"We tried, but the process presented difficulties that caused some nasty side-effects. Mutations occurred—"
"You're demons, the cohorts of Satan who fell to Earth," Sara interrupted.
"I never knew you were so religious, but yes, that story does have origins in the mutations that occurred." I poked the last piece of meat into my mouth and savored it.
"Dad, you still haven't said why you didn't know who you were."
"Getting there." I took a sip of water to clean out any offending relics. "After humans realized that we weren't gods, they began to fight back. By then our thirst for blood had become so insatiable that people gave us the demon image that your mom seems to like. Many of my species did enjoy this reputation, but others of us fought against it. We split, and joined ranks with human factions. Even though they despised us, humans needed us because the only way to kill me is with the claws or fangs of another like me. The Crusades were the peak, and very few of us remained afterwards."
"But I thought vampires are controlled with garlic and killed with wooden stakes?" Lori asked. I laughed, remembering an aspiring writer destined to become legendary thanks to an incident witnessed.
"I guess Abraham had to embellish since writing a story about an indestructible foe would be too predictable. Sort of like Superman requiring kryptonite," I said.
"Abraham?" Lori asked.
"Sorry. Bram Stoker. He had a run-in with one of my kind from my understanding."
"Oh, so now you're the stuff of legend." My beloved wife wasn't making things easy.
"Your history books, religious texts, and fairytales are riddled with our deeds."
"Gosh, Mike, what would we have done without you," she replied sarcastically.
"Mom, Dad, just stop it." Lori's eyes scolded us both. "So after the Crusades?"
I looked at my wife hoping for peace, but had to relinquish under the weight of her hateful glare. I turned to Lori and found a welcoming heart.
"Well, for hundreds of years after the worse was over," I began. "Many of my kind lived in the shadows and under cover of darkness. It wasn't in fear of humans, but of running across another capable of ending their lives; someone like me, a hunter of those who enslaved humans. There were probably only ten or so left by then, and some had hid for so long that their bodies adapted and developed sensitivity to light. Thankfully, I wasn't one of them. Sun doesn't bother me."
"Too bad. I was going to get you a nice sun lamp for your birthday," Sara sneered.
"You've always been such a sweetheart," I replied. "So by the 1500s, I was no longer running into my kind anywhere, and even our enigmatic creator appeared to have vanished."
"So…you're like the last vampire?" Lori stared at me.
"Vampire? That's such a harsh term. But no, I knew I wasn't the last as rumors of people drained of blood at night existed in several countries. Lucky for me I befriended a man in France named Michel de Nostradame, a prominent physician at the time."
"Nostradamus?" Lori asked.
"Yes, the very same. Through his mysterious ways, he informed me that my brethren were in hiding because they had heard of my desire to exterminate them. He offered to help me, but in exchange, he required my help to cure plague victims. He wanted my venom, which has healing properties."
"Now little Mikey cures the plague. You really should write a book," Sara sneered.
"Maybe I will." I scowled back at her. "Anyway, in return, Nostradamus created a potion that would let me live invisible amongst society. He gave me seven vials, each lasting about seventy-five years. During the time I was on it, the hope was that the remaining devils amongst us would surface and I could dispatch them when I awoke. The most recent awakening was this morning."
"See, you are a devil." Sara smiled at her wit.
"Seven vials? Like the Seven Seals of the bible?" Lori asked excited, ignoring her mother.
"I never thought of that, but I doubt it's related. The seventh vial was lost."
"How was it lost?" Lori asked.
"I stored it in a safe deposit box in a French bank. The Germans blew the place to bits in the second world war."
"Oh no," Lori said.
"Nice, so you will be a bloodsucker forever. Wonderful."
"Sara, please." I just wanted her to understand, but was near the ropes end. I wished desperately that I had more of the potion on hand, and everything could go back to normal. Somehow, I had to recreate it.
"I hope you can find an apartment by the end of the day," Sara stated. "There's no way I'm sleeping under the same roof with you."
