By Blood We Live

Pitr stepped away from the mirror. Lucy leaned back, bare-breasted chest heaving like a B-movie diva. Pitr grew to the height of the room, cackling at her, wiping blood from the wound on his chest with clawed fingers and anointing her like a priest at a baptism. She screamed.

Blankets rustled. "What are you doing?" Lucy asked in a weak, sleepy voice.

"Nothing," Martin said. He hit the eject button. Yanking the tape out of the cassette, he piled it at his feet until the reels were empty. Then he carried it downstairs and burned it all in the fireplace.

Martin stood at the kitchen counter, making soup for Lucy when he saw the rat outside on the rocks. It crawled all around the pumphouse, trying to scale the sides. Martin went out to the screened-in porch to watch it.

Finally the rat fell exhausted, lethargic.

Martin went out and picked up a large, flat rock from the herb garden beside the foundation. He crept slowly out to the pumphouse, expecting the rat to bolt away at any minute. But it crouched there, on the concrete base, facing the blank wall. Martin slammed down the rock.

There was a wet crunch as it connected with the concrete pad; blood squirted out one side.

A ferocious tapping, faint but unmistakable, came from inside the pumphouse. Martin cupped his hands to the stone.

"Shut up, Pitr!" he shouted.

Then he went back inside.

It was late afternoon before Martin gathered the courage to find a pair of gloves and a shovel. He went back to the pumphouse, and tossed the bloody stone among the other boulders piled up where the waves licked the shore. Then he buried the rat. He covered the bloodstain on the concrete with dirt, and scuffed it in as well as he could with his deck shoes.

When he was done, he cupped his hands to the stone. "How do I make her well again, Pitr?" He leaned his ear to the concrete to hear the answer.

"Let me to come out and I will tell you," the voice croaked, so faint Martin could barely make it out. "She is burning, with the fire. Only I can help her."

"Fuck you, Pitr."

"I am come out and you can do that do." Laughter. Or choking. Martin rather hoped it was choking. "You want young again, Martin?" the voice cracked through the stone. "I can give you the young again."

"Yeah, you and Viagra. Go to hell, Pitr."

Something hard pounded on the inside wall. "You cannot keep me here. You cannot run far enough. When I-"

Martin lifted his ear from the concrete and heard nothing except the sound of the waves and the cries of a few gulls.

The sky was the color of faded jeans. Jet contrails seamed the blue, taking other people to some point far away. Martin walked wearily back to the house.

Lucy sat up in bed. The blankets were shoved against the footboard, but she was wrapped in a kimono. The glow inside her lit it up like a Japanese lantern.

"You upset him," she said, her voice cold.

He grabbed his wallet from the dresser, and started changing his clothes. "You know, he was already pissed. Something about being hit on the head while you were su-"

"No, I mean it." Her cold voice shattered with panic like ice in the sun. "He's going to hurt me, Martin. You promised you wouldn't let him hurt me."

"He's not going to hurt you." He pulled on clean pants.

"Where are you going?"

"Into town for a drink."

She grabbed the lamp on the bedside table and shoved it onto the floor. The base cracked. "Are you going to go see Kate? Are you going to go

fuck Kate? Is that it, Martin?"

"I don't even like Kate," he said softly. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, then pushed her gently onto the bed. "If it makes you any happier, I'll go to the IceHouse. Won't even see her."

"I'm sorry, Martin. I didn't mean that. It's just-"

"I know." Rising, he took their bank deposit bag from its hiding place and emptied the cash into his pocket. Then he took the rest of their bills and did the same.

She clutched at his sleeve. "You're running away! Omigod, Martin. You're going to catch the ferry and leave me. You can't do that."

"I just need time to think," he said.

He pried her fingers loose and left the house before he lost his nerve.

It was after midnight before he returned, driving down the long dirt driveway through the woods to their house. He was drunk. Two other trucks followed his.

Lucy waited for him on the porch, in the papa-san chair, sitting directly under the one bright light.

The trucks pulled up and parked beside him. Martin lifted the case of beer off the front seat and carried it over to the picnic table. "I'm going to go get some ice to keep this cold, guys," he shouted over his shoulder, staggering to the porch.

Doors slammed in the dark. "Ain't gonna last that long," a harsh voice said. A can popped open. The others laughed.

Lucy rose and pressed herself against the screen. Insects pinged against it, trying to reach her. Bats screeched through the air, feasting.

"Is that really you, Martin? Who are those men?"