Night Blood

by James M. Thompson

  Shooter got behind the wheel, started the car, and pulled away from the curb, wincing as the Mustang backfired a couple of times and belched oily black smoke from the muffler. He had a brief thought that the faithful chariot was long overdue for a tuneup, but the thought vanished when TJ put her hand on his thigh and leaned her head back against the seat.

  As Shooter drove, he cast surreptitious glances at TJ. She seemed to have recovered from the strange episode of an hour before, but he was still worried about the way she’d looked as she sat in his kitchen, blood from the raw hamburger meat dripping down her chin, her eyes glazed and unseeing.

  He decided he’d have to say something to Matt and Sam about it, but out of TJ’s hearing. There was no need upsetting her since she apparently had no recollection of the event.

  Since it was Saturday morning, the typically horrible Houston traffic was light, and Shooter pulled to a stop in front of Sam and TJ’s apartment twenty minutes later.

  When Shooter opened the door and got out of the car, TJ glanced at him. ‘‘Why don’t you just honk, sweetheart? They know we’re coming.’’

  ‘‘Uh,’’ Shooter answered, ‘‘I’ve got to run in and go to the bathroom. That beer is going right through me.’’

  TJ laughed, throwing her head back and looking like the girl Shooter had fallen in love with. ‘‘I told you it was too early to start on that stuff,’’ she said.

  Shooter’s heart almost broke. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he was afraid to think about what might be going on inside her even now.

  ‘‘I’ll only be a minute,’’ he said, slamming his door and hurrying up the walk toward the apartment.

  Matt Carter answered the door immediately after Shooter’s knock. ‘‘Hey, pal, come on in,’’ Matt said, turning and walking over toward a large picnic basket on the couch. ‘‘Sam’s almost ready.’’

  Matt Carter, an associate professor of emergency medicine at Baylor College of Medicine, had been Shooter’s best friend since grade school. Nice-looking, with short brown hair, Matt was a little under average height and had a trim, athletic body. He was dressed more conservatively than Shooter in cutoff blue jeans and a white T-shirt that read BAYLOR RUGBY on the front.

  Shooter glanced back over his shoulder to make sure TJ was still in the car before he entered the apartment and shut the door behind him.

  ‘‘Matt, we gotta talk,’’ he said, his voice serious.

  Matt looked at him, still smiling. ‘‘Uh-oh. Don’t tell me you forgot the beer?’’

  ‘‘No,’’ Shooter answered. ‘‘It’s TJ.’’

  ‘‘TJ?’’ Matt asked, the smile fading from his lips when he saw Shooter’s expression of concern.

  Just then, Samantha Scott walked into the room, still tying her long, reddish auburn hair back into a ponytail for the ride in Shooter’s convertible. Sam, as she was called by almost everyone, was a junior professor of pathology at Baylor and was every bit as pretty as TJ, though her Irish ancestry had given her fair skin and a light dusting of freckles across her cheeks to accent her almost red hair and green eyes. She had on a light summer dress that fell to just above her knees and was low cut enough to have caught Shooter’s attention on any other day.

  ‘‘Hey, guys, are we ready to boogie?’’ she asked.

  Sam stopped when she noticed the serious expression on the men’s faces. ‘‘What’s going on?’’ she asked, walking over to stand next to Matt as she looked into Shooter’s eyes.

  ‘‘It’s TJ,’’ Shooter said. ‘‘She’s . . . She’s starting to act weird again.’’

  Matt and Sam looked at each other. They’d spent many nights over the past few weeks working together in the hospital laboratory to cure TJ of the blood infection the vampire Roger Niemann had infected her with after kidnapping her. They’d been sure they’d succeeded.

  ‘‘What do you mean, ‘weird’?’’ Sam asked.

  Shooter flung his hands out, his exasperation clearly showing on his face. As a homicide detective, he wasn’t experienced in relating medical signs and symptoms. ‘‘Just, weird,’’ he finally said. ‘‘Like, this morning, when we were getting the food ready for our picnic, I found her in the kitchen, sitting there with a mouthful of raw hamburger meat, and she looked like she was in a trance. When I shook her and asked her what she was doing, she kinda woke up and didn’t remember anything about it.’’

