by Steven Luna
“No. I have… my eyes are – ” Before I could stop her, she reached up and removed my Ray Bans. There they were, naked to the world: my totally open pupils, drowning out the colored rings that used to surround them. Huge and dilated, two empty holes leading into the middle of my head. I felt like she was staring into me, like I was totally exposed without my shades.
“Ah – I thought that’s what it was. You’re a vampire.”
Shit. I’ve been made.
I went into full denial mode. “A what? A vampire? No that’s just… that’s just crazy. Crazy.” I sounded like my brother’s skank.
She shook her head. “No, it’s not. I can tell completely; you’re a vampire.” She smiled a little, just enough for her own fangs to show. “Just like me.”
So I guess the night shift won’t be quite the opportunity for laying low that I thought it would.
Dammit.
POST 24
Another One Bites
I’m a little ooked about being pointed out as a vampire, even by another vampire, bookish and harmless though she may be. I don’t think of This as some sort of secret society with special hats and a complicated handshake, something mysterious and prestigious to belong to like the Masons or the Kardashians. But it does seem logical that there are others around here besides me. If there’s a chance that Don picked up the pace of his changings after he found out it worked on me, then there must be an abandoned boxcar’s worth of drug-addicted vampire hobos running around town just shitting themselves silly. And I hope to meet exactly none of them in my lifetime. If, for some unforeseen reason I ever do, I’d be more than willing to throw them whatever I have in my wallet – as long as it’s smaller than a ten. But I sure as hell don’t want to chat with them about being a vampire over a breakfast of Marlboros and Wild Turkey.
I’m a hard-ass by no means, but my compassion has its limits.
Having gotten used to everyone’s failure to notice my altered features, it was pretty freaky to have someone notice all of it so easily – even if she happens to have the same features. I mean, I know all the tell-tale signs myself, now that they’ve made themselves at home all over me, and I’ve never noticed anyone else who struck me as particularly vampirish. Maybe if I looked a little closer or paid more attention to people I might find vampires milling about all over the damn place – and more than just the hobo junkies. But the phenomenal ignorance of others coming from both directions has kept me protected from it. I don’t look for them; they don’t seem to see me. I’ve been in my own happy avoidance bubble that no one has had enough interest in to burst. Despite my bitching, I really liked it that way.
Then Louise plopped down beside me and popped the damn thing, in the course of one lousy exchange.
“You’re still pretty new to it, aren’t you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Of course you are, poor thing… you don’t look like you’ve even fed on a human yet.” She was talking to me like we were old friends. We hadn’t even become new friends.
“And you have?”
“Mmm-hmm. Only a few times, though. It’s not really for me.”
She wasn’t bragging about it, but I got the feeling she wasn’t bullshitting me, either. “Maybe I have, too. How can you tell that I haven’t?”
She squinted and slid her glasses down. “You’re too thin. And pale. Feeding from a human puts a little color back in your cheeks, and a little soul back in your bones. It also causes deep emotional scars for both you and your host. It’s best to find a volunteer, if possible, someone with a strong sense of self who’s willing to bond with you in such a permanent manner in spite of the risks.” I thought of Hube’s offer. I guess he had the right idea. “Still and all, it’s a huge commitment and one I’m not open to sharing with anyone on a permanent basis. So I feed on chickens now.”
“Chickens? Like, live ones?”
“Live ones, yes.” A step beyond my nauseating raw beef fetish, I’d say. “I raise them myself, in a little coop in my back yard. It’s a perfect middle ground. I can use the whole animal – the blood, the flesh and the eggs.” And then she told me she makes soup from the bones and gives the feet to a Chinese folk healer in her neighborhood in exchange for vitamin treatments. Nothing goes to waste except the beaks. She even uses the feathers to stuff hand-made pillows. “How’s that for green living?”
Repulsive – thanks for asking. “Quite a system you’ve got there.”
“It really is. I only do this with the hens, though – the thought of putting something called a cock in my mouth just doesn’t sit well.” She made me laugh; that was unexpected. It had been a while. “And you? What do you use?”
