Scary Dead Things - 02

by Rick Gualtieri

  Even better was that I was technically considered a permanent tele-worker.

  Since a vampire and sunlight do not a wonderful pair make, after I was turned I had gotten my physician friend, Dave, to give me some bullshit excuse of a doctor's note to give to my company. I had traded my services as a guinea pig to him to do so, but so far he hadn't taken much advantage of that outside of some minor tissue samples. Thanks to him, I had been working from home for the past six months, and...and it suddenly hit me, as it always did...and that meant it had been six months since I had seen her.

  As always, whenever I thought of her, my stomach clenched up and I felt a little light headed. I had hoped that perhaps a state of out of sight, out of mind would take over and make it easier for me; it hadn’t. Love stinks, especially when the other person isn’t aware of it. I thought about it for a few more seconds, feeling my good mood start to fade as I did; however, then I realized that perhaps now was finally the time to do something about it.

  “Maybe I'll go in for a day this week,” I said casually.

  “Where?”

  “Work, obviously.”

  “You do realize that there's this little thing called the sun in the sky during the day? You do remember what that does to you, right?”

  “I know, Dad,” I answered sarcastically. “It'll be OK. I can cover up, and Dave gave me this medical grade sunscreen to try out.”

  “It's a stupid risk,” Ed rightfully pointed out.

  “I know, but this is the perfect week to do it. With Jim out, nobody'll be around to give me any shit about my condition.”

  “Yeah, that's fine and all, but you don't have any reason to...” Ed paused as recognition dawned in his eyes. He sighed and said, “Dude, she doesn't even know you're alive.”

  “Who?” I asked innocently.

  “Don't act like a bigger fucking idiot than you already are. You're going to risk evaporating in the daylight just so you can see some chick you can barely work up the guts to say hi to.”

  “Sheila is not some chick,” I said, more defensively than I really should have. “She's...special.”

  “Please tell me you did not just say that? You've said maybe ten words to the girl in the past three years.”

  “It doesn't matter. You don't need words to know these things. You just know.”

  “Much like you apparently know all about insanity?” Ed asked, an edge working its way into his voice.

  “What I know is that if I have a soul mate in this world, it's her,” I insisted.

  Ed made a gagging noise, and then replied, “Vampires don't have souls.”

  “Neither do mediocre graphic designers,” I spat back.

  “Probably true,” he conceded. “But that doesn't change the point. You've been acting like a high school freshman around this girl for years, making all sorts of goo-goo eyes and shit at her. She hasn't responded. Time to move on.”

  “I'm going to finally do it,” I said.

  “Move on?”

  “No. Ask her out.”

  “I'll believe it when I see your wedding invitations.”

  “I’m serious. Besides, you actually have a point.”

  “About what?”

  “About it being time to move on,” I insisted. “You're right. It's time to shit or get off the pot. I'm going to ask her out. If she says yes, then it was meant to be. If she says no...”

  “You'll come home and cry yourself to sleep for the next month?”

  “Probably,” I admitted. “But when I'm finished doing that, I'll move on with my life.”

  “Like I said,” he replied. “I'll believe it when I see it.”

  I just shook my head and sighed. “Dude, have a little faith. I've faced off against the very worst the underworld can throw at me. Asking out one girl isn't going to be an issue.”

  * * *

  OK, so I lied. Three days later, I finally entered the lobby of the building where Hopscotchgames resided. I'd like to say I had things to do that kept me busy the few days prior, but let’s not bullshit each other here. It took me until then to work up the guts to follow through with my plan. God, I am such a wuss. But that didn't matter now. I was finally here. Time to be a man!

  First things first, though. I ran to one of the restrooms on the first floor. After hyperventilating for a few minutes, I peeled off the hoodie, gloves, and sunglasses I was wearing. I also washed off most of the sunscreen I had applied. No point in showing up in front of the girl of my dreams looking all greasy and smelling like rotten coconuts. Afterwards, I looked myself over in the mirror. Thank god the whole vampire reflection thing was complete bullshit! If I had even the slightest doubt that I maybe had a blemish, hair out of place, or, god forbid, a booger hanging out of my nose, the whole deal would be off before it even began.

  Everything passed inspection. I looked good, or as good as I was going to get, and my breath didn't stink (I had munched a whole tin of Altoids on the way over). This was it. It was now or never.

  I rode the elevator up to the twentieth floor, one of the two floors my company occupied. Mindful to be as discrete as possible, as I was, for all intents and purposes, technically considered disabled, I used my company badge to let myself in through the side entrance. I walked down a hallway past the sea of cubes, the clicking noises of many keyboards filling the air. At last it was in sight, Jim's office. Seated at a desk just outside of it was his assistant, Sheila...the girl who owned my heart, non-beating as it were.

