by Jeff Schanz
Brandt sat back and tried to think. “Would fresh blood help?”
“Yes, but I don’t have any more, and I’m afraid everything is corrupted. I still don’t understand how. I have no open cuts.”
Brandt rubbed his forearm. “Do you have a hypodermic needle?”
“Yes. Several.”
“Then take some of my blood.”
“Oh, Brandt. I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be…” She paused, likely trying to be polite with her response, but unable to come up with a good reason. Brandt knew whatever reason she’d come up with would just be an excuse. There was a flicker of hope in her eyes when he offered his blood and he wasn’t going to let that go.
“No, Lia. No excuses. Get your needle and take some blood. Don’t argue. It’s not a big deal. Humans donate blood all the time.”
Lia looked up into his eyes with growing anticipation. It was obvious this meant a lot to her, but she was still hesitating.
“Lia? Needle. Come on.”
She nodded, the hopefulness growing on her face.
A drawer under her desk was pulled open and inside were multiple packages of medically sealed hypodermics. Brandt wasn’t entirely surprised that she would want and need something like that, but he was very curious how she got all this stuff.
She worked on finding the right vein in his arm.
Brandt had never liked blood draws and usually felt better if he talked through them. “So, you haven't left the room since you got home last night?”
She shook her head. She found the vein and inserted the needle. Brandt didn’t flinch.
“Aw, man,” said Brandt. “So, you probably didn’t see my show outside, huh?”
“Show?” She was concentrating and didn’t look up.
“I, uh, decided that since you liked to watch me in secret, that I’d put on a full show for you. It was intended to be a tease, but – if I must say, I killed it.”
“Killed what?”
“I only rocked a Michael Jackson dance routine I had learned a long time ago. You should’ve seen it.”
“I would have liked to.”
Lia probably didn’t have a clue who Michael Jackson was, but it wouldn’t have mattered. The dance was cool to watch and Brandt had nailed it.
“Now I’ve got to figure out another way to tease you,” he said. “Can’t do the dance again.”
“You can if you want to,” she said, poorly concealing her interest.
Even though she hadn’t seen it, it was still a little bit of a tease just knowing she missed it. Almost acceptable.
“Nope. You missed the bus,” he said. “It’s gotta be different. I’ll think of something.”
Lia withdrew the needle and gave Brandt a small piece of gauze to hold over the little puncture. She turned to her table and began distributing the blood onto glass plates.
Brandt glanced around the well-equipped room as he held the gauze in place. “So, how did you get all this equipment?”
“It’s a long story,” she said focusing on her work.
“I like stories,” said Brandt.
Lia paused and smiled, seeming to recognize the irony. Her neon blue eyes caught his for a brief moment before they returned to her work. She began the story.
* * * *
Over thirty years ago, I don’t recall precisely how long, a man and his son capsized near our island. It had been a bad storm and they got caught in it. The father drowned, but the son washed ashore alive. My father righted the boat and dragged it into the cave where you’ve been living. We brought the boy to the house and I cared for him until he recovered.
I don’t remember how he found out, but something happened that alerted the boy to our affliction. He was only around nine or ten, I am not the best judge of human years, and he was not strong enough to venture out on the sea by himself, but he ran from us and did it anyway.
I assume he went back to the cave and looked at the boat. As you’ve seen, the mast was gone and the engine no longer functioned. The boy recovered some kind of raft that was hidden in the boat and took it out onto the ocean. He paddled east towards land, the closest of which as you know is many miles away. He was more likely to capsize and drown, or even die from hunger and thirst, than find a shore anywhere. But he was panicking and wouldn’t hear us.
I was told that he got lucky and ran into a fishing boat. He was returned to the mainland dehydrated and malnourished, but he survived. Father and I worried that he may tell someone about us. As far as we know, he did not. Perhaps no one would believe him.
We heard nothing about him until he unexpectedly returned about twenty years later. He operated a sport-fishing charter and he passed near the island once in a while.
He told us that he was sorry for misunderstanding us and wanted to thank us for saving his life. Many years prior, when he got back to the mainland, his mother was distraught and decided to leave the area and live in Arizona. Somewhere where there was no water, she had told him. However, when he became an adult, he moved back to Los Angeles with his wife and started his charter business. He had been bothered by what had happened and decided he would make up for what he considered his debt to us. We held no debt. As with you, we only wished to help him. But he thought otherwise. He will occasionally come to our island and deliver things that we request. I give him a list of things I need, and he has been excellent about getting them. I trade him some practical items like handmade wool sweaters and other things, but mostly I pay him from Father's money. Perhaps you didn't know, but Father was a wealthy man. What remains of his fortune is still enough for us to live on for several lifetimes, and I use it sparingly. My equipment is unfortunately expensive.
The man is a friend. A friend more from guilt than his preference, but I appreciate him. He is a good man and has helped me tremendously. I don’t think I would have survived on this island without something to work towards. I need to work, otherwise, I will fade into nothing.
Anyway, that is the story.
* * * *
Brandt could sympathize. He was a working dog too, not someone that could laze around playing video games and wasting his days. He needed a job, a mission, some task that required his skills. Right now, the boat was it.
