Suburban Vampire: A Tale of the Human Condition—With Vampires

by Franklin Posner

  Except it wasn’t gross. In fact, Scott found that he could not get enough. He latched on to Jack’s self-inflicted wound and sucked. And sucked. And sucked some more, until he could no longer remain awake. The spreading darkness overtook him, and Scott fell into a deep sleep.

  CHAPTER 4

  Red lights blazed. Sirens howled. The EMTs burst forth from the ambulance, dragging the gurney with them, wheeling it quickly into the Emergency Room entrance.

  “White male adult, forty years old, massive trauma to the neck with arterial bleeding,” one of the medics called out.

  “My God, it looks like his neck has been chewed on by some kind of animal,” a responding ER technician said. “His vitals aren’t good. Get him to Room Two and get him going on a plasma drip, stat.”

  Scott was unaware of the flurry of nervous activity around him. White-coated nurses, doctors, and technicians feverishly worked on him, jabbing needles into his pale, clammy skin, starting intravenous medications and donated blood that was necessary to replace the massive amounts he had already lost. Shouted numbers flew violently around the Emergency Room.

  “Blood pressure dropping! Core temp dropping! Come on, people, we’re losing him!”

  “We need a crash cart on standby. Nurse, get me some atropine, stat!”

  “Heart rate is crashing.”

  The heart monitor went from a periodic beep to a long, soulless buzz.

  “Start chest compressions!”

  “Ready the defibrillator. On my mark: one, two, three, and clear!”

  “One, two, three, and clear!”

  The mad process went on for seven agonizing minutes, the ER workers valiantly holding on to hope until the dark inevitability could no longer be avoided.

  “Call it.”

  The lead doctor looked at his wristwatch. “Time of death, eleven thirty-three p.m.” He sighed. “Okay, time to notify his next of kin. Marla, contact the medical examiner’s office. They’ll want to take a look at the corpse.”

  Scott Campbell was now dead. Gone. Deceased. Empty eyes staring into oblivion.

  Dead. With all the finality that entailed.

  So it kind of surprised everyone in the room when he jolted up, gasping for air. And the still-attached heart monitor just kept buzzing, the lines completely flat.

  A nurse howled, “What the hell? He’s alive!”

  Dr. Sameer “Sammy” Guraj had come over with his parents when he was a little boy. He had vague memories of the streets of Mumbai, less vague than the memories of the neighborhood in Dallas, Texas, where he truly grew up. His parents, though very strict and traditional, had worked hard to make sure their son received the finest education, slogging their way through menial tasks, many of which may have fit the common stereotypes for East Indian immigrants—working in convenience stores, as taxi operators, and worse. But Shiva bless them (although Sammy really didn’t believe in that stuff, especially as a man of reason and science), they got him through all the loans, grants, and demeaning part-time jobs so that he could finish out his residency at Oregon Health Sciences University. He had a bright future, was considered a rising star in the field of oncological medicine. However, the excitement and fast pace of the Emergency Room captured his attention. In the ER, he truly felt useful.

  Sadly, during the course of his education, he had picked up a nasty habit to help him deal with the stress. He popped a cigarette from the pack and placed it in his mouth. He removed a lighter and thumbed forth a flame, with which he ignited the “stick of nastiness,” a term Sammy himself had thought up. He hung his head in shame. Damn, Sam, you’re a doctor. You should know better.

  He kept his habit a secret by only partaking in the far reaches of the parking structure. After hours, this area was largely empty. Maybe if security would patrol by, he might be asked to extinguish his smoke, but other than that, he wouldn’t get in trouble. In any event, he needed something to calm his nerves before he entered the Emergency Room. So here he was. He didn’t notice the man lurking in the shadows.

  “Hi there, Doctor,” Jack said. “How’s it going tonight?”

  “Uh, fine,” Sammy replied, upset at himself for having been caught. “Fine. I’m just about to get back to work, so—”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, Doc. No need to rush off.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Oh, me? I want that lab coat. It’s a nice lab coat. And your ID badge and swipe card. Oh, and while you’re at it, I’m gonna need your blood as well. All of it.”

