Running With the Shadows of the Night, chapter 8

How are you feeling this evening, little one?

Okay.

You can be honest with me.

Not too good. The new meds make me super nauseated. I’ve got, like, fifteen other things to make me not nauseated, but they don’t work all that well.

I’m sorry to hear that.

My mom came by for a little bit today.

How was that?

Good. She’s worried, though. I can tell.

Yes.

She brought me salted caramel ice cream.

How was it?

I couldn’t eat it.

No. That’s understandable.

Do you think she understood?

Your mom?

Yeah.

Oh, yes. I’m sure she did.

That’s good. I’ve been thinking about Stanley. You know, being sick in the hospital like me.

Have you?

Yeah. I’ve been thinking about how he felt, suddenly seeing Sarah again.

It would be strange, wouldn’t it?

Yeah.

Would you like to hear how he reacted?

Yes, please.

Stanley focused on Senka and said, “Sarah? Sarah, is that you?” He began to cry. Tears traced the path of the wrinkles around his eyes, both the laugh lines that Senka remembered and new lines of pain that had developed since she’d last seen him. She smiled down at him, still stroking his hair. “It’s me, Stan.”

“Where have you been?” He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his chest. “We looked for you, Peter and I. How could you do that to us?” His joy at seeing her was turning to outrage. The heart monitor’s steady peaks and valleys juddered and became erratic.

“I know you did, Stan. Thank you. I know.” She shook her head. “It sounds so feeble to say thank you for something that—I don’t know how to say it. You can’t know how important it was to me to learn that you had looked for me, that you’d tried to get some kind of justice.”

“We did!” He was crying again. “I was sure that paskudnyak Kenny had done something. Now, here you are.” His voice, initially a whispering rattle, gained strength with his anger and his pale cheeks reddened.

“Stanley.” She reached her free hand to wipe his face. “Stanley, look at me. You knew me better than anyone. You saw every mood, every thought. Look at me. You know I’d never have left you voluntarily.”

He fought past his emotion and focused on her face, scrutinizing every feature. Then he closed his eyes. “I’m dreaming again. Should’ve known. You and Peter. I dream about you both all the time.”

“No, Stan, you’re not dreaming,” she said tenderly. Stanley opened his eyes and looked at her again. “You remember when we first met, before you and Peter got together? That production of Hamlet you directed? We’d sit around after rehearsal, get smashed, and talk about why the Elizabethans were so comfortable with the supernatural?”

Stanley’s lips curled in a shadow of a smile. “It’s when I first knew I loved you.”

“You were always a more loving dad than my own, even.”

“We came up with the idea of our show one night. Talking about vampires.”

“That’s right.” Senka met his eyes with a smile of her own. She said nothing, only waited, trusting that the penny would drop. It did.

“Ghosts…are real?” He looked doubtful, almost afraid she would laugh at him.

Senka nodded. “Ghosts are real.”

“And you…you’re a ghost?” He almost laughed. “I sound mashugana, even to myself.”

“It’s been pretty crazy, all right.”

Stan’s smile vanished. “Sarella. It was him, wasn’t it? Kenny.” He almost spat the name. “What did he do?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, Stan. You tried to warn me.”

“That’s water under the bridge. It’s not important. You…you’re what’s important.”

She took both of his hands in hers. “It wasn’t painful. I just kind of went to sleep. Silas and I read about you and Peter hiring a PI.”

“She didn’t find anything,” he said, shrugging dismissively.

“No. But that’s because he misdirected everyone. He set up a dummy cabin somehow. We went north, not south.”

“That fucking Kenny.”

“How did he do all that, Stan? Do you know? The cabin, footprints, everything.”

“Oy, sweetheart!” He extricated a hand and adjusted the oxygen tube under his nose, then took her hand again.

“Is this too much?” Sarah asked, concerned. “I don’t want to wear you out. Should we go?”

“We? Who’s we?” Stan peered around the room and spotted Silas. “Who’s this?”

