He froze. He wanted to cry, to shout, yet his mouth couldn't utter even a word. After a few silent minutes, he asked:
"How...?"
"Apparently, a drunk driver. It was a hit-and-run. We're sorry for your loss, Mr. Collins."
"Sorry? You're sorry? It wasn't your son who died! It was mine!"
"Of course. Please, if we can do anything for you, don't hesitate to ask."
"I want to see him, and the doctors wouldn't let me! Why?"
"There are certain formalities. They will give you the body soon."
The body. This morning, that body was Robert, his beloved son, the son he kissed in the morning when he left for work, the son who called him in the afternoon asking permission to go out and play soccer with his friends. His son, the fruit of the love between him and his wife, who passed away in 2010, was stolen from him by the same death that took her five years ago. Now, he had nothing to live for. His brother approached him:
"Chris, it's... go home, please, get some rest. I'll stay here. Please!"
"Bill, I... I can't. He's my son! My baby boy!"
"I know, I know. It's alright. Go home, please, rest for a bit."
How can he leave his son alone in that cold clinic? How can he leave him alone in a cold, dark grave? Why did God put him through this trial again? God... Even since he was old enough to understand, God was very important to him. He believed in God and in the salvation Jesus brought and even though his wife, Laura, passed away seven months after she was diagnosed with cancer, he continued to be adamant in his faith. But now...
"I can't. Please..."
"Go home, Chris, take a shower. We will have difficult days ahead of us. I'm with you, as always. In the morning, I will bring you the car. You are too distraught to drive right now and we don't need another tragedy. I won't be able to bear it."
William, Chris' older brother by three years, was always there for him. As kids, he would always protect him from bullies and now, as adults, he was there for him when Laura died and even now, after... Chris couldn't bring himself to think about Robert's death. He can't put his son and death in the same sentence. It's impossible. Yet, the man decided to heed his brother's advice and left the Santa Monica clinic, walking under the moonlit sky so devoid of anything resembling a will to live that he contemplated throwing himself in front of a passing vehicle, to die just like his son. However, he was afraid for his soul. A man who kills himself would never reach Heaven, the scripture says.
The minutes passed, yet they seemed like hours for Chris. He wanted to cry, but he didn't have the strength. The man looked in front of him and saw a nightclub, The Asylum. Contrary to every thought that said no, he decided to enter it and drink himself to a long, dreamless sleep. He can't bear to think about his dead son. Not now, not tonight. God prohibits excesses yet Bill always said to him that it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission. Inside, a droning music enveloped the entire club and several men and women were already passed out on chairs, the needle still in their vein. That morning, Chris would have called them junkies or lowlifes yet now... everything is better than to feel what he feels. A pale woman with two ponytails, dressed in a revealing outfit approached him:
"Hey there, handsome. You are not one of our regulars here. What brings you to the Asylum?"
Chris didn't have the strength to formulate an answer, yet he was a polite man, especially with women.
"I... I'm looking for..."
The woman asked him smiling:
"Yes?"
"For peace..."
"Oh, duckling, every one of us is looking for peace, one way or another, even if it's in the form of a needle or a glass of something strong or in the form of music or sex, we all seek solace."
"You misunderstood me... I'm not looking for such things..."
"But here you are. Come and sit with me to that table over there. Talk to me. Sometimes, it's better to take the pressure off your heart. Besides, I'm a stranger and I pinky swear I won't tell anyone."
Chris looked at the woman who was beaming at him. It wasn't a good idea, but it was far better than getting drunk or getting high. Besides, she was a nice enough young woman, unlike others in the club. Chris and the woman sat on a table and she said:
"Well, I think that before we say anything else about us, we should tell each other our names. I am Jeanette."
"Nice to meet you... I am Chris."
He was looking straight through Jeanette, not at her. He was clearly too troubled.
"Chris, that's a nice name! Why are you upset, Chris? What happened to you?"
"My..."
"Yes?"
"My son just died this evening... Hit and run."
Jeanette stopped smiling and touched Chris' cheek:
"Oh, duckling, I'm so, so sorry! I know how it is to lose someone you care about. I lost my sister in 2004... I felt so lonely without her!"
"I'm sorry. What happened to her?"
"She... killed herself."
