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The night was merciful to his old bones. Daniel usually spent his days slouching in the couch, reading articles and solving sudoku puzzles - a vapid attempt at preserving the brain, strengthening the neural connections that are still there, everything that has remained. He barely moved - his everyday routes consisted of: periodic visits to the kitchen, just to microwave some prepackaged meals and make some coffee for the day; embarrassingly long - and embarrassingly painful, - visits to the bathroom; long awaited, and just as vexing stays at the lonely, poorly lit bedroom, where he would mostly turn, dreamless, in bed till the sunrise. And there was always this couch, beckoning him to lay down and waste his days away.
He sometimes left this tiny house in the middle of nowhere for meaningless car rides. Some evenings he would take himself to a diner, accompanying himself with his notebook, trying to squeeze out a few words out of himself. And nothing. His mind was preoccupied with the same scenario almost every single time - him staying for a little too late, some kids ambushing the diner, the old waitress screaming, blood splashing everywhere, like in some vintage ( huh ) slasher, young-looking eighty, hundred-year-olds jumping on top of the tables, laughing maniacally, all pointing at him. Everyone else is dead, others - undead, and he is surrounded by them till he’s going up and down in the air like on some fucked up carousel at the amusement park, as if he was back again at that damned apartment in the 70s. He put a target on himself with this bloody book, and maybe he was secretly entertaining himself with the idea of a reprisal even more bloody.
He felt drained. He couldn’t restore any of the energy he’s lost back in Dubai. Not after what happened at the end of his little, nice trip, not after he had to flee the scene that morbid, no. Always fatigued, always over-stressed, binge-eating snacks that leave his sugar spikes too high, and him - too fucking constipated for his own sake. Every morning he regretted the decision to abandon smoking, and every morning he imagined himself starting the car and finally buying a pack. Every noon he would smile tightly at a cashier and pay for his occasional fruits and vegetables. And snacks, again.
One day the cashier took off their headphones, annoyed, and Daniel heard the audiobook narrator say something among the lines of: “blah-blah-Lestat-blah-blah”, which made Daniel even more annoyed, ruining his day.
Sic vita est or something.
Yet this night was gentle on him so far. No ache in his body or mind, no crushing tension in his muscles, no shooting headache. Till the raccoon started scratching his porch, looking for food. It’s a bad habit, he really should stop feeding the rodent -
The scratching comes from the inside the house. Okay. Daniel, you didn’t close the window?
He slowly got up and shambled to the kitchen. The windows are only half-opened, no biggie, it wouldn’t get in through the gap that thin. He noticed a dirty mug in the washer. He might deal with this while he’s here.
His neighbors’ security alarm sparked in his window - two distant dots, shining away almost every night. Here, it disappeared. Probably turned it off, - fewer bills to pay. Something-something about the height of willful ignorance. Daniel chuckled and put the mug in the cupboard.
Now, the wooden boards of the porch shrieked. A nasty wooden shriek, followed by a shriek of a more… living kind. By the end maybe not so living. Okay. So his mind started playing tricks on him. That’s okay. That’s fine.
Daniel took the fire iron. Fine. The house had taken a breath, shuddering and shaking. He’s fine.
The raccoon is clearly not fine. It’s laying in a dark poodle on the lower steps of the porch. Uh-huh. The head is looking a tiny bit wrong. A curled neck. That’s why. Daniel started shaking. A little broken body. Reminds him of a cat bringing the prey to the bed.
Daniel sighed. The streetlamps are not on. Classic.
“Why the raccoon.” Not really a question. He’s just tired, and the act was kinda malicious. The creature was not at fault of his doings. Plus, it was nice to have a company of sorts.
Silence. Neighbors’ security alarm lighted up again, two lights blinking far away. But wait, on the wrong side. Their house is on the right, not in front of his house.
Shit. Did they ever even had the security alarm? Daniel sighed again. He squinted his eyes. Yeah. Orange lights. Not red, not blue or green, something familiar.
Stopped blinking.
“Maybe I liked the raccoon. For Christ’s sake,” he said louder. No seeming response.
The night sky was red because of all the light pollution from the city. He thought he moved far enough for it to be pitch black like it once was when he was younger, stars visible, constellations easy to recognize and point out from the hood of the car after sex with the girl from his class. Nah.
There were trees in front of his house, some spruce, some deciduous trees for variety. Now it’s just black, clearly outlined silhouettes. His car was a bit further away, bare, uncovered for the night, reflecting the waxing crescent.
And two dots. Projecting light like some sick deer caught by the camera flash in the night. He thought of the skin shedding on the antlers, red ragged strips of leather coming off and hanging over the deer’s face. Sinister; he couldn’t see anything apart from the eyes.
