The Year of the Rat
by Nico Grey
Chapter 8
I met Taryn three nights later on the Pier. Apparently he had been looking for me.
After my weird experience in Grant Park, I'd felt the need for some time alone. I had found my way to Jeremy's place to pay my debt to him. Then I had spent a lot of time just hanging out near the water and thinking.
I still wasn't sure what I had decided. I hadn't suddenly developed a conscience about using people for food. But my encounter with that guy in the park had made me realize that my relationship with humans was going to be more complicated than I had initially thought.
That guy hadn't been a good person. Perhaps he wasn't a monster, but he didn't really live for anything except satisfying his own appetites. Yet he had his own life. And I had played a role in ending it. I had been right there with him when he died, connected to him in a repugnant but very intimate way.
His death had served a purpose in a way his life never had. But I couldn't get over the feeling of his fingers in me, or the image of me spraying a death shroud over his face while the life slipped away from him.
That his actions had triggered that death shroud probably meant something. I just had no idea what. It was a little too much for my twelve-year-old mind to fully grasp.
When I finally decided to rejoin the world, Taryn was waiting for me on the Pier. I felt his warmth and concern as he probed me with his eyes and with his mind.
He must have sensed the conflict in me. But after inspecting me for a few moments, he seemed satisfied.
We talked for a while. I shared with him my decision to resume my work in Grant Park.
He cautioned me to make sure I didn't form any close relationships with the other workers there. He also intimated his concern that working in a place that was also connected to Mike could lead to complications.
I kind of shrugged that off. I was living less than two hundred feet from Mike. But I had avoided any contact with him, just like the rules demanded.
Taryn simply reiterated his mild concern and warned me to be careful.
He also suggested that I should probably be thinking about feeding soon. If I hadn't started to feel hunger pangs, it wouldn't be long before I did. And Taryn thought that it would be better to plan a hunt before I was burdened with any physical or emotional demands that could distract me.
Taryn also understood that I would occasionally encounter some real scum on the job. He reminded me to always wear my contact lenses when I was working. A strong emotional response to some nasty character could trigger a physical reaction. And if anyone noticed my eyes glowing, I might have to make a hasty decision to keep my identity from discovery.
I asked if he and Dylan were able to help me on my next hunt. And then I got to wondering about where Dylan was.
"You've probably noticed how shy he is, Rat," Taryn said. "He had a pretty strong reaction to hunting with you." I sensed a euphemism. "He just needs a little time to sort through his feelings. When he's feeling more confident about himself, he won't be as embarrassed to see you again."
That puzzled me. Taryn wouldn't elaborate. I focused on his mention of Dylan as shy.
"Is that why he disappears sometimes?" I wondered. "Or is that just a vampire thing?"
Taryn fixed me with a speculative glance.
"All vampires do have some pretty special abilities. But that disappearing thing is Dylan's own. It's called an extra. Every vampire has an extra, usually something that's related to their personality or to their life experience before they turned. It's unique to them."
Because Dylan was so shy, and didn't always feel comfortable being noticed by others, he had developed an ability to disappear. He was a fairly new vampire, so he was still learning to control it. But Dylan could frequently disappear at will.
That was such a cool thing! And of course it prompted a predictable reaction from me.
"So how will I know what my extra is? How soon will I begin to figure it out?"
Taryn told me that it usually took several months for an extra to start to appear. He seemed rather uncertain about whether he should continue.
"You seem to have pretty powerful ability to communicate with your mind, Rat," he said. "Back when you were human, when we first met on the Pier, I was amazed that you could hear us in your mind. Humans can't do that.
"Then, almost as soon as you were born into darkness, you were able to send and receive complete messages. You were sending images! Justin," and suddenly he was hesitant again. "Uh, my boyfriend. He's one of the most powerful young vampires around. When he was born, he was barely able to read words I was sending directly to him. And even that limited ability was remarkable. What you can do is far beyond that!"
I wasn't sure what to make of that.
"Is that good?" I wondered.
