Her Loving Husband's Curse (5 page)

“I apologize for coming in my current condition, Sarah,” Howard said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You should have seen your face when I walked in the door!”

James laughed, Howard laughed, but Sarah stared, marveling at the wolf-man sitting on her sofa as though he had stopped by for a spot of tea.

“Humans can’t hear me like this,” Howard said. “It sounds like howls and barks to them.”

“Howard said he’s sorry he scared you,” James said.

“It’s all right, Howard.”

“It’s probably better she can’t hear me,” Howard said. “She’s not going to like what I have to say about Kenneth Hempel.”

James kept his eyes light, his features easy. He didn’t want Sarah to worry about that annoying little reporter again. He laughed as if Howard told a joke.

“I heard through a journalism professor at the college that Hempel started a blog where he’s going to share everything he knows. He’s already reposted the article he published in the
News
.”

Sarah was staring at Howard, her head tilted to the side as though if she strained hard enough she might understand. James didn’t want her to understand.

“Hempel’s also self-publishing a book about his vampire hunt. Seems anyone can publish any crap they want these days.” Howard turned to Sarah and spoke to her as if she could understand. “Luckily, no one pays much attention to the indie books,” he said.

James felt the worry crawl up his spine, rung by rung, until it rested in the smile he wouldn’t drop so Sarah wouldn’t guess something was wrong. He smiled the way a madman in the mental ward smiles, amused by something only he can see.

“The blog is up, James. I’ve seen it myself.”

“That’s not good,” James said.

“What’s not good?” Sarah asked.

James shook his head, unsure what to say.

“Tell her this,” Howard said. “Timothy is having a hard time. I need you to talk to him, James. I think he’s depressed.”

James turned to Sarah. “Howard thinks Timothy is depressed.” He said the words quickly, hoping they flowed to the right cadence, no strange offbeat in his tone.

“Depressed about what?”

James relayed Howard’s words: “About looking like he’s fourteen when he’s eighteen now. He had a crush on a girl in one of his classes and she wouldn’t give him the time of day because she thought he was a little boy.”

“Will you talk to him, James?” Howard asked.

“Of course,” James said.

James opened the door, and Howard scampered away free and wild as any wolf roaming the plains. As he shut the door, James felt weighed down by a black-hole worry about the damage Hempel could cause if he went through with his plans to share his knowledge about vampires with the world. Should he tell Sarah? Did she need to know that Hempel was on the hunt again? James thought back to that day, just five months before, when he had gone into the sunlight and survived, proving to Hempel that he wasn’t a vampire, though he was. Hempel had been convinced, and James was no longer a suspect. He had taken himself out of the running for Hempel’s Vampire of the Year award. So why did he feel nervous knowing about Hempel’s latest plans?

Sarah walked to him, pressed her head against his shoulder, held his hand in hers. She looked wistfully out the window the way Howard left. “How did Howard come to adopt Timothy?” she asked.

James shook his head, pressing away his fears about Hempel so he could concentrate on his wife. “I think Geoffrey turned Timothy,” he said. “I don’t know that for a fact, but Timothy was left to fend for himself the way I was—completely abandoned. He was all alone like I was, afraid of what he had become. He needed someone to help him.”

Sarah sat on the sofa, patting the cushion beside her.

“Tell me,” she said.

James sat next to her. He slid his arm around her waist, pulled her close, breathing in deeply, savoring the scent of strawberries and cream. He could live forever wafting in that delicious fruity haze. He pressed Sarah’s cheek to his chest, and he stared over her head out the window as he remembered.

“It was about four years ago now. I was living in Washington State at the time, teaching at the University of Washington Seattle, when I got a call from Howard saying he found a vampling, a young one, living alone and frightened in the woods.

“‘He’s just a boy,’ Howard said. ‘I tried to help him, but he was too afraid to come to me.’

“‘Afraid?’ I said.

“‘It was a full moon,’ Howard explained. ‘I heard the boy crying and I saw the blood on his cheeks so I tried to talk to him, but he was frozen with fear when he realized he understood a talking wolf. He ran away as quick as a flash, and as fast as I am I couldn’t catch him. Now I can’t find him and I don’t know where he went to stay out of the sun during the day. You have to help me find him, James. He’s just a boy and he’s scared.’”

“What a kind man Howard is,” Sarah said. “I didn’t know.”

James nodded. “The sight of the frightened vampire boy touched him and he had to do something.”

“So you came back to Salem?”

“Yes. When I arrived I saw a very human-looking Howard, his shirt rumpled, his beard untrimmed, his hair messy, his eyes red-rimmed. He couldn’t rest until he found the boy, so that night we went into the woods to search for him. At first there was nothing, no sounds, not even the scamper of animals or the rustling wind. Then I caught his scent and the sound of feet crunching fallen leaves. I moved as soundlessly as I could since I didn’t want to frighten him away. Finally, I saw him huddled against a tree, his knees pulled to his chest, his face and blue shirt stained with large pools of blood, some from his tears, and some from some previous feeding or injuries, I couldn’t tell. The sight tore at Howard’s heart, and it touched mine too. At least it touched where my heart used to be.”

Sarah shook her head. “You’re like the Tin Man from
The Wizard of Oz
, James, wishing for a heart you already have.”

“Perhaps,” James said. “The sight of Timothy touched my memories of how frightened and alone I felt when I was new to this life, and I understood what Howard felt because I had to help the boy too. I walked to him, and when he saw me he jumped as if he would run away.

“‘It’s all right,’ I said. I moved toward him as if I were approaching a strange dog with my hands out to let it smell me. I knelt next to him and spoke softly. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ I told him. ‘I’m just like you.’

“Timothy pulled into himself, his knees closer to his chest, his arms so tight around his legs they nearly wrapped around his back, an immortal ball of fear.

