him several furs they used to keep warm.
Not long after, minor trouble arose between two families in a village just to the south, with Ryker being dispatched with a few men as peacemakers. Word quickly spread among the peasantry that something had gone wrong, though. A few hours later he returned to the castle, though not in the same condition as when he had left. A stray arrow still pierced his side from fighting that had broken out when he arrived at the southern village. There was nothing that could be done.
Annelise snuck into the castle to Ryker’s chamber, finding him awake, and in tremendous pain.
“I’m sorry,” she said, tears streaming.
“Sorry for what?” Ryker asked, wincing.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”
“You would only have put yourself in danger. There was nothing you could have done to help me.”
“That’s not entirely true,” she said, not looking him in the eyes. “I could have done something.”
“There was nothing you could have done. I only need now for your prayers for my soul. I long to spend eternity with you, roaming the landscape of Heaven.”
She held his hand, squeezing it tightly. “What if we could have spent eternity roaming the landscape of Earth, together?”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“I could have saved you. I am a vampire.”
“A vampire? No. Your soul.”
“Intact.”
Fear never entered his mind, nor was he disgusted. He wasted no time in making his request.
“Turn me,” he said. “Turn me so we may be together, in this life and all those yet to come.”
She begged him not to ask that of her, which meant she was asking him to consign himself to death.
“Do not ask that of me, please,” she said. “If you die human, you will still be buried in the royal crypt. If I turn you, you will forfeit that right, and the right to the throne. You will never see your family again. They need you. Denmark needs you. Even if it is in death.”
“I need you,” he said. “Even if by some miracle I survive tonight, I will still be dead. I know that you will leave after this, and my soul will go with you, wherever you are. The rest of me will be a useless, dead shell, roaming the cold halls of this castle. I will be the empty cocoon that remains of the migrated butterfly. Unless you turn me, I’m dead either way.”
Annelise, unable to say no to anything Ryker ever asked of her, acquiesced, fulfilling his wish. The bite to his neck was more painful than what he’d been experiencing moments before. She carried him out of his chamber, as he trembled in her arms during the vampiric transformation. He was never seen again. The royal family searched all over for him, or his body, the king dying not long after. The rumor spread throughout the kingdom that the cause of death was a broken heart.
“That’s why I cry when I think about how we met. What he sacrificed to be with me is incomprehensible. When his father died that year, he had no other son, and Duke Christian of Oldenborg became king.
Over the course of the centuries, we moved about the world, eventually settling here at Burghausen. And that’s our story.”
LillyAnna hadn’t packed a single article of clothing, listening to her new friend’s tale. Annelise had done it all for her while telling her story. Annelise then reversed the question.
“So what about you and Landon?” she asked, still wiping away tears.
“Well,” LillyAnna began, “I can’t deny that I care about him.”
“Come on,” said Annelise. “I know there’s more to it. Out with it.”
“I’ve only known him a couple of weeks, and I feel like I’ve known him forever. I don’t know if it’s possible to fall in love, real love, within that span of time, but I think maybe I have.”
“I do think it’s possible. Love is love. It doesn’t matter how quickly it happens, or how long it takes. It does what it wants. The only thing you can do is hang on. I’ve been hanging on for six hundred years. Does he feel the same about you?”
“I don’t know,” LillyAnna responded. “Sometimes I think he does, but then other times, it’s like, I don’t know. He pulled me out of the depths when I was at my lowest and gave me a purpose. Now I’m in a castle in Germany, meeting other werewolves and vampires. He understands me better than anyone else ever has. I want to tell him how I feel, but I’m scared. We were together last night. Nothing happened, but he still hasn’t sent a clear signal.”
“Get used to that, honey,” said Annelise. “That’s men. Whether mortal, werewolf, or vampire, their gender doesn’t change. And I do know how he feels; I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The thing with Landon, though, is that he’s seen a lot of pain in the past ten years or so. I know you’re scared, but he’s more afraid than you are. Not just of getting hurt, but also of hurting you. He’s trying to protect both of you. However ridiculous that sounds, that’s how he thinks. Don’t worry—he’ll come around.”
Suddenly, Ryker entered the room, informing the women that Landon and Jamie were finished preparing for the return trip, and they were all meeting on Landon’s balcony for drinks. LillyAnna and Annelise followed, arm in arm.
