I looked into the back seat and shook my head as I looked at my unexpected passenger, at the look of complete trust on her face, even after seeing me as I truly am: the ancient breed of monster that haunts the nightmares of children and adults, alike. The one they reassure themselves can’t be real, the one that’s only found in movies and television, a creature from the realms of fantasy that doesn’t really exist and can’t hurt them. The kind that psychologists claim is only a symbol of some deeply repressed issue with their sexuality.
Just keep telling yourselves that. It makes the hunt that much more fun for me.
A human child – in my car. Oh, joy! I could hear her heartbeat slowing to an easy rhythm as she fell even more deeply into the comfort of sleep. The warm scent of her living blood was thick and sweet in the confined space, so I opened a window to try to escape it, to keep my head clear and able to think. It was all I could do to not crawl out of the window and run off into the sheltering night.
I turned on the radio and as quickly turned it off again. A familiar and strangely appropriate Boingo song was playing, and I really wasn’t in the mood to listen.
It was only with extreme effort that I finally wrestled my face back into its mask. My throat felt impossibly dry, even though I had recently fed till I was sated, and the dark part of me whispered reasonably that I could easily slake that maddening thirst with what was close to hand.
Despite my knowing in my dead heart that this was only a child, little Miss Megan was in the same amount, if not more danger any other human was from me. Fortunately, I have scruples, unlike some others of my kind, who would have treated her as little more than a convenient juice box and then discarded her corpse. I beat back the thirst as much as I could, reminding myself that I had indeed fed earlier and that my response wasn’t need, but sheer greed.
I don’t normally deal much with living humans in an enclosed space, and especially in such close quarters as the interior of my car. It can be difficult in the District Attorney’s office at times, but I’ve learned how to control myself in such public places and to keep the windows open to dissipate as much of their scent as possible. The courtroom is more of a battle for me, with its judge, bailiff, clerk, other staff and sometimes even jurors, but I’ve come to consider that to be an ongoing test of sorts. I also feed as heavily as possible before confronting that particular ordeal. It makes it a little easier to ignore that oh-so-reasonable voice in my head.
Of course, Fred’s safe from me, because my senses don’t accept him as possible food, thus he acts as the very necessary buffer between me and the outside world as much as possible. That overwhelming need for self-preservation keeps my mask carefully in place – well, except for tonight’s little surprise.
I could count on the fingers of one hand how many times humans had been in my car and lived to tell about it. My car is another thing entirely. My car is just that. Mine. And my true self knows it and has at times responded accordingly. The last was a foolish human who thought it would be fun to carjack the well-dressed red-headed guy in the cool little old sports car. If he hadn’t stabbed me, I might have let him live, but that black leather jacket had been a gift, damn it!
My pretty little old sports car? An old Porsche Carrera convertible. I had found it in the classified ads a couple years ago as a rebuilding prospect. I’d found most of what I needed so far to fix her up, but the right rear quarter panel still needed some work. Messing with Bondo just isn’t my forte, as I’ve never been much of an artist. I’m more the slap it on and hope for the best kind of vampire. This doesn’t lend itself very well to recreating the gentle curves of a car’s body.
In addition to salvage yards, The Benz Bin, an online auto parts site for German cars, had been a godsend of sorts, offering a lot of genuine parts for Graciela, as I called her. She was drivable, but she wasn’t going to win any races. At least the insurance on the little beast was cheap. That was a quiet little blessing.
There’s this fantasy put forth in books, television and movies that vampires all have lots of money and spendy little things for which they give little care, apparently having the ability to replace them on a whim. It’s pure bullshit, really. Money’s as tight with me as with most humans, and I don’t throw it around needlessly. Otherwise, I’d have gotten myself a car that wasn’t already halfway to the junk yard when I took her in.
Fred had been in my car more than a few times over the past two and a half years, but then, he was completely safe because my nose told me he wasn’t human, and it was human blood I craved. His last serious drunk had ended with him worshipping the porcelain god in my nearly unused bathroom, and my dog cringing in the corner when Fred flashed some fang and growled at her when she got a bit too friendly with him. I’d bundled him into my car and driven him back to his Boyle Heights apartment, so my dog could have some peace and quiet. I’d put bouquets of flowers into my car and home as soon as I could manage, to chase away the stench of alcohol and sweat. Yeah, I know. It doesn’t sound very he-mannish, but then, I can’t abide the smell of artificial scent products.
I suppose the next question is how a vampire gets valid personal identification information like a Driver’s License when their birth certificate is really just a notation in a family Bible lost a sometime in the distant past. Well, I could tell you that, but if I did, I’d have to kill you.
No, really. I’d have to.
