“Uh, yeah, Doctor…what’s your name?”
The doctor looked at his name badge. That’s a little odd, Scott thought. Doesn’t the guy know his own name?
“Guraj. Dr. Guraj.”
An interesting name. It sounded Asian—that is to say, from the Indian subcontinent—and this guy didn’t look like he was from that part of the world. Then again, maybe he was adopted. That could be it, although adoptions usually went the other direction. “How are we feeling today? You know, there’s a police detective out there waiting on you, but according to your charts, you were under heavy sedation. Looks like you’re snapping out of it now.”
“Yeah, Doctor, I feel fine. But those sedatives I got…I dunno, they seem to be having some weird side effects or something.”
Scott hadn’t stopped to consider his still-bandaged neck wound. Some of his visitors had mentioned it in passing, but it was not causing him any discomfort at the moment. In fact, it didn’t hurt at all.
The long-haired doctor cracked a smile. “Side effects, eh? Like what?”
“Well, they’re like the opposite of sedating. I feel like I’m on some kind of stimulant, like I’m more aware of everything. And my mood, especially my temper…well, let’s just say I was a little rude to some of my visitors. Ah, heck, I was a total ass wipe, pardon my lingo. God, I’m so embarrassed.”
The doctor closed the door to the room. “Oh, you mean that attractive thing and her…who is that? Her boyfriend? Husband? Whatever he is. Well, I’m sorry to hear that. But I must tell you, rudeness isn’t one of the side effects of the medications you were given. Now, how’s the neck, Mr. Campbell?”
Scott rubbed at the bandaged injury. “It feels fine. Great, even. Like it never even happened.” He was amazed. He thought that maybe it was the painkillers they’d been giving him. If so, those were some great painkillers.
“Well, good, because I’m here to help you.”
I’m here to help you. Where did Scott hear those words recently? And that voice, that southern drawl!
No way. No way in hell.
The horrible realization hit Scott like a sledgehammer to the face. If he had been standing, he wouldn’t have been for long.
“You!” Scott cried. He thought the guy was familiar! It was that same crazy guy from the accident who ate a chunk out of his neck! He didn’t seem like he was currently on meth, or bath salts, or antipsychotics, but never mind that. This was the same sorry son of a bitch who had bit Scott and who had caused his “accident” in the first place!
“Ah, you remember me!” Jack laughed. “For a minute there, I thought, ‘Wow, this guy couldn’t add two and two.’ But boy, I had faith in you, and I sure wasn’t disappointed. Can I pick ’em or what?”
“You…you’re the freak who bit me? Why the hell would you go and do that? What’s your problem?” Scott’s mind was a blurred mess of thoughts, or rage, but most of all, confusion.
“Whoa, slow down there, cowboy. I know you’ve got questions.”
Questions? Oh yeah, Scott had questions! Like, Who the hell causes a car accident and then assaults the victim by taking a chunk out of his neck? “Oh yeah. A few.”
“Well, let’s get started. We haven’t got much time. That detective is starting to get a bit antsy. I’m sure you would like to know why I bit you, so to speak. Let me cut to the chase: my name is Jack, and I myself happen to be a vampire.”
“Vampire?”
“That’s the rumor.”
“Vampire? All righty, then.” Scott strained to hold back a laugh.
“Yes, you know, creature of the night, the evil undead?”
“Oh yes, Nosferatu! Dracula! ‘I vant to suck your blood!’” Scott mocked him in a typically lousy imitation of Bela Lugosi. “Count Chocula!”
“Now you’re getting it. Oh, you forgot to add the Count from Sesame Street. Love that guy!”
“So that’s why you bit me. You’re a vampire, so you obviously drink human blood. Jack, was it? Count Jackula? Right. I get it. Not only did you almost murder me, you’re nuts. I’m going to call that detective and get you hauled away to the nearest psych ward, you sick freak!”