"Honey, give me a chance."
"Don't call me honey! You need to move out. I can't take this!" She started to cry. I went to put my arm around her, but she shrugged it off.
"Mom, don't do this. Let him stay, for me."
"No! I don't want to wake up one morning to find my husband sucking the life out of you!" Sara stood and glared at me. "Pack whatever you need and find a place today." With that, she stormed out, leaving me to stare at Lori in silence.
"Are you going to work?" Lori asked after a few moments.
"I need to. We have a new server coming in today that I have to set up."
"Maybe I could talk to her?"
"No, she's right. She needs some time, and then she might come around. Right now, she's just afraid and can't think straight."
"I'm not afraid."
"Then you're naïve my dear. What I am even scares me sometimes. I'll text you tonight, once I find a place to stay. Sorry about this." I stood, picked up my dish, and started walking to the sink. Lori rose, planted herself in my path, and looked deep into my eyes.
"Can you make me like you?" she asked. Why did they always ask that? Is it so romantic to be a hated killer who survives by cannibalism?
"No. All I can do is make you dead. This isn't a movie." I stepped around her and dropped the dishes into the sink. She came up behind me.
"Please. I know you can do it."
I whipped around. "I can't!" She cringed. "The second my fangs pierce your skin they emit a toxin. They're hollow, like a snake's fang. The toxin will paralyze you, but make you feel like you're in heaven. It'll speed your heart up near the point of bursting so I can get my meal quicker. I can drain you in less than a minute, and once I start, it's very hard to stop. If I could stop and leave you with enough blood to live, you'd still be you afterwards, minus a few liters and a whole lot of respect for me." I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry for yelling, but I can't, Lori. It's not possible."
"Okay. I’m sorry, too." Her eyes dropped, disappointed.
"We'll get through this. I promise. Go get ready for school, and I'll text you later." I kissed her on the forehead and watched her walk away. This would be hardest on her. We had adopted her ten years earlier, when she was just a rambunctious-but-lonely five-year old that was taken away from a mother who often traded food stamps for heroin. Thank God we rescued Lori before she had been traded, but once again, her family was falling apart around her. I had to fix this.
As I turned back to the sink to rinse the remains of my steak tartare off, my ears caught the sound of a voice. I have exceptional hearing that rivals the most sensitive instruments used by law enforcement. It was my wife talking, but since she was upstairs, it was hard to make out what she was saying or to whom she could be talking. I walked to the bottom of the stairs to gain more clarity.
"Yes, he's really lost it. He thinks he's a vampire!" She paused, and I expected to hear Lori's voice in reply, but it never came.
"I know, it's perfect! He's moving out today, and I'll call a lawyer today, too." She was on the phone, and what her words implied stunned me. What was perfect, and why did it sound like divorce was already impending?
"I can't wait either. I'm sorry for calling so early, but I had to tell you." Pause, and then the hammer fell. "I love you too, Mitch."
I stood there, frozen like a stoic statue from a bygone era. I should have ripped her throat out earlier. There's
still time… Mitch-fucking-Johnson, my drinking and golf buddy for over two decades. My fucking best man at our wedding was now my wife's best fucking man, literally.
I grabbed hold of the stair banister, unsure of what I would do next. My fangs snapped out, my eyes went evil. I took a step up, her words still ringing in my ears. I love you too, Mitch. I took a couple more steps. Her throat, my mouth; end of problem. She would like it that way. Business as usual. Bite me, Mike, bite me hard! Did she scream that to Mitch?
I didn't want her blood; she disgusted me now. Instead, I would rip my lethal claws down her back and shred her porcelain skin. After that, I wanted to rake them across her stomach—where Mitch undoubtedly caressed—and work my way into her and yank out her insides. Yes, pain and lots of it. I began my rush up the stairs, about to go sadistically ballistic, but was forced into an abrupt stop.
"Dad?" Lori stood at the top, looking down at me with confusion. "What are you doing?"