  Matt put his hand on his friend’s shoulder to calm him down. ‘‘I’m sure it’s nothing, Shooter. She was probably just daydreaming or something.’’

  Sam’s lips were pursed and her eyes narrowed. It was clear she was taking Shooter’s concerns more seriously. ‘‘Was there anything else?’’ she asked.

  Shooter nodded. ‘‘Wait until you see what she’s wearing today for the picnic. She’s covered herself from head to toe almost, and it’s supposed to hit ninety degrees today.’’

  Matt glanced at Sam and her very skimpy sundress and sandals.

  ‘‘Did you ask her why?’’ Sam asked.

  Shooter shook his head. ‘‘No, I was afraid I might upset her. You know how worried she’s been about what that son of a bitch did to her.’’

  Before Sam or Matt could answer, the door opened and TJ walked in. ‘‘Hey, are we going to go on a picnic or stand around here jawing all day?’’ she asked, grinning.

  She was dressed in long pants, a long-sleeved man’s white shirt, and had a wide-brimmed hat on with the large sunglasses covering her eyes.

  Sam glanced at Matt and then back at TJ. ‘‘Jesus, girl, what’re you wearing all those clothes for?’’ Sam asked, walking over to TJ. ‘‘You realize how hot it’s gonna be out at the park today?’’

  TJ looked down at her clothing. ‘‘Well, you know how the sun makes my skin itch and burn. I don’t want to get sunburned.’’

  Sam took her by the arm and led her back toward her bedroom. ‘‘We’ve got plenty of sunscreen, TJ. Come on and let’s get you in something a little cooler.’’

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ Shooter said, a lecherous grin on his face as he tried to make light of the situation, ‘‘how about showin’ a fellow a little more skin?’

  TJ glanced back over her shoulder, returning his smile. ‘‘With your libido, you don’t need any encouragement, big guy.’’

  After the girls had left the room, Matt said hesitantly, ‘‘She looks OK to me.’’

  Shooter’s face sobered, his eyes still on TJ’s bedroom door. ‘‘Well, maybe I’m overreacting, but keep your eye on her and see what you think.’’

  ‘‘Sure,’’ Matt said. ‘‘Now, let’s get this stuff loaded up while the girls are changing or it’ll be dark before we get to the park.’’

  As Shooter helped Matt take the picnic basket and cooler out to the car, he said, ‘‘You know, Matt, I’ve lived here all my life and I’ve never been to the Houston Zoo.’’

  Matt grinned as he replied, ‘‘Then you’re in for a real treat. Just don’t stand too close to the monkey cages. They tend to throw shit at people who stare at them.’’

  The picnic started off on a good note. Even though it was a Saturday and the park was already beginning to get crowded, the two couples were able to find a spot with a barbecue pit nestled in a shady grove of oak trees off by itself. There was just enough of a breeze to make the heat of the morning bearable.

  Matt spread the blanket while Shooter filled the pit with charcoal and got the fire started. TJ and Sam opened the baskets and got out the hamburger meat and fixings and began to cook the food.

  Matt handed everyone beers and before long they were eating hamburgers and potato salad and listening to Shooter regale them with tales of some of the more stupid things crooks had been doing lately.

  As Shooter talked, both Sam and Matt kept an eye on TJ, trying to be unobtrusive about it. Both wanted to see for themselves if there was anything in her manner to suggest their attempted cure of her recent infection with the vampire’s blood had been unsuccessful.
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  They were soon relieved to find that TJ was acting perfectly normal and seemed to be enjoying the day as much as everyone else was.

  Shooter finished his story and his hamburger at the same time. He crushed the paper plate, stuck it in the waste barrel nearby, and brushed his hands off.

  ‘‘Now, let’s go see this zoo I’ve been hearing so much about,’’ he said. ‘‘I’d kinda like to see if the animals here are any better behaved than the ones I deal with every day down at the station.’’

  The tour of the zoo began uneventfully, with the four friends enjoying ice-cream cones and sodas as they walked among the exhibits.