A grave sin, Chris thought, yet it would have been inappropriate to try and talk to Jeanette about this. Besides, he contemplated suicide himself not long before he entered the nightclub.
"I'm very sorry, Jeanette."
"Thank you. Tell me about your son."
Tears formed in the man's eyes. He wanted to say so much about his beloved Robert yet he can't seem to be able to do anything but cry. Jeanette asked the bartender to bring a bottle of whiskey. Then, she poured a glass and passed it away to Chris.
"Here, have a glass of that. It would do you good."
Normally, Chris would have refused it but now, it wasn't a normal night for him. He sipped from the glass and, while being bothered by its taste, he decided to pour himself another one.
"My son... His name was Robert. He was ten years old. He liked to read and play soccer... He dreamed to become a great player in Europe, talking only about Barcelona and Real and all those great teams across the ocean. Yet now..."
He started to cry. Jeanette hugged him.
"It's alright, duckling. Make the pain go away."
"To... to see his body in a coffin... I can't..."
"Shhh, I know."
"I have no one... My wife passed away five years ago... Cancer... He was the only one I had and now he's gone!"
He almost shouted, saying that his son was gone. A man was looking at Chris but he was too drugged out to care while another one was just sighing.
"Sorry, I... disturbed the others."
Jeanette laughed:
"No more than they already are. No one here judges you, sweetheart. No... whole man or woman ever comes here. You have to be broken, like you are right now. But being broken does not mean you can't be mended."
Chris looked at his conversation partner and scoffed:
"How? With this?"
He pointed at the bottle of whiskey on the table. Jeanette smiled:
"Well, some choose the bottle, others choose the needle or the puff or the powder. Others combine them. To each his own. Like I said, I don't judge."
Chris tried to get up from the chair, yet his legs were weak so he couldn't stand.
"Jeanette, drugs and alcohol are not solutions to problems."
"Of course they aren't! But true solutions come with hefty prices to pay."
"For my son... there is no solution."
"Hmm... Don't say that. Nothing it's impossible in this world. Believe me, I know what I'm talking about."
"He is dead."
"Hmm... Tell me where to you live. I'll drive you home. You are in no condition to drive or walk on your own."
"I... there's no need."
"Oh, nonsense. It would be a pleasure."
"Santa Monica Suites..."
"Ah, those near the Gallery Noir?"
"Yeah..."
"I know where they are. Come, my car is just outside."
Jeanette helped Chris on his feet and held his hand until they reached Jeanette's car, a 1998 Nissan Bluebird.
"Hope you don't mind if I play a bit of music?"
"No... it's your car. Do what you want."
"Actually, it was my sister's car. I would have preferred a convertible but I decided to keep the Nissan."
After a short drive, the two reached the luxurious apartment block.
"Here we are. Come, I'll help you to your door."
Chris and Jeanette arrived at the door of the man's apartment. He opened the door but before entering, he collapsed on the floor, probably from the mixture of pain, stress and the alcohol. Jeanette easily picked him up and took him to his bedroom. She searched for a piece of paper and a pen and wrote something on it before putting it on the bed, near Chris. She left the apartment.
Hours later, the morning's sun was hurting Chris' eyes so much that he had to keep them close for a few minutes before opening them for good.
Ugh, God... What happened to me?
He looked around him and saw the piece of paper Jeanette wrote. Chris picked it up and read it:
(310) 555-6969 - Call me sometimes. Jeanette 3
He now remembered. Jeanette was the nice woman that helped him last night. It did him good to talk to her. He took out his smartphone and saved the number. Chris saw that he had three unread text messages on his phone, all from Bill.
7/26/15, 21:23 - Hey, bro. Have you reached your apartment? If you did so, text me.
7/26/15, 22:56 - Hey Chris, I brought your car home. I would have come to you upstairs but I don't know if you sleep or not. If you are awake, call me. If not, continue to sleep. We'll speak in the morning.
7/27/15, 08:18 - Chris, I arranged everything with the funeral house and all that. Come to my house when you see this.
Chris looked at the clock. It was 10:15. He dressed immediately and, before leaving the apartment, he saw the door to Robert's room. He entered it and saw everything just like the boy left it: the unmade bed, his clothes, his laptop and his prized photo album with soccer players. Chris crashed on his knees and started to cry:
"Why? Why? He was just a boy! A boy! Why did you take him from me?"