  Jack moved with blinding speed. Since he did not want to create a telltale stain on the doctor’s white coat, he wrapped his arm around the doctor’s neck, grabbed Guraj’s chin with his free hand, and snapped his neck. He removed Guraj’s lab coat from the lifeless corpse, as the good doctor wouldn’t be needing it any longer. Then Jack fed. Three tasty meals in one night. Jack was beside himself with vampiric glee.

  “Nurse! Check those leads!” the physician commanded, confused as to why the heart and blood pressure monitors were unresponsive when their formerly deceased patient was clearly alive.

  “I did! They look fine!” the nurse said.

  “Check them again. Someone, get this man some oxygen!”

  In the renewed storm of activity, no one even noticed a new presence in the Emergency Room. He was wearing a white coat and carrying an ID badge, so obviously he was a medical professional. Even if no one had seen him before. Even if the last name on the badge betrayed the owner’s origins as being in the subcontinent of India, while the man currently holding the badge had a much lighter shade of skin than most hailing from that part of the world. Jack walked right up to Scott as he gasped for air, put his arm around Scott’s shoulders, and whispered this mystical incantation into his ear: “Come up with a heartbeat now, or we’re going to have a problem.”

  Scott was not sure how, but it did the trick. The heart monitor finally came back to life. His breathing calmed as the hyperactivity around him continued.

  “Ah, there we go,” the lead physician said. “What the hell was up with that?”

  “A couple leads came loose, but they’re fine now,” Jack replied.

  “Impossible!” one of the nurses spat. “I checked those leads! They were all connected!”

  “Well, darlin’, you missed one.”

  “Okay, okay, you guys,” the lead doctor said. “Heads back in the game. Looks like his heart rate and BP are coming back to normal. Oxygen level’s looking better, too. Let’s get that plasma drip restarted, and get some meds on standby. By the way, thanks; uh, what’s your name, Doctor?”

  But no one was there to answer. Jack had stealthily slipped out, once again noticed by no one.

  The next day, Scott was moved to a recovery room. Exhausted by the ordeal he’d just been through, he fell into a deep sleep. Later in the afternoon, he stirred in the hospital bed. He looked over to see a beaming, silver-haired lady, dressed colorfully yet conservatively in a bright flowered long-sleeve blouse and sky-blue pants.

  “Awake yet?” Irene Campbell asked.

  “Oh, hi, Mom,” Scott responded.

  She held back tears. Irene Campbell was a much stronger woman than her slight build revealed; raised up in poverty, she had worked hard for her family. As a retired nurse herself, she had worked long hours in hospitals and care centers until finally encroaching age caught up with her, along with the realization that she could no longer continue caring for everyone other than herself. However, when Scott’s marriage failed, she could not deny herself from helping and allowed him to move home, a home recently made lonely by the death of her husband of many years. She always told Scott that she was thankful he was there because he was such an enormous help. She was sorry that Scott had gone through his own struggles, of course, but did like having someone around the house who was tall enough to change the lightbulbs. When she had received word of his accident, she had dropped everything and rushed to the hospital. I can’t lose my boy, she had prayed, begging God to save he
r son’s life. Her prayers were answered, just as she knew they would be. Or so she thought.

  “How are you, sweetheart?”

  “Wow. Like I have a massive hangover.” Oops. That was a bit more information than Scott wanted his mother to have. Better backpedal from that. “Uh, not that I know anything about hangovers.”

  Scott’s honesty did not bother Irene. She had wisdom enough not to act shocked. Besides, in her time, she’d said and done a few things that she was not exactly proud of.

  “Oh.” She laughed. “I can imagine. They told me you died on the operating table for seven whole minutes.”

  “Seven minutes? You mean, I was dead…like…dead? I mean, dead dead?”

  “That’s what the doctor said. You were dead. That’s the only kind of dead I know about.”

  “Huh. That’s…weird.” An understatement perhaps, but what else could one say when faced with such a reality? I really died. And yet, I’m still here. That’s nuts.

  Irene reached for her son’s hand. “But God brought you back to me. Oh my, your hand is frozen.”