That, and apparently the new obsession with teasing Lia.
He was spent, though Lia had taken very little blood. The day’s grueling activities were catching up with him. Lia was focused on the glass slides on her table, so Brandt took the moment to get up and walk around the “lab.” It was a pretty awe-inspiring collection for someone way out on an isolated island. The curtain was up with window was shut. He decided to crack the window to get some air inside the cramped room. He was curious about how she worked in here when the sun was up, but he examined the distant glow and figured that only the morning sun would come through the window directly. There was no sun to worry about at that moment. The moon was full and was helping to illuminate the room. Candles were the only other source of light and they were all lit.
He decided to leave Lia to her work and exit the room discreetly. As he walked back, he noticed that Lia had turned around and was sampling his fish dinner. She gave him a tired smile, but it was sincere, and a little spark of happiness was back in her eyes. Regardless of not being romantically involved, he loved to see a beautiful woman’s eyes when she was happy, and Lia’s eyes were as beautiful as they came.
“I’m glad you stayed to talk with me,” she said. “I do feel better. And this is delicious.”
“You’re welcome. And you’re welcome.”
She nibbled on only a small portion and turned back to her microscope. She placed a glass slide underneath.
Brandt decided he’d leave as he had planned and walked out of the room. In the hall, he stopped, wondering why he intended to head towards the stairs. He looked at the door where his old room had been.
“Are you going to need any more blood?” he called back to Lia.
“Oh
, no. And thank you so much for that. You don’t know what it means to me.”
Brandt leaned back in her doorway. “You’re welcome. And it’s ok if you need some more. Just give me until tomorrow to restock though.”
Lia looked up from her microscope. “I think I have what I need. But I was wrong last time, wasn’t I?”
He smiled. “Listen, I’m tired and not looking forward to walking back to the beach. Is it ok if I stay here? Is that old room…?”
“Yes,” she said quickly, and then swallowed something with a little effort. “Sorry, food doesn’t digest easily with me, but you know that already. Yes, of course, that room has always been your room. It is clean and the bed is made. It is yours as long as you wish.”
“Thanks. I put in a lot of work today. And have a lot of work to do tomorrow. A nice bed will help.”
She smiled. “The water reservoir is also yours to use as you like. I’m sure you are getting low by now.”
You little miss mind reader. “Thanks. I’ll do that tomorrow.”
Brandt entered the room he had first found himself in about a week ago. It was just as he had left it, except neater. The covers were pulled back in a triangle. The pillows looked fluffed and inviting. When he had set out to blow up a yacht, he expected to end his life, not wind up on vacation in a quaint island resort that offered turndown service.
Life was strange.
CHAPTER 18
Brandt stepped back into the hall after a solid eight-hour snooze. It was early morning, the sun had come up an hour ago, and he was ready to get back to work. He wanted to say good morning to Lia before he went back to the beach, but he assumed she was probably asleep. Surely, she had gone to bed at some point last night. Even a vampyre must have limits to her energy. He could check to see if she was in her room sleeping, and if so, he’d skip it and just go on. However, if she was up and about, he’d say “Hey.”
The lab door was open, so he peeked inside and was surprised to see Lia still there. She was in the back of the room, close to the window, surrounded by unlit burners and test tube racks. She was slumped over the table, hair undone and spilled out, covering her face like she had fallen asleep while she was working.
Brandt came in and called to her softly. “Lia?”
She stirred but didn’t answer. He came closer. Something smelled odd. She must have been boiling some stinky formula or something. Whatever it was, it resembled the smell of burning flesh. That particular smell was too familiar, and too recently, to forget.
“Lia?” he said a little louder.
She moved her head only a little, still not answering. He walked up next to her, figuring he’d help her to bed. She couldn’t get real rest like that. As he approached he saw a faint trace of smoke rising. In one more step, he saw where the smoke was coming from: Lia’s arm.
“Shit!” The sound of his exclamation echoed through the quiet house.
She was next to the window, the curtains were up, and the morning sun was shooting in like a laser on her bare arm. Her arm was covered in red bubbling skin. Grabbing her around the waist, he picked her up. He had forgotten how light she was and easily hoisted her like he was carrying a bride across the threshold. As he did, she woke up a little.
“Whaa…?” she mumbled. Her eyelids were shut and her barely conscious efforts to open them were unsuccessful. She was limp in his arms.
“Bedroom!” he shouted. “Where’s your bedroom?”
“Huh?” she slurred. “End – hall.”
He whisked her down the hall and kicked open the last door. It was a room, much like his, except with a frilly comforter-topped bed and lace-edged pillows. The window curtains were drawn already and he laid her down on her bed.
“Wha – happaaah,” she said, her lips cumbersome like she had a shot of Novocain.
“Sweetie, you fell asleep in the sun. Your arm got burned.”
Her eyes pulled a little open with obvious effort. She nodded slightly and took a deep breath. “Need – salve and – blood,” she said, working hard to sound clear.
“Right,” he said. “Where?”
She took another deep breath. Speaking was difficult for her. “Salve in – lab. Top – shelf. Blood – is…”
She had to pause to breathe twice. Brandt waited, thinking she needed blood first.