Chris saw a picture of Robert on the wall. The boy had pale skin, brown eyes and a chestnut colored hair, just like his father. Seeing Robert and knowing that pictures would be the only way he would see his son from now on made the pain inside Chris grow in intensity. Then, he left his house, locking the door. He called his brother:
Bill: Chris, hey. What's up, man?
Chris: Hey, bro... sorry for not answering to your messages.
Bill: Screw them, you were a wreck last night. I hope you did rest, at least for a bit.
Chris: Yes, it was good... Oh, God, Bill... Nothing is good, man. Nothing!
Bill: I know, bro. About Rob... I arranged everything with the funeral house. This evening it will be the viewing and tomorrow...
Chris: The funeral...
Bill: Hey, it's alright. I'm here with you. At the hospital last night, there were a lot of cops and the press... I didn't comment anything. I also called your boss this morning and explained to him your situation.
Chris: My boss! If he hadn't called me to work on Sunday, maybe my son would be alive! Maybe I would have died instead of him!
Bill: It's that murderer's fault, who hit Robby! The police say they have some leads but...
Chris: Would they bring my son back to life? I don't care if they catch him or her or whatever the murderer is. I just want my baby back!
Bill: I know, bro... I am a wreck too, man. Me, Dana, Tyler, Ann. They cried every since I told them. They loved their cousin a lot. We all loved him.
Chris: I know... thank you. Sorry, Bill, I'll come to your house later. Right now, I need to be alone for a while.
Bill: Of course, bro. Take your time. I'll wait for you.
Chris: See you.
He drove for a while through Santa Monica, trying to decrease the anxiety he was feeling. Chris always felt better when driving but now... He closed the radio after hearing at the news that a young boy was killed yesterday in a hit-and-run accident. Chris felt overwhelmed with anger and, at the same time, with longing. It was 11:30. This time, when he wasn't at school, Robert would call his daddy at work. It was almost a ritual. Now, nobody would call him anymore. How different was this day than the day before. Sunday morning, they went to church. Then, his boss called him, saying he needed Chris to help him with an important project at work. He wanted to say no, but he knew the project was vital for their company. How Chris regretted that decision now. It was too late.
After a while, the man was on the pier, looking at the horizon. The summer sun was baking him but he didn't care. How he wished to just jump into the water and be done with it, be done to all the pain. He heard a few guys talk about how they wish it wouldn't be so hot. Chris was cold. It wasn't a desirable sensation. He felt like a planet whose sun has been extinguished and now it's in its final throes of life, just lingering, barely alive. He looked at the clock again: it was 15:38. He couldn't believe he drove for four hours around Santa Monica. It didn't make Chris feel better, however. He texted his brother, asking him the time of Robert's wake. The answer came quickly: 19:30. In about 4 hours or so, he would see his dead son. He wished he could just go to Bill's house and mourn alongside his brother and his family. Chris realized that Bill's family was now his family too, his last remaining family. He couldn't do it. He decided to just wander aimlessly on the beach. An hour later, his phone rang: an unknown number.
Chris: Hello?
?: It's this Mr. Christopher Collins?
Chris: Who's this?
?: Detective Richard Mann, LAPD, Homicide. First and foremost, I'm sorry for your terrible loss.
Chris: Yeah...
Det. Mann: Also, we discovered the identity of your son's killer. His name is Benjamin Daniels, an Arizona resident. 5'11'', middle aged, bald headed. We put a BOLO on his car. We promise you that soon, he will be found.
Benjamin Daniels... This was the man that took Robert away from me... Benjamin Daniels
Det. Mann: Sir, are you still there?
Chris: Yes, of course... Thank you...
Det. Mann: I'm just doing my duty, sir. Again, I'm sorry for your loss and we'll keep you in touch.
Chris: OK.
Benjamin Daniels...
The entire time he drove from the pier to the funeral house, Chris repeated the name Benjamin Daniels in his head. He couldn't care less if Daniels would be found and caught, yet inside his heart, Chris just wanted to ask him one question: why did he kill his child? The funeral house was just in front of his and Chris left his Toyota Prius and entered the place where his son's body laid. All the people inside looked at Chris and some of them hugged him while weeping. His parents were dead but his late wife's father was still alive and he was devastated for the loss of his only grandson. The old man was near the coffin, crying. Chris saw the coffin and his knees turned into jelly. He approached it and saw his son there, looking like he was sleeping, not even the slightest blemish on his face.