“‘It’s all right,’ I said again. ‘My name is James. What’s your name?’

“Timothy’s black-night eyes looked like pinholes against his dead-pale skin, watching me as I inched closer to him. He must have sensed I meant him no harm because he released his grip some and he found his voice.

“‘Timothy,’ he said. He looked at himself, his bloody clothes, the fresh blood from his tears on his hands. He looked confused, as though he hardly remembered his name himself. ‘I’m Timothy Bryston.’

“‘How old are you, Timothy?’

“‘I’m fourteen.’

“‘Where’s your family?’

“He heaved with such sadness he couldn’t speak, and he shuddered so hard I was afraid he’d damage himself even with his preternatural bones. I rubbed his back until he settled. He looked even younger than fourteen then. ‘They’re dead,’ he said through waves of sobs. ‘All of them. My mom and dad. My brother and sister.’ He held his blood-streaked hands out to me, pleading. ‘What’s wrong with me?’

“‘You’re all right, Timothy,’ I said. ‘Tell me what happened to your family.’

He paced the rocky forest ground, tripping over heavy tree roots he didn’t see through his blurred, swollen eyes, then stopped suddenly, his head in his hands. “‘We were driving home and another car zoomed around us. My dad lost control swerving away and our car smashed into a tree.’ Timothy dropped to his knees under the weight of his anguish. ‘They’re all dead! And I should be too! I was dying, everything was slowing down, everything was growing darker, but this man pulled me from the car and said he could help me. I asked him if he could help my mom and dad, and he said I’d thank him later. I woke up here in the woods.’”

“That does sound like Geoffrey,” Sarah said.

James grimaced. “Yes.”

“Did Timothy recognize him at our wedding?”

“I don’t think so. He hasn’t said anything.”

Sarah shook her head. “That poor baby, all alone in the world without his parents and terrified at what he had become.”

“I understood how he felt. I told him I was very sorry about his family, and I told him he didn’t need to be afraid anymore since Howard and I were there to help him. I looked back at Howard, the father’s concern already settled in his eyes. He stepped out from behind a tree, tentatively at first, fully human, heart wide open, like the arms he held out ready to embrace this boy he already knew would be his son. He kneeled near Timothy and smiled.

“‘I’m Howard Wolfe,’ he said. ‘I’d like to help you, Timothy, if you’d let me.’

“‘There’s something wrong with me,’ Timothy said, holding out his bloodied hands as proof.

“Howard laughed. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘There’s something wrong with me as well. You’ll see in about a month. If you’d like to stay with me, I think that would be fine. James here is just like you, and he’s going to help you too. Your life will be different now, but it’s nothing we can’t figure out together. Would you like to stay with me, Timothy?’ I thought Timothy would burst into a fresh flood of red tears, he looked so relieved.”

“I thought vampires and werewolves are enemies,” Sarah said.

“It’s never been true. At least not as long as I’ve been around.”

“How come Geoffrey doesn’t go to see Timothy the way he comes to see you?”

“I don’t think he even realizes he turned Timothy. He’s never said anything about it.”

Sarah shook her head. “Sometimes people don’t say everything they know,” she said.

James nodded. He took his wife into his arms, holding her close. He guessed she knew he was keeping something from her, but that was his job, to protect her, to keep everything bad away from her. He was her safety cushion, her soft place to fall, shielding her from everything wrong in the world. He decided not to tell Sarah about Hempel. Not now. She didn’t need to know.

But he needed to know. Later that night, while Sarah slept, he sat at his desk and turned on his laptop. One Internet search later he was staring at the blog with the finger-pointing words he remembered:

Do vampires lurk in Salem? The demon tales from long ago may not be as fictional as many have come to believe. Do you know any demons? Or, perhaps a better question is, do you know any vampires? Before you laugh you may want to consider the facts. Vampires may be prowling as close as your hospitals, your favorite clothing stores, your dentists’s offices, even lurking in Salem State College.

How well do you know those whom you encounter every night? Where are they going? What business do they tend to? While it’s difficult to believe that the undead are real, it would be to everyone’s benefit to consider such possibilities. These blood-devouring night creatures aren’t merely figments of imagination from books and movies, but they’re out there, among us, feigning human lives to be all the closer to our blood. We are their natural food source after all.

James saw the addendum under the original article, and he read that too:

I am in the process of gathering the final pieces of evidence I need to prove the reality of vampires. I will have names, facts, and details soon. I hope everyone will follow me on this journey as I disclose once and for all the undead who have cloaked themselves in darkness these many years.

James shut down the computer and stared out the window, wallowing in the silence of a sleeping Salem. It was just as Howard said. But James had hope. Since writing the original article Hempel had dismissed James from his list of suspects. They would be fine.

Dear God, James thought. Let us be fine.

* * * * *

They say the Indians are uncivilized with their barbaric customs. Forget their depraved heathen gods. The Indians should conform to the gods of commerce. Besides, they have no title to the land. They do not believe in land ownership. And the discoverer has rights too. What is the point of discovering land if you cannot have it when you find it?

But the Cherokee assimilated. They converted. Their children go to proper schools. They have a written language, a syllabary, invented by Sequoyah over twenty years ago, and they have laws and a Constitution. They abolished clan revenge and other acts considered too savage for gentle American sensibilities. The women spin and weave while the men raise livestock and plant crops. They own their own plots of land, no longer shared as one whole. Most have become God-fearing, Bible-reading, prayer-speaking Christians. Many have become wealthy. Some further south are slave owners, a sad concession to their wish to conform. The people here are farmers, but others are doctors, lawyers, writers, teachers, professors, and journalists. But no matter how well they follow the leader they will always be Other.