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

by Franklin Posner

  Ah, who cares? You’re a vampire. Be a vampire!

  Scott pulled up to the platform not long before midnight as the light-rail train pulled into the station. It stopped at the far end, away from his car. The doors opened, and he watched the late-night passengers depart. And there she was. Bundled in a heavy wool coat, her head in a black knit cap. And not far behind her, trouble, in the form of a heavyset shaved-head punk in a puffy blue jacket and a taller, skinny scumbag with a goatee and a gray hoodie. Shaved head seemed to be the alpha of the two, leading Skinny as they followed Dawn from the train. Scott could hear those losers catcall the poor girl from where he sat in the car. Dawn was visibly frightened.

  “Hey, girl, where you goin’ so fast?” the shaved-head punk asked. “We just wanna talk! Hey, yo, baby, let’s party! Damn girl, you so fine!”

  The young men were obviously emboldened by testosterone, a feeling of privilege, and more than a little alcohol. Scott flashed the lights on his Mustang, drawing Dawn’s attention. As he pulled up, he could see her mood lighten, the wide, beaming smile she was known for returning to her pretty face. Scott reached over and opened the door for her.

  “Oh, hi, Scott!” she said. “Is this your new car? It’s nice! It’s so big!”

  Dawn climbed into the leather passenger seat. As she did so, Scott could still hear the colorful but crude commentary coming from the shaved-head punk: “Oh, who’s that, your dad? Stuck-up bitch, think you’re better than me? Wouldn’t want that snatch anyway, ho!”

  Scott looked over at the poor girl sitting beside him. He was pissed, and he knew he could do something about it. But he also knew that he probably shouldn’t, not in Dawn’s presence, anyway. He wasn’t quite ready to show her the beast yet.

  “Little punks,” Scott said. “Picking on a girl like that.”

  “Uh, what do you mean, picking on a girl?”

  “What do you mean, what do I mean? They shouldn’t pick on you!”

  “Because I’m a girl?”

  “Well…yes! But also because you’re my…” Oops, better think about the next thing you say. “…my friend! And I don’t like it when people mess with my friends.”

  Dawn calmed a bit. “Friend? Thanks, Scott. I’m glad we’re friends. And I’m glad you picked me up. The truth is, I’m afraid. Those guys scare me.”

  “You shouldn’t have to put up with that. I didn’t mean anything negative by calling you a girl.”

  “Although I am a girl.”

  “Yeah, yeah, that’s…that’s obvious. Nobody should be treated that way.”

  “They think I’m weak. But everyone thinks I’m weak, just because I’m the nice girl. The reliable girl. The choirgirl. I don’t know, maybe…maybe I am weak.”

  “No! Don’t you think that, not for a second. Dawn, you are strong. There’s a strength in you that you don’t even know about. But I see it. I see that strength.”

  She laughed. “No way. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me.”

  The statement was meant to cause Scott to blush; he had been a big-time blusher before. Not anymore, of course, and he couldn’t fake it. Besides, vampires were completely confident of themselves, and blushing just wasn’t a vampire thing. “Flirt? Me? You? Shut up! I am totally not flirting with you!”

  The conversation took on a lighter tone as Scott drove Dawn to the house she shared with her parents as well as two younger sisters. He had never interacted much with the sisters, only to decide that the youngest was a spoiled brat (which, coincidentally, was a belief he shared with Dawn, though she hadn’t told him that yet). Scott liked and respected Dawn’s parents, and Phil and Donna Rhinebeck both seemed to like him as well. Of course, Scott knew that the vampire version of himself might not be someone they would either like or respect. Scott pulled to the curb in front of the one-level brick house, continuing the pleasant conversation with Dawn, their eyes locking. It looked pretty obvious to him that she was enraptured. Or maybe he was enraptured with her. Or maybe, just maybe, this was mutual. Vampiric confidence was tempered by Scott’s old awkwardness and lack of self-assurance. Somehow, the vampire in him had not managed to totally do away with that. And right now, Scott didn’t like it.

  They walked the pathway in front door of the Rhinebeck home and stopped at the front door. The lights inside were off; Dawn’s parents and siblings had long since taken to bed. She had been staring at Scott the whole time, and now they were there, together, under the porch light, gazing longingly into each other’s eyes. Scott didn’t need any vampiric seduction skills for this. This was going to be easy.