Tit for tat, I guess. I’d already been called out. It would be difficult to skirt the truth now. “Steaks. I like steaks. The bloodier the better.”
“Ahh… a beef eater. Very nice. Masculine.” That’s not something I hear often. “Any cut in particular?”
“Whatever’s on sale, mostly.” I think she was trying to win me over, and from what I could tell she was being sincere about wanting to know more. But I’m sort of determined to not have This become the topic of idle chatter, even with another vampire, so I resisted giving too much information. I did check into her head, though, just to see if she had some hidden motive behind the interest. But I couldn’t read her thoughts. Her grimace told me she knew that I was trying, and that she wasn’t too pleased about it.
That must be against the Vampire Code of Ethics or something.
“Well, I’ll tell you this much about feeding from people: be careful who you choose, even if it is someone you trust. There are so many diseases out there these days.” Diseases? She sucks the blood out of chickens. Hasn’t she heard about H1N5? “And there are people who seek us out and take advantage of us, people who like the excitement of being bitten. It gives them a sick sexual thrill. They’re called… ” and she leaned in and whispered, “… sucker fuckers. Sorry for the swearing.” Not a problem, Louise. “Not that I call them that, but that’s what I’ve heard others call them. They’re sort of like vampire groupies. Watch out for them; they don’t have our best interests at heart.”
Just Say No To Sucker Fuckers. Got it. “I’m not a very social guy these days. I think I’ll be okay.”
“You? But you’re so handsome; you’re bound to attract one sooner or later.” I know she was trying to win me over with that one, but not in a cougar-on-the-prowl kind of way. More in a making-me-feel-good-about-myself-because-I-obviously-didn’t kind of way.
I’m not ashamed to say that it kind of worked.
But it didn’t make me comfortable enough to just open up to her. I didn’t even know her. “Listen, I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but I don’t think – “
“What am I trying to do? I’m just making conversation with a fellow darkened soul, that’s all.” Darkened soul? It may be slightly more poetic than the dialogue in the Nightfall films, but that’s the same romantic flavor everyone wants to throw on this vampire trip.
That’s the shit I can’t stand.
“I really don’t feel comfortable talking about this so casually.”
“Even with Another?” And yes – the way she said it, it was capitalized. That must be part of the Code, too. “Why not? You should get used to it. Better to have someone to talk about it with – someone who’s been through the same thing – than to carry it alone. It’s going to be a part of you for a very long time.”
“That doesn’t mean I have to let it rearrange my whole life.” Not like she seemed to have done.
“Of course you don’t,” she agreed. “But not talking about it isn’t going to make it any less real. It happened; it’s here. Why not let it be a part of who you are?”
A part of who I am? It’s becoming the only thing I am. No way am I going to admit that, though, to her or anyone else who might catch on to the dirty vampire laundry I have stuffed in my personal hamper. “Because I’m determined not to let it.”
“But you
can’t deny that it happened, or push it aside like it’s some sort of bad habit. It’ll find a way to come through – it always does.” Sounds like she was familiar with the downward spiral. “Give it a little room; let it breathe, and it’ll settle into place. Fight it, and it’ll knock you down when you least expect it. You’re only fooling yourself if you think you can’t hide from it.”
“You mean, like you? Hiding out here with your books and your tea?”
“What do those have to do with anything?” Nothing, really. I just didn’t have anything substantial to throw back at her. “I’d be reading and drinking chai even if I wasn’t a vampire. And knitting – I knit, too. And I volunteer at a food pantry, and I take Latin dance classes. I’m still living my life the way I want, without letting my being a vampire be any more significant than any other part. But I don’t deny it, either. I respect it, and it respects me. No lying to myself, and no hiding.”
“So you work the night shift in an office with about seven other people, and you don’t think you’re hiding? Not even a little bit?” So rude of me.
“Night is a more comfortable environment for me – that’s all. I don’t have to worry about all the extra physical pain. At the age I’ve been since I was changed, I try to mitigate that by any means possible. And the extra money is nice. But I’m certainly not hiding.”