Senka turned and beckoned Silas and Luna over. Luna hopped onto the bed and picked his way carefully up to Stanley’s stomach where he sat gazing at the old man curiously. “I think you might be a bit heavier than Stan needs right now,” Senka commented as she shifted Luna onto the sheet next to Stanley. The kitten pressed against Stan’s hip and tucked his paws in, purring. “That’s Luna. And this is Silas.” Silas carefully took the ailing man’s hand. “It is a pleasure,” he said, “to meet you.” Senka leaned close to Stan’s ear and whispered, “Ghosts aren’t the only things that are real. He’s a vampire.”

“Of course he is,” said Stanley, as if he heard such things every day. “I knew we were right all along.”

“Well,” Senka responded, “we weren’t entirely wrong, anyway.”

Stanley patted Silas’ hand, a complacent smile accentuating the laugh lines around his lips. He studied the vampire’s face for a moment as the machinery prolonging his life clicked and whirred around him. At length, having satisfied himself about Silas, he nodded and returned to the subject. “So, Kenny, may his name be erased. We could never prove anything, the PI, Peter, and me. And let me tell you, he should have gotten an Emmy for the performance he put on. Grieving husband, abandoned by his wife, why would she do this, blah, blah, blah. The police ended up being taken in one hundred percent. Well, that and the cabin.”

Silas sat on the end of the hospital bed. “The cabin, yes,” he said. “We read about that. Did you find out how he was able to set that up?”

“Your Kenny,” Stanley began, wagging a finger at Senka. “He was mixed up with some very bad people. Again, we could never prove this, at least not enough to satisfy the police. Grace—that was the name of the PI—she was convinced. Peter and I were convinced. But we didn’t have enough hard evidence. These people, they were good at covering their tracks.”

“Who were they?” Senka was reeling again at how much she didn’t know about the man she had married.

“Did you know he’d been disbarred?” Stanley asked, sidestepping her question.

“Not until a couple of hours ago.”

“Ah. I win. Peter and I had a bet. I was sure you’d have told me if you’d known. He thought maybe not. So, Grace sweet-talked one of the associates at his old firm, and he spilled the gossip. The word there was that Kenny’s major client was some Russian oligarch.”

“You can’t be disbarred for representing someone like that, can you?” Senka looked from Stan to Silas.

“Just wait,” Stan replied, waving his hand for silence. “No, you can’t be disbarred for that. You can be disbarred for embezzling your law firm, though.”

“He embezzled the firm? Why?”

Silas laid his hand on Senka’s arm. “Let him tell the story in his own way,” he said.

“Thank you. She always did this.” He gave Senka’s hand a squeeze. “Nu. Where was I? Yes, embezzling. Why, you want to know. You’ve heard of kompromat? Compromising information, right? Well, it turns out that this oligarch, to keep Kenny in line, introduced him to gambling. Or, maybe not introduced, but enabled him. It’s the old story.”

Senka groaned. “The old story? It’s a goddamn cliché.”

“That may be so, but Kenny liked to stand out, didn’t he? TV star wife, fancy car, bespoke suits. This was Kenny. So we’re not talking the nickel slots, here, bubbala. We’re talking high-stakes gambling. Poker, baccarat, whatever, I don’t know. What I do know is that his oligarch got him into some fancy games, and Kenny lost big. The oligarch bailed him out, so now he owes the oligarch. He lawyers for free in return. But gambling isn’t his only bill, not by a long shot. So, embezzle, get caught, quietly leave the firm, end up being disbarred. Only now he’s useless to his bankrolling oligarch. At least as a lawyer. We never could find out everything he did, but it looks like he couldn’t get out of debt. So.” He spread his hands to indicate the inevitability of the rest of the story.

“Are you telling me,” Senka started with disgust, “that I got murdered for my money? Of all the ridiculous, tawdry—”

“Like there’s a good reason for your husband to murder you?” Stanley cut in. “Anyway, it explains some things.”

“How do you mean?” Silas asked.

“Well, for one, he told me a ‘business associate’ owned the cabin,” Senka said. “Something like that, anyway. Now we know who that was. Did you ever see anyone else there before I came, Silas?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean anything. I didn’t go there often.”

“Hm.” Stanley raised an eyebrow. “There’s a story here, I think. But one mystery at a time. I agree it explains you dying in a cabin no one ever stumbled across. Out-of-the-way places of death seem to be this Kossack’s specialty. It also explains Kenny having the chutzpah to set up a red-herring cabin.”