"My angel..."
Chris fell down near the coffin and his brother ran to help him back up. A friend of Chris, Ted, who was also Robert's soccer coach and the boy's teammates were there too, also weeping. Bill and his wife and children approached Chris:
"Chris, hey, we're here, man. Anything you need, just tell us."
"I want my boy... Bill... I... I can't stay here. I want to leave."
"Now?"
"I can't... I just can't..."
He left without saying another word. Inside the funeral home, Bill spoke to the others:
"He needs time. We need to be there for him."
All the people nodded.
Chris climbed back into his Prius and started to drive again. The image of his son lying into that coffin will haunt him forever. He needed to end this torment of his. He took out his phone and called the number Jeanette provided in the paper he found that morning in his bed.
Jeanette: Hello?
Chris: Is this Jeanette...?
Jeanette: Of course, sweetheart. Who are you, if I may ask?
Chris: Chris... I was last night at the Asylum... you took me home if you remember.
Jeanette: Of course, duckling! How are you?
Chris: Hey... I don't want to sound like a stalker or a weird guy but... when can I see you?
Jeanette: Right now, if you want, cupcake! I'm at the Asylum. I'll wait for you!
Chris: Thank you...
He was the worst man in the world. Instead of being there, alongside his son and his family and friends, he was going to the sleaziest, most infamous nightclub in Santa Monica to meet someone he just met a day before. But something about Jeanette made him believe that she could bring him peace. It was good to talk to her. Reaching the club, the same music as the last time he was there greeted him. Chris approached the bartender, a large, bald man:
"Yeah, get something for you, chief?"
"Umm... I'm looking for a girl, Jeanette. She said she is here. Do you know here?"
"Huh... Do I know her? I work for her! This is her club."
"What?"
"Yeah. The Asylum is her nightclub, at least since her sister died years ago."
Before Chris could say anything, Jeanette approached him from behind:
"Hey, cupcake!"
"Hey..."
Jeanette took Chris by his hand and went straight for the elevator. They were now inside a room on the first floor, with a large, heart-shaped bed and another large painting with a scary looking man and two twin girls.
"What's this?"
"This is my room! We'll talk better here than downstairs."
"I... Thank you."
"No problem. Tell me, sunshine, what's wrong?"
"I... saw my son at the viewing... I couldn't bear to stay there. It's too painful. Also... the police found out the identity of Robert's killer... A man named Benjamin Daniels."
"Benjamin Daniels... Don't worry, little strawberry, he will be found."
"I don't care, really."
"Oh, but you should care. It's the just thing to do, exacting vengeance on someone who hurt the ones we love. Who can assure you that he won't kill anyone again?"
"I don't want to get revenge on him. Revenge is something completely ungodly."
"Uuu, you're a Christian. Chris the Christian!"
"Stop joking."
"Alright, alright! Tried to cheer you up. Well, if I remember correctly, your God is a god of vengeance, right?"
"That's the Old Testament, not the New."
"Old, New, who cares. God it's the same. Except that in the New one, you only deal with his hippy, socialist son."
"It's not like that... It's..."
"It's exactly like that. Believe me, I know. You Christians always think about the eternal life in Heaven. But, as your son is dead, why don't you rejoice? He is now in heaven alongside the Big J."
"To rejoice? He was just a boy! Ten years old!"
"Exactly. God doesn't give a shit who lives or who dies. Young, old, smart, stupid, short, tall, humans are just his teensy chess pieces to move as he pleases. You are so focused on the afterlife, that you ignore what you have here, on Earth."
"I have nothing! NOTHING! My wife died, now my son... Nothing is there for me anymore!"
"Oh, but you are mistaken. There is so much more to life!"
"What? Drugs? Sex? Alcohol?"
"Well, yes and no. Surely, some choose to wallow in their misery while drinking or doing dope while others choose to live."
"To live? With this pain? This horror? Do you have any idea, Jeanette? My beautiful son will rot into the ground, with worms and... and... bugs feeding off him. I..."
Jeanette hugged Chris, then she said to him:
"What if I tell you that there is a way to take out all the pain inside of you? To become a new man, different of what you are right now? And, of course, with this new life I'm offering to you, a chance, very small, in truth, but still a chance to restore your son alongside you?"