"Nothing! Move!" I'm about to kill your mother.
"What's wrong, Dad?" She was worried, and she was about to lose mother number two because some asshole dipped his stick where he shouldn't have. Lori didn't deserve that, no matter how much of a whore Sara had been. Deflated, I returned to normal.
"Nothing's wrong. Just have to get ready for work."
"Why were you…?"
"I said I'm fine. Hurry or you'll miss the bus. Excuse me." I slid past her and into the master bedroom.
I almost turned into my darker self again when I saw Sara. Her hand was pulling away from the cell phone she had just sat down. She began to primp and retouch her hair and makeup in search of that elusive perfect look. I understood whom she was trying to get that look for now. I held myself in check for my daughter. I went to the closet and dressed into a casual business suit, and then grabbed a gym bag and threw some clothes into it. By the time I came out, she was heading for the bedroom door, already late for work.
"I'm going to call Mitch and see if I can stay with him for awhile," I said, just as she was about to exit. She stopped dead in her tracks.
"Oh?" A hint of worry in her voice.
"Yeah, he's always been there for me. He's such a good friend. Isn't he?"
"Well, yes."
"I'm sure he wouldn't mind."
"You can ask him."
"I will. You have a good day at work, honey." She walked out, not responding. Bitch.
For the past two years, she had been this way—cold and businesslike. That's probably how long her and Mitch had been hooking up, too. I couldn't help but wonder how sex between two accountants would be. A vision of rubbing two cold and wet sticks together trying to start a fire passed through my head. And they think I'm dead.
With just a gym bag of clothes, I walked out, not realizing that I was leaving this life behind forever.
Chapter 3
I pulled into the factory's parking lot feeling the usual disgust that I had developed three months before, despite having returned to my immortal self. It occurred to me that work was a lot like marriage in that it either takes a conscious effort to keep things exciting, or the courage to get out when it sours. That I had failed at both of these relationships indicated that I was a feeble human being who lacked any courage whatsoever. While I wanted to continue living my human life, things would be different now.
The problems at work stemmed from the new plant manager, Son of Satan, as I thought of him. I had ironically created the name before remembering who the real Satan of the world was, but perhaps some part of me remembered my ancient foe. The plant manager, Jack (AKA Son of Satan), had made a deal with the Devil (the company's president) to step up from his floor-supervisory position and into a plush office when the old plant manager was conveniently canned—framed according to many. The former manager was great, but great doesn't cut it in the corporate world, results do, even when they're loaded with bullshit.
After the first month's numbers turned out not so great for Jack, he told me to make them look better. Being the only IT person in a manufacturing facility has few advantages, but lots of disadvantages. Give me or I'll shit on you was a common demand.
"Turn some overtime into regular hours," he had said. "Or condense the six-day work week for production into five on paper. Yeah, that will look great then." His heavy jowls flapped up and down like a loose-skinned hound dog.
"I can't do that," I replied.
"Yes you can, and you will."
"It's against ethics."
"I'm the goddamn boss here."
"You are, of the factory, but my boss is the CFO at headquarters, which is to prevent things just like this. Sorry."
I saw his lips prepare to say fuck you, but he stopped and just glared with those I'll-show-you-eyes. He turned and I received the unpleasant view of what the factory workers had dubbed beetle-butt depart my office. While I dislike such body-based cruelty, I was amazed that it really did resemble the curves of the famous German car.
I understood that by standing up to him, I had slid out onto thin ice, but that was supposed to be my job according to government regulations. Slide out onto the slippery surface and Uncle Sam is supposed to protect you, but Uncle Sam usually isn't around when someone gets pushed through a hole in the ice. Our good uncle and his friends are usually off fishing in some other hole, perhaps discovered while hiking on the Appalachian Trail on the way to Argentina.
Feeling less motivated than a video-game playing teenager, I got out of the car and stepped into the warming sun. The curving sidewalk meandered through expansive landscaping rivaling any park, but at its end, all pretenses of relaxation abruptly ceased. Upon reaching the double doors, I took a deep breath and entered—welcome to Hell. Cathy, the receptionist, was there waiting for me.