Jack came closer to the bed. “That’s not going to happen, Scott,” he snarled, his face darkening. The entire room seemed to blacken as Jack’s school-boy charming face twisted into a monstrous caricature of its former self, his eyes turning into ebony spheres that seemed to swallow the light instead of reflecting it. Eyes that revealed a horrific truth that Scott now stared into, terrified. Those eyes seemed to him like long black tunnels to chthonic depths. Scott had never experienced this level of terror before. Even the car accident wasn’t all that bad in comparison. And then those fangs. Those fangs, jutting out from Jack’s mouth. Savage, brutal, animalistic. Not at all human, not even remotely. The white of those monstrous tusks stood in stark contrast to the blackness of Jack’s eyes.
Scott really wanted to scream, but he couldn’t. Something deep within disabled his vocals. Besides, he knew it wouldn’t help anyway.
Scott did not expect the laugh. It was a lot gentler than he would have thought it would be. He would have expected a deep-throated cackle, vomited up from the belly of some demonic beast. What he got was a chuckle. The kind people make when they find something mildly humorous. The kind normal people make.
“Dude,” Jack said, “chill out! No need to freak. It’s okay. I’m not going to bite you…not again, anyway.”
That didn’t immediately calm Scott’s raging nerves. He still stared, transfixed, at the unholy apparition before him. A revelation of the darkest order. Proof positive that the paranormal, the supernatural, was all too real. Real, palpable, horrifying—and right here in River City. Scott couldn’t process the sensory input. This is not real. This is not real. This is not real, he kept repeating in his mind—but it was real. No, no way, no freaking way. It’s the sedatives. Or the painkillers. Or both. That’s it. I’m on a bad trip!
“Um, dude, you might wanna close your mouth. You’re drooling.”
Scott did so but not before trying to speak. It was difficult. His throat felt completely parched, the air from his lungs just barely making it to his vocal cords. “What…how…huh?”
Jack drew up the wood-framed cushioned chair next to Scott’s hospital bed. He sat down and leaned over, his face almost immediately returning to its slightly pale but otherwise nonthreatening appearance, the fangs retreating into his now uninteresting mouth. “I am a vampire. A real, live—well, “live” may not be the most accurate term here.…anyway, we are real. And here one is, sitting by your side.” Oh, how comforting. “And what’s more, Scott…”
It seemed like a lifetime, but it was a mere breath. The announcement that really threw Scott. No, it didn’t just throw him; it grabbed him by his shoulders and slapped him silly. To say it was a game changer would be a gross understatement.
“…you are now one, too. Vampire, that is.”
Scott could no longer dismiss what he clearly saw before him. If this man—this creature, this thing—was telling the truth about his own status, then…then it was true. It had to be. The logic was inescapable. Scott wanted to protest, but he could not. And what good would it have done to him anyway? He was screwed, and he knew it.
“Hey, know what? You must be famished. I’m sure that this whole crazy experience has left you a bit peckish. Just a second, now.”
The leather briefcase Jack had carried when he entered the room was propped on a wheeled serving table. He rose from his seat and pushed the wheeled table to a corner of the room, his turned back hiding whatever it was he was doing. All Scott could tell was that it involved a paper cup and the sound of some thick fluid being poured into it. He then heard the snapping of the briefcase closures, signaling that the case had been securely shut. Jack turned back to Scott, holding the paper cup that now contained a dark liquid. He gave Scott the cup.
“Here. Drink this.”
“What is it?”
“Just drink it, okay? It’s good for you. You’ll really like it.”
Scott lifted the cup. The fluid was thick, heavy, a deep, dark red. He put the cup to his lips. The first drop hit his tongue, and he immediately knew what it was. Blood. Oh my God, it’s blood. The iodine taste gave way to something else, something pleasurable, exciting, and absolutely delicious. Scott’s revulsion turned almost immediately into enjoyment as the thick liquid quickly relieved the dryness of his throat. He felt the fluid bring more than mere hydration, more than nourishment, but pure energy deep into his inner being. He embraced the rush, and the rush embraced him.
“Whoa,” he said. “That stuff was…awesome. Really. I’ve never had anything like that! How I can get some more?”
“You like it?”
“Oh yeah. God, yeah. You know, at first I thought it was like cow blood, but then, man…what’s in here?”
“A positive.”
“A positive what? A positive energy drink? ’Cause Red Bull, look out.”
Jack shook his head. “No, you’re not listening. A—letter A—positive.”
“A…positive?”
