Bored To Death
Amanda Linehan
Published by Amanda Linehan, 2018.
BORED TO DEATH
By Amanda Linehan
Copyright 2018 by Amanda Linehan
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places or events are entirely coincidental.
Edition: June 2018
Cover Design by Amanda Linehan
Cover Background Image: © Saniphoto | Dreamstime.com
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
PART ONE | 1
2
3
PART TWO | 1
2
3
4
PART THREE | 1
2
3
4
5
6
7
PART FOUR | 1
2
3
4
5
6
PART FIVE | 1
2
3
4
5
PART SIX | 1
2
3
4
5
6
7
PART SEVEN | 1
2
3
4
5
6
7
PART EIGHT | 1
2
3
4
5
6
7
PART NINE | 1
2
3
4
5
6
7
PART TEN | 1
2
3
4
5
6
7
PART ELEVEN | 1
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PART ONE
1
I’ve seen all the movies. Just like you have.
Only I know they’re all utter crap.
And I’m not talking quality here. Even after three centuries, I’m no movie expert. I know what I like, and what I don’t. It’s just that on the subject of vampires, I happen to have firsthand experience.
It’s been a little over three hundred years now, and I know (from said movies above) that it seems like it should be a pretty cool thing. Cheating death, and all. But, in reality—and I’ve had a whole lot of reality—it sucks.
So here’s the thing, and this you already know, vampires can’t die. Well, there is one way, but I’ll get to that in a minute.
No stakes to the heart. No silver bullets or whatever. Nothing.
Shoot me, and my body will spit out the bullet—wherever it is—and immediately repair and regenerate itself on the spot. Stab me, same thing.
I get run over by a car, or jump off a tall building or cliff or something, same thing happens. My body will immediately (and very quickly, I might add) repair and heal whatever needs to be repaired and healed.
Try to cut off my head, and succeed? I pick my head back up, place it back on my neck, and muscle and arteries and all that get patched back together. I’m as good as new. Now, this hasn’t actually happened to me. But I’ve heard plenty of stories.
I have to admit, the idea of being able to see out of your eyes, which are no longer on a head attached to your body, strikes me as really, really strange. And in some of the stories I’ve heard, the vampire in question had to carry their head a ways, in order to find another vampire who would help them get it back on right.
Apparently, when you get your head cut off and have to put it back on again, it’s a little easier to have someone help you with setting it back up just right. Go figure.
Uh, let me think of some other ways to die that wouldn’t work for me because, believe me, I’ve had plenty of time to sit around and think about these things.
Oh, I’ve got it! (And this I’ve actually seen happen. Swear to God.) Let’s say I was out in the woods and ran upon some horrible, vicious wild animal. A wolf, maybe. And the wolf catches me and starts to eat me.
Well, no matter how much of my body is now digesting inside the wolf’s stomach, whatever part of me is still on the outside will regenerate.
I’ve always wondered what might happen if the animal managed to eat all of me, bones and all, and I kind of figured that maybe I would just burst their body open as I became whole again.
That I’ve never seen, but what I have seen is me (this is maybe a hundred years ago. I’ve kind of lost track) and my friend, Ben, were out in the woods. Not hunting or doing anything, just passing through. (And by the way, if there is one thing that makes me steaming mad, it’s all these depictions of vampires drinking animal blood instead of human blood, but I’ll talk more about that later too.) We came upon a bear, and I mean, right up on that bear. Usually animals aren’t much of a problem because we’re so fast, but in this case, the bear had cubs with her. We were so engrossed in what we were talking about or something, and anyway, Ben couldn’t get away fast enough.
Next thing I know, he’s missing parts of his torso and a bit of an arm, I think, but finally I do something that scares the bear away. I look over at Ben, and he’s fine. A little sore, and a little scared, honestly. But all of him is there. I swear to God.
And again, I couldn’t figure out how a part of Ben is in the bear, and then the same part regenerates itself on his body. Whatever.
So anyway, anything else that you could probably think of that would kill a human—poison, being drowned, being buried alive, on an on—those things won’t kill a vampire. Only light will.
This is usually the one thing the movies get right. And, I have to say, fairly accurately in terms of what actually happens to your body. Sort of drying up and decaying at the same time. The only thing is, it’s not quick. Not at all.
You’ve got almost ten minutes before you can really feel the effects of the light. This is how we get around during the day. Very quickly. Because, by the way, there are no potions, no rings, no spells, nothing that will save you from the light.
All in all, it would take about thirty to forty minutes to kill you. And, apparently, death by light is too excruciating for words.
Let me tell you about vampire suicide. There have been precisely three in all of recorded vampire history. Three. And that’s in five thousand years.