She was waiting for me to share more, or to sympathize, or to uncork my bottle of shit and let it pour. But I’m not there yet, and I’m not going to be pushed there by someone who just wants another vampire to commiserate with. I also didn’t want to be a total ass about it. I do have to work with the woman. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll take it under consideration.” It struck me at that moment that if she was a vampire, and I was a vampire, and we both preferred working nights for whatever reasons we did, maybe we weren’t alone. How many more were going to poke their heads into my TV Land evenings wanting to rap about their fangs or their death farts? If my solitude was in even greater jeopardy, I had to know. “So are there others here… around the office?”
“No, no others. Just us.” She fixed an eye on me in a manner that said she knew I’d be asking other questions eventually. “But there was only me before you came along; who knows how many there’ll end up being when people find out all you have to do is push a button every two hours.” Not only did she know my vampire secret, she knew my Job Fit for a Slacker secret, too.
What can I say?
That softened me a little.
“I won’t tell if you won’t,” I offered. “Maybe we can keep this night shift deal between us, and hang on to our privacy a little longer. What do you think?” It was more than a pact between misfits, if it was that at all. It was really my way of saying, “I don’t want to talk about This, even if you do; please respect my choice.” She seemed like a nice lady, and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But after everything that’s happened in the past few weeks, I haven’t made anything close to a social rebound yet. I don’t know how far I am from wanting to interact with regular people again, let alone another “darkened soul”. I’m just not ready to make that much of a concession to my vampiring. But I do have questions.
Questions even Google can’t answer for me.
Best to leave the door open just a crack.
She smiled in a way that said ouch, but she finally took the hint. “Okay; you win. I’ll go back to my books and my chai and my afghan. Nice meeting you, Joe.” She drifted back over to her desk. “If you’re ever curious about wink-wink, you just let me know. I’ll be right over there, living the dream.”
“Thanks, Louise. I may take you up on that someday.” Not today, though.
And probably not tomorrow, either.
But maybe someday.
POST 25
Louise
At first, working with another vampire – especially one who could have stood in for my mother – made me question my choice in job reassignments. Not that she was threatening or overbearing. Just present. She would throw me a knowing glance when I walked in each night, but she stayed with her books and her yarn balls, and I kept my ear buds firmly planted from the time I started till the moment I left. It’s been a solid few weeks now, and I’ve been trying to open my mind a little more. But the idea of gossiping about things like how to slake your blood thirst without killing people in the process still doesn’t sit too well with me. Those Google-less questions keep cropping up, though, and I’m not one to let the curiosity monkey ride on my back for very long. I’m not proud of my Need to Know, but I sure am a sucker for information. Don has his addictions; I have mine. And I held out as long as I could.
But I finally caved.
Turns out it wasn’t such a bad thing.
I find that the more I talk to Louise, the easier it is to deal with everything. And I get the feeling Louise is happy to have someone around the office to talk to about this stuff, too. She’s not shouting it from the rooftops, but she doesn’t seem too shy to chat about it in the break room. Maybe because there’s only the two of us in there at the time. I’m still not convinced that This should be the topic of casual conversations, and even though I’m reluctantly taking her advice and letting it be a part of me, I’m staying pretty guarded about it. It’s a personal matter, and other than Hube I hadn’t discussed the particulars with anyone. And no offense to Louise, but it feels like I’m talking to a much kinder, more reasonable version of my mother sometimes. So there’s that neurotic hurdle to get over. But she’s the one who brought it up in the first place, so I figure she can lead the charge for our discussions. Mostly I just listen while she talks, but sometimes I’ll pick her brain. And it’s quite a brain to pick.
The woman knows a hell of a lot more than I do about This.
