The Tome of Bill Series: Books 1-4 (Bill The Vampire, Scary Dead Things, The Mourning Woods, Holier Than Thou)

by Rick Gualtieri

  “Thanks for the visual, dude.”

  “Do you guys have any questions?” the voice from the speakerphone asked.

  “Huh?” Ed and I both replied in unison. Oh, yeah, we had forgotten all about Jim. Hopefully, he hadn’t been saying anything important.

  Ed quickly un-muted the phone and said, “Nope. I think we’re good.”

  “Awesome,” Jim replied. “Then I’ll let you guys get back to work. Keep me updated on your projects.”

  “We will,” I answered, having no idea what he was talking about. A moment later, he cut the call off from his end. Oh well, I could always tease the info out of him later with a carefully worded email. Besides, Jim was so far from the top of my priority list right then that he barely even existed.

  “Goddammit!” I cried and brought my fist down. The cheap folding table that served as our “conference room” immediately buckled, sending the phone clattering to the floor. Crap. Sometimes I forgot our furnishings weren’t built to withstand vampire-level abuse.

  “I can see that you’re having a moment, Bill,” Ed replied nonchalantly, stepping over the debris. “Coffee?”

  “Sure. Blood and cream, if you don’t mind.”

  “No prob. Regular or Baileys?”

  “The latter. It’s gonna be one of those days.”

  He nodded and walked from the room, leaving me alone with my rapidly darkening thoughts.

  I swear, when life decides to kick you in the balls, it sometimes wears metal cleats. It seemed like that had been my existence for the past year, one big haymaker to the nuts after another. Oddly enough, that timeframe coincided just about perfectly with when I was turned into a vampire.

  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to get all weepy and angst filled. I’ll leave that shit to Anne Rice. No, the reality of being a vampire isn't about sitting around for millennia, writing shitty poetry while you pine for your lost mortal existence. It’s actually far more like being stuck in high school again, except this time it's for all eternity. This is fine if you happen to be one of the jocks. It’s not nearly as much fun if you’re in the vamp equivalent of the nerd herd. The main problem was that, instead of growing up, the undead assholes running the show never matured past that stage and just ended up becoming bigger assholes as the centuries flew by.

  They’re not the only ones, either. In the past year, I had learned that there's an entire supernatural underworld that exists just outside of plain sight. Magic, monsters, and whatnot were all real ... and almost all of them were dicks, too. I know people say that absolute power corrupts, but they don’t know the half of it.

  It wasn’t all bad, though. I had good friends and powerful allies. I’m the leader of my own coven of vampires. Heck, I’m even told that amongst the undead I’m special – and not in a short bus kind of way either. Still, it’s been a rough road. Most days, the plusses have been just barely enough to keep me from opening up the curtains and embracing the sunshine.

  That’s where she came in.

  Sheila is ... err, was ... an administrative assistant at my job. I first met her about four years prior, on the very day I first interviewed there. How I actually managed to get hired, I have no idea. I spotted her when I entered the office and, it was as if everything else blanked out for me. To this day, I’m surprised that my paychecks are actually made out to William Ryder, as I’m fairly sure whatever I wrote on the job application was an incomprehensible scribble.

  Unfortunately, whatever powers dictated the concept of “love at first sight” were likewise also assholes – big surprise, huh? It hadn’t been mutual. Therefore, I spent the next few years of my mortal life barely being able to say “hi” to her. All the while, she hardly acknowledged my existence.

  Amazingly enough, my rebirth as one of the undead was actually the catalyst that helped propel our “relationship” out of the rut it was in – and probably would have stayed. No, I didn’t tell her that I’m a vampire. No bullshit Twilight love story for me. Generally speaking, announcing the existence of vampires to humans was considered a no-no, at least, if one didn’t want to find themselves on the business end of a wooden stake. Sure, my roomies, Tom and Ed, knew about it. A few of my other friends did, too. I mean, hey, even Bruce Wayne had a few people who knew that he’s Batman.

  Anyway, through a series of events that ended with me getting my ass thoroughly kicked – by vampire assassins and a douchebag wizard/marketing VP – I momentarily forgot about my many insecurities and wound up asking Sheila out for coffee. Sure, it wasn’t much, but it was practically earth-shattering progress compared to what I had managed before. Imagine my surprise when she actually said “yes.” It was amazing. At my darkest hour, she was there like a beacon of hope.