After everyone’s arrival at Landon’s balcony, Annelise whispered in Ryker’s ear, still crying from her confession, and the two excused themselves for the evening.
Annelise could only think that, though the baby died in the fire, she would give anything to know the kind of love its mother felt up to, and beyond, that moment. It was the one kind of love that vampires couldn’t have, the greatest love of all—the love that comes with mortality. She needed to be alone with the only one that understood her, the only one that has ever understood her.
20
Jerry sat at the kitchen table in all black clothes, the front locks of his curly black hair nearly touching the top rim of his black glasses. The small red brick house on a suburban street just outside Boston provided enough room for a family of four or five. It had two occupants. Jerry often kept to himself in the basement, having set up his bed downstairs as a teenager. His mom’s bed was directly over his.
Connie was let go from a local factory due to a buyout a couple years earlier, and currently she got by on social security. She typically spent her days in her nightgown, robe, and fuzzy slippers. She was thin, in her early sixties, but looked like she could easily pass for mid-seventies. It wasn’t often that Jerry saw her without a cigarette dangling from her lips. This morning she was making the usual biscuits, bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes. Almost every meal she ate was fried.
“You get a job yet?” she asked in her usual condescending tone, setting a tub of butter and butter knives on the table.
“Yes, mother. I have a job,” said Jerry.
“Selling those knives of yours? How’s that working out?”
“Fine.”
“Not very well, is it? I told you not to sell those. I told you nobody would want to buy knives from a door to door salesman when they can pick some up at the local store.”
“Well, it just so happens, I’ve got a potential buyer in New York.” He knew that she knew he was lying.
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. For thirty years now you’ve been nothing but a worthless burden. No wonder your father left. Why can’t you be more like your sister, Jenny? She’s so pretty, and she’s got a real job, married, kids. What do you do? Sit in the basement all day and night, then go out and try to sell knives.”
Jerry sat there, emotionless. He wanted to fight back; he wanted to tell her that maybe dad left because she was cruel and unloving to him as well. Instead, he sat there staring at the fried potatoes in front of him. He didn’t even like fried potatoes.
“Yeah, don’t say nothin’,” she said. “And look at ya. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend. Who would want a fat slob who dresses like death? If I had known what I was going to be getting when I was pregnant…”
“What would you have done?” he asked, staring at his fried potatoes.
“There were legal options in place before you were born.”
He knew what she meant. She walked over to the table, bent down so that she was eye level with him, and said the word anyway, “Abortion,” drawing it out like molasses.
She turned, walking back to the stove to finish cooking her plate of food. Finally, Jerry looked up. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She meant what she said. His older sister had made her proud, but he, he was a curse. The fruit that came out of her womb that day was rotten. And she hated him.
A stream of smoke wafted up from her dangling cigarette as he stood from his chair, walking around the table. He stopped one foot behind her, his breathing more controlled now than ever.
“I know you’re standing there,” she said. “What do you want?”
He said nothing, only breathed slowly in and out. In and out. Slowly.
“What?” she asked, turning around to face her son.
She dropped the spatula and oven mitt that she held in her hands. The pain in her stomach was dull and sharp at the same time. The butter knife turned and twisted inside her while the smoke from her cigarette, which was still dangling from her mouth, circled above. She gasped as he pushed the knife in farther, his hand nearly penetrating the open wound until the instrument was no longer visible. The curse that had emerged from her womb thirty years ago found its way back in.
Suddenly, Jerry heard the sound of a car door shut in the driveway. He dragged his still-dying mother out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into the basement, shutting the door behind him. He heard the footsteps above as the person entered the house.
“Mom?” called Jenny. “I brought you some groceries.”
She walked through the living room and into the kitchen, where she noticed spots of blood on the floor. The bacon sizzled.
“Mom? Jerry?”
Gradually the sound of music began to come up through the vents in the floor, like a 1950s prom was taking place in the basement. It was Bobby Vinton. Jenny turned the corner of the hall and, reaching the basement door, slowly opened it. The stench of something rotting hit her like a runaway truck, and it might as well have been the dark side of the moon. There wasn’t a shred of light anywhere.
“Jerry? Mom?” She waited for an answer. “If this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny.”
