I am at first uncertain what she means … and then a wave of indescribable relief washes over me.
“Sam … you … you don’t have to do this. Your virginity – I know it’s important to you, and –“
“And it’s time I put all that behind me.”
She continues to fondle my hardening Pork.
Before I know it, she has hiked up her nightie, and she is now straddling me, pulling at my pajama bottoms. I help her as much as I am able, my old Sin Stiffy in full vertical readiness.
Samantha fairly impales herself on my Staff of Love, and a soft moan escapes her lips.
I close my eyes, feeling her softness, her indescribable interior which washes over me like warm holy water in a velvet glove. I force the first thought from my mind – that I am making love to a vampire – a creature not human, not quite alive, yet not quite dead. Yet the sensation I feel is one of pure humanity, or exquisite closeness and intimacy.
Samantha ruts against me quickly, and I can tell she has not lied to me: this is new for her, and she is moved by pure instinct and sensation, versus restrained by any kind of experienced technique. She rides hard and desperately, fighting for that peak of excitement she has never known.
She screams out softly, at last, and shudders against me, pulsating against my Bucking Bear several times, fighting to catch her breath.
Needless to say, I have joined her in the breathlessness of it all. I have been spared Father Gastroni’s rubber-glove approach to protocol masturbation against vampirism. Praise the Lord!
Samantha smiles, and kisses me on the lips.
Somewhere in the house, I hear a clock strike midnight.
Samantha lies down on my chest, breathing regularly now, enjoying the aftermath of her first experience at love-making. I do not mind her weight … in fact, at this moment, she feels light as a feather.
We say nothing. There is no need. She has saved me in my time of broken-wristed need and I am sublimely grateful.
“I love you, Sam,” I whisper into her ear.
“I know, Dick. I love you, too.”
She kisses me again, then kisses my nose and looks into my eyes.
I am lost again in those eternal orbs of warmth and understanding. And a moment later, sleep finds me like a warm blanket, submersing me in its protective darkness.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
I am able to walk by early morning, and before the sun yet rises, I take a stroll around the garden with Samantha, who is content to wrap her arm in mind, careful still not to touch my wrists. But the near-dawn has brought increased reparation to my hands, and I am able to find mobility at last with my fingers. Cartilage and bone seem on the mend.
We talk about everything and nothing. I want to hear about her adventures through the centuries, and she wants to know of my past, of loves once had and now long gone, of dreams possessed and lost, of hopes yet to be and realized, of goals yet still to be sought and gained.
We sneak into a rose garden annexed to the garage, and make love inside, giggling at our adolescent risk-taking. It is frenzied, innocent sex, demanding and hurried, yet blessed with the magic of newness and immediacy.
Put another way, we fucked and fucked and fucked and fucked until Mr. Wriggles was sore and sprouting moss heads.
The sun begins to rise above the horizon, and I urge Samantha inside the house; in her eager haste for love and more love, she must be reminded that it is time for her to rest.
“Back to your coffin,” I chide her as we enter what has become my new home.
“I don’t have a coffin,” she laughs. “I use a bed. Sorry if it puts a crimp in your whole vampire mythology. Beds are quite okay by us.”
“If I were a vampire, I’d insist on a coffin. It’s de riguer, really. Anything less, and you’re just a kind of faux vampire at best. A girlie vampire.”
“I am a girlie vampire. Or haven’t you noticed.”
I shove Samantha into a nearby bathroom, one of about a dozen in this place, and shag her silly. She has no complaints about this impetuous act, and spooges me in return.
* * *
We exit ten minutes later, and Samantha stops me, gently pushing me against the wall.
“I want you to have something, Dick.”
She produces out of her pocket a small jewelry box, purple, and velvet to the touch. I look at her and grin.
“Is this a proposal?”
“Silly,” she swats me, then hands it to me.
She then steps away from me.
“I can’t be too near it,” she says. “You’ll see why.”
I open the small box. Inside, is a gold chain attached to a crucifix. It is a splendid item and I look to Samantha for an explanation.
