Undead as a Doornail

by William F Aicher

  With little other choice, I followed, stripping off my blood-stained jeans and underpants, and I too dove into the fountain. We rinsed ourselves hurriedly, the water quickly turning a deep red as we washed our bodies as clean as we could.

  “I am sorry, St. Michel,” Sofi whispered to the statue as she climbed out and onto the stone courtyard.

  I followed, took the clothes she offered me, and hurriedly pulled them on. Though a bit snug around the waist and tight around the midsection, the faded jeans and black t-shirt fit well enough. The sneakers, however, were at least a size too large, and as I tied up the laces, I prayed we wouldn’t have to go too far before I could pick out a new pair closer to my size.

  “Come, we must go. Before someone sees us,” Sofi urged, as she pulled a pair of fashionably torn jeans up over her hips. She slid into her usual leather jacket, now clean of the blood and gore from our time in the catacombs and ran off again into the shadows.

  I moved to follow but first glanced back once more at the fountain in which we’d cleansed ourselves. Two winged serpents, like dragons with the heads of lions, stood solemnly at its base. Each spit a stream of cherry-red water, while the cascading waterfall beneath St. Michael and the vanquished devil pulsed the same wicked crimson. As if Satan had just fallen, and his minions vomited blood in the onslaught of wretched sickness that came from the realization their king ruled hell no more.

  -----

  “How are you alive?” she asked, kicking the tip of her right shoe absently at a stone lodged in the worn ground. We sat together on a bench, shoulder to shoulder, as the morning sun broke the eastern horizon. Neither of us looked at the other, our eyes transfixed on the dawn of the new day. “I saw you die. Twice now, I have seen you die.”

  “Technically, I didn’t die in the catacombs. I only burned up on the outside. There’s a difference,” I reached to my pocket, found it empty and remembered I wore someone else’s clothes. “Speaking of which, do you happen to have a cigarette?”

  Sofi took her bag from the ground and placed it on my lap. “Should be some in there,” she replied. “But you were dead. In my apartment, you were dead. And how do you mean you burned up. People do not burn up. And if they do, it is from a fire, and they are either dead or very badly scarred. There was no fire near you, and yet you were on fire. Then you were a man of ash, then like new. This is not normal, Phoenix.”

  “I know, Sofi—it’s not normal. A lot about me isn’t normal.”

  “You mean there is more beside the fact you can come back to life like Jesus, and you somehow are trained in the art of killing vampires that is not normal?”

  I laughed as I lit the cigarette I found in her bag. “Well, when you put it that way, I guess you’re already aware of some of my weirder quirks,” I said and inhaled a deep drag of the sweet tobacco smoke. “I don’t know how it works, to be honest. It’s just something I do—something I’ve always done. I die, and I come back to life. No magic healing powers and I feel pain and get sick like anyone else. But when I die? I come back, usually better than I was when I left. But this time was different.”

  “How is resurrection different one time from the other? They are all crazy.” She took the cigarette from my hand and took a drag herself. “You are crazy.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” I muttered. “This time was the first time I’ve ever died from a prolonged sickness or injury. Every other time, it was boom! Here and alive, then dead, then back to life. This time hurt like hell, and it scared me just as much. I told you to kill me, but did you listen? Hell no.”

  “I tried to help you. I thought you were delirious.”

  “You saw me burn like a marshmallow! You should have known something was off then.”

  “You are off, Phoenix. I do not kill people. Even when they ask me too.”

  “You had no problem killing those vampires.”

  “That was different.”

  “How? How was it any different? It was a hell of a lot messier than killing me would have been, that’s for sure. I don’t flare up and explode in a burst of mangled guts when I die.”

  “How was I to know this? You already flared up. And besides, I was helping you.”