“But it doesn’t explain how he did it so convincingly,” Senka offered.

“True, but we can guess he had help. And it explains, however much we hate this plot point, why he killed the most beautiful, most talented, kindest—” His voice broke, and he went silent, just patting Senka’s hand. He cleared his throat. “So now you talk. I’m worn out. I’m a dying man here, you know. I only lived this long because I quit smoking after you disappeared.”

“Well, if that’s what it took, it was worth it.”

“You’re not funny. Besides, now I’ve outlived Peter, and for this I’m not grateful. So talk. Tell me everything. I’m just going to rest my eyes and breathe.”

For the next hour or so, Stanley lay quietly, occasionally asking questions or remarking on a detail, as Senka and Silas filled him in, perhaps leaving out a personal moment here and there that Stanley was astute enough to intuit for himself. When they had finished, he asked, “Your goal is to end this Harou and kill Kenny, is that it?”

“Yes,” Silas answered promptly. At the same time, Senka said, “No.” Silas turned to her, surprised. “We want to end Harou. That part’s right,” she clarified. “But I don’t want to kill Kenny.”

“Why not?” Silas asked. Stanley opened his eyes to watch her but said nothing.

“Because to kill him would be to do the same thing he did to me. I want him to face justice as he should have done for murdering me. I’m not sure how to do it, but that’s what I want.”

“Then that’s what we will do,” Silas said with conviction.

Stanley offered a tired smile and said, “I am liking this one. Who knew a vampire could turn out to be more of a mensch than a living person.” Senka and Silas shared a look. “Now, kids,” Stanley went on. “I have some advice for you, so listen.” He took both their hands. “Season 3, episode 8. Farshteyst?” Silas looked blank, but Senka, after a moment, understood.

“Oh, I see. Stan, that’s good.” She turned to face Silas. “In the story arc of season 3, we’d been chasing this one vampire. Finally, in episode 8 we decided to stop chasing and lure her to us. We set up an elaborate scheme in a drippy old cellar, very atmospheric. We had decoys and ruses to make her think she’d taken us by surprise and that we were weaker than we really were. Of course, it’s not a fully fleshed-out plan, but I think it’s a good start.” She paused and watched him expectantly.

Silas looked between them. “You’re proposing, as I understand it, that we lure Harou to some location—”

“It doesn’t have to be a cellar,” Senka threw in.

“Not necessarily a cellar,” Silas continued, “and ambush him.”

“Bingo,” Stanley said as Senka nodded.

For a moment, Silas only stared at them, then he said, “Senka, you’ve seen him. To defeat Harou….” He trailed off as words failed him.

“Silas, I know. There are so many details to fill in, but I think that bringing him to us, to a place we know so much better than he does, that’s a start, right? And we would have the element of surprise. He doesn’t know how much we’ve both learned and changed. And I don’t think it would just be us. We could enlist Ms. Wang and the others at the graveyard. I know they’d help us.”

“Do you really believe this might work?”

“I do.”

Silas sat for a moment, thinking. “Alright. I’ve run long enough. If you believe there’s a chance to end him, I’m ready to try. If the plan fails, it fails, but either way, I’ll be free of fear.”

Can I ask a question?

Yes.

If a vampire is ended, does he get to be a ghost?

No. Although vampires aren’t really dead, they aren’t alive, either. It’s only living people who have the chance to be ghosts when they die.

So if Harou gets ended, he can’t still bother them?

Right.

But if Silas gets ended, he’s just gone. He and Senka won’t get to be together anymore.

Yes, that is a danger.

Can I ask another question?

Yes.

How come some people can see ghosts?

You mean like Stanley can see Senka?

Yes, and other people can, too.

Well, as you said last night, Stanley loved Senka.

But that wasn’t the only reason, was it?

I don’t think so, no.

Maybe ‘cause he was dying?

Yes, little one. People who are face-to-face with death are more aware of the afterlife. Not all people who see ghosts die, though.

I learned in school about some cultures that have parties for their dead ancestors. I think that’s cool because you don’t forget each other.

Yes. Are you okay?

Just thinking.