I haven’t asked her age, but she looks like she’s in her mid-fifties or so. I know that means nothing, since aging is somewhat suspended for us. But she’s been a vampire longer than I have, so she’s figured out how to deal with a lot. She’s come up with all kinds of solutions to things I’m just starting to work on, such as:
• Carrots and beets, eaten whole or in juice form, will add color to a pale complexion
• Contact lenses with transitional properties can help dull the sharpness of all light, indoors or outdoors; get the colored ones and you can put back the iris in whatever color you want
• UV protective fabrics can minimize sun damage, but not for extended periods, so be sure to carry something else to cover up with
• Hydrogen peroxide is a hell of a warrior in the battle against fabric-based blood stains
And, best of all:
• Coconut water can serve as a blood substitute. Sort of.
The last one was huge for me. I’ve tried it, and while it doesn’t provide the same zing as a 20 ounce porterhouse, it makes me feel pretty balanced and leveled-out without always having to have raw meat handy. It lifts away much of my hazy lethargic veil, that living-on-too-little-sleep sluggishness that has become a regular part of my life. And because they market the stuff as a health drink, it’s all over GNC and way easy to get ahold of. Good information to have. So our chats have been quite a learning experience. I’ve been missing my Me Time, though. I still have four seasons of Saved by the Bell to get through before those kids head off for their college years.
But I guess this stuff is slightly more important than catching up with Jessie and Slater. They are the nineties, after all.
Louise is the now.
Even more than helping sort out the day-to-day of everything, she’s been a wealth of information about the vampire Big Picture – where it starts, where it might end up, and what you do to get through it all. She’s pretty comfortable discussing it from every angle, kind of a Know Thy Enemy approach. She’s effectively been able to turn her enemy into a friend, which isn’t an easy thing to do.
My enemy is still an intrusive stranger camped on my love seat, openly scratching his balls and hogging the remote.
The other night we
were comparing sleep habits when I brought up the topic of being changed. It’s impossible that everyone would end up this way as the result of a poorly-communicated group date invitation; that’s pretty much just a “me” thing, I bet. I wondered who she’d come across in her own life generous enough to give her this shitty gift. “My ex-husband. He bit me one night while we were making love. Just sank his teeth right in, above my clavicle. He didn’t even ask me first. That’s a vampire for you. Fem-pires are much more considerate.”
fem-pire (FEHM-pyr), n.: The empowered modern female equivalent of a male vampire.
I have man-pire; she has fem-pire. I guess I’m not the only one adding vocabulary words to the vampire dictionary. “So he changed you; who changed him?”
“A woman in his carpool,” she sighed, “during their affair.” Yikes. Sensitive territory, but she stayed steady and sober about the whole thing. “She did ask him, and he said it sounded like fun… but I never saw any holes on his neck. I’m pretty sure she bit him on the penis.” Holy. Freaking. Moly. That’s a painful erotic twist I had never considered. “He thought biting was some kind of sex game. Can you imagine?”
Apparently, when under the influence of sake, I can.
“After twelve days of nearly crapping his brains out through his intestines, I think he realized it was no game. Then his features started showing up, and a few weeks later he changed me. Three months after that, he left. He told me I was becoming a monster, as if he wasn’t the one who made me that way. He didn’t want to spend the rest of eternity with someone so frigid.” Wow. “That was eight years ago, and I haven’t seen him since.”
She may have made peace with it, but hearing her describe it I could tell it hadn’t fully scarred over. “Sorry, Louise. He sounds like a real asshole.”
She brushed off my pity. “It was bound to fail at some point. Relationships between vampires never work out. It’s bad enough when only one of you is cold and soulless; with two, it’s just a houseful of misery that never resolves itself. You’re always trying to outdo each other with your own suffering. No one has a chance to be happy then. And the sex… well, he was right about me being frigid. But so was he – and it wasn’t for lack of desire on either of our parts.” The mother-talk neurosis kicked in and almost shut down my brain right about then. “It was a failure of physiology, and physics. There’s not a chance that frozen flesh against frozen flesh will cause anything close to a pleasurable sexual friction. It’s like rubbing ice cubes together and hoping for fire.” Now there’s a nasty little image that I’ll never be able to forget: Mr. and Mrs. Louise, ice-fucking. “No; if you’re going to bring something cold to the table, someone else has to bring something warm. It’s the yin and yang of everything, true in life, death – even un-death.”