"Well," Taryn seemed unsure of himself. "I think it is. But there are concerns, too." He glanced downward and lowered his voice. "There are a few vampires in the world that can read another vampire's mind without their permission."
He could sense my objection.
"It's different with vampires. We can read humans at will. They don't even know they're being read. But vampires can feel the mind of another vampire and block attempts to read them. Those few vampires that can still read a vampire's mind without their consent have a huge advantage.
"You see," he explained, "The extra that each vampire has can be shared with other vampires. They can teach others to perform their 'trick'. But only if a vampire wants to share their extra. Those mind thieves can read another vampire's mind and steal their extra without permission. That can make them very powerful."
Again, Taryn didn't seem sure of how to proceed. His eyes revealed some anxiety and his brows knit in concern.
"I think you're good, Rat. I have some ability to understand others, and I'm pretty sure I understand you. I trust you. But other vampires, if they think you might be a mind thief, won't want you around."
He looked discouraged.
"I'd invite you to come live with my crew, if it were just up to me. But there's a lot of tension in our world right now. Everybody is on edge. And if my friends started to worry that you might be a thief, well, it could cause trouble."
He seemed to feel the need to reassure me.
"I want you to join us," a thought crossed his mind, "That is, if you want to join us. But this really isn't the best time to bring it up with the others. And as long as you're safe where you are..." he trailed off.
What he said made sense. I wasn't offended. I was safe where I was for a while. With more time, maybe Taryn could help me figure out what my extra was and if I might be a mind thief. And when there was less pressure on his friends, maybe then they would have time to figure out who I was and might be more comfortable with me.
I agreed that I would be especially careful when I worked at Grant Park. I would go back. I thought it would be a good idea to have more money. And it was a good place to hunt for both Dylan and me.
Taryn and I would continue to meet at the Pier on occasion. He told me that he often hung out there long after the Pier closed for the night. Even if I was working, I should still be able to contact him once or twice a week.
I went back to work the next night. I was only twelve, but I had lived in Chicago all my life. I knew that within a few weeks the temperatures would turn so cold that there wouldn't be much opportunity for regular work until spring.
There's little point in describing my work life. It was the same every night, and more of the same the following night.
I decided that I would be more adventurous with my offerings. I still wasn't comfortable with the idea of anyone sticking their penis up my butt. But that was my only limit.
I figured that the more diverse my menu, the more likely I would be to meet the real scumbags that liked to prey on kids. I wasn't wrong.
I made a decent amount of money. Every two weeks or so, either Dylan or I would feed. And I still had a list of seven or eight guys that needed our attention when the opportunity was right.
I felt no guilt about our victims. In their own way, each of them was deserving. The only change I made in our hunting routine was that I always made sure I was completely finished having sex with a victim before I called Dylan. That first time had just been too weird for me.
Once or twice, I wasn't able to work because Mike was on the job. But he wasn't there often; rarely more than once a week since I had returned.
I also hadn't seen Marco since I started working again. I really hoped that the little guy was okay. I just wasn't sure how to ask anyone without possibly raising some questions in return.
When winter arrived in earnest, I really didn't have much to occupy my time. Once or twice a week, the weather might be warm enough to bring a few employers to Grant Park. But there weren't many of them. And there were always a lot of kids willing to brave the cold for a chance to earn a few dollars.
Most of the work was now happening inside the restrooms. With fewer people visiting the park, there was less risk to employer and worker if they were inside. But it was always a good idea to be quick. And of course there was no way that Dylan and I could hunt inside the restrooms.
I could still earn money. And I did. But I didn't venture out of the church basement as frequently.
If the weather was warmer, and there wasn't too much snow on the ground, I worked in the Park. Sometimes I visited the Pier to check in with Taryn or Dylan. More often, I spent my time in that church.
Visits to the chancel didn't feel any different to me from those visits I had made before I was turned. I still felt a presence there that embraced me and provided comfort. But I did wonder if it was the same presence I had known when I lived in the light.
St. Francis Xavier was no longer a consecrated church. Pondering that, I began to wonder if it was even Father Thomas' god that I felt in the chancel, either now or before.