She proceeded down the steps, escorted by Bobby Vinton, feeling her way along the walls, the handrail. She was rarely in the basement and didn’t know that layout of the furniture at all. Trembling, she held both arms out in front of her, slowly shuffling her feet, trying not to trip or bump into anything. A sense of relief came over her as the song faded away. Jenny rammed her knee into a table as she startled as the first keys of “Mr. Lonely” played again. She continuously ran her hand along the wall until she found the light switch. She breathed a sigh of relief when it came on.
The basement looked more like a cave, a habitat for eyeless creatures that spent their entire lives untouched by light, than human living quarters. The walls were painted black, like most of the furniture, though one could still make out the various etchings Jerry had made with his many knives, carvings that resembled certain aspects of the female anatomy then dissected by further cuttings. There were posters, also covered in black, of various bands like Rage Against The Machine and Tool, whose lyrics had been twisted and convoluted by the downstairs listener.
On the ceiling were velvet pictures of dragons and half-naked warrior women, the kind that one would find on the sides of 1970s vans, which glowed brightly with the use of Jerry’s black light. His wardrobe was no different from the outside color scheme.
The coffee table sitting in the middle of the room was littered with the origin of the rotting smell: several human hearts lay strewn on magazines, women’s magazines that no longer contained the faces of their female models. Every woman’s face had been meticulously cut out. The bedroom resembled the living area, save for one addition—a tarantula. What one didn’t find in the room, however, was any sort of enclosed habitat for the arachnid. Jerry allowed it to roam free. This was the first time Jenny had ventured downstairs since he made it his home.
“Jerry!” she screamed. “Where the hell are you? You’re scaring me!”
The hot breath on the back of her neck barely had time to register when an arm reached around, grabbing her throat. She heard the person inhale deeply.
“You smell good,” said Jerry. “Mom’s right—you are pretty.”
“Jerry,” she said, trying to gain her breath, “where’s Mom?”
“Sure,” he said.
She led him out of the dining room and into the massive kitchen where she told the staff of five to give them some privacy.
“I’m not mad anymore,” she began. “I know you didn’t mean to do it. It was your first change, and you were confused. If I were to resent you for this, I would have to resent meeting Landon as well. My ex-boyfriend Scott tried to help, but he couldn’t because he didn’t understand what I was going through. Landon understands me. I do believe that you gave me a gift—two actually. The first gift was when you made me a werewolf, which then led to the second gift, meeting Landon.” She blushed. “I just wanted you to know that I forgive you. You’ve become a great friend.”
Her arms flew around him, pulling him closer for a warm embrace. He reached his arms around her and squeezed tightly. Her body was the most wonderful thing he’d ever touched. Landon popped his head into the kitchen.
“Hey, guys, Nicholas just got a note that the Senate has convened. They want to see all of us.”
LillyAnna let go of Jamie and walked out with the others. All Jamie could do was stand there with his hand on the cold steel of the kitchen counter, listening to bacon sizzle on the burner. He looked down to see his fingernails had extended about an inch. He left the kitchen and joined the others down the hall as they made their way to the Chamber.
After extending all appropriate courtesies, Joseph, the Consul Vampire, spoke. “A terrible incident has occurred in the town. One of our own has, either willfully or unintentionally, caused the death of an elder villager. I know that you have been made aware of this. Rest assured, we will find the person responsible, and a punishment will be handed out.”
“However,” said Seamus, “we have more pressing matters at the moment. We have received a communication from our contact in the FBI at Quantico that urgently requests our assistance. It seems there’s a serial killer in the US who has no discernable pattern. He or she moves from city to city randomly, kills one woman, removes their heart, and then moves on. We’re sending your team, Landon, to track this person down and dispense justice swiftly.”
“I humbly accept, sir.”
“You will stay tonight,” said Joseph, “leave tomorrow, and return upon completion of your mission so that LillyAnna and Jamie may fulfill their training requirements.”
“Yes, sir.”
Seamus handed a file folder to Nicholas, who then gave it to Landon.
“You will find inside all known information regarding the killer,” said Seamus. “Photos of the crime scenes, a map of the US with those cities marked, and more detailed maps of each city that shows where the victims lived and where their bodies were found.”