Thinking or worrying?

I think I’m just thinking. I’m ready to go on with the story if you are.

I am.

After Silas said he was ready to try, Stanley was impressed. “You are a brave man, my friend,” he told Silas. “Or being, vampire, whatever.” He waved his hand to indicate he had no time for the nuances of terms. “I’m glad in our show we didn’t paint all vampires as bad guys.” Stanley shifted his position in bed and winced with pain.

“Stan! Are you hurting? Do you need some meds?” Senka stood and peered up at the many bags hanging from the IV pole.

“No, no. They make me too foggy, and I want to be clear. I’ll take some in a while, maybe. Right now, we have some planning to do. What do you want to chew on first?”

Senka looked at Silas and Luna, still purring next to Stan. She was sure about the priority. “Kenny can wait. Harou comes first. Until he’s gone, you and Luna can’t be safe.”

“Senka, are you sure?”

“Totally. We ignore Kenny for now. We’ll deal with him later.”

“Settled. Nu. Step one, lure this Harou to you. How?” Stanley closed his eyes, a hand resting on Luna’s side, and waited for them to plan.

Silas spoke first. “I am aware…” he hesitated, then started again. “He monitors news sites for signs of me.”

“How do you mean?” Senka asked.

“I’m not entirely sure, but I have suspected for some time that he has found me when I’ve gotten careless and a story turns up in the news, a story that a knowledgeable observer would associate with vampire activity.”

Stanley opened one eye. “Please tell me you’re not talking about frail damsels drained of blood.”

Silas’ pale face went even chalkier. “No! Deer!”

“Ah! Good. Go on.” Stan closed the open eye.

“My habit is to take what I need from several deer, spreading out the effect on a whole herd. The deer recover quickly, no animal dies, no one notices. There have been times,” he cleared his throat, “when I have been less measured, when I’ve felt lost or hopeless, and my activities have drawn attention. Local media ascribe the animal deaths to coyotes, wolves, whatever is in the area. Harou and his followers know the truth, of course, and it hasn’t been long before he’s found me.”

“Silas?” Senka began. “That just made me think of something.” She glanced at Stanley. “We read, when we were doing our show….In a couple of episodes, when I killed a vampire, all the vampires they’d made died, too.” She left her question unspoken. Silas shook his head, “We’re not connected in that way. That was the invention of an author who struggled with his dénoument.” Stan smiled faintly, and Senka breathed a sigh of relief. Silas continued, “I think if I let my presence be known, Harou will notice.”

Senka felt the first stirrings of hope. “There are tons of deer in the cemetery. It would be perfect to draw him there.”

“Then, we take him unawares—”

“And we stake him!” Senka finished with conviction.

“My darlings,” Stanley’s eyes were open again. “You have a start. It’s a very rough start, but it’s a start, nonetheless. Sarah was always good with plots. Between the two of you, you will come up with a doozy. And now,” he reached out to both of them again, and his tone became serious. “Now, I have an important question to ask you.” He turned his focus to Silas. “Do you have a way, a not-so-bloody-way ideally, to take a human life?”

Silas’ eyes narrowed. “Whose life did you have in mind? Not Kenny’s.”

“No. Mine.”

“Stan, no!” Senka exclaimed. “What are you talking about?”

“Bubbala, please try not to be upset.” He took Senka’s hand and held it between his own. “Darling, I’m sick. If I die now or two days from now, what’s the difference? I’ll tell you. Two days of pain. I’ve had such a good life, and now that I’ve been allowed to see you again, I’m ready.”

“Stan!” Senka exclaimed with new energy. “You could come with us! When you die, you can choose to stay, you know, as a ghost. You could—”

“Sweetheart. Thank you. I love that you would want that. But you see, Peter moved on. At least I assume Peter moved on since you haven’t mentioned seeing him floating around here somewhere.”

“No,” Senka admitted.

“No. I thought you might have mentioned that. Peter moved on. I’ll move on, too. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get to see him. Maybe not. I’d like to take my chances.” He reached up and lightly pinched Senka’s cheek. “I love you, darling. And as much as spending time with you again is a mitzvah, Peter was the love of my life. I’m ready to go.”