With time on my hands, perhaps I spent too much time worrying about that. I needed to try to find an answer.
I knew of three consecrated churches within ten blocks or so of my lair. Holy Name Cathedral was the closest, at about six or seven blocks distance. The idea of approaching that immense stone edifice, let alone entering it, was terrifying to me. But it was the seat of the Archdiocese of Chicago. Surely it was the church with the closest connection to the Catholic god.
I approached the cathedral in the evening. Most activity there had stopped after sunset, but there were still a few people about. As I approached the church, I sensed no resistance. The god there didn't strike me down when I stepped off the sidewalk and onto the church grounds.
I climbed the eight stone steps outside the cathedral cautiously. They didn't crumble beneath me. The wrought iron railing supported my slight weight. It was cold in the night air, but not unwelcoming. The great door opened readily enough before me.
Entering the cathedral was awe inspiring. I wished that I was capable of seeing it in daylight, if only for the amazing stained glass windows. I had always loved the stained glass in Father Thomas's church, and this display was much more remarkable.
I stepped into the nave. A dozen pairs of eyes turned to watch me. They saw a small, dirty street kid. My worn winter clothing hadn't been cleaned in weeks. Sadly, it had been almost as long since I was last clean. Without the basin of water in the lair that Mike and I had shared, the only place I had found, since the onset of winter, to clean myself was in the restroom in Grant Park. And there was only so much of myself that I could clean there without starting a riot.
I started to advance up the nave. And suddenly the uncertain welcome I had received from the cathedral turned to revulsion. The few people nearby pulled away from me in disgust. Those farther from me were exchanging concerned glances. And the priest up near the altar was advancing toward me with purpose in his step.
The tentative welcome I thought I had sensed, turned quickly to a powerful force that was trying to expel me. I couldn't resist it. The hope that I had held in my heart departed. I followed it.
I ran most of the way home. I'm sure that tears were streaming down my face. Some of the pedestrians that I passed were looking on with concern.
I arrived back home without caution. I didn't think to approach carefully to throw off any pursuers. I didn't think to reach out with my senses to see if Mike was nearby. I simply pushed open one of the unlocked doors and ran into the nave of that old church.
I dashed up the nave and threw myself down on the floor of the chancel. I lay there, with my face in the dust, and wept.
I don't know how long I lay there. It felt to me like I had left my body for a while. Knowing that Father Thomas' god had abandoned me fell like a heavy blow and left me feeling hollow. Whatever I am was floating in a vast, empty sea of blackness while my body kept watch below in the dusty old church.
I never sensed the moment when what I am returned to my body. All I knew was that I was lying again on that cold stone floor.
Surprisingly, I wasn't cold. My body actually felt warm. And there was a faint golden radiance surrounding me.
I don't know who was communicating with me, or how. It wasn't a voice in my head, or even words. It was more of a feeling. But the feeling was telling me that I was loved. It was telling me to try again.
I visited Grant Park the following night. I didn't go there to work. I didn't go to hunt. I didn't even go to scout for future hunts.
I went because I intended to try again. And I couldn't get that feeling out of my head; that feeling when all those righteous people in the cathedral had turned away in revulsion from the dirty street kid.
I went to get clean. I waited until the workers outside of the restrooms in Grant Park had already punched out for the night. I brought my few items of clothing with me. I had purchased a bar of soap, a couple of cheap wash cloths, and a towel from a dollar store.
I was only there in that bathroom for a few hours. I got all my clothes and myself thoroughly clean. Surprisingly, I earned two hundred thirty dollars — almost as much as I had ever earned for an evening of work. I also identified three people who would sustain either Dylan or me someday. The only thing I didn't do was feed.
Walking home, I reflected on the experience. It had been an interesting way to make a substantial amount of money in a few hours.
But I realized that I had also been lucky. Those three perverts that had insisted on having their way with me might have intended much worse. If I had to defend myself in earnest from their kind, it would be hard to keep my identity a secret. I had been told that would cause problems for me with the vampire council. And if I ran into several with bad intentions in a group, it's possible that I might not get away without serious consequences.