“I was wearing it the night I was almost killed – just before Dracula found me.”
I look at he crucifix again.
“Samantha, this is beautiful. But it’s too precious. You should keep it.”
“No, it’s for you. Perhaps one day … it will be useful to you.”
“Useful? That’s a strange way to put it.”
“Sorry. Please keep it. I give it out of love.”
I kiss her and touch her cheek. “Okay. Thanks.”
Afterwards, I walk her to her bedroom, kiss her good night (or good day) and the meander into the living room, where I find Father Gastroni and Colonel Kellog sipping brandy. Jennifer is also sipping brandy, and I take issue with this immediately.
“Hey, hey, hey, what’s this? You’re too young to be drinking that stuff.”
“Just sipping, Dick,” Jennifer says … and her voice to me suddenly sounds … old. I think sadly to myself that indeed, my new little child has aged in the past 24 hours, as have we all.
“Still,” I protest feebly. “It’s early yet.”
Jennifer seems to understand my concern, and puts down the brandy, as Father Gastroni and Colonel Kellog watch on. They are both clearly drunk.
“Hey, Dick,” Kellog slurs. “Didja’ know I blew that fang-fucker’s head to melon shit? The one that nailed you?”
I nod. “Yes, I heard. Nice shooting, Colonel, and thank you.”
“Fifty yards, baby,” Kellog says, smirking, and taking another hit from his brandy snifter. I do not respond to Kellog’s solipsistic ecstasy in vampire snuffing. I’m not in the mood to be indulgent.
“I assume Samantha is tucked in?” Father Gastroni asks me.
“Yes. Dracula, too?”
“Out like a light,” Gastroni nods.
Kellog again mumbles, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, looking at me as if I were his new best friend.
“I remember when I was in the Anbar Province, back in ‘003. Iraq. I was on sniper detail. I used to pick the little sand-niggers off at 100 yards, Dick. 100 fuckin’ sand-nigger yardage. Watched their brains explode through the sites.”
I sigh. “That’s fine shooting, Colonel, but there’s a child in the room, if you please.”
Jenny turns to me. “It’s alright, Dick. I can deal with a little fucking bad language, especially after yesterday.”
I simply shake my head, and realize I have absolutely no control over anything or anyone – especially my little Jennifer.
“Goat-fucking cocksuckers. Lost a lot of fine boys to that insurgency.”
“Kinda became unimportant, mate, especially after Popov.”
Kellog nods … almost sadly. As if he had just lost something intimate, fragile and perhaps indescribably precious. “Yeah, over now. Place is vampire heaven now.”
I look to Gastroni. “Any thoughts about what the Grand Master’s next move will be?”
Gastroni leans forward, nods, studying his brandy snifter. “Good question, mate. Yes, I believe that our Grand Master pal will return to the airport and regroup his surviving army of bloodsuckers. I think that was his first salvo, his first offense – lure us into the place, and then attack. But did you notice something?”
I think, not sure where the good priest is going. “
Notice what?”
“No werewolves,” Kellog says.
“That’s right,” Gastroni nods. “Remember, the Master is now controlling a lot of the likkers. Perhaps any likker he chooses to manipulate is his for the taking. Yet he did not throw them at us, I mean, not a single one. Why?”
“He may have thought he could finish us off with what he had. About a million flying fangs.”
“Yes, I believe so. But wherever he chooses to attack us next time – I am sure that he will utilize these monstrous assets. And then, I’m afraid, we’re … “ he glances at Jennifer, who nods soberly.
“We’re screwed,” she whispers, sips her brandy, then guzzles it.
“Jennifer,” I mewl softly, shaking my head.
“It’s true, Dick,” she says. “I’m just a kid, but I know when things look real bad.”
And then she says something that breaks my heart.
“Guess that means I’ll never get a chance to grow up. Or meet someone to love.”
I believe in that moment all three adults in the room are damned near close to tears. Even Kellog sniffs, coughs, and turns his head away. I reach out and touch her shoulder.
