“The game isn't for another ... what time is it, anyway?”
“Almost 6:30.”
“I'm going to shut the door now...”
“Wait. I know I'm a little early,” I pleaded as he moved to slam it in my face. “But it's important.” The door stopped. “I kinda need your help. Seriously. I wouldn't be bothering you like this otherwise. You know that.”
“If you're fucking with me, your character is going to be in a world of hurt,” he threatened from the half-closed door.
“Trust me. If you don't find this interesting, then be my guest. You can line up the elder gods to take turns corn-holing Kelvin, and I'll sit there and take it. Smiling, even.”
That assurance seemed to satisfy him, oddly enough. He sighed and stepped aside to let me in, grumbling, “I guess I'm already awake anyway.”
We went into his apartment and he locked up behind us. After ascertaining that what I had to say was important but not life or death important (at least not anymore), he excused himself to grab a quick shower and maybe a Red Bull or five to wake up.
As I waited for him, I checked to make sure most of the blinds were drawn, although there wasn't much to worry about in that case. On the best of days, Dave typically kept his apartment illuminated in a manner similar to a cave. His job kept him from seeing any form of natural light for most of the week, and I guess he figured there was little use in dealing with it for the short time he spent at his home awake.
About twenty minutes later, he returned looking much fresher, if not entirely happier. As I stood there debating how to begin, he started taking game manuals down from his bookshelf.
“Since you're here, you can tell me what's going on while you help me set up. Maybe afterward we can go out and grab something to eat before the others arrive.”
“No problem on the first, although I might have to decline the second. I really can't go out.”
“Can't?”
“Can't,” I assured him.
“I'm not going to get a visit from any cops looking for you, am I?” he asked with a chuckle.
“Probably not,” I answered, only half joking.
“Good to know. I'd rat you out in a second anyway. Grab the chairs from the kitchen and bring them out, okay?”
I did as instructed and then decided to dive right in. “So, basically, I need you to write me a doctor's note.” Did I say “dive right in?” Maybe dip in a toe and test the waters was more like it.
He stopped what he was doing and looked at me questioningly. “A doctor's note?”
“Yeah, you know, those things that people like you write for your patients.”
“Is someone beating you up on the playground again and you want to skip gym class?” he quipped, resuming his game-day preparations.
“Not quite. I need an excuse to not have to go into work.”
“Laziness isn't a disease.”
“Not like that,” I protested. “I need an excuse so that they let me work remotely on a permanent basis.”
“Dude, it's like what? Maybe one train to get to your office?”
I shook my head. “You're not getting it. I can’t go into the office during the day.”
“Okay, I'm listening. Why are you suddenly allergic to work?”
“It's not work that I'm allergic to. I had a bit of an accident the other week,” I confessed. “It's why I missed the game.”
He gave me a quick once-over as we set up the game table. “You look fine to me.”
“Yeah, well, if you examined me you wouldn't think I was fine.”
“What would I think?” he asked, deadpan.
“You'd think I was deceased,” I answered in the same tone.
He laughed. “And I suppose somebody cast resurrection on you.”
“I'm not joking.” I took a breath. Here we go again. “Last week, I was bitten by ... a vampire. I died and came back to life as one of them.”
He once again stopped what he was doing and began to open his mouth, but I cut him off before he could say anything. “And, yes, I already know how stupid, crazy, and pathetic it sounds. And no, this isn't some stupid joke me and the rest of the party came up with to mess with you. And it's certainly not some delusional drug trip because I stayed up all night doing bong hits while watching Twilight. This is real.”
“Why would you take hits during Twilight?”
“Oh. Ed and I were playing a game, take a puff every time Robert Pattinson said something fruity sounding. We were completely wrecked by the end of it.”
“I bet,” he said. “But let's get back to this vampire bullshit.”
“It's not bullshit.” I held out my arm. “Here, look for a pulse.”
He glanced at me dubiously, but did as asked. He felt for it, shifted his grip a few times, and gave me a puzzled look. He then reached over and felt for a pulse on my neck, I guess in case I was doing something to cut off the circulation to my arm.
“Just let me know when you're finished feeling me up,” I said.
