“On?” I figured that if I was going to get an education, it might as well be thorough.
“Well, on whether or not you're in love at the time, for one thing. Or on just how fucked up you are, for another.”
She went on, describing how more severe cuts could be inflicted, depending on the mood of the donor. She was pretty circumspect, and I could tell she was trying not to go somewhere, but that the questions were leading her there anyway.
She stopped talking, and looked at the door to my office. “Could you close the door?”
Hester reached over and pushed it shut.
Huck looked at the windows. The curtains were pulled.
“Well it's been a day,” she said, with a sigh. “What the fuck. Look, I was an abused kid,” she said. “My mother had a boyfriend when I was about thirteen or so. Okay? And he used to get at me in a sexual way, and he'd smack me around once in a while, just to keep me in my place. And, like, Mom knew, 'cause I told her. And she, well, she ignored me, okay? So it went on. All through high school.” She shrugged. “Until I was a senior, and he left her for some skanky twenty-year-old.” She looked at Hester. “So I could handle it, you know? No problems. It was over, right? Well, I didn't socialize much, I mean, he didn't want me out of the house all that often. And I could, well, remember when home had been a safe place once, and I thought that now it could be again.” She shrugged. “We all make mistakes, now and then. But I really liked music. I was happy in music, and I was good with my music.” She stopped, and it didn't look like she was going to restart.
“What instrument?” I asked.
“Flute.” A wistful smile. “I was good, too. Went to the University of Wisconsin at Madison on a music scholarship.” She'd been slumped while she was talking, but when she started about her music, she almost imperceptibly straightened. “Once I got to play the 'Jolivet Concerto for Flute and Orchestra,' with the whole symphony. Well, it was at a rehearsal, not at a concert, but the conductor said it was 'flawless.' ” She brightened. “Leiberman's, too. I was pretty good,” and her voice trailed off.
Her hands came up, and she spread her fingers wide, and looked at them for a moment. “Now I deal cards for a living. Dexterity is very important for a blackjack dealer, too. I'm pretty good at that, and the breath control is a snap,” she said, lightly.
Then back to the here and now. “So, about halfway through my first year as a middle school music teacher at a little town in northern Wisconsin, I discovered I couldn't handle the past as well as I thought.” She chuckled ruefully. “Christmas vacation, and I decided to spend it by myself in my apartment. Ever drink absinthe? That is some fine shit, let me tell ya. Just never get drunk on hard liquor when you're secretly all fucked up in the head, and all alone by yourself. Boy.”
Hester and I were both very quiet.
“So, back to our problem,” she said briskly. “Things got to me. Really, really got to me. They don't want you teaching their kids after you've had an 'episode,' you know? So when I got out of the treatment facility I resigned. It was the easiest thing to do, for all concerned, really. I went home, and there was mother dear who was in a state of mourning over her lost love, and just couldn't get real concerned about me, except that I was broke. And I hated that, and when I was 'discovered' by Edie, who talked me into living at the Mansion, I just moved in. Rent-free. I figured I'd just take some time, then maybe go back to teaching or something. No more, I guess.”
She shrugged. “Anyway, I suppose I got into the blood stuff because I was accepted, and felt somebody actually cared, you know?” She looked at us both for a second. “And Jessica takes us places, too. Chicago several times. New York once. We get to go to things like concerts with her, and galleries. Shows. More than just tickets. She, like, knows some of the artists, and we get to meet 'em, and go to social things with really cool people.”
I nodded.
“And I get to be around music, and music people… ” She sort of drifted off. Then, “But it still hurt a lot, inside. A lot, and it never went all the way away. But Dan, he showed me a way to make the pain go for quite a while.”
She stood.
“Now, don't go all embarrassed on me, I wear exceptionally nice underwear,” she said, and abruptly pulled down her slacks.
On the inside of her left thigh were six or eight long, pale but pronounced scars running from about two inches below the groin to about an inch above the knee. She looked at both of us. “Both thighs, underneath both breasts, and the inside of the upper left arm, but this way I can still wear nice clothes, you know?” she said, pulling her slacks back up. “I do it to myself. It looks weird, I know it. But it actually makes you feel better about some things, to do that. It's the endorphins, I guess. The body releases them to cope with the pain caused by the knife, and they make you feel good all over, inside and out, for a while.”
She sat. “Those were for Danny boy. Sometimes I just hate myself for that.” Her face kind of twitched for a second. “But, anyway, when I used to do that, there was a lot more blood than you get from your earlobes. For everybody. But I haven't cut for over a year now.”
We were silent, and I was feeling very, very awkward.
She flashed a smile. “I'm sorry if I embarrassed you two. Really.” She looked past me, at the wall. “But then I started to catch on. I mean, I was really into Danny boy, let me tell you. I'd do anything he wanted, because he cared, didn't he. Oh, yeah. He said he was trying to help me. Get me over the pain. Past it. To replace the hurt with love. But I wasn't quite so fucked up one time, not as much as usual, anyway, and I really listened to the son of a bitch talk to me. And I caught on. I mean, there we are up there on the third, and we're in that great bed, and he's touched all the right places, and we've done our thing, and now he's a little thirsty, and he's making me feel like he really gives a damn. And he's talking to me.
And I actually listened to what the bastard was saying. You know what? He was bringing up all the old pain, everything I'd told him. And while he was doing that, he was saying that 'one last cut, and then you'll never do it again. One more and it'll all be out, all the pain, let it out… The last one.' That prick was depressing me on purpose! So I'd cut myself. Encouraging me to do it again! Can you believe that?”
She'd been leaning farther and farther forward, as she spoke. She became aware of it, and sat back, very carefully, and composing herself almost instantly.
“Pardon me. I really don't like to rant.” She shrugged. “But, I mean, all he wanted was my blood.” She forced a weak laugh. “I mean, it didn't have to be my personality, but why not just my body? So, anyway, that's why I stopped.” She forced a smile. “It didn't make me feel that good, not anymore. You know?”
TWENTY-TWO
Monday, October 9, 2000
19:18
More to just take some of the tension out of the air, I simply said, “So, that's why Toby thinks that this Peale is a vampire. He has a blood fetish.”
“Noo, I don't think 'thinks' is the right word,” said Huck. “No, Toby believes that Dan is really a vampire, is immortal and will never die, can't stand exposure to sunlight, is supernaturally strong, and has to consume blood to exist.” She looked at Hester and me in turn. “Really, I'm serious. Toby believes Dan is a vampire, because Dan himself really believes Dan's a vampire, and Toby really needs to believe in Dan.” She smiled, apologetically. “That's pretty complex.”
“But don't vampires have little quirky things that give them away, that you could use to prove it, sort of stuff?” I was curious.
“Such as?”
“Well,” I said, drawing on my vast movie experiences, “like, not reflecting in mirrors? Having to be invited in? You know. That stuff.”
She smiled. “Movies, huh?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Let me tell you what Dan tells people when they come up with some things that he just can't do, or can't bring off. He says that those are false aspects of the vampire. He says that they're purposefully invented and
