The Language of Monster

It was hot. In all senses of the word. The newest club in town, the hottest DJs, hottest music. The lighting, as the owner had told him numerous times, had been designed by the hottest lighting designer in the country. The hottest, hardest bodies in town had been invited or paid to dance on the dancefloor. And they'd turned the air con down. In the sullen heat of a Darkness Falls summer night Nicholas felt the sweat drip and pool under his linen suit.

He looked, he knew, very different to the boys below. From up here on the VIP balcony he could watch their muscular bodies writhe and strut on the dancefloor. From down there they could see the distinguished gentleman, expensive haircut and hand made suit. Would they know how important he was? Magister of the Order of the Blood Rose. Senior in the oldest, most distinguished, most powerful organisation in the city? No of course not. To them the Order was just an art gallery. A place where their fathers and grandfathers put on silly aprons and held sillier rituals. To the boys writhing below he was probably a joke. But a rich one.

He was already regretting letting himself be persuaded to attend but he owed the new owner's family a favor, held them in a rather special affection.

"Hey you know you are the spitting image of a guy used to sing with my great-grandfather?" It was at least the fourth time the owner - Nicholas struggled to remember his name - had told him this story. Nicholas marvelled at him. Standing there, short and squat in the heat he looked so like Morty it was untrue. In his late twenties and already going bald. Slightly overweight despite his hours in the gym. He had everything of his great-grandfather's features except the Hitler moustache. Nicholas could half close his eyes, imagine the boy in an averagely fitting white tuxedo and there he was, Morty Schlenstein, band leader ordinaire, standing in front of his Modern Swingers sawing the air with that little conductor's baton he'd been so proud of while Nicholas sang out front. Nicholas feigned interest.

"Yeah," the boy went on, "no-one I'd ever heard of but I've got some old recordings my great-grandfather made? He was pretty good."

Nicholas smiled and nodded, made polite small talk. He remembered the Zanzibar Lounge, the Saturday dancing. They'd imported palm trees and Ancient Egyptian nick-nacks in what old Abe, the charming but vicious owner, had thought the "New York" style. "This place'll be bigger than Noo Yoik," he'd said, laughing messily at his own non-joke. "Bigger than Noo Yoik."

It hadn't. Abe had been found with a bag tied over his head and a bullet in his skull and his dream had died with him. Last time Nicholas had thought to look at it the building had been a carpet shop. But that had been years ago.

His ears hurt. Modern music appeared to be about delivering a beat so impaling that even the extraordinarily drunk could do what passed for dancing these days to it. A partner of a senior accountancy firm, a rather vulture-like man with a fringe of grey hair and tan shoes smiled at him. An Order member, although an ordinary one. Nicholas smiled back and turned his attention to the dancefloor.

Bodies writhed under a sheen of sweat, somehow the boys on the dancefloor were getting even more bare, displaying toned and waxed bodies; and, despite his best intentions Nicholas found himself interested. Turning off the aircon had been a calculated move. The scent of sweat was filling the club, Nicholas could feel the musk of other men settling on his clothes and skin. His breath quickened and his belly tightened. Careful now, he thought, let's not have the old fool doing anything rash.

Men glanced at him, smiled. Of course they did, he looked rich. There was a strict exchange to these things he knew; a rigid and established marketplace. Those who had youth had youth, and those who didn't had money. He was on the VIP balcony and while the men below fought at the bar, he was served by waiters clad only in tight shorts and aprons. It was, he imagined, supposed to be decadent. Given the heat of the place he rather envied the near naked waiters, although it wasn't a look he could see himself entirely carrying off.

Morty's great-grandson approached again - what was his name - Ronald? Was it Ronald? Ron? The family appeared to have lost their Jewishness with their unfortunate facial hair. This time he had a boy with him. Nicholas groaned inwardly. An introduction. The sweet fool was going to try to set him up with someone. The boy he brought over was, if anything, younger than Ron, mid twenties at most. Tall, athletic without bulk, broad without heaviness. A shock of tousled dark hair fell over dark eyes that flashed a grin as Ron brought him over. Well, thought Nicholas, he may be predictable but he has taste.

