Crimes by Moonlight

For a moment I contemplated him. When he finally met my gaze, I locked the contact and said, “I have the ability to climb inside another man’s mind, Doctor. Once there, I can wander anywhere and learn a man’s darkest secrets and enjoy his most pleasant memories.” I flipped a hand. “While there, I sometimes plant new thoughts. Of all sorts.”

After pouring more whisky, I wrapped his limp fingers around his glass. “Thoughts are powerful, are they not, Doctor?” I asked him without speaking.

THE storm intensified as the day bled into the night. It appeared so dark and turbulent outside it seemed hard to tell when the night actually became complete. As I looked out the porthole, a pirate fell against the rail near us. A hungry wave tried to pry his hands from the rail, but he held on tightly. The wave crested and receded, leaving behind another pirate rolled into a ball. The pirate that the wave delivered lay against the bulkhead. When he didn’t move, the first pirate kicked him. Another wave broke over the rail, sweeping them both to the stern.

From behind me, the wails of childbirth filled the salon. For the last hour, Mrs. Perideaux’s cries had been growing more frequent and prolonged. The hurricane seemed to strengthen with each of her screams. The doctor had given Felicity a weak sedative to calm her, and she slept on the other settee. After our talk, he hadn’t said much but appeared deep in thought, until his wife’s condition changed and he devoted his attention to her.

As dawn broke, the baby’s first cry could be heard, stark and sweet against the ugliness of the world. The Sibylline rocked in an exaggerated motion in the aftermath of the hurricane, but the wind no longer howled, and the rain fell in a gentle veil.

The wood across the salon door fell away as I walked outside, stepping over the pieces of debris, including dead pirates. A glassy sea of blue stretched to the horizon.

The pirates addressed me as Captain, most courteously, as they went about their duties, unfurling new canvases and getting the ship under way. I swept a hand, and all of the debris disappeared. The broken main mast stood whole once again. Midships, I stopped and admired myself in a polished brass dial, adjusting the buccaneer’s hat that sat upon my head at a most jaunty angle. My waistcoat had given way to a silken shirt of crimson. The shoes I wore had become boots of the finest and softest leather.

My crew was freshly bathed and shaven. The ship shone from top to bottom and appeared to be in pristine condition. It would be most appropriate to honor the late Captain Falkenburg in some ma

“Doctor, we shall arrive in Seville on schedule.”

The newborn’s plaintive cries could be heard: life has been renewed. The game renewed also.

Is it possible they’ll name the baby after me? I must wait and see.

Some gestures should be natural, gifts of gratitude.

Or memory.

The Bloodflower by Martin Meyers

I

He was waiting to cross the street to the subway.

The truck rounded the corner.

It was a glazier’s truck with slanted racks on the outside to carry glass. This one carried a mirror on the side facing him.

Rusty saw Hope and a man in the mirror. They were both naked and bloody. It was an obscene tableau framed on one side by a black wolf and on the other by a behemoth, three-headed silver dog.

Rusty thought he recognized the man writhing on the ground. The animals, eager to pounce on the dying man, lapped at the dark, wet ground. Hope knelt beside him, licking the blood that dripped from her lips.

The man’s blood.

In the mirror Rusty saw the head of a snake-haired crone floating in midair.

Medusa was smiling.

RUSTY Harper bolted up in his bed, gasping for breath. Next to him, Hope Brady slept peacefully, a half smile on her lips.

I absolutely light up for her, he thought as he relaxed and his breathing grew easier. His next thought was an immediate negation of the first. He didn’t love Hope; love was pure crap, and he had no time for it. He did like her a lot, though.

Regretting that he wasn’t up to the kind of go-round she would expect, he didn’t wake her. Tonight would be better. Food and a few drinks and he’d be in just the mood to take care of her.

She stirred.

He left the bed, feeling guilty about deserting her.

His mind pushed on to other things. Like how good coffee and a cigarette would taste. And what the new job held in store. The realization that Hope was important to him lay in the background. It didn’t advance, but it didn’t retreat. It simply stayed there, waiting for him to get back to it.

Rusty blew his nose. His sinuses were killing him. He filled the bathroom sink with cold water and lowered his face into the basin.

When he raised his head, drops of blood bounced on the water, dying it a pale pink. Rusty peered in the mirror. His nose was bleeding. Christ, that hadn’t happened since he was ca

At last the bleeding stopped. He washed his face again and brushed his teeth. When he spat, the toothpaste foam was also pink. Now his gums were bleeding. “Rusty my boy, you are falling apart.”

He shaved while under the shower and pondered the brief time they’d been together. Less than two weeks. She was now such an integral part of his life that he felt he’d known her for a long time.

Yeah. Things were looking up. “Admit it, Rusty, you never had it so good.” Do

After he got the coffee started, he poured two orange juices, drank one in a gulp, and carried the other in to Hope. The clock radio went on as he entered the room. Hope turned it off and opened her eyes. She was smiling. “Let’s make love.”

Rusty handed her the juice. “Great idea, but won’t we be late?”

“Not if we make it a quickie.” She pulled him down on top of her. “Come on.”

This woman excited him more than anyone he’d ever known. She engulfed him. Within seconds he was ready.

No.

She wouldn’t be satisfied. And he couldn’t disappoint her. It had to be good for her. But he couldn’t hold off any longer.

Medusa’s fearful head appeared in his mind. Horrible as the vision was, he welcomed the distraction and concentrated on it.

Hope bit him on the shoulder. The charm she wore dug into his chest. She clawed at him, grunting again and again, each grunt going higher in tone. When she reached the top of her lust song, she whined the final note and pulled him closer. He was done, dispelling Medusa, fear, everything.

THIS strange escapade they were all on had started on that particular Friday only two weeks before, when Hope found a new apartment.

“PANDORA’S Jar. This is Pandora,” the husky Greek-accented voice said. Pandora was really Asterodeia Alexander, the proprietor of the herb and spice shop on Eleventh Street, where Greenwich Avenue and Seventh Avenue converged. She was also Hope’s new landlady.

The Greek woman owned a building across the street from the shop. She lived in the building and rented out apartments. Hope was in the process of moving into one of those apartments, a find if there ever was one.

Rent for her new place was so low Hope couldn’t believe her luck. She wouldn’t even have to scour the earth for a roommate. The apartment would be all hers, her very own. Well, it was about time. Her luck hadn’t been good since the day she was born.