by T. S. Ryder
“Oh, sweetie, I know what you’re going through. When my Wilmer died, believe me, oh…it was horrible.” I know what comes next, the tragic story of how her husband had died of old age, how unexpected it was even after six months in and out of the hospital. The tragic story is followed by a steady stream of tears, and instead of being comforted — not that I need any comforting — I end up comforting her. It looks like she feels sadder than I do, which makes me feel like I should be sadder than I am. But there isn’t much to be sad about, and the pressure to feel sad is getting on my nerves. Whenever I look at Penny I find her looking at me, smiling in that annoying “I feel you” way that is too saccharine for my taste.
“Penny, why don’t you head home? Isn’t your daughter visiting?”
“And leave you all alone here?”
“I know how much you love your grandson. You should go be with him, enjoy the time while he’s here.”
“No,” she says. “I can’t do that to you.”
“I’m fine, really, Penny. I just want to keep myself busy. You can repay the favor later, when I need it.”
Penny thinks for a moment and I intensify my gaze on her. “All right, all right, I’ll go. But you call me if you need anything, okay?”
“Will do, bye.”
I stand at the reception until I see Penny duck walk out of the front doors, then collapse into my seat for a few minutes. The other girl at the reception handles people while I open a notepad and randomly strike the keys on the keyboard, trying to look like I am doing something really important. I work in inventory and it is really easy to do. Most of the stuff is updated automatically through tablets. All I have to do is to check stocks, order meds and equipment, claim warranties, get things replaced, etc. It keeps me busy, so I’d say my job is pretty good.
The bustle starts to die down after about two in the morning. That’s when I notice him: a pale guy in a hoodie, head down and eyes darting from side to side, walking around purposelessly with his hands in his pockets. He is out of place in the hospital, too casual for the environment. Since the other receptionist is here, I leave my seat, pick up a clipboard from the desk and begin to follow him. I keep a safe distance from him and keep looking at my clipboard over and over again so as not to seem suspicious. The guy stops and looks around before he turns any corner. He climbs the staircase to the second floor and then takes the elevator. I can’t just get in the elevator with him or he’ll know he is being followed, so I go into another room. As soon as I hear the bell of the elevator door closing, I leap out and check where he is going. The elevator goes straight down to the basement. I call up another elevator, tapping my foot on the floor as I wait, and then hop in. There is a nurse and a patient in a wheelchair who are going up. Once they are out, the elevator descends to the basement.
The door opens on to a long corridor. All the doors here are kept locked and only people with passes can get through. A sign at the wall ahead explicitly states “No Visitors — Only Staff Allowed.” The guy is standing in the corner in front of the glass door with his back to me.
“Excuse me, can I help you?” I say. He turns, a sheepish look on his face. “This floor is only for staff. I’m gonna have to ask you to leave.”
“I am sorry,” he says. His voice is surprisingly deep and husky, not at all what you’d expect from a sneaky guy in a hoodie. “I just…”
“Out,” I say. “I don’t know why you people are so obsessed with morgues. Get out or I’ll call the security.”
“You are right,” he replies. “I just feel closer to my mother when I am here. I have never been inside the morgue…when it happened, I couldn’t. And now something keeps pulling me back here, as if she’s still there. This is stupid, I know. I am sorry.”
“Oh,” I say. “What happened?”
“She had an accident. I couldn’t bring myself to go in and identify her. I panicked and fled town, and my family was done with the funeral by the time I came back. I just feel like she’s still there. I won’t bother you again, though. I’ll just leave.”
Having nothing better to do, I decide to help him. I don’t understand the obsession because I am not close to my parents, obviously. “Just this one time I’ll let you go in and see, okay?”
“Okay,” he says, and I unlock the door and let him through. There isn’t anyone here at this time anyway. I stand outside once he goes in, keeping an eye on him. He comes out after five minutes and thanks me.
“Got your closure?”
“I suppose,” he says gratefully. “What’s your name?”
“Lola,” I reply. “Yours?”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lola. And thank you so much.” He extends his hand for me to shake. “I’m Valnoir.”
“Valnoir? That’s a strange name.”
“It’s a French name,” he says. “But I’m not French. I’m English.”
“Really? You don’t have the accent at all.”
“I was raised here.”
“Ah, nice,” I say, leading him out and closing the door behind me. The elevator has been called up, so I pressed the button and wait for it.
“You look familiar,” he suddenly says.
“Why? How?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I think I have seen you somewhere before.”
“If that’s your pickup line, it’s too cliché,” I reply dryly. “But if you want a shag, just ask for it.”
“No, I swear, not a pickup line. I really think I have seen you on TV or something.” The elevator opens and I step inside, but he presses the button to keep the doors open. “You serious about the shag part?”
***
I don’t care what he looks like and I don’t even bother really looking at him. Here is a sad man who needs comfort, and I, having resolved to help everyone, jump at the opportunity. Literally jump — that’s how badly I need to get laid. I gather all my strength and throw myself at him. He is stronger than he appears and catches me easily, pushing me against the wall and grinding his groin against me.