Despite the distance from the dance floor below Ron had to shout the introductions. Matthew. A student, visiting town, something about art, something about American Realists. Nicholas shook hands as Ron did a three sentence biography of him. Retired businessman, associate of his father's, something about the Order's art collection. No mention of the investment Nicholas had made in the club they were standing in, the mysterious arrival in Ron's office of a retired businessman and volunteer curator with money to invest just as Ron had been on the point of losing his dream. Matthew's hand was strong but soft, his fingers supple. Nicholas wondered what the skin of his belly tasted like, what those hands would feel like on him. Nicholas smiled at the foolishness of his own thoughts. Just a predictable old queen he thought.

"So I'll leave you two to get acquainted." Ron was already being called away. For the first time that evening Nicholas felt like sitting down. He glanced around the VIP lounge. Most of the older men now had younger companions. One or two of them shot him an appreciative glance. Matthew certainly was a fine specimen. Nicholas sighed and accepted the inevitability of the cliché.

"Matthew," he said, "would you like a drink?"

It was like dancing, the slow inevitability of the evening. The conversation, the drinks. The glancing into each others' eyes, first hesitant but then bolder, more lingering. And the glancing touches, the promise of skin. Finally Matthew took Nicholas' hand in his, caressed his fingers. It felt good.

"They'll be closing soon." Matthew looked Nicholas in the eye.

Nicolas smiled. "They close at six and it's barely after three. Are you saying you'd like to leave?"

"Yes. Would you?" Matthew looked nervous. Despite himself Nicholas laughed.

"Oh Matthew are you seriously telling me that you can do no better than a tired old man like me?"

Matthew flashed his grin again. It was, thought Nicholas, heart melting. "You are not old, and you certainly don't look tired. You'd better not be."

They both laughed. Nicholas looked serious for a moment. "I think Ron might be insulted if I left."

"Oh I think he'd understand."

They kissed in the cab. In the dim light of the city sliding past the taxi windows Nicholas let his hands explore Matthew's body, let Matthew's tongue enter his mouth. No touching below the waist, not yet, save that pleasure for indoors, show a little class at least. Under his clothing Matthew's body felt warm and firm. A runner's body. Nicholas inhaled the scent of him as their mouths met. He felt himself stirring, pressing himself against the younger man.

"Let's go to your place," he said.

"Why not yours?"

"Because I live in a fucking museum and there are 24 hour guards and cameras that's why." Nicholas teased Matthew's bottom lip with his teeth. "Anyway, I fancy a change of scene."

Matthew lived in a brownstone on the edge of Moon Street. No real surprise, he was a student, this was a student area. Anywhere else in the country and an apartment this size would have been far beyond his means. But not in Darkness Falls. You could not give apartments away in Darkness Falls. It was nearly four in the morning; only a few bars and cafés had risked staying open. Matthew got out of the cab and walked straight for the door leaving Nicholas to pay for the cab. The old rules were in place. Nicholas tipped the driver more than he probably made in a night and followed.

In the dark hallway Matthew turned and took Nicholas in his arms. Their mouths met and this time Matthew wasn't so well behaved, his hand reaching down to cup Nicholas' cock. Nicholas gasped and pulled Matthew closer to him, his hand grabbing his ass.

"Listen," Matthew's voice was husky, "I wasn't really expecting to bring anyone back here tonight so the place is kind of a mess. Could you give me five minutes to tidy up a little?"

Nicholas pulled back and looked at Matthew. The younger man looked genuinely mortified. Nicholas almost laughed. "You may have your five minutes to scoop your laundry into the hamper," he said, "just don't leave me out here all night."

Matthew kissed him hard. "Oh I don't know," he said, a mischievous glint in his eye, "I've heard that waiting adds to the fun. Just give me five minutes."

It was nearer ten. Long enough for Nicholas to study the landing he was on in some detail. The only window on this level looked out on a small yard full of bins and bicycle parts, and another, probably nearly identical townhouse behind. Back on the landing the bannister leaned alarmingly when Nicholas rested his hand on it. The wallpaper was yellowing and faded, scuffed where countless tenants had come and gone with their belongings. It was rather melancholy thinking of them all, all their lives passing through this brown, anonymous space, leaving no trace but a scrape on wallpaper. If Matthew had hoped it would heighten Nicholas' arousal he'd been very wrong.

Matthew's door opened and he beckoned Nicholas inside. He reached for him but Nicholas' mood had left him for the moment. He looked around the room. Brown. These things were always so brown. A heavy brown dresser behind a faded brown sofa, the door to the bedroom open and the heavy brown wood bed frame beyond.