  She was slim, about five-five, with shoulder length dirty blonde hair. She had the most unusual eyes, almost a grey in color. They kind of looked like the sky on a cloudy day. OK, time to stop that. Too many of those thoughts, and I'd probably be writing shitty goth poetry next thing I knew. Anyway, suffice it to say that, to my eyes, she was truly something to behold. Hers was a different kind of beauty than Sally's. Whereas Sally would have looked at home on the cover of Vogue, Playboy...or even Skank magazine, Sheila was more of the girl next door type. She never would have passed as a fashion model, but she had a warm, inviting smile that said she was approachable in a “Hi, I'm really glad to see you” sort of way, as opposed to the “Please stick a twenty down my G-string” type of look I had gotten used to from my coven-mates. I tried to summon a little of my Dr. Death persona as I approached, minus of course the claws, fangs, or anything else that might scream undead demon from Hell.

  It didn't work. Dr. Death was taking his vacation from the coven very seriously, it would seem. Bastard! I could feel my resolve slowly starting to crumble in the wake of her presence. My steps slowed, my knees started shaking, and that's when she looked up.

  “Bill? Is that you?” she asked. Holy shit! She did know my name! Thank you, God!

  “Hey, Sheila. Long time no see,” was my response...argh! Why did I have to sound like such a fucking douche-nozzle!?

  “Yeah. We haven't seen you in months. I had heard you were sick.”

  “Oh, not sick so much as I have a bit of a condition,” I stammered. “I'm getting treatment. I actually feel pretty good today.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” she said, that friendly smile spreading across her face. “You look good.”

  “YOU LOOK LIKE A GODDESS!!” I wanted to scream, but instead just replied, “Thanks...um, you too.” At least I sorta managed to sputter a compliment with that last one.

  “So what brings you here?” she asked, her smile still making me melt from the inside out. I wonder if being staked felt like this...nah, probably not.

  Hold on! What was I doing here!? Motherfucker! I had spent so much time working my way up to the actual getting here part that I hadn't bothered to come up with a single simple reason to actually be in the office. Unfortunately, “professing my love to you,” wasn't really an answer that I felt like giving out quite yet. ARGH! Think, stupid!

  So I said the first thing that popped into my mind. “I'm here to pick up my paycheck.”

  “On a Thursday?” (Shit!)

  “We
ll...”

  “I thought you were on direct deposit.” (Fuck Fuck Fuckity Fuck!!!)

  “Sorry, I didn't mean pick up my paycheck. I needed...to...change a few things on my W2.” (OK that was better. The engines were reigniting. Maybe I could pull out of this death-spin.)

  “Oh. Did you get married?” (Mayday! Mayday!)

  “NO!” I said, way too emphatically. “Nothing like that. Still single. Yep, just another eligible bachelor in the city. That's me.” (God, I want to die! Seriously, please let Sally or some other vampire be sneaking up behind me right now with a stake to put me out of my misery)

  “Oh,” she said, looking a little confused. This was not going how I had planned. Well, OK, my plan had more or less consisted of walking coolly through the hall and her flinging herself into my arms at first sight. What? I never claimed my plan was realistic.

  “I think HR usually takes care of that stuff,” she finished.

  “Oh, I know that. I just wanted to pop by. Check out the old homestead. You know. Say hi and all that.” (not to mention, stand around and stammer like a retard)

  “Well, I'm glad you did. It's good to see you again,” she replied with that same smile. I could stare at that smile all day. Although I had a feeling I had better not do so for more than a few seconds; otherwise, I might end the day staring at the much less friendly smiles of building security.

  Hold on just one second! What an idiot I am. She just gave me an opening.

  Time to man up, pussy! suddenly screamed my Dr. Death persona from somewhere deep in my subconscious. It's about time he woke up. Yeah. I could do this. It was now or never.

  “I'm happy to see you again, too. Speaking of which, Sheila, I wanted to ask you a...” *RING*

  “Sorry. I better get that,” she said, going back into work mode and picking up the phone. Why now!? Does fate hate me so much? Don't bother answering. It was a rhetorical question.

  She listened to someone speaking on the other end for a moment or two. Please let it be a wrong number. Maybe it was just some dickhead vendor making a cold call. Anyone who she could quickly get rid of before...

  “It's the VP of Marketing. I should take this. Good seeing you, though,” she whispered quietly to me then, went back to the call.

  Too late! The moment was over. I could feel whatever bravado I had spent nearly four years building up drain away in an instant. Damn you, Marketing VP! Damn you to hell!! It was even worse because I knew the guy was an asshole. His name was Harry Decker. He joined the company a short while after I contracted my condition. I hadn't met him in person but had been on enough teleconferences with him to know that he was useless in all areas except kissing the CEO's ass. Note to self: sic the coven on that fucker.