  Scott hadn’t noticed. His hand felt fine. He twitched his fingers. He still had full control over his digits. He didn’t feel any numbness or pain. He could clench his fist. He could touch. He could feel. His hands were alive. So was the rest of him. In fact, he really felt the life. The power.

  “Well, your hands may be cold, but apparently, they say your temperature is fine. The doctor was talking about sending you home in the next day or so—”

  “I feel fine. I feel better than fine.”

  The power was surging within him. He felt it in every fiber, every vein, every part of himself. He had never felt like this before. This was better than anything, better even than making love with Laura. Okay, so maybe it wasn’t better than sex, but it was damn close. In any case, the thought of his ex-wife was a buzzkill, so the crazy head rush of energy subsided. Yet the power remained.

  “Great, Scotty. I’m so glad you’re feeling good. I’ll tell you what: when you get out, I’ll take you to that Cajun place you love and get you some jambalaya or whatever that other stuff is that you like.” Obviously, his mother knew where Scott’s heart usually was—in his stomach.

  Irene stayed for an hour. Scott was actually conversant, which wasn’t always the case before. Irene took note of this but kept it to herself. She was thinking that Scott had been through a lot, so no wonder he was so engaged. Death did that to you. The conversation did not prevent her from glancing over to the nightstand on the other side of Scott’s hospital bed. There, in a plastic baggie, was a pair of wire-frame eyeglasses, mangled almost beyond recognition. One of the lenses was completely missing.

  “Oh dear!” she exclaimed. “We’ll need to get you some new glasses. When you get home, you need to contact your optometrist and get a new prescription.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I guess.”

  Scott hadn’t realized during the entire length of the visit with his mother that he had not been wearing his glasses, because he could see clearly. Better than clear, in fact. He reached toward his face. Am I wearing some kind of replacement glasses? But no, he couldn’t feel them on the bridge of his nose. Did they pop some contacts in? I didn’t think they did that. Or maybe it was the car accident that did it. Yeah, that’s it. It has to be. I hit my head, or something got jarred loose up there. I’ve heard of that happening. Or maybe the glass from the shattered car window cut my retinas in just the right way…No, that’s a bit of a stretch. I’ll go with the impact-to-the-head thing. Yeah, yeah, that’s it. That’s a thing. I’m sure it is. Beats becoming a vegetable, that’s for sure.

  Scott noticed that not only was his vision completely corrected but also that he could discern small details. He noticed where the paint on the far wall of his room had a few weak spots, where underneath the glistening white the shadow of blue could be seen. A deep azure, faintly covered with a white enamel coat. Scott wondered how he could see such detail. In any event, he thought it best not to mention this to his mother, so he played along with her admonition to visit the optometrist once he got out. He just didn’t think it was the right time to mention it. It was just kind of weird. Cool, but weird.

  At length, Irene departed, promising that she’d give Scott a ride home, and when he was ready to return to work, she would allow him to borrow her car, a blue Toyota Prius, to get back and forth to work and other activities, because his Mustang was ruined and she was sure his insurance carrier would declare it totaled. Scott was thankful for the offer. The Prius may not have been as flashy as the Mustang, but it was a good car with low mileage, great for a daily work commute. It made sense to him. Heck, maybe he’d get his own Prius. No, on second thought, maybe he’d stick with muscle over environmental consciousness.

  Irene’s departure ushered in a stream of other visitors—Pastor Larry (“I better see you next Sunday! I’ve got the whole congregation praying for you!”), Scott’s good friend Tim O’Neill (“Got a couple new sci-fi movies on Blu-ray just for you to see, so you better get well soon, or I’ll send them back to Amazon”—Tim was a jerk, but Scott always knew his jerkiness was in jest), and even Zed from work (“Hey, all the guys signed this card. It’s a nice card. Even Mr. Toilet signed it. Like I’m sure he really meant it.”). Scott picked up on an odd, but faint, odor coming from Zed, like that of a wet dog. It wasn’t very strong. Perhaps Zed had a dog. Or perhaps he was imagining it. In any event he didn’t think it was worth mentioning.

