He’s standing over me and Evie.
– You two.
He smells the air around us.
– You two got dead all over your smell, buddy. You ain’t gonna last.
I push myself up on my elbows.
– None of us are.
He gives his cat cough.
– Oh, buddy, look into my eyes.
He bugs them at me.
I look.
And I see it there.
– It doesn’t scare me.
He slides his lids closed, slides them open.
– And why should it, buddy, it’s just who we are.
He looks at Evie, grunts, nods.
– Yeah, buddy, I see, I see. I’m old, but I’m not gone. I see.
He waves a hand, flickers off.
– You cling to that life as long as you can, it’ll drag you down, both of you.
He’s at the sewer cap, waving the Enclave down into the ground.
– Told you before, buddy.
He clambers down himself, only his head visible.
– You belong down here.
His head drops.
– With us.
And quiet. Creak of dead-bearing chains above, slow trickle of blood. And the breathing of my girl.
She turns from the sewer cap and looks at me.
– Always interesting when you pay a visit, Joe.
I wave a hand at the havoc.
– Got to be the life of the party, that’s just me.
She puts a hand on top of her bald head.
– I shot the Count.
– Baby, you killed his ass.
She hugs herself.
– I never killed anyone.
She hugs herself harder.
– God, that felt good.
She holds up a hand.
– Not just anyone. Him. Killing him felt good.
She smiles.
– Reeeally good.
She hides the smile with her hand.
– Awful. I’m awful. Terrible.
– Naughty even.
She takes her hand from her mouth.
– His own fault. Such an asshole. Such a titanic asshole. Two years. Two fucking years in this place with him. Constant back-and-forth. Just trying to keep some kind of stability to the whole thing. And he just keeps bringing in more Enclave. Kids clearly not capable of adapting to this life. Pushing all the limits of what we can bear. And then he started these gladiator matches. Pitting them against each other. Said it was to strengthen the whole. He just pulled that stuff out of his ass. He just.
She draws up her knees, rocks back and forth.
– I couldn’t. I couldn’t stop it. Not without. My people, there weren’t enough of us. So. I could have tried. But. We all would have. And then what? Because no one would have been here to keep things.
She stops rocking.
– Normal.
She laughs.
– Yeah.
She puts her head on her knees.
– I was so lonely.
She closes her eyes.
– I was alive. I wasn’t dying anymore. I was alive. But I was so lonely. And I thought to myself sometimes, If I was back in the hospital, Joe would come see me.
She opens her eyes.
– I was so lonely.
She unwraps her arms, touches the wound in my side.
– Hey.
I wince.
– It’s OK.
She puts a hand on my stomach.
– Joe.
– Baby. I need to. I’m. Sorry. I think.
She pushes a hand under my shirt.
– I was so lonely.
She runs fingers along the healing scar in my stomach.
It hurts, but I don’t stop her, I just try to get the words out before I can think about them anymore.
– There were these kids, and, they were in a hole, and, I didn’t. I could have, like you here. I could have helped. But I didn’t. And then I gave up. I went and hid. Kids. But. I don’t want to lie. Because. Baby, I don’t care. I don’t. I did what I could for them when I could and if I was a year too late for some of them. I don’t care. What I care about. What matters to me.
I grab her wrist.
– I’m sorry I lied to you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what I am.
I touch her face.
– Baby, I’m a killer.
She covers my mouth with her hand.
– It’s OK. I am too.
She takes her hand away from my mouth and exhales.
– And, Joe, I’m a Vampyre, we can totally have sex now.
She’s not in the mood to wait.
Everything hurts.
Nothing feels good. Nothing but her.
I don’t tell her what Amanda said, that we could have been having sex the whole time we knew each other. Something like that could kill the mood. Such as it is. And sure, holding that back after just apologizing for years of lies, that’s maybe not how you put your relationship on a healthy new footing. Figure I’m not really looking for a healthy relationship. I just love the girl. So I do what seems the right thing to do at the time. The other stuff, we’ll sort that out later.
It doesn’t take long.
Who wants to linger over it in a place like this.
– Baby.
She pulls her face from where it’s buried in my neck.
– M’tired.
I touch her cheek.
– Favor to ask.
She sits up.
– Don’t push it.
I kick off the jeans that are still around my ankles.
– Got anything I can wear?
– Well, white’s not really your color.
– I’ll manage.
She stands.
– Anyway, I have a jacket that’s all you.
She starts for the stairs, picking her way, naked, through the dead.
I stand myself up, my body mostly shocked still to be here.
– Another thing.
She’s on the stairs, waiting to hear it.
I give it to her.
– We got to get out of here.
She looks around the place.
– Well, I didn’t plan on staying at this point.
– Yeah, but I mean the Island.
She folds her arms.
– Manhattan?
I raise my hands.
– I know.
– Leave Manhattan?
I drop my hands.
– I got to ask you to trust me on this.
She frowns and raises a finger.
– You ask a lot, Joe Pitt.
– I know.
She unfolds her arms, swats the air, turns and climbs the stairs.
– I won’t go to Jersey.
I don’t say anything. I just stand there. And look at her ass. There’s not much left to it, but what’s there is choice.
I’m at the door.
White painter’s pants, white T, white boat decks, and my old black leather jacket. Not the palette I’d choose for myself, but I make it work. Evie’s dug in her basket and found white tights, white jersey skirt, white V-neck sweater, white hoodie and white Chuck Taylors.
We’re a pair.
– It took me so long to feel like a New Yorker.
– Baby, I get it. But an island has tunnels and bridges. Tunnels and bridges can be blocked.
– I know.
– Not like my first choice is someplace where the bars close at midnight.
– I’m not complaining, Joe. I just.
She looks out the door at the streets starting to show signs of morning.
– I love this city.
– Yeah. Me too.
The street rumbles, I look up to the corner, and thirteen bikers in top hats, aviator goggles and long duster coats round onto Little West Twelfth and roll up to the loading dock.
The lead rider lifts the goggles from his eyes and lets them hang from his neck.
– Joe.
– Christian.
He puts a hand at his ear, like he’s holding a phone.
– Got a strange call. Said you’d been up to some crazy shit. Said getting lost was a good plan. Said you were the man to talk to about finding a lost place. Said find you here.
He lowers the hand.
– Can’t say I’m pleased about any part of that.
I limp onto the loading dock, packing nothing but attitude.
– Got a problem with it?
He puts a hand in the pocket of his duster, comes out with a pint of Old Crow.
– No one told me I’d live forever.
He takes a drink, screws the cap back, tosses it to me.