  I thought back to the various trips in and out of consciousness I’d taken while the infection from the stab wound ravaged my body. I remembered the man who came. I remembered the pills Sofi gave me. And with that memory came a screaming pain in my gut, precisely where I’d been stabbed by the serial killer we’d taken care of down below the streets of the city. No death-wound had ever bothered me before, not after I’d come back and it healed itself. This was something new, and it hurt like hell.

  “Do you have any more of those pills? The medicine you gave me?”

  “Now is hardly the time for a party,” she replied. “Coffee and breakfast. That is what we need.”

  The pain stabbed at me again, and I buckled over, clutching my stomach. “The pills, Sofi. Do you have them?” I spoke in slow, deliberate words.

  “Yes, yes. In the bag. Just… just give it to me, and I will find them.”

  As she rummaged through the bag, several more spasms rattled my gut. I winced as each one tore through me, and as soon as she handed me a couple of pills, I wolfed them down. Sofi tried to speak, but I brushed her away. The pain had moved into my head, and a throbbing headache racked my brain with each beat of my heart. She returned to searching the bag, taking inventory of whatever she’d managed to grab from her apartment in our hasty exit. I, meanwhile, hunched over and put my head in my hands, waiting impatiently for the medicine to do its work. After a few minutes, the pain subsided, and a wash of mental relief flooded through me like an ocean wave breaking at the surf.

  “What exactly did you give me?” I asked, my head swimming.

  “Same thing I gave you before. Cocktail Paul recommended. Special K, Vicodin, oxy. Just a mix.”

  “Jesus Christ, Sofi!” I shouted. “All of that? I took all of that?”

  “Well, I think what you just took was only oxy. And I’m pretty sure we ran out of Ketamine.”

  I almost shouted again, but the drugs had already taken hold, and it was a little hard to stay mad like that. Still, I knew a cocktail like that could be dangerous, and while I was still angry, I managed to keep my response relatively relaxed. “Who was Paul?” I asked.

  “The friend of mine you killed,” Sofi replied.

  “First off, he wasn’t a friend. He was a vampire. Or at least he was when I took him out.”

  “Killed him,” she corrected.

  “No. You don’t kill a vampire. A vampire is already dead. You can’t kill something that’s dead. It’s just not possible.”

  “You told me to kill you. And you’re dead,” Sofi replied.

  “That’s different. I’m not dead. I’m alive. I just die a lot. But each time I come back, I’m 100% living. Nothing like a vampire.”

  “Kind of like a vampire…”

  “Fine, maybe kind of like a vampire. I don’t care how you define it. But I’m no monster, and your friend Paul? He was a monster. So was the guy he brought with him.” I paused, taking a moment to think through the events. “Who was the guy he brought with him?”

  “No idea. I never saw him before in my life.”

  “Then why was he with Paul?”

  “I do not know. I also do not know why they were vampires. When he came over earlier to bring your drugs, he was not a vampire. But now he is… or was.”

  “Did you… invite them in?”

  “No. I thought you were dead on the couch. I would not invite in a friend, let alone a stranger, when there is a dead man on my couch. I am not stupid.”

  “Then how did they get in?” I wondered aloud.

  “They walked in. When I told them no, they just came in anyway. Vampires do not seem to be very good listeners.”

  “That’s not how it works, though.” I shook my head. “A bunch of the stuff you know about vampires, the stuff from the movi
es, a lot of it’s a load of horse shit. But some of it is true. Like when you threw the garlic at the vampires? Yeah, garlic doesn’t do anything other than give them bad breath. Crucifixes? Normally don’t work. Haven’t tried holy water. Definitely haven’t tried consecrated ground. But what I do know is they can’t come into a residence unless they are invited in. Weird rule and I’m sure there are plenty of odd workarounds, but as a general statute, it’s true. Same with a stake through the heart. That kills them. Sunlight? Deathly allergic. Silver bullets? Pass right through them—only work on werewolves as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Well, I did not invite them in. So, I do not know how to answer you. This is not something I would lie about. After all, they still have my sister.”