  It didn't matter, though. I was finished. Rather than stand there and let fate continue to shit on me with the force of a thousand pigeons, I slunk away while she was still on the phone. I let myself out and got back onto the elevator. Once the doors closed and I was alone, I did the only thing I could think of...I banged my head repeatedly against the wall. I deserved it.

  I looked up...OK, I didn't deserve it that much. Crap! Sometimes I forget the whole vampiric strength thing. There was a very visible dent in the wall of the elevator that hadn't been there a few moments ago. I quickly tossed on my daytime cover-ups so I could make a quick escape once I was back at the ground floor. I didn't need a repair bill from building maintenance to add to my shame.

  * * *

  Despite a nagging urge to rip off all my clothes and running screaming into the sunlight, I didn't. I managed to make it back to my apartment no worse for the wear, physically at least. Unfortunately, my pain was just beginning. Ed was in the living room waiting for me when I walked in.

  “How'd it go?” he asked.

  “Don't want to talk about it,” I said, walking towards my bedroom / office.

  “She shot you down?” Even from behind me, I could feel the grin on his face as he asked it.

  “Don't want to talk about it,” I repeated.

  “You didn't even ask her did you?”

  “You know,” I said, spinning around to face him and baring my fangs in the process, “it might not always be a good idea to piss off the scary-ass vampire you're living with.”

  “So scary he can't even ask one girl out on a date?” he asked, his grin going into full shit-eating mode.

  Goddamn, I hate when he's right! My anger deflated, and I walked back to slump down onto the couch.

  “You know what your mistake was?” Ed asked, sitting down next to me.

  “Being born?”

  “No. That was your parents’ mistake. Your mistake was that you forgot one important rule: you never ever try to confess your feelings without first fortifying yourself. You should have stopped in a pub on the way for a little liquid courage, if you know what I mean.”

  I looked up and met his gaze squarely. “I'm fairly sure women aren't entirely impressed by guys who profess their undying love while reeking of Jack Daniels.”

  “I didn't say to bathe in it. I'm just saying a shot or two to calm the nerves...maybe three or four in your case.”

  I chuckled slightly at that. “Maybe you're right, oh wise one. At any rate, I probably couldn't have fucked it up any worse than I did.”

  “Fortunately for you, it's not too late,” Ed said.

  “I'm pretty sure I screwed up asking her out.”

  “Oh, it's too late for that. I meant it's not too late for some liquid fortification. You, my friend, need a drink, several of them in fact. Who knows, maybe I'll even buy one or two for you,” he said, walking over to get his jacket. “And when you're finished, you're going to go to your parents’ house this weekend and do it again until you are so shitfaced you don't even remember your own name. You kill off enough brain cells, and you won't be able to help feeling better about things.”

  Sage advice, if ever there was any.

  Here, Kitty Kitty

  Note to self: don't listen to advice from Ed, I thought as I watched the miles slide by. Traffic was surprisingly light for a Sunday night. I was sitting in the passenger seat of Ed's two-seater piece-of-shit, and my roommate was behind the wheel driving. We were heading south on Route 287 towards the Outerbridge Crossing. Ed had been good enough to come down and give me a ride back home, which kind of made sense as it had been his advice that had given me cause to want to flee back to the relative safety of Brooklyn. Nevertheless, I was glad for the ride. It had turned out to be a long weekend, and I was in no mood to deal with the idiocies of mass transit to get back home.

  Since it was early fall, there was no Jersey Shore traffic to contend with. Even so, considering it was only about six PM, traffic was pretty light heading towards Staten Island. Oh well, it was that lull that tends to happen around late September / early October. People were still burnt out from the summer, and the holiday rush was a good month or so off. This was one of those rare times when people just stayed put. In short, the asshole ratio on the roads was low. I liked times like this. Sadly, they were too few and far between as of late.

  Ed and I had been listening to some rock music on the radio, or at least what the DJ was calling rock music. There were very few real rock stations left in New Jersey. Most played either classic rock, which was mostly tolerable, or a combination of lousy ballads and pop rock (which had just enough guitar riffs to be outside of the Justin Beiber demographic...barely). We had been discussing how real kick-ass rock music was such a rare commodity when my cell rang.

  I had been expecting this. I picked it up and answered with a “Hello.”

  “William, is there something you would like to tell me?” asked the voice of my dad.

  Uh oh. That wasn't a good sign. If he was calling me William, it meant he had noticed the little mistake I had left behind from my weekend of house sitting.

  I decided to do what I did best, play dumb. “Nope. It was a quiet weekend, dad.”

  “I'm sure it was,” replied my
father's voice in a tone that said he didn't even remotely believe me. “Your mother and I appreciate you coming down and keeping an eye on the place while we were at the beach.” The beach in this case being some of the many casinos down in Atlantic City.