Jack rose from the wood-framed chair and stepped to the door.
“Wait! That’s it? That’s all there is?” Scott asked. Jack’s sudden desire to leave struck Scott as odd and even a bit rude. There was so much more he wanted to know.
Jack sighed. “Okay, what more do you want to know? Make it snappy, ’cause I gotta go, you dig?”
“That thing with the heartbeat,” Scott asked, remembering late last night. “How did you do that?”
“As much as I’d like to claim credit for it, I didn’t do much—just gave you some motivation. You did the rest.”
“I didn’t know that was a thing—faking heartbeats and vital signs.”
“Well, it is. I think it’s something we developed over the years, the more often we came into contact with modern medicine, just so we could conceal ourselves more effectively among the humans. It’s a useful trick, but that’s all it is. Your heart no longer beats. It doesn’t need to.”
“Okay, but I am noticing a logical flaw.” Scott realized that in any other context that would have been an extraordinarily geeky thing to say, but then he was an extraordinary geek. “If we don’t have a functioning heart, then how does the blood flow? This is always something I wanted to know.”
“I don’t know. Vampire magic, I guess. Look, I have got to leave now. I’m leaving you the briefcase. There are a couple more bags of blood; they should last you a couple weeks. You’ll want to refrigerate them as soon as possible.” Jack turned to the door to let himself out.
Scott was still not satisfied, for there were a couple major issues that Jack had not addressed, mainly the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in the room that he could not let Jack avoid.
“Why me? Why did you turn me, Jack? I never asked for this. I never wanted this. Hell, before a few minutes ago, I didn’t even know this existed. And even if I did, I still would have said no. So why did you do it? Why did you choose me?”
Jack stopped, still facing the door. He did not turn to face his questioner as he answered. “Scott, maybe it’s better you didn’t know. Look, I’m a vampire. I do things because I am a dark-hearted, evil bastard. Who knows why we do anything?”
Jack was simply avoiding the question, but Scott also realized that pushing the issue further was pointless, and he probably didn’t want to know the answer anyway. But he still needed to ask one more question—the one thing that truly nagged at him. Something not just important but central to Scott and to his very identity. Something he feared asking, but he just needed to know.
“What about my soul? Do I still have a soul, Jack?”
Jack slowly turned to face Scott. “No. No, Scott, you do not. It’s gone. You need to realize something: the soul is a human thing. We, you and I, are no longer human. We are superior to that race. Humanity is beneath us. We are gods among men! And the fact that you somehow want to hold on to the trappings of your humanity really trips me out. Do you really want to go back to your old life and be what you used to be? The pathetic slacker who couldn’t get anywhere in life? The powerless loser with no prospects, no future, who let people just walk all over him? Really? I have given you a great gift of immense power. I have given you the ability to rise beyond yourself, beyond this disease called humanity. You have no limitations anymore. Accept this gift, and forget about who you used to be. Because he is dead.”
He had asked the million-dollar question and ended up with the consolation package, except it wasn’t very consoling. Scott had a talent for asking questions he really didn’t want answered. That was one thing that apparently hadn’t changed much.
“I’ll be in touch, and we’ll sort more of this stuff out later, okay?” Jack said as he walked out the door.
Scott sat in his hospital bed in stunned silence. What else could he say? What else could he think?
CHAPTER 6
After what had been the most traumatic, terrifying, depressing, and just plain weird event in Scott’s entire existence, he really did not want to see anyone else for the rest of his life, let alone right then. However, since the next visitor was a law enforcement officer, Scott thought it was probably best to see the guy.
The detective reminded Scott somewhat of himself—middle-aged, wire-frame glasses on his fleshy nose, a slight pot belly, quite probably a far cry from the young, aggressive go-getter who graduated from the academy so many years earlier. One main difference is that he did not exhibit the male-pattern baldness that had been slowly creeping up on Scott over the years, the lucky bastard. The detective’s blue suit jacket was bought off the rack at a department store, worn with khaki Dockers and brown leather wing tips presumably from the same source. And he smelled odd. Scott could notice the smell, a combination of foot powder, Bengay, cheap deodorant that was not very good at masking the musk of sweat, and aftershave, which he may have used to cover the various other odors he secreted. Scott thought it strange that he could pick all those fragrances out as individual, distinctive aromas. But what struck him as most bizarre was that somehow he knew that the odors were not really all that strong.