"Can I get you anything?" Matthew seemed suddenly nervous. "Although thinking about it I don't have a whole lot in."

"You really weren't expecting visitors were you?" Nicholas smiled at him. "What do you have in?"

"Coke. And a couple of beers. I got coffee. No tea though."

"I look like a tea drinker to you."

"Yeah."

"I shall have a beer I think."

"Cool, I'll have one too."

They sat on the windowsill. From here they could just see the the thin trickle of people leaving Moon Street. Nicholas looked out into the night.

"Ron said you were an art student?"

"Yeah, I'm postgrad, doing my thesis on American Art History."

"So why Darkness Falls?"

"You. Ok the Order. Been here two hundred years?"

Nicholas feigned outrage. "Two hundred? Two hundred? There was a benevolent group of gentlemen meeting in the original chapel building in the 1670s. We are nearly three hundred and fifty years old I'll have you know."

Matthew smiled. "Wow, guess I should have known that. I just know you got paintings. In fact according to the research I did you have an amazing collection, one of the finest in the country. But it's almost unheard of. It's like this city doesn't even exist."

Nicholas sipped his beer. "We rather like it that way, it keeps the riff raff out."

Matthew mock toasted him with his beer bottle. "Usually, right? I just snuck in. And I got to confess that the fact that I can get an apartment as big as this for the absolute peanuts I am paying for it does not hurt."

"And nothing else brought you here?"

"Well I didn't know you existed. If that's what you meant?"

Nicholas looked out at the street. It would be dawn soon. "Not entirely. The city has a strange hold on people. It draws them. Calls them you might say."

"Really? You're just trying to spook me right?"

"Yes. Is it working?"

"Yeah I'm terrified. Not sure I can sleep alone tonight." Matthew looked serious. "May I kiss you? Again?"

Nicholas held his gaze. "You're not trying to whore yourself for a gallery invite are you?" he said, "we do do educational visits. We even have interns."

Matthew's gaze had an intensity to it. "Do interns get to see the private collections?"

Nicholas studied him. There was an expectancy. Matthew believed something. Nicholas sighed, there was a chance the evening might not be so entertaining after all.

"There are storage rooms," he said, "and there are paintings hung in the meeting rooms, some of which are not open to the general public. But they're not the cream of the collection; that is very much on display. Oh Matthew did you drag me all this way to pump me for information about paintings we don't own? What are the rumors?"

Matthew perched his beer on the windowsill, moved forward and took Nicholas' hand. "Nick I did not invite you here for any other reason than I like you."

He was lying. Even if Nicholas had had nothing but normal human senses he'd have been able to see it. The beer had been a mistake; it had dulled Matthew's edge. Nicholas watched him closely.

"So if it's not the paintings you're interested in and you didn't know I existed then why are you here?"

"It is the paintings." A fraction of a second too late and a fraction too much defensiveness. Nicholas felt his own defenses rising. Matthew leaned forward to kiss him, Nicholas tried to respond but his thoughts betrayed him.

Matthew slumped back. "Dammit," he said.

Nicholas studied him. It was dark inside the apartment, the only light the light of the street lamps outside. In it Matthew looked cast in amber. His eyes were pools of shadow. But Nicholas could see.

"Why don't you tell me the truth," he said.

Matthew paused. Nicholas could hear his heartbeat quickening, his breath shortening. Finally, Matthew leaned forward.

"Your name is Nicky Sandini," he said, " at least that was your stage name, no-one knows your real name. You were born I think some time in the 1880s. You sang for a living, almost nothing is known about your personal life. You died in a nursing home in July 1952, the death certificate says bronchial carcinoma. Lung cancer." Matthew leaned forward. In the streetlight his face looked strangely inhuman. His eyes bored into Nicholas'. "But you didn't die did you? You're well over one hundred old and you are not dead. You look I'd say... it's hard to tell with guys, could be anything from late forties to sixty."

"Thank you."

"But you are not dead Nicky Sandini. You are not dead. And I want to know why not."

Matthew sat back. Nicholas looked at him for an age.

"And that's why you brought me here."

"I was hoping it wouldn't be this abrupt. I mean I was hoping I could earn your trust a little first."

"Before you betrayed it?"