“Understood. Will Ryker be joining us?”
“No,” answered Joseph. “He will be staying to help flush out the werewolf that caused the villager’s death.”
“Very well,” said Landon. “We’ll be ready first thing in the morning.”
Jamie and LillyAnna followed Landon out of the Chamber, back down the Great Hall to their respective bedrooms, and began packing for their trip back to the States.
Moments later, Annelise knocked on LillyAnna’s door and poked her head in.
“Hey,” said Annelise, “we haven’t had any girl time. Mind if I come in and help you pack?”
“Not at all,” LillyAnna said. “I’ve been meaning to ask you anyway, how did you and Ryker meet?”
Annelise walked over to the closet and pulled out a few of the werewolf’s winter outfits. Her half-hearted smile belied the pain she was trying to hide. A tear dropped to the floor.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Of course, not. I was born the daughter of a peasant in the year 1366 in Denmark,” Annelise began.
At the age of twenty-one, the beautiful, statuesque blonde was attacked on the outskirts of her village by a werewolf and left for dead. As she lay dying, wondering why the beast didn’t kill her, a vampire, Louisa, found her and took mercy upon her. Only immediate death or the bite of a vampire can stop a werewolf’s bite from taking over.
Louisa taught Annelise how to feed and survive. She also explained to the new vampire that she could never return to her village for death awaited her once people discovered what she had become. As a consequence of her newfound life, she never saw her family again. Eventually, Louisa and Annelise parted ways, the latter wandering from town to town for another eighty-two years until she met Ryker.
She made her way to Copenhagen for the first time, where she saw Ryker walking among the townspeople. He was indeed as handsome then as now, his blond goatee just as prominent. He was her first and only love. They soon began seeing each other every day, only during small windows of opportunity, however, for he wasn’t permitted to court peasants. There were more appropriate women from whom he was to choose a wife. His father, Christopher III, was King of Denmark, which made Ryker the prince.
Ryker would always tell her to meet him somewhere within the forest away from all other people. His father soon uncovered the truth, however, and forbade his son to see her any further. His son obliged, or so the king thought.
The next time they saw each other was the first night they made love. That night had been one of the coldest in recent memory, and he brought with him several furs they used to keep warm.
Not long after, minor trouble arose between two families in a village just to the south, with Ryker being dispatched with a few men as peacemakers. Word quickly spread among the peasantry that something had gone wrong, though. A few hours later he returned to the castle, though not in the same condition as when he had left. A stray arrow still pierced his side from fighting that had broken out when he arrived at the southern village. There was nothing that could be done.
Annelise snuck into the castle to Ryker’s chamber, finding him awake, and in tremendous pain.
“I’m sorry,” she said, tears streaming.
“Sorry for what?” Ryker asked, wincing.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”
“You would only have put yourself in danger. There was nothing you could have done to help me.”
“That’s not entirely true,” she said, not looking him in the eyes. “I could have done something.”
“There was nothing you could have done. I only need now for your prayers for my soul. I long to spend eternity with you, roaming the landscape of Heaven.”
She held his hand, squeezing it tightly. “What if we could have spent eternity roaming the landscape of Earth, together?”
“I don’t understand,” he said.
“I could have saved you. I am a vampire.”
“A vampire? No. Your soul.”
“Intact.”
Fear never entered his mind, nor was he disgusted. He wasted no time in making his request.
“Turn me,” he said. “Turn me so we may be together, in this life and all those yet to come.”
She begged him not to ask that of her, which meant she was asking him to consign himself to death.
“Do not ask that of me, please,” she said. “If you die human, you will still be buried in the royal crypt. If I turn you, you will forfeit that right, and the right to the throne. You will never see your family again. They need you. Denmark needs you. Even if it is in death.”
“I need you,” he said. “Even if by some miracle I survive tonight, I will still be dead. I know that you will leave after this, and my soul will go with you, wherever you are. The rest of me will be a useless, dead shell, roaming the cold halls of this castle. I will be the empty cocoon that remains of the migrated butterfly. Unless you turn me, I’m dead either way.”
Annelise, unable to say no to anything Ryker ever asked of her, acquiesced, fulfilling his wish. The bite to his neck was more painful than what he’d been experiencing moments before. She carried him out of his chamber, as he trembled in her arms during the vampiric transformation. He was never seen again. The royal family searched all over for him, or his body, the king dying not long after. The rumor spread throughout the kingdom that the cause of death was a broken heart.