And he really could smell from a distance. For the first time, he noticed the various odors wafting his way through the hospital. He could smell through the antiseptics to other odors just waiting to be discovered—medicines, cleaning agents, perfumes, and much less appealing things. So this was one of the new abilities he had been “gifted” since becoming a vampire—he could now smell shit from a mile away. Just what I always wanted.
“I’m Detective DiLeo,” the brown-jacketed man said as he handed Scott a business card. “I work the homicide detail out of Central Precinct.”
“Wait…what? Homicide?”
“We also investigate assaults, which is what we consider happened to you: a hit-and-run vehicular assault. The car that hit you was registered to a Tito Rodriguez. Now, Mr. Rodriguez had been expected to show up at a party that night, but according to our interviews, he never arrived. His place of employment stated that he never showed up for work earlier today, either. We’ve tried to ping his cell phone location with no luck, so we are considering Mr. Rodriguez both a suspect and a missing person.”
“Oh wow. Sorry to hear that.”
“Well, it’s not uncommon, especially if Mr. Rodriguez was in trouble with the law—which, according to his criminal record, he had been in the past, but there’s nothing currently indicating any criminal involvement. Or he could have been under the influence of some intoxicant. Either way, we’re looking into it. By the way, you didn’t happen to see anyone or get a description of the driver, did you?”
Oh yeah, Detective, I saw who did it, and by the way, he’s a vampire, and what’s more, apparently so am I now. Somehow, he didn’t think that would fly. “No. No, I can’t say I saw anyone. It all happened so fast.”
DiLeo frowned. “Well, yeah, I guess that’s probably true. You were in a very traumatic situation. Apparently, the doctors say you expired on the ER table. I’m glad you didn’t, because I’d hate to be investigating this as an actual homicide.”
“That makes two of us.” But Scott was not sure if that was the truth. He thought of the probability that regular old-fashioned death, and its promises of glory rocking in the bosom of Abraham, was far preferable to this undeath and its distinct lack of promises. He wasn’t entirely sure that it was a good trade-off.
DiLeo headed toward the door and then paused. “You know, we’re having a hard time explaining how you got that neck injury. The accident investigators pored over the wreck and just could not figure that one out. I mean, there were lots of glass flying around, but that couldn’t explain how your carotid artery got cut so deeply. And the frame metal didn’t do it, either. So we’re stumped on that part.”
“I guess it’s a mystery, then.”
“Yeah, you can say that again,” the detective said as he opened the door.
“Hey, Detective!”
DiLeo stopped and turned to Scott once more.
“You know, my dad was with the Por
tland Police for like thirty years,” Scott said. “Retired as a sergeant.”
“Really? What’s he up to these days?”
“Dead.” No emotion, just fact. Dead. And not a vampire.
“Sorry to hear it. I’m sure he was a good man,” DiLeo said, almost as though he meant it.
To say that the medical staff was surprised at the sudden healing of Scott’s neck wound was an understatement. They were flabbergasted, dumbfounded, blown away, and other crazy verbs. The doctor assigned to his ward stopped by and checked the wound. When all he could see was a little scar tissue, he was convinced it was a miracle.
“My God. The scar is almost completely healed. This is incredible! I am at a loss to explain this!”
Scott didn’t want to belabor the point, and he really didn’t want to encourage any further exploration of this “medical miracle.” He just wanted to get out of there with as little fanfare as possible. “When can I go home?” he asked.
“Well, how about today? Your vitals are all good: blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen intake all good. Temperature is a consistent 98.7 degrees, despite the fact your skin is rather cold to the touch. I’m not sure what’s causing that. But as far as we can tell, your circulation is fine, and everything seems to be in working order. As long as you have no pain, no numbness, or soreness, you’re probably just fine. I’m going to sign your papers and get you ready for discharge.”
