by T. A. Staver
huh?” He let his arms drop back down. “What can I say? I’ve never met another vampire before. I didn’t know what the niceties were.”
“Well, you’re all set if you get invited to a wedding or attend a funeral.” My smile vanished. “Do you think that Abarran will come back? I don’t particularly want to meet him again.”
“I don’t know. I can’t feel his presence anymore, so I’m assuming he’s gone back to where ever it is he came from. I don’t like him, but I don’t wish him harm. I just hope he stays away and I don’t have to make a decision as to whether to fight him or not. In a fight or flight situation, I’m usually a fight type of guy. I seriously don’t know if I could beat him.”
“What are you talking about? You have at least three hundred pounds on the guy.” I had presumed that Chuck could mop the floor with the little runt.
“Rodger, he’s two hundred years old. He radiated a sense of superiority that is hard to describe. His presence irritated me, but it also made me know how that coyote felt. It was all I could do to not submit to him. But when he threatened you, that pissed me off, and then I knew how the wolf felt. Maybe I wouldn’t win, but I wasn’t going to take any crap from him.” Chuck looked at the floor. “He caused me to have very conflicting emotions.” He looked up at me. “I am very glad that I don’t have a strong connection to him. He could use me like his personal puppet and I wouldn’t be able to do a thing about it.”
I could tell that the idea of Abarran controlling his will scared Chuck. Having Abarran do whatever he pleased with any aspect of my life made me weak in the knees just to think about. I doubt that there was much humanity in his personality before he became a vampire. Two hundred years of killing humans removed any semblance of caring about anything other than his next source of blood.
“Allow me to change the subject,” I said. “What are your thoughts about the whole ‘I-can-kill-you, fear-me, tastes-great’ idea? Why would that make any difference whatsoever in the…nutritional value of the blood you drink?”
Chuck rubbed his chin in a cliché of thoughtfulness. “I think it has to do with the black magic, demonic aspect of the vampire curse. If you think about it, most of the black magic spells you read about in literature feature some form of blood sacrifice. It also seems to me that in any story I’ve heard about humans interacting with demonic figures, there is fear. I think that demon magic requires fear as much as blood. It could be thought of as feeding twice: once by blood and again psychically.”
I thought that sounded very close to the truth. I remembered the response I got every time I was frightened in the meeting with Abarran. He could sense my fear. And he reacted like a shark smelling blood.
“So, if someone didn’t fear you, would that affect how you reacted to that person?” I was working on an idea.
Chuck paused. “I haven’t thought of that, but that would be logical. If there is anything logical about the supernatural, that is.”
“Okay, try this on for size: a truly religious person wouldn’t have a fear of death, so wouldn’t be afraid of dying by a vampire’s hand. In that case, the blood from a religious person, such as a priest, wouldn’t be filling. Could it be that the fear from religious objects comes from an evolutionary step to avoid blood that can’t feed a vampire?”
“Hmm, no, I think it comes from the fact that an institution like the Catholic Church has the ability to counteract the supernatural. Fight fire with fire, if you will.” Chuck rubbed his chin again. “There would be no reason to kill a religious person, other than for spite or self-defense. If other vampires are anything like me, there isn’t a desire to kill something just to kill it. I only have the desire to feed, which causes me to kill. Of course, if a vampire was like Abarran, all bets are off. He was a psychopath before he became a vampire.” Chuck caused my chair to groan in protest as he leaned back in thought. “I’ll have to think about this idea some more. Thanks Rodger, I knew I could count on you for some mental bone to chew on.”
I yawned. “Chuck, the next time you have something planned, do you think you could schedule it for a night when I don’t have to work the next day? I’m beat. I was sleeping before all of this if you remember.”
Chuck stood. “You’re right. I did interrupt your sleep. Thanks for helping me work through my vampireness, Rodger. You’re more help than you can imagine. And now that I won’t be getting any more answers out of Abarran, I’ll probably be by more often to bounce ideas off of you. Sweet dreams Rodger; don’t let the Abarran bite.” Chuck strode to the door and was through it in a breathtakingly short time. By the time I got to the door and looked out, he was in his truck. It started with a roar and he was careening down the street, running the stop sign as he turned the corner. No lights, as usual.
Don’t let the Abarran bite. Thanks to Chuck, that maniac was back in my head, just in time for a complete set of nightmares. I mean really, did he have to say that on his way out?
“Never a dull moment,” I muttered to myself as I headed back to my bed, throwing clothes on the floor as I went.
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About the author:
T. A. Staver lives in IL with his wonderful wife (who puts up with his crazy writing habit), evil cat (who allows him to take care of it), and whichever of his children happen to be home at the time (who he is happy to see).