“You sure?” he asks. Our mouths are close, our lips brushing against each other. Grabbing the sides of his hoodie, I pull him closer and kiss him. He holds my face in his hands as he kisses me and I push mine into his pants, feeling for his manhood. He is hard and cold, which is strange. How long has it been since I last had sex? Have I forgotten whether a cock is warm or cold?
He grabs my wrist and pulls it up, bringing it to my other wrist and clasping them both in his hand. He undoes the knot of my trousers and lets them fall freely to the floor, then he places his cold hand on the sides of my stomach and gets down on his knees, pulling down my panties with his teeth.
“Ahhh!” A moan escapes my lips as he pushes two cold, wet fingers inside me. He brings his mouth close to my vulva, his tongue swirling around my labia as his fingers penetrate me fast. The cold sensation sends a shiver up my spine. He pulls out his fingers and pushes them in my mouth before I have a chance to decide whether I want them there or not. This isn’t something I have ever done before, but tasting myself shouldn’t be revolting, so I close my eyes and suckle his fingers. I picture a cock in my mouth and start sucking them intently until he pulls them out. He gets up and kisses me again, sliding three fingers inside me this time. My arms are above my head, under his forearm. His mouth is on mine, his fingers inside me. Then he pushes in a fourth finger and starts moving his hand faster. There is a burning sensation inside me, a strange feeling I’ve never had before. His fingers are going deeper. He stops the motion of his hand while kissing me eagerly and then curls his fingers, massaging my clitoris with his thumb. He hits my G-spot and my body tenses and shivers as I orgasm. He gets back down on his knees and places his cold mouth on my pussy, sucking in all the juice he can. As my body relaxes, he licks my pussy and wipes it clean, then pulls up my trousers and knots them again.
“Enjoy that?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I pant. He turns to walk towards the elevator.
“Wait, le
t me finish you off.”
“I don’t fuck in hospitals,” he says casually.
“What? What do you want to do then?”
“Nothing. I am gonna leave.”
“I could give you head if you want.”
“Like I said, I don’t do it in hospitals.”
“Where do you do it, then?”
He comes close to me and says, “At my home,” kissing me on the forehead. “In my bed,” he whispers, kissing me on the lips. “Slowly,” he says, nibbling my ear, making me shiver.
“Is that an invitation?”
“If you want it to be,” he says.
We get back in the elevator and I walk him to the exit gate.
“See you around,” he says, with a boyish grin. I am not sure whether it is a question or not. I am not sure whether I want to see him again either. But the dude knows how to work his mouth!
Chapter Four - Valnoir
Monday
I leave through the main door, the taste of Lola’s honeypot in my mouth and her access card in my pocket. I find a bench outside in a dark corner, near the parking lot, and perch myself on it. I like how Lola tasted, and she smelled nice too. There was something very familiar about her. I feel like a hero in one of those sappy movies who gets the feeling that he knows the woman and falls in love. I’m not in love with Lola. I know there isn’t anything like love at first sight, or at all — being alive for three centuries teaches you that. I’m waiting for her to leave, and as I do, I can't stop thinking about her familiar face: her big, brown, almond shaped eyes; her oval shaped face; her slightly stubbed nose; her faintly pink lips. She hadn’t smiled even once in the time I’d spent with her, hadn’t looked at me. It felt weird and degrading somehow. How can a girl you are hooking up with not care about what you look like? Isn’t it all about looks and money these days? She certainly wasn’t getting any money from me. And then I find myself rather unsettled when I start thinking that maybe she didn’t give a shit about me. How could that be? Why was it that she hadn’t even replied when I’d said, ‘See you soon’? Not that I intended to see her again.
It is four in the morning when she leaves. I see her walk out in her casual clothes, a shawl wrapped around her to fend off the morning chill. Her straight, jet black hair flies in all directions and she tries pushing it out of her face unsuccessfully, then wraps her shawl around her head like a Hijabi woman. She seems like a creature of a different kind in the way she does things. She doesn’t look around, but heads straight towards the bus station. I see her get on the bus and keep my eyes fixed on her until the bus disappears into the distance.
Then I pull my hood lower to hide my face, and go back into the hospital, careful not to get noticed. Taking the elevator down to the basement, I use her access card to enter the corridor opposite the morgue, where the blood bank is. I pull out a cold packet from the fridge and tear off the top, then stand with my back against the wall and sip, relishing the taste. I wonder who the blood belonged to, which makes me wonder if humans think about where the water they drink comes from. I don’t realize how thirsty I am until I have downed three packets of blood. Then I realize I haven't brought a bag with me, so I stuff as many packets as I can into my shirt and make for the back exit, knowing I’ll have to come back again.
The night is over by the time I step outside the hospital. You can’t tell, because the sky is still dark, but I can feel it in the way that only a vampire can. There’s this hot feeling on your skin, like the one you get when you step outside an air-conditioned room during summer. I make straight for the Fort before the sun can rear its ugly head, deposit the blood packs in the blood bank and go straight to bed. We don’t really sleep, we just lie in our beds with our eyes closed or open. Gone are the days of having to sleep in coffins, although I believe some vampires still do that. The Fort doesn’t let the sun in, so you can keep earth hours too if you want, although you can’t leave during the daytime, so anyone who does that has to just stay inside the walls of the Fort.
