Moonlight & Vines by Charles De Lint

I’m wastin’ on you.”
    He gave John a withering look, as though John was somethinghe’d stepped on that got stuck to the bottom of his shoe. And then he walked away.
    John tracked the man’s progress as he shuffled off down the street. When Clark was finally out of sight, he lifted his head again to stare up into the oppressive sky that hung so close to his face.
    â€œDakota,” he whispered.
    But she still didn’t come.
5
    The day he found the infant wailing in a heap of trash behind what had once been a restaurant made John wonder if there wasn’t some merit in Clark’s anger toward the watchers. The baby was a girl and she was no more than a few days old. She couldn’t possibly have made the decision that had left her in this place—not by any stretch of the imagination. A swelling echo of Clark’s rage rose up in him as he lifted the infant from the trash. He swaddled her in rags and cradled the tiny form in his arms.
    â€œWhat am I going to do with you?” he asked.
    The baby stopped crying, but she made no reply. How could she? She was so small, so helpless. Looking down at her, John knew what he had to do. Maybe Clark was right and the watchers were monsters, although he found that hard to reconcile with his memories of Dakota’s empathy and sadness. But Clark was wrong about what lay beyond the gates. He had to be. It couldn’t be worse than this place.
    He set off then, still wandering aimlessly, but now he had a destination in mind, now he had something to look for. He wasn’t doing it for himself, though he knew he’d step through the gates when they stood in front of him. He was doing it for the baby.
    â€œI’m going to call you Dolly,” he told the infant. “Darlene would’ve liked that. What do you think?”
    He chucked the infant under her chin. Her only response was to stare up at him.
6
    John figured he had it easier than most people who suddenly had an infant came into their lives. Dolly didn’t need to eat and she didn’t cry unless he set her down. She was only happy in his arms. She didn’t soil therags he’d wrapped her in. Sometimes she slept, but there was nothing restful about it. She’d be lying in his arms one minute, the next it was as though someone had thrown a switch and she’d been turned off. He’d been frantic the first time it happened, panicking until he realized that she was only experiencing what passed for sleep in this place.
    He didn’t let himself enter that blank state. The idea had crept into his mind as he wandered the streets with Dolly that to do so, to let himself turn off the way he and all the other undead did, would make it all that much more difficult for him to complete his task. The longer he denied it of himself, the more seductive the lure of that strange sleep became, but he stuck to his resolve. After a time, he was rewarded for maintaining his purposefulness. His vision sharpened; the world still appeared monochromatic, but at least it was all back in focus. He grew more clearheaded. He began to recognize more and more parts of the city. But the gates remained as elusive as Dakota had proved to be since the last time he’d seen her.
    One day he came upon Clark again. He wasn’t sure how long it had been since the last time he’d seen the man—a few weeks? A few months? It was difficult to tell time in the city as it had become because the light never changed. There was no day, no night, no comforting progression from one into the other. There was only the city, held in eternal twilight.
    Clark was furious when he saw the infant in John’s arms. He ranted and swore at John, threatened to beat him for interfering in what he saw as the child’s right of choice. John stood his ground, holding Dolly.
    â€œWhat are you so afraid of?” he asked when Clark paused to take a breath.
    Clark stared at him, a look of growing