He pulled his hand away and hesitated for a second or two. “Okay, that's a little ... odd.”
“You do know how to check these things, right?”
He gave me a withering glare in return. “Wait right here.” He left the room, returning a few moments later with a stethoscope. “Take off your shirt.”
“Should I also take off my pants and cough?”
“You're getting real close to an agonizing and embarrassing death for your character,” he warned.
Some people just had no sense of humor. I did as told, this time keeping any comments to myself, and he spent the next minute or so searching for a heartbeat. When he pulled back, the look on his face said he was completely perplexed.
“Let me guess ... he's dead, Jim. Right?” I asked, already knowing the answer.
He kinda shrugged in return. “There's definitely something going on in there ... but I’m not sure I can call it a heartbeat.”
“Well, while you're contemplating whether to break out your zombie survival kit, chew on this,” I said, opening my mouth and extending my fangs. I had been practicing.
He was starting to get a bit of a faraway look in his eyes, as if considering something. “If you are fucking with me, I gotta admit I'm pretty flattered at the effort.”
“Sorry. No such luck.”
“So ... can you do anything else?”
I frowned. “There's this eyes-going-black thing I've seen. I'm still working on that one, though. I’m pretty new to this.”
“The vampire's apprentice?”
“Not quite,” I continued. “Let's see ... I'm stronger than I was before. Oh, and then there's that whole sunlight thing.”
That seemed to perk him up a bit. “That really happens?”
“Yes. Why do you think I need a note?”
“Show me.” He seemed to be growing excited at the prospect.
“No.”
“Show me,” he insisted.
“It hurts like a motherfucker,” I argued.
“You want me to write a doctor's note, you show me.” Fuck, I was afraid it would come to this.
I sighed and accepted my fate. “Okay, just do me a favor and grab a wet towel or something first.”
He did so while I rolled up one of my sleeves. I glanced out the window. It was definitely starting to cloud up, but there was still some sun shining through. I was sure it would be more than enough. Damn, I had really been hoping to avoid this. Next life, I'm going to make it a point to find friends who are heavier on the trusting and lighter on the sadism.
When Dave returned, I turned to him dramatically. “Behold, lowly mortal! Nothing up my sleeve.”
“Yeah, yeah, get on with it.”
“Showmanship is such a dead art,” I complained. That being said, I pulled back one of the curtains and put my exposed hand in front of the window. As a beam of sunlight fell upon it, it started smoking – and hurting – then ignited with a whoosh of air and a smell not unlike that of c
ooked bacon. At least I smelled delicious.
“That is so freaking coo...,” Dave started to say.
“GIVE ME THE FUCKING TOWEL!”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” He tossed it to me and I immediately used it to douse my hand. I didn’t care if I lived to be a thousand. Being on fire was a feeling I'd never get used to.
Dave sat down and was quiet for a moment, which was fine because I was too busy hurting to hear him. Finally, the pain started to subside (thank you, vampire-healing factor) and I sat down opposite him, still cradling my crispy appendage.
“So?” I asked.
“Okay. I believe you. I must be going fucking mental, but damn if I don't believe you.”
“Good. Because I'm not planning on a repeat performance,” I flatly stated.
“This is just so freaking amazing.” He was getting all excited again.
“Yeah, it's fascinating, I'm sure. So, will you help me out?”
“Dude...” He stepped forward and put his hands on my shoulders. “I think we can help each other out.”
“Okay,” I replied, somewhat dubious as to his motives. “The note?”
“Oh, that? No problem. I'll write up that you've contracted an acute case of solar urticaria. That should do it.”
“And that is?”
“It's a form of photosensitivity,” he explained. “Means you break out in a nasty rash from the sun.”
“Ah. Hide the lie inside of a bit of truth.”
“Exactly. Give that to HR. They'll have to accommodate you. Otherwise, you could potentially sue the shit out of them.”
A disturbing thought occurred to me. “What if they want a second opinion?”
“Then you're hosed. Actually, we're hosed. But let's not worry about that. Accommodating you is going to be cheaper for them than hiring a specialist since you're mostly remote already. I'd be willing to bet they just shrug their shoulders and deal with it. When in doubt, always count on a company to play it cheap. Wouldn't be the first time I've seen it happen.”