I’ve thought about it. I’m not going to lie, but the honest truth is I’m too much of a coward.
Anyway, that’s enough background for now. I’m starting to get hungry.
2
Humans have this idea that vampires can’t eat real food, some of them anyway, because we feed on blood to keep us alive and healthy. Not true. We can eat anything we want. We just have to make sure we’re drinking blood too.
Usually, I like to sit down to a good meal of human food (as in, food that humans eat, not human flesh or blood) before I go out hunting. It kind of just fits with a good night out on the town. And that’s exactly what I did this one particular Thursday night.
I’m kind of a loner. You would think that after three centuries I’d have a ton of other immortal friends, but no. I don’t connect with other people that well, not even other vampires, but I do have a hunting buddy. Her name is Lola.
So anyway, around eight thirty or so last Thursday night, Lola and I left my apartment to go to this new restaurant in town. One that everyone is dying (excuse the pun) to go to, and it’s practically impossible to get reservations. Only thing is, I had gotten one.
In fact, this was
actually the second one I had gotten, so the restaurant wasn’t new to us. It’s sort of like this fusion, comfort food kind of thing. The chef is pretty famous, you know, like a brand name, and goddammit, it’s delicious.
I had been able to get a reservation because...well, let me say it like this. Vampires are irresistible to humans.
I honestly can’t figure it out. Creatures (and I won’t say people, even though that’s what we look like) who feed on blood are dead, but not really, and can’t live in the light. I just don’t understand.
Back when I was human, there were no stories about vampires, not specifically anyways. This whole thing where vampires pop up constantly in movies, and books and TV, just didn’t happen (for obvious reasons, but also because vampires just weren’t a thing you heard about).
So when vampires really started to become popular, I couldn’t believe it, and I still haven’t figured out what the appeal is. Maybe if I had been human at some point in the last hundred years or so, I’d get it. But as it stands right now, I just don’t.
Ok, but back to the reservations. As I was saying, vampires are irresistible to humans. Now sometimes you’ll see where the vampire can actually control a human being through their eyes or whatever. That’s not how this works exactly.
I’m not controlling anyone. Not really. People just want to do what I say.
I think I’m considered beautiful too, like if I were just a normal woman, so maybe that has something to do with it also. But in general, vampires will get their way because they are so attractive to humans. And, of course, this is happening on a subconscious level, so a vampire’s pull is really powerful.
So that’s how I got the reservations. Even over the phone, without any face to face interaction, vampires will get what they want.
I’ve used this power mercilessly when I want to get into certain restaurants. I’ve been to pretty much every place in town that’s of note.
Right, so Lola and I went out to this restaurant, and we were going to eat dinner before we go hunting.
I ordered fried chicken, but it was like this chicken that has all these South American flavors fused into it. Because the restaurant belongs to a famous chef, you know they pull out all the stops with the breading and the marinating and all that. So you end up with this amazing fried chicken that you’ve never really tasted before. Like I said, amazing.
Lola was eating shrimp, and they also looked amazing. Our waiter, this young guy who was about the age that we look, and who would be considered very attractive by human women (we thought he was attractive too, but it’s a little bit different for us) flirted with us the whole time. And all I was doing was sizing him up to see how good of a meal he would make.
I wondered what he would think, if he knew what I was thinking. Here he was, trying his darnedest to do something to get one of us into bed later (or maybe both of us), and I was sitting here thinking about the best circumstance to get him in so I could drain his body of all of his blood.
At one point during dinner, I turned my head and found myself staring directly at a table of vampires. Four of them. All males.
It only took about five seconds for the six of us to make an unspoken agreement not to hunt in each other’s territory. Lola was now looking at them also.
Vampires have, well, I guess I’ll call it telepathy, with each other. We can communicate by focusing in on the being of one another. It’s not really mind reading and it’s not like we can hear each other’s thoughts. It’s just that I can know and the other vampire can know exactly what we want to communicate to each other. So anyway, we all decided we would go one way and they would go another, and we wouldn’t step on each other’s toes.
Lola and I finished dinner and our waiter tried to set up a time to meet later, at one of the bars nearby. I had already decided I didn’t want this one. I don’t know, sometimes I just do that. So unless Lola wanted him, I didn’t care one bit about meeting up later.
I could tell by the way she told him we would be there that she wasn’t interested. Lucky him.
When we left, he had a huge smile on his face, and I mused to myself that he should be happy he wouldn’t die tonight. But of course that wasn’t what he was happy about. I walked out of that restaurant, into the cool air, and forgot about him almost instantly.