I realized that I would probably return, at least a couple more times, and hope that it would work out for me. But I didn't have to use the Grant Park restrooms to wash. I could purchase a small tub, soap, water, and a propane camp stove to heat the water. There was no reason I couldn't keep a small amount of personal care products in my lair.
I was torn between kicking myself for not thinking of the idea sooner, and the slight thrill that I was still feeling about my previous few hours in the park.
I dressed carefully for my next church visit. It was Sunday, after all. Following my experience at the great cathedral, I decided that I would probably be more comfortable visiting a less august house of worship.
St. Peter's was still a beautiful church. It had stood in The Loop for more than sixty years, serving those who lived and worked in the heart of the city.
As I approached, I felt no different than I had when approaching the cathedral. The vibe outside the building felt rather neutral. The Christ on the massive stone crucifix above the main entrance watched me benevolently. As I mounted the three stone steps to the front doors, he seemed to recognize me.
It hadn't occurred to me to wonder whether the church would be open at that hour, so I wasn't surprised when the door shifted easily under my hand. The interior of the church wasn't as magnificent as the cathedral. But it was still beautiful, illuminated dimly by a few overhead lamps and some votive lights near the chancel.
I was alone in the church. At the far end of the nave, in the chancel, another large Christ hung on his cross. I felt some empathy for the suffering he had endured. His eyes greeted me in benign welcome.
I trod carefully along the golden carpet until I stood before the chancel. I knelt facing the altar and the Christ behind it. The welcoming sensations continued.
I prayed in the manner that Father Thomas had taught me, opening my heart to the icon on the wall. Eventually, I prostrated myself before the crucifix, my arms spread wide to either side of me.
As I lay there, I began to sense a golden radiance around me. It grew in intensity.
I heard movement from the right side of the chancel, coming from behind the sacristy door. When the door opened, an older man in a hooded brown robe emerged. He busied himself around the altar, straightening the cloth and altar decorations.
He noticed me as he turned back toward the sacristy door. The golden radiance around me increased. Slowly, it began to caress, then enter, my heart.
The priest advanced toward me slowly. Like the Christ on the crucifix, he greeted me with a benign expression.
"What brings you to God's house at such a late hour, my son?" he asked.
I couldn't really explain my need.
"I wanted to pray, Father."
"Then you are welcome here. What is your name?" the priest asked.
In that moment, I was so overwhelmed with positive sensations that I really couldn't recall.
"Rat. They call me Rat, Father."
He smiled kindly.
"Then welcome to God's house, Rad."
The combination of longing, hope and now sudden joy that filled me was overwhelming. My eyes began to fill. And I could feel a burning sensation there. Something Taryn had warned me about. Sudden, intense emotion could cause a vampire's eyes to glow. I was grateful for the contact lenses he had given me.
The priest spared almost an hour of his time for me. He gently drew my story from me — at least the parts that I could share with a human. He inquired about my needs. He offered food and the address for a nearby youth shelter if I needed it.
I assured him that my basic needs were already provided for. I just needed hope. I needed love. I needed assurance that the universe still cared about me.
Father offered to hear my confession. I explained that I wasn't actually Catholic, but he still offered to hear me.
He was such a kind and gentle man that I couldn't resist, although I did worry about how he would judge my life. I bared my soul — again, except for those parts that I couldn't share with humans.
When I was done, he was still smiling benevolently. He taught me the prayers to offer for my penance. Then he prayed along with me. When I was done, he offered absolution.
"But you know what I do, Father!" I protested.
"You're doing what you must to survive, my son. You are one of God's creatures."
How I prayed that was true!
"He loves you and he will always hold you dear in His heart."
Tears welled again in my eyes. I'm not sure that the contacts were fully able to contain the golden glow this time, but Father continued to smile gently at me.
I don't know what came over me. I reached for his hand and I kissed it.
He seemed a bit surprised, but the expression on his face never changed.
We walked the golden carpet together, away from the altar and toward the church entrance. I shared minor details of my life. He encouraged me to return whenever I felt the need.
I expressed my desires and hopes for my future.