"You're a few minutes late," she said.
"Good morning to you, too," I replied.
"Umm, your favorite plant manager has been waiting for you. He needs your assistance and, to give you heads up, he wants you to be here a little earlier in the morning. His words, not mine. Sorry. You look a little pale. Are you okay?"
"I always seem to turn pale just before stepping through these doors. You don't look so good yourself." She appeared even paler than I imagined myself to be after not feeding for decades, and had dark circles under her red, puffy eyes. I assumed she was coming down with something. "I better go see what he wants."
"Mike?" I turned back to her. "Whatever happens, well, I…just try and understand."
"What?" Something had Cathy spooked, and it wasn't me. She whirled around and walked towards the supply closet, ending the conversation without clarification.
I didn't bother dropping my briefcase off at the computer room, but went directly to visit the Son of Satan. A short distance down the hall, his door stood open. He sat behind his desk fingering a laptop as if he was Jabba the Hutt stroking Princess Leah. Even his tongue worked around his lips in moist, disgusting circles. I knocked loud, which startled him. He must have been looking for action on his adult profile that I had come across in the server logs more than a few times, because he almost knocked the laptop off the desk. I smiled and entered.
"Cathy said you needed some help, Jack?" I asked.
"Yes, yes, and also I would like you to be here a half-an-hour earlier each day in case anyone has startup problems."
Asshole. I almost said it aloud, but if I argued, I was sure to hear from my boss about being more of a team player.
"Shouldn't be a problem," I said instead. "So what did you need?" I wanted out of there before he brought out the demon in me, which was a very real possibility considering the morning I had. I forced a smile.
"What are you smiling about?" he asked.
"Just trying to be pleasant. So what's your issue?" I walked behind his desk and stood next to him so I could see the screen, and that was when the smell hit me. It was a complicated aroma of sweat, perfume, fight or flight pheromones, and blood. It tweaked my darker senses, and my fangs instinctively popped up,
but I forced them back down.
"It's this goddamn video an employee sent me," he said. "I can't open it." I leaned down and my eyes snapped to the front of his neck, where red scratches traced down below his shirt.
"Rough morning?" I asked.
"What?"
"You're just looking a little tired, that's all." Why do I sense danger lurking about?
"Actually, yes," he replied, sounding nervous for the first time ever. "I couldn't sleep last night. Now, how do I open this video?"
"I’m really sorry I wasn't here early to help you with this startup issue." The perfume was sweet, familiar, but I couldn't place it. The scent of blood was strong and fresh. I shivered, but maintained control.
"Do not be an asshole with me," he said.
"Not trying to be, but it's company policy to block video content unless it's work related. That comes from corporate. Their servers are blocking it."
"That's bullshit. This is from an employee. Fix it."
"Sorry, Jack, I can't do it from here. Let me go see if I can tweak the firewall settings for you." I had to get out before the smells brought out the beast. I grabbed my briefcase and hurried to the door, not quite running, but close.
"Mike!" he yelled. I turned and looked at him. "Never mind. Forget it. I'll just call corporate myself for help. Got that?"
Why didn't he want me to handle it from my office? My curiosity piqued, I really wanted to see this video.
"Sure, no problem," I lied.
Racing past Cathy at her desk, a scent hit me that stopped me cold. I looked at her backside while she typed, cocked my head sideways and sniffed—sweet perfume with a hint of sweat, pheromones, and blood. What are the odds? At first, I refused to believe that it was Cathy's smell on Jack. There was no way she would have been with him, or…was there? Single struggling mother getting ready to take on payroll administration thanks to a promotion she had been trying to get from Jack forever. In my eyes, she earned the promotion, but in his, I had a hard time seeing it. Jack thought support people were dead weight unless, I imagine, they were good in bed. Sick. Impossible. I continued to my office without her noticing me.
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