“I understand,” Senka said quietly. “I’ll stay with you. I want the last thing you see to be the face of someone who loves you.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He turned to Silas. “So, what do you say?”

Silas had been gazing at Senka, his face a picture of tenderness and compassion, but now he turned to Stanley and with simple directness said, “We have a way to pacify our prey if we choose. Prolonged application would stop the heart. It seems to be quite painless, but if at any time it becomes uncomfortable, you could tell me to stop.”

“Thank you.” Stan turned to Senka. “Every performer’s dream, no? I get to play my own death scene. What do you think my last words should be? Not that you can do much to spread them to the waiting world.”

“How about, ‘Either that wallpaper goes, or I do’?”

Stanley chuckled wheezily. “Taken, as you know very well. Here’s a good one, ‘I haven’t had champagne for a long time.’”

“That is a good one. I kind of doubt Chekhov said exactly that, though, don’t you? Not the sentiment, the dying words.”

“That’s the problem with last words. Some poor schlemiel might say, ‘I hate the cat’—you should pardon the example, Luna—and lapse into a coma, then when he dies fifteen years later, somebody publishes that those were his last words.”

“How about, ‘You are wonderful.’”

“Who said that?”

“I did. And Arthur Conan Doyle.”

“Oh, Sarah. You are wonderful. I was a genius to cast you as Ophelia all those years ago, even though you were greener than crème de menthe.”

“I was, wasn’t I?”

“Oh, boy, were you ever. Cute as a button, though. Silas, you should have seen her. So smart, so sassy. She would have knocked your socks off.”

Silas couldn’t help grinning at Stanley. “She already has.”

“Well, good.” He clapped his hands together. “Okay, kids, I’m happy. Sarella, give me a kiss.” Senka leaned over and pressed her cheek to his. She whispered in his ear, “I love you forever, Stan. Say hi to Peter for me when you see him.” She kissed his paper-thin cheek, feeling the scratchy stubble. Then she sat back and met his eyes.

“Goodbye, Bubbala.”

“Goodbye, Stan.”

“Silas, my friend, thank you. I’m ready.”

Senka kept her eyes on Stanley’s as Silas reached forward and laid a hand gently on the great director’s neck. She watched as the light in her friend’s eyes gradually dimmed. At last, with a faint smile, he heaved a final, contented sigh, and the light went out for good.

It was only then that Senka let herself cry. She wept for the years she had lost with him; she wept that he was no longer part of the world; she wept with gratitude that she had been given the gift of saying goodbye. Silas held her as she cried, saying nothing. What good were words? Now and then, he murmured soft sounds and stroked her hair or rubbed her back. He was there, solid, patient, and loving. Luna insinuated himself between them in a space much too small for him and, knowing the therapeutic qualities of a good purr, geared his engine to high and cocooned them all in a resonant rumble.

After a time, Senka pulled back and blew her nose in the tissue Silas handed her. She reached forward and tenderly closed Stanley’s eyes, then gave him a kiss on the cheek. Picking Luna up, she cradled him in her arms and turned to face Silas. “Let’s go home,” she said. “We have planning to do.”

He was lucky.

Who was, little one? Stan?

Yeah.

In what ways?

Lots. He got to see Sarah again. He got to choose when he died.

Yes.

He got to have her with him so he wouldn’t be scared.

That was very important to Senka, too.

I get why he didn’t stay around.

Do you?

Yeah. Senka had Silas. Stanley wanted to be with Peter again, if he could. Do you think he found him?

Do I think Stanley found Peter?

Yeah.

I wish I knew, little one.

Me, too. And it’d be weird, too, you know? I mean, my mom was dating this guy for a while. She took me along once for us to get to know each other. It was just awkward the whole time.

And you think that’s how Stan would have felt? Awkward like that?

Maybe.

Maybe he would have.

Hey! I haven’t puked this whole time.

That’s a plus.

No kidding. Do you mind if I try to get some sleep now?

You know I don’t. Where’s Teddy?

He’s over on the counter.

Do you want him?

No, he just gets tangled up in all the tubes and wires and stuff. He’s better over there.

Oh.

Yeah. You’ll stay?

Yes.

Just checking. ‘Night.

Goodnight.

__________

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