“Wow, you’re kinda clueless. That’s what it was marked on the bag. A positive. I prefer B negative myself, but A positive is most commonly available, it seems.”
“Blood? Human…blood?” The disgusting realization hit him. He felt sick—or at least, he wanted to feel sick. Dammit, I should feel sick! Why don’t I feel sick to my stomach? “You mean donated blood that could have gone to help someone in need?” Why Scott found himself more offended by the notion of possibly denying this blood to someone who might need a transfusion, rather than the plain fact that it was human blood he’d been drinking, did not even occur to him.
“Oh, relax, Scott. You were in need, so it all works out, right? Besides, it was rejected blood, anyway.”
Rejected? Rejected? Jack’s news was spoken casually, much more casually than Scott was happy with. This was not hygienic at all! Who knew why this blood had been rejected, but it surely couldn’t be because of anything healthy!
“The biohazard security protocols at this institution are sorely lacking,” Jack continued. “It was no big deal to enter the secured area and—wham!—bagged snacks for the taking.”
“Rejected, though? Seriously?”
“It’s not like you’re going to catch something from it. Dude, you’re a vampire! Vampires don’t get sick!”
“Oh, well, that’s a relief.”
“I mean, what do you want me to do? Drag someone in here for you to drain? It would be kind of hard to explain the mess, but let me tell you, live feeding makes that room-temperature bagged stuff taste like ass. Comparatively speaking, that is. I mean, I saw a nurse out there, little Southeast Asian gal I think, who would make a tasty entrée.”
“No! No, that won’t be necessary.” Scott’s shock and revulsion over drinking tainted human blood was replaced by shock and revulsion over the suggestion that he feed on—and by extension, kill—another human being. He, of course, rejected the notion out of hand.
“All right, then.” Jack sat back down in the chair and once more drew close. “Then maybe you’ll do me the courtesy of climbing down out of my ass and letting me give you a few pointers. It might even save your life. I call this course ‘How to Vampire 101.’ There’s a written exam at the end, so take notes.”
Jack’s vampire humor did not hit Scott as all that funny. Jack did not seem to care and continued the lesson. “Okay, then. First off, you need blood. Blood is now your thing. You live on blood. Human blood. It is life, it is power, and it gives you that kick-ass buzz you noticed earlier. Especially once you start feeding live.”
Scott gulped. “Live?”
“Yeah, live. Nothing beats it. Once you go live, it’s hard to go back to bagged. There’s an old vampire saying: once you drink live, you forget about all that other jive. Okay, so it’s not really an old vampire saying. Whatever.”
“And what happens if I refuse to drink blood?”
“Well, after a while, you become lethargic and weak.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Oh, well, except the next stage after that is the bloodlust.”
“Bloodlust?”
“Then the urge becomes uncontrollable. You give in to your baser urges, and you kill indiscriminately. Before that point, you have the choice of limited feeding without totally draining someone. But when the bloodlust comes upon you, you will become the beast you fear most: a total killing machine.”
Oh, this was getting better by the minute. “So, in order to avoid drinking blood, I have to…drink blood?”
“Yeah, that’s about it.”
That was enough of that. Scott really wanted to change the subject. “So I guess I can’t go out in the daylight anymore, right?”
“Oh, that old saw? Kind of. It’s half true. The fact is, most vampires can run around in the daylight all they want. It just saps some of your abilities. But what you must never, ever do is go full vamp, by which I mean feeding mode. Full power levels. Giving in to the beast. Ya know, there’ve been a few elderly folks who are nearing the end of their days—they can’t get around much; they hurt all over, weak, sickly, whatever—and they make deals with local vampires. Well, you can’t just hit up a vampire, get turned, and then walk off without some instruction, like I’m giving you now. Because these old folks, they all of a sudden start feeling the power—when you’ve been stuck in a bed or wheelchair for ages and then suddenly you can lift small cars and move faster than you ever could in your life, you want to hold on to that. So they do. And the direct sunlight comes in, and—whoosh—ashes. It happens all the time.”
“Is that where that spontaneous human combustion thing comes from?”
“Yep. ’Cept it’s more like spontaneous vampiric combustion. Whoosh!” Jack said, flittering his fingers to simulate flames.