  But now, she was gone, and I couldn’t help but feel that it was my fault.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  Our fourth, and apparently last, non-date had been just a few weeks prior. On a Friday night, we had met at a café in the Village section of New York City. Normally this would’ve been a little out of the way for me. For starters, I lived in Brooklyn. Since I’m a vampire, things like working in an office during the day tended to be difficult. It’s generally pretty hard to get any work done when a stray beam of sunlight could turn you into a smoldering pile of ash. Fortunately, thanks to my doctor friend, Dave, I was able to work from home. He wrote a bullshit medical excuse that allowed me to permanently telecommute. That being said, my coven was headquartered in SoHo and I’d usually end up there on the weekends anyway...

  Oh, who am I kidding? Fuck the coven! I would’ve walked barefoot across the Sahara to spend five minutes with Sheila. If she had told me to meet her at the top of the Empire State Building at sunrise, I’d have been there in a heartbeat –metaphorically speaking, anyway.

  I had let her lead the conversation, as I usually did. Even though I’d gotten past that first hurdle of actually asking her out, I didn’t trust myself to say too many sentences in a row without stammering like a retard. Still, as our coffee encounters continued, I was pleased to find myself becoming more comfortable in her presence.

  That night, the conversation had turned, as they often did with twenty-something-year-olds, to our hopes and dreams for the future. I sputtered something to the effect of enjoying what I did and hoping that the world didn’t stop needing programmers anytime soon. It was a lie, but it was better than going off on some rant about being surrounded for all eternity by a bunch of immortals that looked and acted like spoiled underwear models.

  After I had finished, she stared at me for a few seconds. Sheila had the most stunning eyes, a soft grey color. I don’t think I could ever get tired of looking into them. After a brief pause, she replied, “I’m glad you’re happy. I don’t think there’re too many things better than earning a living off of something you enjoy.” Oh, I could think of a few. “For me, though...”

  “What?”

  “Well, I think it’s pretty obvious I’m not exactly in my dream job.”

  “Has Jim been cracking the whip?”

  “No,” she replied dismissively. “Don’t get me wrong, I like working for him. I just want ... I don’t know ... something more.”

  “That’s no surprise. Besides, what you do is just a stepping stone to something bigger.”

  “Maybe... I just don’t know if I have what it takes for whatever that something might be.”

  I laughed. She narrowed her eyes at me in response, causing me to almost choke on my latte. I quickly added, “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you. It’s just funny.”

  “What is?”

  “You do all this stuff for Jim, me, and the rest of the team. You put together the presentations, you handle all the HR crap, and you update all of our project schedules ... hell, that’s not even half of it. You keep the department running. Without you, we’d all fall flat on our faces.”

  “I doubt that.”

  “Are you kidding?” I asked incredulously. “Remember when you took those sick days last y
ear?”

  “It was a bad flu season.”

  “If you think you had it bad, you should have seen us. Jim was practically a basket case without you. Ed and I weren’t much better off, either. Nothing got done that week. I mean it. Nothing! So no offense, but to hear you question yourself is a little silly.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I echoed, meaning every word of it. She threw a smile back at me that made me want to run through the hills singing the theme from The Sound of Music. I gave my head a quick shake so I wouldn’t get lost in the moment. Nothing more jarring than to be talking about work when suddenly the bozo across from you started screaming, “GOD, I LOVE YOU!”

  Instead, I somehow managed to continue with the conversation at hand. “I’ve seen you work. You get things done where the rest of us wouldn’t have a clue. They couldn’t replace you if they tried.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.”

  “Thank you, Bill.”

  “No thanks necessary. It’s the truth and, deep down, I think you know it.”

  She looked thoughtful for a moment. In retrospect, I wouldn’t have been surprised if Future Bill had picked that exact moment to appear from out of a time machine and beat the ever-living shit out of me. If I had any part in her decision to move on, it’s there that those seeds were sown.

  Finally, she answered, “Maybe you’re right. I guess I just needed to hear it from somebody else. I have all these ideas, all these things I want to do, but sometimes it’s hard to believe in myself. When I lie awake at night, I have all these doubts about whether I really can do better.”

  “My mother always says sometimes we’re afraid to believe in ourselves until somebody else does it first.” Well, okay, I don’t recall my mom ever saying that. At the time, though, I was trying to sound supportive. Sue me for making up shit on the spot. “Just for the record, I believe in you. I believe you can do better.”

  “Seriously?” she gave me a dubious eye just in case I was joking.

  But I wasn’t. Sure, I might’ve been a little biased. Emotions can do that to a person. Hell, if she ever said, “Bill, your roommates annoy me. Can you please kill them?” I would probably gleefully walk home and go on a bloodthirsty massacre.

  Still, there was (love struck) sincerity in my voice when I answered, “You know what I see when I look at you?” Besides the most gorgeous creature to ever walk the face of this planet? “I see someone with the talent to do anything she puts her mind to. I have no doubt that you could move mountains if you decided to.”