  ‘‘OK,’’ Shooter said, licking ice cream off his fingers. ‘‘Enough of the snakes and sea lions. Where are those monkeys you told me about, Matt?’’

  Matt leaned over to TJ and whispered, ‘‘I told Shooter he might find some relatives in the monkey house, and he’s anxious to go see for himself.’’

  Shooter put his arm around TJ’s shoulders and pulled her away from Matt. ‘‘Don’t be going an’ tellin’ her something like that about the future father of her kids.’’

  ‘‘Hell, if that’s true, then we’ve got to go see the monkeys. TJ needs to see the kind of gene pool she’s getting involved with,’’ Matt said.

  Sam pointed to a nearby sign. ‘‘The Primate Compound is over that way.’’

  They followed the signs and were soon standing before a row of cages containing dozens of different species of monkeys and apes.

  The animals were running and playing in their cages, climbing fake tree trunks and swinging from old tires hung from ropes, chattering and howling and squealing at each other.

  TJ moved closer to the bars, pointing to a chimpanzee in a corner. ‘‘Matt, is that the one you said was related to Shooter?’’ she asked.

  The chimp, seeing TJ’s arm out, ambled over to the front of the cage, expecting a handout. When he got close, his eyes seemed to fix on TJ and his nostrils flared. He sniffed loudly and his lips curled back from his teeth in a nasty snarl, revealing fangs three inches long.

  He screeched and began to jump against the bars, beating them with his fists and gnashing his teeth as he became more and more agitated.

  Others in the cage, reacting to his actions, rushed up to the bars, their eyes fixed on TJ while they screamed and screeched and jumped up and down with flailing arms.

  TJ’s eyes widened and her hands went to her mouth as Shooter pulled her away from the cages.

  ‘‘Jesus!’’ Matt said, taking Sam’s arm and easing her back. ‘‘I’ve never seen them do that before.’’

  ‘‘Me either,’’ Sam said, her eyes moving from the monkeys to TJ, a worried, calculating expression on her face.

  ‘‘I’ve had enough,’’ TJ said in a hoarse voice, shaking her head and walking away from the compound.

  ‘‘Yeah,’’ Shooter agreed, glancing over his shoulder at the still-screeching monkeys as he led TJ away from the cage. ‘‘Let’s head back. I think we left some beer in the cooler that has my name on it.’’

  The two couples were silent on the drive back to the apartment shared by Sam and TJ, each absorbed with private thoughts of what had occurred at the zoo.

  When Shooter pulled up in front of the apartment complex, he looked back at Matt and Sam. ‘‘I think I’ll take TJ on over to my place. I’ve got some new movies on video and we’ll just hang there for a while.’’

  ‘‘That’s a great idea,’’ Sam said, glancing at the back of TJ’s head. ‘‘Our place needs a good cleaning and I’ll get Matt to stay and help.’’

  ‘‘What?’’ Matt asked.

  She patted his thigh. ‘‘Just kidding, sweetie,’’ Sam said. ‘‘Maybe I’ll let you beat me at a game of gin rummy instead.’’

  Matt frowned. ‘‘Well, that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind for tonight.’’

  Sam winked at him. ‘‘OK. Come on in and we’ll discuss it.’’

  When they got to his apartment, Shooter hastily picked up various bits and pieces of clothing lying around the living room and cleared a place on the sofa in front of the TV set.

  TJ, still somber after the incident at the zoo, made no comment about Shooter’s notoriously poor housekeeping, but merely sat on the couch and stared at the blank TV.

  Shooter, a worried frown on his face, turned the set on and said, ‘‘I’ll make us some popcorn and then we can watch the movies.’’

  TJ looked up at him, her eyes meeting his for the first time since they’d left the zoo. She patted the cushion next to her.

  ‘‘Not now, Shooter. Come sit by me.’’

  Shooter sat down next to her and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her head down against his neck. ‘‘You OK, babe?’’ he asked gently.

  TJ put her hand on his chest and looked up into his eyes. ‘‘I don’t know, Shooter. . . . I really don’t know.’’

  Shooter couldn’t resist the look of hurt and fear in her eyes. He bent his head and kissed her gently on the lips, whispering, ‘‘I love you, TJ.’’