  Not wanting to tell her that her sister was probably already dead … or undead, I changed the subject. “Speaking of ways to kill vampires, you didn’t happen to bring any of my stuff in that sack of yours, did you?”

  Sofi reached into the bag again, now not taking nearly as much time to sort through it as we’d left our blood-soaked rags behind and now wore the clothing that previously took up most of the space and produced my charred Colt .45. I grabbed her hand and pushed it back into the bag.

  “Not here. Sun’s up and people will notice. Just keep it safe in there for now.”

  Sofi put the gun away, and we sat silently as the sun continued to rise, bathing the city streets of Paris in its warm glow. A stray cat strolled by. Birds chirped, and people left their apartments to head off on their daily routines.

  Finally, Sofi spoke, “You’re still going to help?”

  “With what?”

  “With finding my sister. You’re going to help me find my sister, yes?”

  “I’m going to—” I hesitated. “I’m going to hunt down these vampires and rid them from this world. If we happen to save your sister along the way, so be it.”

  “Then I am coming with you.”

  I saw this coming, and I also knew better than to accept a new sidekick. But the life of a monster hunter can get lonely … and I didn’t speak any French. Or have any money. So, I didn’t argue.

  “Fine then. But first you need to learn the very first rule of monster hunting: never hunt on an empty stomach. Let’s go find some breakfast and figure out what to do next.”

  Chapter Nine

  Since I’d never been to France before, let alone Paris, she let me choose breakfast. And though it felt a little cliched to suggest, if I didn’t have crepes while I was there, I’d end up regretting it later. I considered suggesting baguettes or croissants, just because they were the only other French words I knew, but I figured she wasn’t in the mood for that kind of stupid this early in the morning—especially after everything she’d been through. That also meant French toast was out of the question … though I did make a mental note to request we go out for an order of Freedom Fries and Budweiser later that night once we got our shit in order.

  So, we headed off into the heart of Paris on foot, in search of some little creperie she liked. Whether it was honestly a good creperie wasn’t something I could judge, but it was a cute little place with only a few indoor tables and a few more outside. At this stage in my life, I’m so out of touch with “cool” that I really can’t tell if something is or not. So, either this was a cool, hip little joint, or it was a bit of a dirt hole. I didn’t care all that much though, because I was famished. And besides, I’m not one to talk. Have you seen my house?

  “What’s good here?” I asked as I searched the menu, unable to choose between the blueberry and strawberry. When my eyes hit the croissants, I held back a snicker. God, I’m such a damn American.

  “You asked for crepes, so I bring you to crepes. Order whatever you see… is délicieux.”

  “What are you having?” In instances like this, where I find myself unable to decide on what to order, I’ve found it’s best to let someone else order first. Then you order whatever they’re having, or maybe the alternate version. I figured if she chose strawberry, I’d go with blueberry. Easy enough.

  “I am having waffles.” She took her cell phone from her pocket and began to scroll through it, leaving me to make this important decision on my own.

  Before I could make up my mind, a young waitress stopped by our table. Dressed casually in jeans and a white button-up shirt, she addressed the two of us, briefly making eye contact with me before I smiled and she looked away.

  “Bonjour. Vous voulex vous du café ?” she asked.

  “Il ne parle pas français.” Sofi nodded in my direction, not bothering to take her eyes from her phone.

  “I speak coffee,” I replied, gruffly. “Yes, I’d like un café, por favor.”

  Sofi groaned. “Just tell her what you want to eat… and try not to speak any more French.”

  I still hadn’t decided which kind of crepe I should order, and the decision was driving me mad. For all I knew, this was the only time I’d ever get the chance to eat a real crepe in Paris. With a pack of vampires tracking us down, God knows how, the likelihood of seeing another morning was becoming slimmer and slimmer. Yes, if they killed me, I would probably just come back. But what if they didn’t kill me? What if one of them turned me? Then I’d still be some version of undead, but now with the added complexity of becoming deathly allergic to sunlight. That meant nothing but night-time food from here on out. Maybe they had a Waffle House around here, or some other restaurant that serves breakfast all day and all night … but I didn’t know for certain. And Waffle House doesn’t serve crepes. I’d be stuck eating waffles.