Chris' tearful eyes were getting bigger. He frowned:
"What is this? Do you try to make me join some sort of a cult? I am a Christian, I don't care for your blabber about a new life. It's this why you approached me, to convince me to renounce God? Well, miss, that won't..."
Before he could finish up his sentence, Jeanette looked like she teleported behind Chris. The man looked behind him and, after seeing her baring some sort of... fangs at him, he shouted:
"WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT ARE YOU?"
"Your new life, if you accept it. I am a vampire. All of us, because we are many, are a great family that support each other in our times of need. Join me and I swear to you that death would never touch you, youth will never leave you and you will have a chance to restore your beloved child to life. My world, the world of darkness, is much more than your world. Here, nothing is impossible."
"You fiend... how?"
"I'm not a fiend, sweety! Surely, we live off blood and some of us are really psycho, you know, but the power is so great... You will be perfect."
In what I've gotten myself into?
"Miss, I... please, don't hurt me! Tomorrow is my son's funeral. I need to be there."
"I don't want to hurt you, darling! On the contrary, I want to save you from yourself. I can sense inside your soul that you love your Robert too much for you to continue living without him... Living as a human, that is. But as a vampire, your life would be completely different. The memory of your son will be the fuel that will drive you to achieve great things! And us, the Malkavian, will help you on your road."
"Mal...kavian?"
"Yes, like I said, we are a great family. My family is named Malkavian. We have a certain power that raises us above other vampire... families. We are mentally linked with one another. And you will become too, if you'll accept my gift. Imagine this: the entire knowledge of people who lived for thousands upon thousands of years would be at your disposal, people who witnessed the creation of the world as we know it! Your son is not lost. We can help you return him back into the realm of the living."
"To be like you? A blood drinking freak? I don't wish that upon him!"
"No. As a human. You said that the boy died yesterday. Even if I wanted, I can't turn him now into a vampire. But there are many vampires in the world, hell, even in this city, who possess arcane knowledge and they are able to manipulate the laws of nature. What do you think, sweety?"
It was madness. That woman claimed she could give... eternity to someone? What kind of demon she was? Maybe she was sent by God to test his resolve? But how could God create such a creature? His soul would be forfeited the moment he would become a... vampire. He will go straight to hell, that much was beyond dispute. But what if... What if her words were true? What if there is a chance for Robert to walk again among the living? What if there is a chance at eternal life here on Earth? The allure of this idea was tremendous.
"I... I need time to think about it!"
"Of course, darling. Tomorrow is your boy's funeral. We can't have you miss it. So, if you decide to join me in immortality, come tomorrow evening here. I'll explain everything to you. But, please, first and foremost you must swear to me that you will not say anything to anyone about what I've showed you."
"Like someone would believe me."
"Hmm... there might be some. So, do you pinky swear?"
She smiled at him. Chris said:
"Fine, I swear."
"Good."
Outside the club, Chris looked towards the moon. Inside his heart, a battle took place.
My son... If there is a chance to see you again, alive and well... But that would mean my damnation.
Chris decided to call a cab, as he drank at the Asylum. The cab driver, a man who wore shades asked him:
"Going somewhere?"
"Just... drive."
"Hop in!"
On the road, the driver asked him:
"What are you thinking about?"
"Eh... Well... my son just died. Tomorrow is his funeral."
"I see. I'm very sorry for your loss."
"Thank you."
"I've experienced loss to in my life. My brother died... I loved him a lot."
"I'm sorry. Of course you loved him, he was your brother."
"Indeed. You see, life is just like this: you grow up with people you love and they love you in return and then, it comes a moment in this existence when they simply... disappear. And you would do anything to bring them back."
The cab driver's words sent a shock through Chris' heart. It's like he knew.
"It's impossible."
"Is it? There are still many things we don't know about life or death. Some of us would never find them, others would do it. It's just that a man with a mission can do anything to see it fulfilled."
The cab driver baffled Chris. Reaching his apartment, he got down from the cab.
"How much?"
"Nothing. I know how is it to lose someone. Keep your money."
"Thank you."
"Goodbye."
A strange man, yet a kindly one. And he put things into perspective too. The question inside Chris was: is he ready to forfeit his soul for that of his son?