"With God's love, all things are possible, Rad," he assured me.
I turned back to look at the church when I reached the sidewalk. Father was still standing in the half-opened church door, regarding me with a kindly expression.
Perhaps he recognized the need in my eyes. He raised his hand in blessing. It felt like I flew home. I felt completely unburdened of all my failings that had been weighing me down.
When I entered the chancel of St. Francis Xavier, I prostrated myself in the dust in front of the shadow of the cross on the wall. Joy overflowed my heart when I realized that the feelings I got there were the same as those I had felt at St. Peter's. I still had my connection to god! Whether through Father Thomas or the kind Father at St. Peter's, I wasn't alone in the universe.
I didn't own a watch. But I could sense that the time was well past midnight. Even if Mike had been working, I was sure he would be home and in bed.
After the overwhelming emotions I had felt that night, I could no longer resist. I had to at least check in and see how he was doing.
I crept down the stairs to his lair. There was no light in the room, but I could sense him there. It felt calm. Like he was sleeping. So I took a chance and entered the room.
What I found was upsetting. There was no food in the place. The vitamins and medicines I had left were gone and hadn't been replaced. There was little there at all. Just Mike, asleep in the nest of pillows and blankets we had acquired during the summer.
The camp stove was still there, but there weren't any propane tanks to fuel it. All of Mike's possessions seemed to be secure in his backpack. The large stash of money I had left behind, that he had helped me secure, was still there and appeared to be untouched.
The most upsetting thing was the sound coming from Mike's nest. His breathing seemed labored, like he was heavily congested. While I stood there observing him, he coughed a couple of times. He was definitely having trouble breathing. His sleep seemed very restless. I sensed that he might cry out at any moment.
I wanted to read him, to find out what was going on in his head. I hadn't seen Mike in almost three months. I really wanted to know what had happened to him since I crossed over.
But I also didn't want to intrude on his privacy. He wasn't just another random human being that I might read to determine whether or not he'd make a worthy meal.
That thought brought me up short! It reminded me of the difference between Mike and me now. I was Team Fangs. He was Team Dinner.
I shuddered. I could never think of Mike that way! I was disgusted that the near comparison had ever entered my mind! Mike was human. But he was my friend. I loved him!
That reminder helped me to decide. It fueled my purpose. I wasn't supposed to become involved with human beings, at least not in any meaningful way. But I loved Mike. And he needed me.
I understood that it would be difficult to do everything that needed doing at that hour. I had plenty of money without touching the cash I had left for Mike. But there were only a few hours of darkness remaining, and some of the places I would need to visit wouldn't open again until after the sun rose.
I went to the Whole Foods and purchased enough food to hold Mike over for a few days. I found cough drops and some cough syrup. The rest would have to wait a day.
I returned to the church and left the bag of food and medicines next to Mike's nest. Then I went to my lair to prepare a shopping list before I had to sleep.
I put vitamins and over-the-counter medicines on my list. I made a note to consider talking to my manager friend at the drug store about help getting more antibiotics.
I knew that Mike would need more propane. I added bottles of water and a small basin or bowl to my list. He needed a pot to heat water. I also knew that wash cloths and towels would be a good idea. So would soap and shampoo. And then toothpaste and a toothbrush.
By the time I was through, I realized that I might not be able to get everything Mike needed and bring it back to the church in one night. But I had time. I would take care of him, even if it took me a few days to complete the list.
As I prepared to sleep, I thought about my plan. Too much involvement with Mike would increase the risk that he would find out about me. The more I visited him, the greater the risk of discovery. I was starting to have second thoughts.
Before sleep found me, I realized that the food and medicines I had left for Mike were exactly the kinds of things that I had been buying for him earlier in the year, when he was sick. As soon as he saw the contents of that bag, there was no way he wasn't going to realize that I was helping him; that I was still around.
That was a relief. It made my decision final. There was no point in thinking about turning back.
When I woke the next evening, I checked my list and prepared to go shopping. Before I left my lair, I reached out with my mind and my senses to search for Mike. He was in the church basement, close to his nest. He didn't seem very active.