“If I have anything to do with it, you’ll grow into a little old lady, pissing herself silly.”
She looks to me, her eyes filled with doubt.
And that’s when there is a knock at the front door.
Kellog reaches for an M-16 off the floor while Gastroni unholsters a handy Colt APG. Jennifer has retained hold on her pistol, bringing it out from under a seat pillow she’s been sitting on.
I, on the other hand, have been fucking all morning and am completely unarmed and useless. It’s a look I’ve been boasting lately. Stick Boy. Unarmed. Useless. Whoo-hoo.
We all look to the front door as it slowly opens.
Weapons are locked and loaded, all of them up and readied.
Only think I have that is even remotely hard and packing is my dick. Damn fine to behold, perhaps, but not much use in a fight.
* * *
For a moment, nothing happens.
We cannot see who is on the other side of the door. We are surrounded by cloves of garlic, and crosses cover nearly every square foot of the premises, all saturated in holy water.
Then we see it.
A large German Shepherd. Black. And a badge around its collar.
I recognize the badge as Monster Vice.
“What the –“
The dog suddenly speaks, a low voice, weary, the accent is distinctly ‘Jersey.’
“Pitts. That you?”
The voice coming out of the dog sounds familiar.
“Yeah … and … you’re a dog. And you’re talking,” I state dully.
“Dick, it’s me. Birney Klaskowsky, out of Vice.”
Birney Klaskowsky. The name … yes, the name!
“Birney? Is that you?” I stammer in disbelief.
Birney the dog trots over to me, and sits, staring up at me, panting … a clearly happy expression on the mutt’s face.
“Yep. In the fur,” he barks.
“But how?”
Kellog and Gastroni, along with Jennifer have lowered their weapons. They watch this byplay between man and dog without expression.
“Don’t know if you remember, but I was taken out by a succubus about two years ago. Bitch caught me right outside of the house. Doreen had a heart attack when she saw what the demon did to me.”
I tried to recall the details of Birney’s encounter with a sexual demon known as a succubus. And sure enough, the details are blurry, but retrievable. Birney was decapitated by a flying succubus, then sexually assaulted by her after he was already dead. All this taking place in front of his wife, who is suffering a coronary witnessing all this. It was the talk of the station for about a week. I think I was still in shock from my mother’s death in Florida so I was pretty much out of it at the time and didn’t tune in for the particulars.
I nod. “Yeah, I remember, Birney. Tough luck. How’s Doreen?”
“Recovered completely and now dating a haberdasher from Inglewood. Biddy ba, biddy boo, whatcha gonna do?”
He turns and licks his dog balls for a moment. The act seems to catch him off guard.
“’Scuse me,” he mutters. “It’s a dog thing.”
“Take your time,” I clear my throat.
He finishes, licking his chops. “Sorry. Sometimes the urge is too strong. I’m just getting the hang of all this.”
“Of … all what, Birney?”
“Me being a dog, and all.”
“Yes, about that. Is this one of those animal possession things I’ve been reading about in research lately?”
“Yep, pal. That’s it. More and more good cops are going down, but those of us who don’t want to Pass On, we stay on the beat as dogs. Bomb sniffers, drug-mutts, cadaver-Ds. Me, I chose Monster Vice.”
“Good call, Birney. Glad to have you aboard.”
“Thanks, Dick. Which, by the way, is why I’m here. Zelig down at HQ is curious as to how you’re doing. Your cell is dead, and I had to spend most of last night and this morning sniffing out scent to find you here.”
“You’re good,” I nod to Birney. “I’m charging up my cell now. Oh, by the way, Birney, these are my friends.” I turn to Kellog, Gastroni and Jenifer, and make the appropriate introductions.
“Nice meetin’ you all,” Birney barks, then looks back to me.
“Lots of disturbing talk along the circuit, Dick. Vampire attacks are up nearly one hundred percent, we have a likker riot down at LAX late last night, creeps are coming out of the woodwork more than ever.”