  And Laura. She entered the room in the company of a tall broad-shouldered figure of a man draped in a form-fitting gray suit that obviously cost more than a few dollars. The white oxford shirt stuck to his muscular pectorals.

  She greeted Scott with a gentle kiss on the cheek. “Oh, you’re chilly. I’m so glad you’re okay. I was really worried when your mom called. Oh, by the way, this is Russ. Russ, this is Scott, my ex.”

  Russ stuck out his hand. “Scott, it’s too bad we meet under these circumstances.”

  Who brings their new boyfriend to meet her ex-husband in the hospital? Really, isn’t that, I don’t know, kind of insensitive? Scott had never had much confidence in himself and was always afraid his handshakes were weak and wimpy, betraying the lack of self-esteem he carried. And he was right about that; Scott’s hand strength wasn’t the greatest. He took Russ’s hand anyway and squeezed.

  “Ow. Hey, watch it there, slugger.” Russ took his aching paw away. “That’s some grip, buddy.”

  Heated thoughts burned in Scott’s mind. I am not your buddy, you big, handsome, well-dressed fart nugget. You adulterer. I am on to you. I know what game you’re playing. And, if you weren’t sure, I really don’t like you.

  “Sorry,” Scott spat.

  “Russ here is the CEO of a medical supply business,” Laura said.

  “Now, honey,” Russ responded. Who are you to call my wife honey? Scott wanted to scream. “You’re making it sound a lot more important than it is.” Yes, Russ’s false humility was sickening.

  “Well, you did supply this hospital with—what are those things called again?”

  “We supplied the heart monitors in the ER.”

  “Yeah,” Scott said. “You mean like the one that didn’t work all that well? Yeah. I come back to life, and the damn thing is hooked up to me. And it still showed me flat-lined. Real quality product there.”

  “Oh. Well, we don’t make them. We use several manufacturers. I’m sure that this is something we can take up with the firm that made that particular device and find out what went wrong.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, you do that.”

  Laura was, naturally, shocked by Scott’s turn of attitude. What happened to go along to get along? “Russ, can you leave us for a minute? I need to talk with Scott.”

  Oooh, now you’re in trouble, Scott, he growled to himself. Russ left the room without protest. As soon as the door shut, Laura let him have it. “What is wrong with you? Russ was trying to be pleasant. What is up with the snotty attitude
?”

  Scott didn’t think there was anything wrong with his attitude. In fact, he liked his attitude. “Well, I did die for a few minutes, and I came back to life. So there’s that.”

  Laura glared at him. “I’m not buying it. Look, like it or not, Russ and I are dating. I am moving on. I suggest you do the same.”

  “Well, great. Then why don’t you do what you said you were doing and move on? Like, right now. Out the door.”

  Laura shook her head. “This isn’t like you, Scott. This isn’t like you at all.”

  “Well, it is now. So why don’t you make like a tree and leave?”

  With that, she left, with her new boy toy right behind.

  Oh yeah, that went well. Really well. Now she’ll never talk to you again…and you know what? I couldn’t give a shit.

  Scott snapped himself from his fuming thoughts. What was up with that? He’d never been that mad. Well, yes, he had been, but he had never let it get the best of him. Never. Go along to get along, right? So why was he so expressive now? And why didn’t he care? What the heck was that all about?

  CHAPTER 5

  Almost as soon as Laura left the room, someone else replaced her. Not another uninvited guest, the likes of which Scott was growing weary, as his impatience was starting to rear its honest but potentially ugly head. Even this newcomer was not necessarily a welcome sight, though obviously this man was a medical professional, as he wore a white jacket, had a stethoscope around his neck, and carried a leather case. There was something familiar about the guy, other than his white jacket, but Scott couldn’t put his finger on it. In any case, what else could he have been? Impatience with visitors turned to impatience with hospital staff for being less than attentive. I mean, hello, I did die earlier. It would be nice to have someone look in on me. It’s not like it’s a serious condition or anything.

  “Good morning, or should I say afternoon, Mr. Campbell,” the long-haired, white-coated man said.