Satisfied that I wouldn't run into him, I exited my lair and then slipped out of the church through a side entrance. The hardest part of the evening wouldn't be finding and purchasing the supplies Mike needed. It would be bringing them back to the church. And the hardest part of that, oddly enough, would be avoiding the spectacle of a twelve-year-old loaded down like a pack animal while dashing through the streets of the city. To avoid unwelcome attention, I would have to transport loads that appeared normal for someone my size, at a normal walking pace.
I hadn't been certain that I could purchase and transport everything that Mike needed in one night, but I did. I carried four modest loads of supplies back to my lair before most of the stores had closed for the evening. Then I made a run to the Whole Foods and picked up several bags of food.
I didn't talk to the drug store manager about getting antibiotics or other prescription drugs for Mike. I really wasn't sure what might be needed. And I couldn't figure out how to describe what I knew of Mike's symptoms without explaining that I had very limited contact with my friend. I thought it might be better to wait and see what was needed if Mike didn't improve. I hoped that good food, vitamins, and over-the-counter medications would be enough to restore him to good health.
Without the risk of outside observers, I carried everything I had purchased to Mike's lair in one load. He was in a deep sleep. The congestion and coughing I had noticed the previous night hadn't changed. I checked the supplies I had already left and was pleased to see that he had eaten and was using the cough syrup and throat lozenges.
I wanted to look around a little more, but I had checked on what was important. I didn't want to wake him and have to explain why I was there.
The next evening I found myself at loose ends. Mike had everything he would need for days, and possibly more than a week. The only additional thought that had occurred to me was that it might be good to purchase a large picnic cooler. With a supply of ice, Mike could have fresh juice and milk that would keep for days. I made a note to shop for one on my next supply run.
Extending my senses and my mind, I was pretty sure that Mike was spending the night in his lair. He seemed to be spending the night quietly. As I extended my mind, I could almost sense him focusing intently on some work he was doing. I wondered if he was drawing again. Then I wondered how he could draw with the limited light he had in the lair at night.
I considered working. But it had been a brisk and blustery day. I couldn't imagine there would be many people looking for a boy to spend some time with them behind the restrooms in Grant Park.
I thought about checking for Taryn and his friends on the Navy Pier. But I really didn't expect to find them there on such a cold night. I wondered where they went when conditions outdoors weren't suitable for fun. It had never occurred to me to ask.
I was starting to get bored. I wished that I had a hobby like Mike's drawing. I hadn't the foresight to purchase any books. The church had been cleared out years ago. There was nothing left to explore.
I thought about visiting the chancel. It seemed risky until I was sure that Mike had settled down for the night. I resumed my boredom.
Eventually, I started to think about the possibility of washing up. I couldn't explain it clearly, but there was something about that night in the Grant Park restroom. Part of the memory was creepy. Other parts were frightening. Yet on some level, a lot of the time had been just plain exciting! And I had brought home two hundred thirty dollars. It was tempting!
But it was cold outside. It was a fifteen or twenty minutes walk to the park. And I had cleaned up just three nights ago.
Still, I rationalized, a boy could never be too clean. And three days? Well, come on!
I really wasn't sure who was going to win the argument. As I debated, I began to sense something familiar in the air. But it was unusual in the church basement.
It started with a scent. I tried to identify it. I cast about with other senses to determine what had caught my attention. It felt like Mike's mind was intently focused on something. The feeling was different from when he was drawing.
I could just pick up very faint sounds, they were low and rhythmic. Something smooth rubbing against another smooth surface. The smell became more penetrating. Acrid. Very familiar.
Suddenly it hit me! I was pretty sure that Mike was in his lair, uh, pleasuring himself. I jumped to my feet and was already in the basement's main corridor before I realized that it could be a really bad scene, in a lot of ways, if I suddenly appeared in our old lair.
I can't describe how frustrating that felt. My body wanted to join Mike before I was even aware of what was happening. It wasn't easy to go back into my lair.
There was no doubt in my mind. I would have to get clean later than night, after the regular workers at the park had punched out for the evening.
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