Lola and I walked several blocks until we got to the intersection where the night life scene was. Lots of people in their twenties and thirties, drinking way too much, possibly ingesting other substances and looking to hook up. It was dark, but the lights that were on were way too bright and all around. This ordinary street during the day became a fantasy play land at night. It was the perfect place to hunt.
3
Lola and I sat in this lounge style bar, which was usually the first place we frequented on our nights out. If we were lucky we would find our meal here, and if not we would move on after an hour or so.
“Hey, Vic. What about that one? He’s your type, right.”
I looked over at the guy Lola was pointing out. Early twenties. Maybe not even out of school yet. Nice build, tall (that was good because he would have plenty of blood), and an air about him that told you he thought extremely well of himself. Yes, he was just my type.
“Good eye,” I said, taking a sip of my drink—an Old Fashioned—and eyeing my target.
He was standing with three women, all of whom seemed very interested. He would have his pick tonight, but first—if I knew his type well—he would string all three of them along to at least a few other spots, leaving his final choice until the early morning hours. I would, of course, jump in at some point and steal him. I would follow him wherever he went until I was ready to strike.
It was easier, and more fun, if Lola and I stayed together until we caught up to our victims, but sometimes we had to split up if our marks went different ways. Often, we would try to target friends. This worked well.
“See anyone you like?” I asked.
I watched her as she looked over toward the bar where my target was, trying to see who his friends were. It was a little hard to tell as my target was only talking to women at the moment.
Then, the guy directly to his right, who a second before had his back to my target, turned a little toward him and slung an arm around my target’s neck, laughing and showing off for the girls he was talking to.
The friend was attractive with dark hair, not as athletically built as my target, a little shorter, but better dressed. Behind his eyes was a dark curiosity that I knew, after decades as buddies, Lola would like.
She looked over at me and then, without speaking, communicated to me what I already knew.
“The next place?” she asked, strategizing about when we would approach them.
“Let’s follow and see,” I said.
I liked to wait for the perfect moment before approaching my targets. The bulls eye of approaches. Truthfully, it’s not like I need it. It’s just more fun for me.
Their eyes light up in a certain way, and their desire is palpable. It heightens my anticipation of feeding. Not that feeding needs any buildup. The process is just more fun for me that way.
So, Lola and I sat back and sipped our drinks, making idle conversation with each other and people watching.
What always amazed me through the centuries wasn’t how much things had changed. It was how much things stayed the same.
Human interaction was essentially the same now as it had been when I was human. The rules changed and the details changed, but how people related to each other was the same.
Same jealousies, same desires, same anger, same power moves, same—I don’t know how to say this exactly—but the way people act when they want something out of another person is exactly the same.
Sure, women can now go out at night, scantily dressed and interact with men, barely disguising what they really want (if they even know what they want), and that wasn’t always the case.
But the thing is, the new rules have only revealed what was alread
y there under the surface. They didn’t change anything about the behavior, only revealed the behavior. It’s the same as it’s always been.
Every once in a while, a man would walk up to us and try to talk us up, which we obliged. We needed something to do to pass the time. Finally, we saw our marks paying their tabs and taking the girls they had met out the door and to the next place.
We paid our own tab, and left a generous tip, before heading out the door after them. They walked into the bar two doors down. A dive bar. Well, not really a dive, just a place made up to look like one. I always liked this place. Wooden. Dark. Odd decor. But mostly because it was dark.
They weren’t making Old Fashioneds here, not ones that I would trust anyway, so I just ordered a bourbon. It was sweet and spicy, and left my mouth feeling a little like it was on fire. Right up my alley.
Lola drank wine no matter where we went. Always red. Even if we were in a place where it just looked odd to be drinking wine—like this place—that’s what she drank. Said it reminded her of the blood she would drink later.
We can’t get drunk. We can get to the point where we feel warm and fuzzy, but nothing beyond that. So essentially we can drink all night and be perfectly fine. And no hangovers either.
This is perfect when we need to follow a mark for a long time. We just sip away and don’t have to worry about any of the effects.
I’ve even used this to impress a mark, even though I don’t need to. It’s just for fun.
Our targets still had their girls with them. But it was early. They would want to go someplace else before they went home. Maybe two or three places. I didn’t think I would be approaching here, and I communicated that to Lola, who made eye contact to say that she understood.
I went to take another sip of my drink when I felt a large hand on my bare shoulder. I was surprised at the warmth and I hoped it didn’t feel how cold I was. Vampires tended to run a little under 98.6, except when we were feeding.
“You’re cold. You need to find a way to warm up,” a familiar voice said, flirtatiously.
It was the waiter from the restaurant.
Bored To Death Page 1