  Again, she looked thoughtful. Her eyes got a faraway look for a few moments. Oh, if only she would wear that expression when she thought about me. For that, I’d gladly suffer an eternity of the minions of darkness using my nuts as croquet balls. Hell, I’d even tolerate Sally, my vampire partner in crime, being the one to swing the mallet. Fortunately, Sheila spoke again before that particular imagery could further solidify.

  Her eyes regained their focus, and maybe it was just me, but I could have sworn I saw a glimmer of determination in them that wasn’t there before. She nodded her head once and said, “Maybe your mom’s right. Either way, you’ve given me a lot to think about.”

  The rest of our little pseudo-date was spent talking about considerably less heavy topics, or at least I think it was. My brain had given its all just to get those thoughts out. I had no idea what I said or did, other than making puppy dog eyes at her until we went our separate ways. Sadly, I didn’t have a clue as to how separate they were about to become.

  It figured. I’d survived multiple brushes with death in the past several months, most of them at the hands of creatures far more lethal than I. Wouldn’t it figure that at the end of the day I would be my own worst enemy?

  God, I am such an asshole.

  Late For My Own Funeral

  The thing I’ve always loved about programming is that it’s purely logical. While having a passion for the job helps, at times one can shut down their emotions and type away, android-like, to get the job done. Pity I wasn’t very good at doing that. Fortunately for me, though, I had a few spare keyboards in my closet. I needed them.

  The next few hours found me trying to do my job and mostly failing. I’d be typing away when suddenly something like, “FUCK FUCK FUCK!” would come screaming out of my mouth, followed by me turning my keyboard into a mashed pile of plastic. Oh, well, at least they were cheaper than monitors.

  Ed, for the most part, left me to my misery. He realized I needed a little “me time” to cool off. As late afternoon approached, my sharp vampire ears picked up his voice from out in the living room. I couldn’t hear both sides of the conversation, but from what I could tell, he had phoned my other roommate, Tom, to let him know that it was probably not a good time to invite his girlfriend over. Ed doesn’t usually like to show it, but he can be a hell of a good guy when he wants to be.

  Sadly, the truth was, there really wasn’t such a thing as a good time for Tom to ever bring Christy over. See, she’s a witch, a real one. That in itself didn’t bother me. It was the fact that she wanted me dead that put a damper on our relationship. She and her mentor, Harry Decker – the aforementioned VP/wizard from my company – had this loony theory that I was the harbinger of doom for wizard-kind.

  They, along with all the vampires I knew, referred to me as the “Freewill.” Apparently, I’m this rare breed of vampire that can do things the others can’t. As such, there were all sorts of bizarre myths and legends surrounding me. Harry and Christy believed in one in particular that involved my existence somehow heralding the return of these other legendary creatures called Icons. Supposedly, if these Icons showed up, they’d destroy all the magic users ... yadda yadda, and other assorted bullshit.

  Personally, I couldn’t have cared less about any of that. All I knew was that Christy was the fucking Wicked Witch of the East Coast. That girl had some scary mojo about her, and she wasn’t afraid to use it against me. Tom, my oldest and dearest friend, but also a fucking idiot, decided that the best way to handle this was to make her pinky-swear not to kill me in our apartment.

  Needless to say, because of those little details, my relationship with Christy was a bit strained. Pity, because she was kind of cute.

  What? Sharks are deadly, too. Doesn’t mean they’re not fun to look at in the aquarium.

  Speaking of things that were both pretty and deadly, I was interrupted from eavesdropping by the ringing of my own cell phone. I didn’t need to look at the caller ID to know who it was. The specific ringtone, the theme from Halloween, gave it away.

  I answered with a sigh. “Hello, Sally.” It was unusual for her to bother me in the middle of the week. Typically, she was happy to let me live my life – not that I had much of one. While I was gone, she was left in charge of the coven. Hell, even when I was there, it was pretty obvious that she was calling most of the shots. For the most part, she was a competent, if scary, person to leave in charge. However, occasionally her psychotic side got the better of her and she would do something that made me want to shove her out into the sunlight.

  “Aw, what’s the matter, Bill?” she replied with her typical snide tone. “You don’t sound like your normal chipper self.”

  “I’m having a bit of a day,” I said, using my free hand to massage my temples. Talking to Sally had a habit of bringing on the migraines.

  “Well that’s good, because you’re going to have a bit of a night, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is that I think your ‘penance’ is about to be paid.”

  Oh, crap. “How so?”

  “Boston called. They said we should expect company.”

  “Who?”

  “They didn’t elaborate.”