I ponder this and wonder if the Grand Master is utilizing his considerable powers to inflame and foment general monster hostility citywide.
I look at Birney and try to forget for the moment that I’m talking to a large German Shepherd. “I’ll check in with the good captain, Birney. As you can see, I’ve gone through a bit of a rough ride of late.”
“I noticed, but was tryin’ to be polite and not mention it. What the hell happened to you?” Birney barks.
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Okay, tell me later.”
I look at the wall clock and see that it is approaching nine in the morning.
Jenny walks up to Birney and scratches his ear.
“Thanks, kid. Feels good,” Birney slobbers just a bit.
“You got nice big ears,” Jenny comments.
“Yeah, so I’ve been told. Hey, anyone got some raw hamburger?” Birney looks at us all hopefully.
“Come with me to the kitchen,” Jenny says. “I’ll bet Father Ivory can find something for you.”
Birney paws off with Jenny and I stretch in what I feel is healing pain. I look at the brandy bottle that Kellog and Gastroni have opened.
“Drink up while you can, mate,” Gastroni says. “The Grand Master is out there and round two is fast approachin’.”
I reach for the bottle and nod.
Truer words were never spoke.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
A few hours later, I am comfortably tanked. I watch the noon day come and take a moment to reflect. I glance out at the garden, and see Birney lift his leg and take a well calculated piss at Father Ivory’s hydrangeas, while Jennifer walks with him – her new best friend. There is a strange peace in the air. Perhaps the calm before the storm, my pessimistic muse nudges me a second later. Kellog and Gastroni continue to drink in the main living room. Don’t ask me what the fuck young Father Ivory does in his spare time. I have only been able to deduce that he supplies K-Y Jelly or like viscous necessities for whacking off. Other than that, I am unaware of what his other functions may be. Perhaps providing jerk-jelly is his sole function. The thought sends a shiver through my system.
I already miss Sam. I wish she were awake.
Perhaps I will sneak in and lie down next to her. Maybe slip her the Snoopy Sausage.
I sip my brandy and take a deep breath and release it
.
I feel my body repairing itself almost hourly. Whatever Dracula and Samantha did to me, it’s taken hold. I can actually rotate my wrists both clockwise and counter-clockwise. By dusk, I’ll be lifting weights.
My mind returns to Dracula and I ponder the vampire’s incredible existence thus far. Fathered by Pontius Pilate – the First Vampire! It was almost too much to accept. You couldn’t make this kind of stuff up, even for a low-budget horror movie. To be consigned to such a cursed affliction, and then to wander the ages, an acknowledged murderer – yet one who is driven by primal imperatives that are completely uncontrollable, i.e., the need to feed once the Hunger took control. I try to imagine the loneliness, the sense of constant isolation, his foreknowledge that he will be forced to wander the Earth without the shadow or promise of death to give him peace. Driven by self-preservation, he is doomed to scour the world until the end of time. Along with Samantha. And so many others, at least a million or so vampiric souls, so I was informed.
Yet it was a kind of immortality. I ask myself that if I was presented an offer to never taste the sting of death, to exist eternally, to forever watch a sun set and know that life is mine to treasure for eons once I awaken from unnatural slumber … would I say no to such an offer? My only penance, my only punishment, would in actuality be existing as a serial killer to whole populations of pigeons or other small animals, whose blood I would substitute for that of human fare.
What would I do, I wonder.
What would you do?...
* * *
After another hour, I slip into Samantha’s room.
It is nearly completely dark, safe for one light on near her bed – a table lamp, with chimes that sing as the shade turns ‘Three Coins In The Fountain.’
Of course, the windows are completely shuttered closed, this being now the height of the day.
I remove my robe and slide into bed with her. She opens her eyes and smiles, and without further ado, we go at it like feral gophers.
This activity proceeds beautifully for an hour or so. After our final bout, leaving us both sweating and out of breath, Samantha begins to cry.
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