The sleep time is a sort of self-induced stupor. You turn off the lights, get into bed and embrace the darkness. You can either keep your mind empty and not think about anything as time passes, or you can think about life and all that. I usually don’t think about anything because there isn’t much for me to think about, but today I think about her. In my dark room, all I see is her beautiful face swishing past me over and over. Oddly enough, this face is smiling, but I know it isn’t real, because Lola hadn’t smiled even once.
When I wake up, it’s around eight in the evening. I take a shower to wash my hair and wipe the dust off my skin — there’s no need to shower otherwise, as we don’t stink or shed skin. Instead of the robber look of the previous night, I get dressed properly. Pairing black jeans with a dark maroon shirt, I finish the look with a blazer and check myself out in the mirror. I put on some cologne as well, just in case things get hot. All this is just to make sure I get Lola’s interest. For someone who’s had more than their fair share of women, it is very unnerving to find one who doesn’t fancy you. Perhaps the new look will make her swoon, who knows. It isn’t like I am making all this effort for her attention, though. I do need to go and rob the blood bank today.
I take the car and reach the hospital at about eleven. The hospital seems busy, as usual, but there aren’t too many people there, nothing like last night. My eyes immediately dart towards the desk and search for Lola. I can’t see her at first, but then I notice her lying back in her chair behind the desk, hidden behind two fat receptionists. Her eyes are closed and it appears that she has drifted into another world, but I can’t go to her just yet. I get the backpack out of my car, head for the back entrance and make straight for the blood bank. Filling the bag to the brim, I run back and empty it in the ice-filled trunk of my car, then go back for a second round. You can’t rob too much from the same bank or they increase the security, so I stop after two rounds. I light a cigarette and pace around the hospital. Across from the bus station is a giant billboard: a hot Asian woman wearing a black silk dress is lying on a couch, a perfume in her hands. It’s Mayumi May, with her stupid perfume that costs a fortune, and I wonder whether people pay for the fragrance or her face. Victoria, my sister, loves that perfume, though.
At around one in the morning, I go straight through the doors to Lola. I have a plan. I’m on top of my game.
“Hello,” I say, leaning over the desk.
She’s sitting there reading some magazine. Without a glance, she points to the side, towards the other receptionists.
“Hello, I am Penny Morgan. How may I help?” asks an old lady.
“I’m here for her,” I say.
“There’s a man here to see you, Lola,” Penny says. She winks at me and gives Lola the ‘you-got-a-date’ look. Lola puts down the magazine and looks at me impatiently, ready to get back to her magazine. It’s really offensive that she finds the magazine more interesting than me, when I’m pretty sure I blew her mind last night.
“What?” Lola says.
“Hi!” I say.
She makes an annoyed face, shaking her head slightly, her hair swishing. “What can I help you with, and who are you?”
I gesture with a finger for her to come closer, and whisper in her ear, “We were in the basement last night, remember?”
She looks at me, eyes me up and down as if appraising me. A surprised look crosses her face for a second, then disappears behind a scowl. “What are you doing here? Why are you here?”
“I just came back to give you this,” I say, returning her card.
“That’s good of you, thanks. I owe you one.”
“Well, would you like to go for coffee with me?”
“I am working, sorry,” she says.
“I could bring it here and we could sit in my car and drink. Does that work?”
She looks at Penny, who is blushing for her, as if her maiden daughter has finally found a man and she couldn’t be happier. “I can manage, you go,” she says.
“I’ll go get the coffee,” I say, making a run for the nearest Starbucks.
Chapter Five - Lola
Tuesday
When I look at him, the first thing that comes to my mind is ‘Fuck, he’s gorgeous! A freaking British prince.’ Short, dark blonde hair, almost porcelain white skin with a light stipple of blue veins visible underneath, golden stubble on his chiseled jaw and lips so pink it looks like he is wearing a lipstick. Dang, how had I missed looking at that face so completely? I realize Penny is talking to me.
“What?”
“I was asking who he is?” she says.
“Who is who?”
“The guy who was here.”
“Oh, he’s just a guy I know. I met him last night, that’s all.”
“It didn’t look like that was all,” she says, begging for details.
“I am afraid that really is all. Drop it, Penny.”
I see him walk in with two coffees in a tray. Leaving my desk, I get up to join him, and we walk out into the parking lot and find a bench.
“What did you tell me your name was? Waldo?”
“Wow,” he says, pouting. “Valnoir.”
“Oh yeah, yes.”
“So, what’s your deal?” he says.
“What do you mean?”
“What’s with your ‘I don’t care about anything in the world’ attitude?”
“I don’t have that attitude,” I state. “I am a very busy person, so stop assuming things.”
“Okay, okay,” he says, holding up his hands. “Don’t kill me with your death stare.”
“Let’s finish this quickly, I’m cold.”
“Well, we can go sit in my car.”
“It’s fine here,” I tell him.
“Come on,” he pleads, grabbing my hand. “My car has comfortable seats.” I don’t resist and just follow him. When we get inside, he turns on the heater. The panel in the front of his Mercedes lights up, casting a blue light over us.