“That’s why I cry when I think about how we met. What he sacrificed to be with me is incomprehensible. When his father died that year, he had no other son, and Duke Christian of Oldenborg became king.
Over the course of the centuries, we moved about the world, eventually settling here at Burghausen. And that’s our story.”
LillyAnna hadn’t packed a single article of clothing, listening to her new friend’s tale. Annelise had done it all for her while telling her story. Annelise then reversed the question.
“So what about you and Landon?” she asked, still wiping away tears.
“Well,” LillyAnna began, “I can’t deny that I care about him.”
“Come on,” said Annelise. “I know there’s more to it. Out with it.”
“I’ve only known him a couple of weeks, and I feel like I’ve known him forever. I don’t know if it’s possible to fall in love, real love, within that span of time, but I think maybe I have.”
“I do think it’s possible. Love is love. It doesn’t matter how quickly it happens, or how long it takes. It does what it wants. The only thing you can do is hang on. I’ve been hanging on for six hundred years. Does he feel the same about you?”
“I don’t know,” LillyAnna responded. “Sometimes I think he does, but then other times, it’s like, I don’t know. He pulled me out of the depths when I was at my lowest and gave me a purpose. Now I’m in a castle in Germany, meeting other werewolves and vampires. He understands me better than anyone else ever has. I want to tell him how I feel, but I’m scared. We were together last night. Nothing happened, but he still hasn’t sent a clear signal.”
“Get used to that, honey,” said Annelise. “That’s men. Whether mortal, werewolf, or vampire, their gender doesn’t change. And I do know how he feels; I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The thing with Landon, though, is that he’s seen a lot of pain in the past ten years or so. I know you’re scared, but he’s more afraid than you are. Not just of getting hurt, but also of hurting you. He’s trying to protect both of you. However ridiculous that sounds, that’s how he thinks. Don’t worry—he’ll come around.”
Suddenly, Ryker entered the room, informing the women that Landon and Jamie were finished preparing for the return trip, and they were all meeting on Landon’s balcony for drinks. LillyAnna and Annelise followed, arm in arm.
After everyone’s arrival at Landon’s balcony, Annelise whispered in Ryker’s ear, still crying from her confession, and the two excused themselves for the evening.
Annelise could only think that, though the baby died in the fire, she would give anything to know the kind of love its mother felt up to, and beyond, that moment. It was the one kind of love that vampires couldn’t have, the greatest love of all—the love that comes with mortality. She needed to be alone with the only one that understood her, the only one that has ever understood her.
20
Jerry sat at the kitchen table in all black clothes, the front locks of his curly black hair nearly touching the top rim of his black glasses. The small red brick house on a suburban street just outside Boston provided enough room for a family of four or five. It had two occupants. Jerry often kept to himself in the basement, having set up his bed downstairs as a teenager. His mom’s bed was directly over his.
Connie was let go from a local factory due to a buyout a couple years earlier, and currently she got by on social security. She typically spent her days in her nightgown, robe, and fuzzy slippers. She was thin, in her early sixties, but looked like she could easily pass for mid-seventies. It wasn’t often that Jerry saw her without a cigarette dangling from her lips. This morning she was making the usual biscuits, bacon, eggs, and fried potatoes. Almost every meal she ate was fried.
“You get a job yet?” she asked in her usual condescending tone, setting a tub of butter and butter knives on the table.
“Yes, mother. I have a job,” said Jerry.
“Selling those knives of yours? How’s that working out?”
“Fine.”
“Not very well, is it? I told you not to sell those. I told you nobody would want to buy knives from a door to door salesman when they can pick some up at the local store.”
“Well, it just so happens, I’ve got a potential buyer in New York.” He knew that she knew he was lying.
“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. For thirty years now you’ve been nothing but a worthless burden. No wonder your father left. Why can’t you be more like your sister, Jenny? She’s so pretty, and she’s got a real job, married, kids. What do you do? Sit in the basement all day and night, then go out and try to sell knives.”