Scott was relieved. As soon as the doctor left the room, he called his mother for a ride. When all the discharge work had been filed, he left the hospital, and although he didn’t need it, he accepted the wheelchair ride to the entrance (it was free, and it was fun, so why not), where Irene was waiting in her aqua-blue Toyota Prius. Scott noticed he was filled with energy. This energy invaded every facet of his being, both body and mind, a mind still clouded by confusion and fear over the big news, as he had come to call it, but otherwise doing great.
Irene mentioned the new leather briefcase, which Scott told her was a gift from a friend in which he’d placed some of his new medications. He certainly did not think of Jack as a friend, though, but the lie was enough to satisfy his mother’s curiosity.
The ride home was awkward. When Scott was mortal, he was an awkward loser who couldn’t carry a conversation if his life depended on it. Well, now it didn’t, considering he was immortal. Regardless of that fact, and of the fact he’d been so conversant with his mother the other day, he just wasn’t in the mood for small talk. So Irene did what she usually did. She had the ability to talk so much that a conversation wasn’t possible anyway.
“We have had so many calls from everyone at church,” Irene said. “Everyone was so concerned about you. Those people are such a blessing! Why, that sweet young lady who sings with the choir, what’s her name? Deborah? Deena?”
Dawn. Dawn Rhinebeck. Scott’s thoughts immediately jumped to images of a beautiful redhead, with a constant beaming grin on her sweet face, a face with high cheekbones, her head on an ivory tower of a graceful neck, her slender frame a bit too tall to be considered petite. Scott had to admit he had admired the young beauty for a long time, but he had never thought of her as anything more than just a nice young lady with a sunny disposition. He had been married most of the time he had known her, and besides, she was way too young for him. She must have been in her early twenties. Okay, so she was of legal age now, at least so it wasn’t totally creepy. But he honestly had never thought of her in that way. Oh well, she couldn’t be interested in me. Not in that way, anyway, he thought. That was just the way she was, a gentle, loving soul with a heart of gold and a smile that could melt ice. She was that way with everybody.
“Dawn! That’s her name,” Irene remembered. “Oh, what a lovely voice she has. She brought cookies over. Chocolate chip, your favorite! They’re store bought. Probably by Dawn’s mother—Donna, that’s her name. Anyway, it’s the thought that counts, right?”
“Oh yeah. Right.”
“Well, sweetie, we have to celebrate you not dying! How about that little southern place you really like? You still like Cajun food, don’t you?”
Scott didn’t know how to answer. He could not reveal the horrible truth, not to his mother. And he couldn’t think up a lie that quickly. Besides, he could always have something that didn’t have garlic in it, right?
As Zydeco music danced happily in the background and the now sickening fragrance of garlic wafted through the air, Scott sat with fork in hand, playing with his Caesar salad. Jack was right. This stuff didn’t interest him at all. Not that he was ever a big salad fan, anyway.
“You’re hardly touching your food,” Irene said. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Scott tried to think up something depressing, but normal depressing. Not I-have-just-become-a-soulless-murderous-supernatural-monster depressing. It didn’t take long.
“Laura visited me in the hospital.”
“Why, bless her heart. That was thoughtful of her.”
“With her new boyfriend in tow.”
“New boyfriend?” Irene’s smile faded a bit from her face. “Why, that bitch!”
“Mom!” It was unlike Scott’s mother to curse, although she had been known to do so in her time. She just hadn’t done so in many years. At least not when Scott was around.
“Well, I call them as I see them. Look, honey, I know that whole situation has got you down. It’s a terrible thing, losing the love of your life. Believe me, I know.” Scott knew she got that. Oh, she got the lost-love stuff. She probably wouldn’t get the vampire stuff, though.
“Yeah, terrible.”