  Suddenly, as if a switch had been turned on, TJ reached up and put her arm around his neck and pulled him into her, opening her mouth and returning his kiss with an unaccustomed fervor.

  As her tongue flicked his lips and she leaned back, pulling Shooter on top of her, Shooter responded.

  He fitted his body to hers, his hand on her breast as they ground against each other. Moments later, TJ’s hand was on his belt, pulling and tugging until she had it undone and his shorts unbuttoned.

  Shooter wasted no time and within moments they were both naked, lying together on his couch, pressing tight. As he moved between her legs, TJ put her hands on his chest and shook her head. ‘‘Not yet . . . not yet . . . ,’’ she murmured.

  She pushed him over onto his back and moved her head down his body until her hair was brushing his groin. Shooter laid his head back and moaned as she took him in her mouth.

  TJ was like a wild woman, moving and moaning and groaning as she made love to him with her lips and tongue. Briefly, Shooter wondered what was going on. TJ had never been like this before, but then his thoughts were silenced by the pleasure she was giving him and he ceased to think at all.

  Just before he climaxed, he grabbed her head and pulled her up on top of him. She clamped her mouth to his as she spread her legs and took him inside her steamy wetness.

  When he groaned in final release, she moved her mouth to his neck and began to suck and chew once more as her hips pumped with his.

  Moments later, she almost screamed as she came with him, collapsing on top of him, her chest heaving.

  Neither noticed at first the small stream of blood trickling down his neck, or the droplets staining her lips crimson.

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  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Vampires have been reported in all cultures throughout the world as long as history has been recorded—Babylonia, India, China, Europe, and Mexico and South America. Over hundreds of years, legends have been assembled and quantified and refined until the characteristics of these creatures are known to almost every schoolboy and girl in the world.

  The earliest published vampire fiction I could find in doing research for this novel was John Polidari’s story, The Vampyre, first published in the New Monthly Magazine, in England, in April 1819. It was actually written by Lord Byron, who’d sketched out the theme at a house party in a village on the shores of Lake Geneva in the summer of 1816. Another story originating from that same strange house party was Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein. I wish I knew what they’d been drinking.

  That is not to say that the idea of vampires, or creatures who returned from the grave to haunt the earth, began in the nineteenth century, for archaeologists have recently uncovered graves in many areas across the world where the skeletons showed evidence that stakes had been driven through their chests. I wonder what the grave diggers were afraid of?

  As for the
science in this novel, except for very minor alterations for dramatic purposes, it is accurate. CJD, or Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease, does exist and is a rare, fatal brain disorder that causes a rapid, progressive dementia with associated neuromuscular problems. It is often referred to as Subacute Spongiform Encephalopathy because it produces microscopic vacuoles in neurons that appear “spongelike.” The disease is worldwide and has an incidence of one case per million people per year. While there is no hard evidence CJD can be transmitted by blood, there is no evidence that it cannot. Thus, the entire blood supply of the UK is on quarantine due to the high incidence in those countries of “Mad Cow disease,” a variant of CJD. On the day I finished this manuscript, reports in the Associated Press indicated there was an outbreak of CJD in Kentucky, USA, from people eating squirrels’ brains, and hundreds of sheep in Maine were quarantined because of fears they harbored the prions associated with the disease.

  Erythropoietic Uroporphyria is a disease that produces just those symptoms named in the story: marked photosensitivity of the skin, with formation of vesicles and bullae (blisters) on exposure to sunlight; hypertrichosis (hairiness) of the face and extremities; increased fragility and erosions that can contribute to mutilation of the face, nose, mouth, ears, and hands; teeth that have a reddish color and fluoresce under a Wood’s light; urine and saliva and tears that are pink tinged; eyes that suffer blepharitis and conjunctivitis (becoming “bloodshot”); and progressive hemolytic anemia, most responsive to whole blood transfusions.

  Could the people who were first killed and buried with stakes through their hearts have suffered from this disease? Could it in fact be the basis for the legends with their distinctive characteristics that have built up around the word Vampyre? Only those who pounded the stakes with wooden hammers know . . . and they’re not telling.