“I know where it is,” said a deep voice from behind.
Brandt nearly jumped out of his shoes. Viktor loomed behind him, taking a slow step forward. He was in his imposing projection form.
“Uh,” said Brandt. Being startled had momentarily muted him, but he collected himself quickly. “Ok, then. You get the blood, I’ll find the salve.”
Viktor gave a curt head bob and swept quickly out of the room.
Brandt turned back to Lia. “Hang on, sweetie. We’ll be right back.”
She nodded feebly.
Brandt went into the lab and looked above the desk where the microscope sat. There was a small shelf that had a few tin canisters. He read the labels. Two of them were something he didn’t recognize the name of, but there were three with identical labels: “Skin Salve.” He returned to Lia’s bedroom with one of the canisters.
He pulled a wooden chair up to her bed. “Do I just rub it on the burned spot?”
“Yes,” she said in a raspy voice. The effort to bend her arm closer to him was a strain. He twisted the top off the canister. There was white goo inside that resembled facial cream that had been left in a warm room. Dipping two fingers into the goop, he brought it to her arm.
“Gently, please,” she said in a near whisper.
He lightly painted the burned area, wiped the excess back off into the canister, and then gently smoothed the salve into her skin. Lia winced only once, then seemed to be at ease.
“Is that enough?” he asked.
“Yes,” she rasped. “Thank you.”
He sat back and stared at her for a moment. She was breathing easy, but slowly.
Viktor seemed to appear right next to her bed. He had a small plastic pouch of blood similar to the one he had been using the other day when Brandt had come for dinner. Viktor used a little claw that suddenly grew on his finger and poked a hole in the bag. He held the bag and his finger over Lia’s mouth. She opened her mouth and let the droplets fall in.
Brandt wasn’t squeamish, but there was something about the scene that made him uneasy. He waited a few moments hoping the feeling would dissipate, to no avail.
He stood up hesitantly. “I’ll let you rest. Your father’s got this. I’ll just be outside.”
Viktor gave Brandt a purposeful stare like he had some conspiratorial message to give. But Viktor was capable of speaking to Brandt inside his own head, so if Viktor really wanted to say something, he would've. Brandt stepped into the hall and closed the door.
He stared blankly downstairs.
What’s the matter with you? He didn’t know. He wasn’t a trained psychiatrist and hadn’t read any psychiatry books. But he was struggling with something. You know she’s a vampyre. You know she drinks blood to survive. Did you think it was imaginary blood?
No, that wasn’t it. But it had something to do with the blood. It escaped his understanding. He stood for a few more moments, then decided to go back into her room. Whatever was bugging him shouldn’t be important enough to turn his back on her.
When he walked back in, Lia was by herself. Viktor had literally disappeared. The half-full bag of blood had been placed on her writing desk, resting in a ceramic bowl. Brandt looked at the bag and then at Lia. She turned to him as he came in.
“You going to be alright?” he asked.
She nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
Her voice sounded almost normal. Her lips were bright red, but her cheeks weren’t pink yet.
“Do you need more blood?” he asked.
“Eventually,” she said. “I’m fine for now.”
“Ok.”
He wasn�
��t sure if he should stay or go, so he just stood where he was for a moment. Looking at the window again, he reconfirmed that the curtains were drawn shut. This side of the house would not get the morning sun directly. The bed was situated away from the incoming light so that even a strong beam would not reach her bed. There was nothing else he knew to do.
“It’s ok. You don’t have to stay,” she said.
“But I can. The boat can wait.”
“I’ll be fine, Mr. Dekker.” She tried a teasing smile.
Brandt wasn’t interested in playing. “Well, alright. But I’m coming back in a few to make sure you take some more of that blood.” He imagined having to hold the bag to her lips, and that brought the weird feeling back.
She made a face. “No, thank you. It’s all right for Father’s transfusions, but – it is not preferable.”
“Why not?” Though he wasn’t really interested in pursuing that subject, he also didn’t want to leave yet.
She thought for a moment and eventually said, “Imagine you are given a bowl of your favorite soup. Yet when you taste it, it is ice cold. Would you want to eat it?”
“No.”
“Or perhaps a cold cup of coffee, or a soft drink with no carbonation.”
Brandt was a little surprised she knew what a soft drink was. He answered, “Point made.”
“Please get on with your day. I’ll be fine. Thank you for what you did.”
He had carried her a few feet to her room and put salve on her arm. Hardly hero effort.
She smiled and waved a hand at him like she was dismissing him.
Fine. He gave her a parting smile and closed her door.
Back in his cave, Brandt re-sanded the area he had lacquered yesterday. The lacquer could’ve used another twenty-four hours to cure, but he had only wanted it to fill in the cracks. It was dry enough for that purpose.
He coated the accessible part of the hull in grey marine paint, swiping and flicking the brush to another random tune in his head. Something 80’s again. What was with the 80’s tunes popping into his head? This time, some one-hit-wonder song by someone he forgot the name of. “Oh, Mickey you’re so fine. You’re so fine you blow my mind. Hey Mickey! Hey Mickey!”