“You've done this before?”
“People seem to forget that residents get paid shit. If I want to be able to afford to live, I have to either get creative with my skillset or get a part time job at Blockbuster. Would you want to rent a movie from the same guy who was sewing your intestines back into your body a few hours earlier?”
“Not really.”
“Me neither, and let's just leave it at that.”
“Okay. Anyway, that all sounds like a plan to me. Thanks for...”
“And in return for my help,” he said, cutting me off, “and for sticking my ass out for you, you'll be a part of my research.”
I wasn't expecting that. “What?”
“You heard me.”
“Dude, I'm not being your lab rat.”
“Don't be such a melodramatic pussy. I'm talking a few blood and tissue samples here and there,” he explained, still sounding a bit too manic for my liking.
“What for?”
“I've been doing some thinking the last couple of months. I've decided that once I'm done with my residency, I'm going into pure research.”
“Why?”
“I pretty much hate all of my patients. They're assholes, and since people in general are assholes, I doubt it's going to get much better. I'd prefer my days to be asshole free, thank you very much.”
“I can understand the desire.”
He sat down and started setting up his dungeon master screen, continuing as he did so. “The problem with research is it's mostly a tiring, thankless job. For every person who discovers something like Viagra, there are a thousand researchers who will never so much as end up with a new headache medicine to their credit. I am not a big fan of a career spent in obscurity, thus I've been wracking my brain trying to come up with an edge. And voila, out of nowhere, you show up on my doorstep. If that isn't divine inspiration, I don't know what is. You, my friend, are going to be my ace in the hole.”
“Define ace in the hole.”
“Immortality, superhuman abilities, regeneration,” he said, motioning to my hand, which was already rapidly recovering from its toasting. “It's all locked away inside you. If I could unlock even a fraction of that potential, I'd be swimming in Nobel Prize groupies.”
“Seems like a lot for one little work excuse,” I pointed out.
“This could benefit you, too, you know. What if I could figure out how to enhance your abilities or, better yet, what if I came across what caused vampires to flame-on under the sun and could somehow block it?”
I thought about it for a few minutes. Sure, his motives weren't exactly altruistic, but he had a point. Maybe some good could come out of it, but we'd need to be really careful.
“Okay, you’ve got my attention. But only on the condition that people can't know about vampires. I'm pretty sure that would bring a world of hurt down on both of us. Believe me when I say there are some seriously scary players in this game. They would not be happy.”
“Of course not. Don't be stupid,” he said dismissively. “Besides which, I discover a way to prolong life and I'm a fucking god. I tell people it's because I'm experimenting on vampire blood and I'd find myself locked in a mental ward. Trust me, you would definitely be my silent partner ... very silent.”
“Good. Then I'll agree there might be some potential here.”
“I'll throw in an experience bonus for your character going forward,” he said, sweetening the pot.
“Deal.” Damn, I'm a cheap date.
“Coolness. Although we should probably keep this a secret between us.”
“The vampire thing or the XP bonus?”
“More of the latter, I'd say.”
Kicking Ass and Taking Names
It was nice to be able to enjoy an afternoon of gaming. It was something I had started taking for granted but, after the last couple of weeks, it was like a glorious vacation from reality ... minus the cost (or the exotic locale, open bar, and hot bikini babes ... just trying to keep things in perspective here). By the time the game broke up, a storm had moved in. I could deal with being waterlogged, as it also meant I could move about freely without fear of turning into a walking tiki torch.
Dave had written me the doctor's note I’d requested and had also typed out a pretty official-looking preliminary diagnosis on some hospital letterhead. He gave me instructions to first talk to my boss and let him direct me to HR. That way, he wouldn't get his panties in a bunch that I'd gone over his head and would thus be less likely to cause a stink. Sounded like good advice. My boss, Jim, was typical middle management in that he wasn't above a little old-fashioned brown nosing. Since he saw me in person, at most, maybe a few times a month, I was fairly confident a little ego gratification would be all I needed to grease the wheels and get this approved.
Bill The Vampire (The Tome of Bill Book 1) Page 16