My mind kept going back to this evening’s surprises. Why was this mysterious vampire keeping company with a human? It’s not as if a vampire can use a human “friend” as a periodic snack bar. It’s the bite that turns a human, no matter how small. One sip from this “Pat”, and Megan’s Mom would be dancing the Night Fantastic. No blood exchange is needed. Another thing Stoker tanked badly, when you think about it.
Once the skin is broken by a vampire’s teeth, or an open wound is touched by a vampire’s tongue, it’s only a matter of time until the human is turned or dies in the process, much like turned, rather than born werewolves. That’s the reason I kill my meals before I eat, or destroy the body enough afterward to prevent a vampiric resurrection of sorts. Previously dead bodies don’t turn, and a severed spine also prevents the pitter patter of baby vampire feet. If I didn’t, they’d be either dead or a new vampire within a week’s time.
Soft noises behind me ripped me from my reverie and back into the here and now, as Megan had started mumbling in her sleep and writhing on the back seat. Pulling over, I could hear the child’s heart beginning to race as whatever night terror chased her through her dreams, and found myself reaching a hand back to touch her forehead, murmuring soothing noises in my throat, willing her to calm. Her eyes flew open and she clutched at my arm like a tiny tick.
“Hey, Megan, it’s all right, honey. Try to get back to sleep,” I told her, willing a reassuring smile onto my face. She clambered into the front seat and into my lap so fast, I wondered if she was part monkey and caught myself checking for a tail. Shapeshifters did come in all shapes and sizes, I’d found in my many years of UnLife.
Megan climbed into the front passenger seat, locking the seatbelt around her, continuing to look at me all the while. It was obvious that sleep wasn’t part of the program anymore. “Do you live far from here?”
“Not too terribly far, Megan. I wanted to let you know that I have a big dog at home. Are you afraid of dogs?”
“No! I love dogs!” was her quick response. For some reason, the thought of a dog at my place was a good thing for her. If it kept her quiet and happy, I was all for it.
“My dog is really big, Megan, and hasn’t been around a lot of…people. Give her a little bit of time to get to know you and I’m quite sure you’ll be friends,” I told her. Marguerite the dog would, I’m sure, be quite puzzled at having a human in the house. I’d had the occasional service person by to fix plumbing, install the cable television or other utilities, and at those times, I’d kept her in another room, so as to make her more sensitive to the difference in the smell of humans, which she hadn’t really been around since she was a tiny pup.
I pulled back onto the road and we continued to my home in silence. Megan reached out a hand and covered the back of my own. I know that my skin was very cool, but she appeared to have been familiar enough with this “Pat” vampire often enough to be comfortable with my unnaturally cold flesh. For some reason, she seemed to be taking comfort in that contact. She tightened her fingers over my own momentarily as I pulled into the driveway. The sun was starting to make an appearance on the horizon, and my body was crying out for rest.
I could hear the dog snuffling at the bottom of the door. I knew she could smell the little girl and wanted to get up close and personal with her. This was going to be an interesting meeting, to say the least. Putting a cautionary hand on Megan’s shoulder to hold her back, I opened the front door and suddenly found the dog’s huge paws on my chest as she tried to push past me.
Megan made a soft noise in her throat and the dog jammed herself between my side and the door and went straight to the little girl, who held herself very still.
The dog, nearly half as tall as the girl, took several deep sniffs of Megan’s face and clothing, and then gave her face a tentative lick. Megan wrapped her arms around the dog’s neck and I watched a fast friendship form. It truly surprised me. Perhaps the dog could smell something of what the girl had endured, but I really had no idea.
“Uh, Megan…I need to get inside and get some rest,” I said quietly. She looked up at me and pursed her lips, her eyes thoughtful.
“Yeah, Pat stayed over a couple times. I should have thought more. I’m sorry I’m so much trouble,” she apologized to me.
“Megan, you don’t need to apologize,” I replied. I scooped her up into my arms and carried her inside, Marguerite the dog dancing alongside me as we entered my darkened home.
Once I stepped inside, away from prying eyes, my face relaxed into its normal features. It was a natural thing for me to do, and then I remembered Megan and cursed myself for a fool. I waited for her sharp intake of breath, any expression of shock or fear. It never came.
Instead, Megan reached out a hand to touch my cheek. Just like that. No hesitation or anything like it. Her hand drew down my cheekbone and ended at the corner of my mouth. Then she leaned in and kissed me. I don’t think I’d ever experienced a gentle touch to my face when I looked like this. I’d certainly never been kissed. It grabbed at my heart and caused a depth of feeling I hadn’t experienced since I was alive.
She wriggled out of my grasp and down to the floor once more, putting an arm around an ecstatic Marguerite.
“It’s okay, Mr. Reese. Go rest. I’ll be okay till you wake up.” Then her face grew dark and serious. Even deadly.
“And then we find out who hurt my family.”