“But, Scott.” Irene reached for his hand and squeezed. He did not squeeze back, remembering Russ’s reaction to his overly confident handshake. “These are the times, when it gets dark and looks like there is no end to the tunnel, to simply trust that God will see you through it. Trust in Him! He loves you, and—”
Scott pulled his hand away. God. Gee, thanks, Mom. Thanks for reminding me that I am now a demonic beast who has lost his soul to hell. Just what I needed. The thought led him to more unpleasant thoughts: I used to be a plain old suburban loser, with no prospects and a divorce. And now, I’m a suburban vampire. Well, at least it’s some kind of change.
“Scott, what’s wrong?”
“I…I’m just tired. Maybe we should finish up here and go home. I don’t feel much like being out right now.”
Irene nodded. “Okay. I’ll get the check.”
The Campbells lived in the east Portland suburban city of Gresham, in a long, single-level, ranch-style house at the end of a dead-end street on a property that butted up against a hill, an old cinder cone long extinct. The nondescript rancher was coated in plain white paint and trimmed in green. There were many such houses in the working-class neighborhood, lined up side by side with manicured lawns. A few even had white picket fences, a living cliché straight from middle America. A regular house, in a regular neighborhood, in a regular town. Where regular people lived. Where Scott Campbell, the vampire, now lived.
Scott remembered the old vampire trope of needing to be invited into a home. He was a bit concerned, because this wasn’t truly his house. It was his mother’s. She was letting him stay there until he could get back on his feet, which was taking a bit longer than she’d initially thought. Scott’s worries over this issue were a nonissue when she did indeed invite him inside, without needing to be prompted. It was just something she did as a matter of course. Yes, it was quirky. At least Scott knew from where he got his own quirkiness.
When they entered the house, Mr. Buttons, the short-haired gray tabby, was sitting patiently on the couch. Although he was Irene’s cat, Mr. Buttons and Scott had bonded after he had moved in, almost like the feline had known he needed the attention.
“Hi, Mr. Buttons! Are you ready for din-din?”
The cat gazed at Irene as though she was asking a stupid question.
“Kitty!” Scott cried. “It’s good to see you, kitty!” He once considered him
self a dog person, but over time he had grown to appreciate cats, their independent nature and not-easily won affection. He extended his arms as if to embrace the feline.
The cat arched his back, hissed, and ran toward the kitchen.
“Kitty? What the heck? It’s your old buddy, Scott!”
“Mr. Buttons! What has gotten into you? Get back here!” Irene cried as she pursued the tabby into the kitchen.
Welcome home? Yeah, right, Scott thought. As he stood there, confused by his feline friend’s odd behavior, he noticed the wooden Celtic cross hanging on the far wall, almost shining from the clear lacquer polish on its bloodwood frame. He knew it was there. It had always been there. In times past, it had given him a bit of comfort, a reminder of grace and peace. He had felt the power of the symbol in those days, even though he knew the wooden artifact had no power in itself, only the power that was given to it by those who knew what it truly represented. He felt that power today, except it was no longer a feeling of comfort but of dread. Of fear. Of certain judgment. And it creeped him out. He kind of expected that; after all, vampires tend to have issues with crosses, so why should he be any different now that he was a vampire? Scott averted his gaze from the cross.
Welcome home? Yeah, not so much. Maybe it’s time to look for a new place. No, it’s cheaper just to stay here. Have you seen rents lately? I may be a vampire, but I’m not made of money. So I’ll stay here for now. I’ll just avoid that cross from here out.
CHAPTER 7
The next few days started to feel somewhat normal for Scott, allowing him to slip back into his routine. He had a few days off—his job gave him the rest of the week, thinking that being dead required some recovery time—so he took the opportunity to relax and catch up on his reading, online gaming, a few DVDs he had not been able to watch yet, and other nerdy pursuits. His mother, always concerned, constantly commented on Scott’s lack of appetite. He tried to shrug it off, telling her something about the medications he was on making him feel bloated. She accepted his explanations, even though she knew he was most likely hiding something, and she wasn’t as dense as Scott seemed to assume. Eventually she gave up, which Scott appreciated.
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