"Hey I ain't betraying nothing. Ok maybe I have I don't know. I just know that Ron was raving about this angel he'd found with the money, and how much you looked like his grandpa's old singer and he sent me a picture and I thought he was bullshitting again so I hunted up some photos of his grandfather's band and there you were and I just knew - I just knew. It's you. And I just want to know. I have to know Nicky. How?"

"Ron took a picture of me?"

"You sat in front of his laptop it's got a camera built in. Guess you wouldn't know that right?"

Nicholas sat, silent. For something to do he sipped his beer. It tasted flat and warm in his mouth. Matthew looked scared. So young, thought Nicholas, so young.

"You realise how insane you sound?"

"And I realise that the Order of the Blood Rose has probably got enough doctors to put me away for life. I've risked my life opening up to you. I know that."

"No-one would ever believe you."

"No they wouldn't. Mind you they might if they looked carefully at this town. This is a strange town Nicky, this one fucking strange town. You know that no-one outside Darkness Falls ever mentions it? I grew up, went to High School, went to college. I'm an educated guy here, I never even knew it existed."

"Let me guess, until Ron told you."

"Until the little fat guy who used to tell us weird tales in college told me another one."

Somewhere outside in the city a siren sounded. Despite the lateness of the hour Nicholas could hear engines. The life of Darkness Falls, it never really stopped.

Matthew had kept his gaze on him. "So tell me," he said.

Nicholas settled back on the window ledge.

"We don't actually know. The best guess is that somehow genes from another reality, an alternative Earth if you will, got into this human gene pool. And if that alien blood is strong enough it calls you home. It calls you to the places where reality is thin. Where the walls between worlds - look I don't fully understand this myself -"

"Go on. Please."

Nicholas sighed. "If someone with the Blood, or the Gift or whatever you want to call it, reaches a place where reality is thin then they - we - have the ability to bend it."

"By not dying?"

"By healing wounds that would destroy a normal human. By not aging. By being able to alter our own reality to remove illnesses. Even to change shape."

"Whoah, you can change shape?"

"Yes Matthew, here where reality is thin I can change shape."

"Wow, just, just fucking wow. Why is reality thin here? How far does the thinness stretch?"

"Questions, questions," Nicholas laughed, but Matthew's face remained intent. "Reality is thin I am told because there is something under the city that is distorting it. We don't know what it is, it is instant and very final death to go near it. Unless you believe old wives' tales."

"What sort of - sorry, sorry go on."

"Thank you. As for how far it stretches, not far. A handful of miles only. Once you're awake you can never leave."

"What do you mean by awake?"

"Most people with the Blood or the Gift - we should settle on one shouldn't we - let's call it the Blood. Most people with the Blood never know it. They live perfectly normal lives, they live where reality is good and strong, they stay very human shaped all their lives and live off food and drink. As a result they grow fat and old and happy and they die, never knowing that the Blood ran within them. Even those who find their way to the thin places still need to be made aware of it."

"How?"

"Generally by a near death experience. As they're fighting for life they find themselves drawing on resources that no normal human has. They learn to drain life force from other things. Other people."

"Whoah, you mean like vampires?"

"Yes, you're not the first to make the comparison. Like vampires."

"So you're a vampire?"

"Not in the Lugosi sense no."

"So you don't drink blood?"

"Me personally no, but many do. Some have a fetish for it. This raises other issues."

"What sort of other issues."

Nicholas rubbed his eyes. The promise of sex with this gorgeous boy was gone, and in its place he was delivering a lecture. It was not the night he'd hoped for.

"Matthew think about it. You've lived your entire life knowing you were different but not knowing how or why. You come to Darkness Falls, or one of the other thin places-"

"-there are others?"

"Matthew please. You come to one of the thin places-"

"-sorry-"

"-it's alright. Thin places and you discover that you're a monster, a freak in the eyes of normal society. Well, what are you to make of yourself? Where are you to look for your identity? What is the language of monster?"

"What, so people learn how to be themselves off of the tv?"

"And books and cinema. We have had everything from East European aristocrats to vampires with corrugated foreheads. I have been told to expect people sparkling any day now."

"Whoah."

"Quite. In reality we can steal life force and bend reality. That's pretty much it. Everything else is invented. A lot of the time not by us. A problem the skinwalkers are having at the moment-"