“Others are coming for you.”
As if he didn’t know. The voice coming from the trees was a bit unfamiliar, like a distorted record.
“Others are coming for you, and you already ran to the outskirts of your honeyed, labored American suburbia.” Now that’s the voice he could recognize. That sting of betrayal, shake of the cry bordering the anger and expected whiplash coming right after.
There is also something alluring. Always was.
“Hey, it’s a nice place. Really cozy, too. And I'll die soon anyway, so who gives a fuck.”
Daniel tries to look Armand straight in the eyes, smiling and laughing quietly. The bright white line of the teeth appeared under the set of eyes. Good, his night horror has a mouth.
“What? Your brain is finally cooked?” Mocking. Sure.
“It's just... That's another privilege of growing old, I guess. You don't give a fuck anymore. I, I loved life, I loved living, and I had it - thanks, by the way - but now it really doesn't matter, huh?” He made a small pause in his sudden ramble. Jesus, he didn’t speak to anyone in a long, long time. “I've seen shit, I lived it. So what if I die? I already went through my own Killing Joke experience in the 70s. Thanks, by the way.” He can mock back. “All I know, you could kill me right here, right now - I wouldn't mind. I wouldn’t care. I fucked up everything I possibly could. There isn't much left for me to fuck up anymore.”
Silence. This nocturnal animal caught his tongue or something?
“I cannot let you wander around after committing such a thing.”
That’s not really wandering. He sits in his house all day. Pathetic, really.
“What, breaking one of your vampire rules that you yourself shat on? Continuously? You let me in on that vampire reality show set. You did.”
“I didn't want the interview to happen. Time and time again, I repeat -”
“Yeah. But you did let it happen. Oh, you’d make a hit in Kardashians. You, too, live for the drama. You wanted the interview. To revive your stale, twisted marriage and spice up your sex life. Admit it.”
“No! Not with such consequences, I did not!” Daniel smiled at the tone - Armand is getting hysterical, he guesses. “But you are right about one thing. You came and fucked it all up. You break, and you fuck it up, and you shutter; then you build it back the way you like it and sell it and get off to that!”
Daniel just loves pocking a stick into a beehive. They can sting all they want. He wears his favorite chunky knit sweater tonight.
“One cannot fuck up something that was already fucked up in the first place. Did you really come all the way up to here just to... What? Invest in some crisis management. Or even better - the therapist. But to come here just to blame me for your shit? Really?” Daniel shakily set on the porch. He rubbed his face. “Do you want to talk about it? Do you want your own interview? Is that what you came for? Too bad. I took some days off. Come back when I'm dead and my dust is already scattered over the ocean, if my daughters will actually grant my dying wish.” And here comes nothing. Again. “I don’t have time to sit here all day. All night. Oh, fuck you.”
Something wavered in the orange glow across him. Did you come here just to haunt me.
“Others are coming for you.” Broken record. At least he seems to calm down.
“ Yeah . That I’ve heard. Haven’t seen any of them yet.”
“And you won’t.”
Why is that. Modern acts of chivalry? Huh.
“How long have you been here? Never mind. Don’t wanna know. You no longer pay me to listen.”
The eyes now appeared to be sitting neatly on a neat, curl-framed face. His night horror squeezed and shrunk to a size of a small guilty dog. Even the face expression is somewhat alike - big eyes, small line of a mouth got even smaller. Fuck, he’s lonely and has nowhere to go, so he probably ran here with his tail between his legs.
Fucking terrifying , if you ask Daniel. Very awkward, too. He better come here for some ritualistic brutal killing, otherwise…
“I’m not here to end you.”
Daniel grimaced.
“Okay.”
“I don’t know why I came.”
“Okay.”
Armand tilted his head slightly, still staring at him. Still not blinking. Daniel shuddered. He really was here all this time. Watching. Observing. Daniel grimaced further, trying to remember what he did this week. Or any other weeks.
“I don’t have guests. Usually. I’m not the type.”
The small-and-lost-guilty-dog-face turned into a more familiar stoic, arrogant look.
“There is nothing you can possibly offer me.”
As if. Daniel looked back, tilting his head, mirroring Armand.
There was a flash in front of his eyes - Alice, paved street, heels getting stuck in the space between the stones. Consents, rejections, constant presence of the other . Like a heavy blanket or a company at the bar in a face of an unexpected friend you would forget in the morning. A set of eyes glowing away almost every night.
It’s not that he would forgive . That’s a big word.
He’s an idiot.
There’s some wine inside. Maybe some whiskey.
And a few unsolved Sudoku.
Daniel opened the door and headed inside.