“Wow, I did not know that. That’s heavy.”
“Yeah. So the lesson here is: Don’t go full vamp in daylight. Never go full vamp in daylight.”
Scott didn’t know if this was meant to comfort him. If so, it wasn’t working.
“Oh yeah, here’s something else. You know that thing about vampires not having reflections? Well, we are solid objects, so you can see yourself in a mirror. You have a shadow, too. I don’t know where that old wives’ tale came from. One theory is that we move so quickly and stealthily that it’s hard to catch our reflection. Or that we tend to be creatures of the night, and when it’s dark you can’t see much in the mirror anyway. Seems legit to me, but, eh, what do I know.”
“And what about garlic?” Of course, Scott had to ask about garlic. He understood that garlic was well-known vampire repellant, at least as far as Hollywood and Hammer Films were concerned.
“That’s one thing the movies get right. Sorry. Garlic is off-limits for you now.”
The news was a major disappointment for Scott. “That means no more Italian food? Thai? Chinese? Cajun or Creole?”
“Yeah, sorry, but nix on most of those. Besides, you’ll no longer desire food. Which, by the looks of it”—Jack cast a glance at Scott’s somewhat round midsection—“is not such a bad thing for you. And besides, food will just not have pleasure for you anymore. Oh, sure, you’ll be able to appreciate the work, the skill that went into it, its production, the flavor profiles, and all those things that cause humans to enjoy, even crave, certain food. It just won’t have that draw for you anymore. I mean, you can still eat—except garlic, that is—but what’s the point?”
Scott loved good food, and yes, his slightly bulging stomach gave that away. He fancied himself a bit of a foodie—Portland had a reputation for high-quality restaurants and talented chefs. It was the food-cart capitol of the world and was considered a haven for amateur food critics and enthusiasts. Scott reveled in that reputation, so the news was really not welcome.
“On the other hand, you can’t be killed,” Jack said. “You can’t get si
ck, you can’t catch colds, and you can’t get cancer. None of it. You are now immortal. You are invincible!”
The news was a welcome change from what was to Scott an otherwise big steaming bowl of crap.
“Well…mostly invincible. You know that thing about the stake to the heart? That’s all true. Sharp objects made of wood, shoved into your heart, can kill you.” Everyone knew about wood stakes to the heart. That’s how Buffy usually did it, and Scott did have a thing for Sarah Michelle Gellar. “Wood, just about any wood, is bad, but they tell me rosewood and myrtle wood are especially nasty. I don’t know about that. Seems to me that wood is wood and dusted is dusted, am I right?”
“I’ll have to avoid sharp wooden objects from here on. Check.”
“Yeah, but accidents happen. I knew this vampire once who had a gorgeous Harley. A Heritage Softail. He goes out biking on one of those long, winding roads through the Coast Range, right? He’s going a bit fast, and he hits a wet spot. Hydroplanes. Loses control of his bike, and he goes flying head over heels right into a Douglas fir. Hits it just right, and at velocity. Branch goes right through his heart. Sheriff’s department finds his bike, but no rider. Well, the son of a bitch got dusted. Go figure.”
“Running into trees: bad. Got it. What about beheadings?”
“I was getting to that part. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Yeah, chopping off your head will kill you—but it’s gotta be a clean and total cut. The whole thing has to come off. If it’s only a partial cut, even most of the way through, but the head is still attached, the vamp can heal from that. And it is also a lot harder to cleanly chop off someone’s head than you think. Oh, and it doesn’t have to be with a holy relic sword with a titanium-silver edge. That stuff is movie bullshit. Steel, my friend. Good old steel. Better-quality carbon tool steels are preferred, but lower-grade stainless steel will do just as well, if edged properly. Any kind of chopping blade will do; it doesn’t need to be a sword or battle axe. Go and buy a cheap machete from Home Depot, and you’ve got a decent vampire-heading weapon. But again—harder than you think. Stake through the heart, chop off the head, those things happen, and Jack, you’re dead. But that’s about it. Ah, sorry to make this short and sweet, but time is of the essence, and I must be going.”
Suburban Vampire: A Tale of the Human Condition—With Vampires Page 5