  Jesus, I wouldn’t even be eating waffles. I’d be drinking blood. Forever. How the hell do vampires do it? I make lasagna and I have a hard time eating the leftovers the next day, I’m already so sick of it. But the same thing every day? For eternity? It’s like being a dog or cat, every day eating the same old chow. At least a dog gets to die someday.

  “Blueberry crepes,” I answered.

  “Et vous… ?”

  “Waffles. And scrambled eggs. And orange juice.”

  “Un café, no?”

  “Oui, un café aussi.”

  “I can’t tell if French girls are all gorgeous, or if the accent just tricks me into thinking you are,” I muttered, as I watched her walked away.

  “We are all gorgeous,” Sofi replied, as she set her phone on the table and waved away my comment with a brush of her hand. “But I am not interested.”

  For a while there, we didn’t talk. With this first bit of calm we’d had since our meeting, I think we both realized we didn’t know the first thing about one another. Let alone why we were working together or what our goals were. Sure, I knew I wanted to save Nancy, and she wanted to save Cami, but by this point neither really had much of a chance for a happy ending. Days had passed, and if there was one thing I’ve learned through my time hunting them down, monsters don’t tend to keep things alive for very long. At least not without a purpose. Given the disasters we’d encountered so far, these vampires we’d come across weren’t much different. The thing that gave me hope, though, was we still hadn’t found either body. So between that twinkle of a chance to save the day and the opportunity to spend some time with a pretty French girl (even if she didn’t seem to be all that interested in me, other than for thoroughly utilitarian and selfish reasons), there was enough in my mind to keep on going. Besides, I didn’t have the heart to tell her, her sister was probably drained and rotting in some ditch somewhere.

  “So, where do we start our search?” Sofi asked. I’d been wondering the same thing.

  “I think the first thing we need to do is regroup here and figure out what we know so far. Then go from there. Follow the clues.”

  “I thought you were a monster hunter. You did not tell me you are a detective as well.” Her lip curled up at the edge as she spoke—a slight grin of amusement. I’d seen it before—plenty of times. And no matter how many times I’ve seen it, it still pisses me off. No one takes monster-hunting se
riously these days.

  “You can’t hunt unless you know where your prey is. To do that, you need to track it. Unlike what you might have been expecting, there’s a lot of work that goes into tracking down monsters. They generally don’t like to be seen.”

  “I feel they are doing just fine coming to us so far,” she answered. “We have not had to search for them. They have been hunting us.”

  “And there’s the biggest clue,” I replied. “Some of this is following standard vampire protocol, but not everything. Missing people, massacres in the dark, even a familiar who’s hunting down livestock for his masters—that’s normal. But the ones that came to your apartment. That was new. And the fact you didn’t even invite them in, but still, they could enter. Also new. Something about this is important and we need to figure it out.”

  “It is like an episode of Scooby-Doo,” said Sofi. “Or a comic book. World’s Greatest Detective. Are you the world’s greatest detective, Phoenix? Are you Batman?”

  “You need to take this seriously, Sofi. Your sister needs you. And I will help you. But first you have to understand this is all very real and although you may have just met me, you need to trust me.”

  “I trust you,” Sofi laughed. “But it is all so fantastic. Tell me, how does someone become a “monster hunter?” Did you go to monster hunter school?”

  I didn’t want to delve into my history. But if I wanted her to understand what all this was about … if I wanted her to truly trust me … I needed to tell her. Tell her what it takes to be a monster hunter. Tell her what it takes to put your life on the line. Tell her what it was like the first time I sacrificed myself for someone else … not knowing then that a sacrifice was something I could come back from.