Jerry sat there, emotionless. He wanted to fight back; he wanted to tell her that maybe dad left because she was cruel and unloving to him as well. Instead, he sat there staring at the fried potatoes in front of him. He didn’t even like fried potatoes.
“Yeah, don’t say nothin’,” she said. “And look at ya. No wonder you don’t have a girlfriend. Who would want a fat slob who dresses like death? If I had known what I was going to be getting when I was pregnant…”
“What would you have done?” he asked, staring at his fried potatoes.
“There were legal options in place before you were born.”
He knew what she meant. She walked over to the table, bent down so that she was eye level with him, and said the word anyway, “Abortion,” drawing it out like molasses.
She turned, walking back to the stove to finish cooking her plate of food. Finally, Jerry looked up. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She meant what she said. His older sister had made her proud, but he, he was a curse. The fruit that came out of her womb that day was rotten. And she hated him.
A stream of smoke wafted up from her dangling cigarette as he stood from his chair, walking around the table. He stopped one foot behind her, his breathing more controlled now than ever.
“I know you’re standing there,” she said. “What do you want?”
He said nothing, only breathed slowly in and out. In and out. Slowly.
“What?” she asked, turning around to face her son.
She dropped the spatula and oven mitt that she held in her hands. The pain in her stomach was dull and sharp at the same time. The butter knife turned and twisted inside her while the smoke from her cigarette, which was still dangling from her mouth, circled above. She gasped as he pushed the knife in farther, his hand nearly penetrating the open wound until the instrument was no longer visible. The curse that had emerged from her womb thirty years ago found its way back in.
Suddenly, Jerry heard the sound of a car door shut in the driveway. He dragged his still-dying mother out of the kitchen, down the hall, and into the basement, shutting the door behind him. He heard the footsteps above as the person entered the house.
“Mom?” called Jenny. “I brought you some groceries.”
She walked through the living room and into the kitchen, where she noticed spots of blood on the floor. The bacon sizzled.
“Mom? Jerry?”
Gradually the sound of music began to come up through the vents in the floor, like a 1950s prom was taking place in the basement. It was Bobby Vinton. Jenny turned the corner of the hall and, reaching the basement door, slowly opened it. The stench of something rotting hit her like a runaway truck, and it might as well have been the dark side of the moon. There wasn’t a shred of light anywhere.
“Jerry? Mom?” She waited for an answer. “If this is some kind of joke, it’s not funny.”
She proceeded down the steps, escorted by Bobby Vinton, feeling her way along the walls, the handrail. She was rarely in the basement and didn’t know that layout of the furniture at all. Trembling, she held both arms out in front of her, slowly shuffling her feet, trying not to trip or bump into anything. A sense of relief came over her as the song faded away. Jenny rammed her knee into a table as she startled as the first keys of “Mr. Lonely” played again. She continuously ran her hand along the wall until she found the light switch. She breathed a sigh of relief when it came on.
The basement looked more like a cave, a habitat for eyeless creatures that spent their entire lives untouched by light, than human living quarters. The walls were painted black, like most of the furniture, though one could still make out the various etchings Jerry had made with his many knives, carvings that resembled certain aspects of the female anatomy then dissected by further cuttings. There were posters, also covered in black, of various bands like Rage Against The Machine and Tool, whose lyrics had been twisted and convoluted by the downstairs listener.
On the ceiling were velvet pictures of dragons and half-naked warrior women, the kind that one would find on the sides of 1970s vans, which glowed brightly with the use of Jerry’s black light. His wardrobe was no different from the outside color scheme.
The coffee table sitting in the middle of the room was littered with the origin of the rotting smell: several human hearts lay strewn on magazines, women’s magazines that no longer contained the faces of their female models. Every woman’s face had been meticulously cut out. The bedroom resembled the living area, save for one addition—a tarantula. What one didn’t find in the room, however, was any sort of enclosed habitat for the arachnid. Jerry allowed it to roam free. This was the first time Jenny had ventured downstairs since he made it his home.
“Jerry!” she screamed. “Where the hell are you? You’re scaring me!”
The hot breath on the back of her neck barely had time to register when an arm reached around, grabbing her throat. She heard the person inhale deeply.
“You smell good,” said Jerry. “Mom’s right—you are pretty.”
“Jerry,” she said, trying to gain her breath, “where’s Mom?”