  “Th-thank you…Scott,” Dawn stammered, not breaking her gaze. She reached out her hand, which Scott took. Oh, those soft little fingers. I could so easily shatter them…err, I mean…wow, that went dark fast.

  “You’re welcome, Dawn.” Damn, I’m good, Scott said to himself. Her heart is melting. Soon her panties will, too.

  Scott came closer to Dawn. Their bodies only inches apart, he found himself wanting to relieve her of that wool coat (as well as the rest of her clothing). Their faces came closer, and Scott leaned in. His lips gently touched hers, which were quivering nervously. He kissed them again, and this time she was ready, receiving the kiss. He kissed her a third time, longer, harder, deeper. Her lips parted, allowing him to access her soft, wet mouth. And—glory be!—her tongue was even softer and sweeter than he imagined it could be.

  Scott began trailing kisses down her cheek to her ear. “I…have to go, Scott,” Dawn whispered.

  “No, you don’t,” he whispered back, his tongue caressing her earlobe.

  She let out a slight moan. “Yes, I do, Scott. Please, we need to stop. I need to get up early. I need to get to bed.”

  “Oh yes…I have a bed, and we can share—”

  Dawn suddenly pulled away. “Wait. What?”

  “I…um…I have a bed, too.” Oh God. The old, awkward Scott was back.

  “That’s what I thought you said.” Enflamed passion turned to enflamed insult. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

  “Uh…” Not a good answer. Scott cursed his awkward self. Smooth move, Ex-Lax.

  “You think I’m some slut you can bed at your whim? That I’m some star-struck Scott groupie? I’m not that kind of girl!”

  “Uh…”

  “You know, I thought you were a nice guy—a kind, gentle man. I liked that man, Scott. Now I find out that you’re just an old pervert!”

  Old? Me?

  “Dawn, I’m sorry,” Scott croaked.

  She entered the house in a huff. “Good night, Scott Campbell!” she spat before slamming the door.

  Scott couldn’t believe it. Embarrassed and a bit ashamed of himself, he rapped softly on the door. Dawn was still on the other side. She jerked it open. “What?” she barked.

  “You’re…not gonna tell your parents, are you?”

  Slam! The sound reverberated through Scott’s body. If he had still been human, the shock wave from the slamming door might have hurt him. It still did but not physically.

  Let’s see: vampire seduction skill? Epic fail.

  Scott sat in the Mach I, totally confused. What just happened there? he wondered. Where did I go wrong? Did I overestimate my skills? Or did I underestimate Dawn?

  The knowledge that Dawn would probably never speak to him again gnawed on his still cold heart. As he stewed over his blunder with Dawn, the image of another of his female-related blunders came to mind: Laura. He remembered that he had never apologized to her for his bad attitude while in the hospital. He reasoned that there was no better time than the present.

  Scott hit Speed Dial on his phone and called his ex-wife. The other side of the line picked up, and an annoyed, groggy female voice answered.

  “Scott? What the hell? It’s midnight! You just woke me up!”

  Okay, so maybe there was a better time than the present. “Hey, Laura, I wondered if we could talk…Russ doesn’t happen to be there, does he?”r />
  “Mmm, no, he’s out of town until next week. He’s in Atlanta for some medical device manufacturer’s conference. What do you want? Oh my God, it’s not Mom, is it? Is she okay?”

  “She’s okay; it’s just…we haven’t spoken since last week. I really feel the need to apologize for my behavior. It wasn’t like me at all. I wonder if we can meet.”

  “Now? Scott, it’s the middle of the night! Well, my night, anyway. Not all of us work swings.”

  “No, it doesn’t have to be tonight. Some other time, then.”

  “Well, I’m free on Sunday evening. I guess we could talk over dinner or something.”

  “Yeah, Sunday should work. I’ll see you then.”

  “Yeah, bye.” Laura trailed off as she hung up her phone.

  Scott was not really satisfied. His disastrous attempt at seduction still stung, and the message he had gotten from Laura was not as clear as he would have liked. But he thought that now, with all that had changed, he might have another chance with her. That maybe, just maybe, he could win her back. Or maybe he didn’t even want her back. She did leave you, he told himself, so maybe you could use this time to show her what she’s missing. Yeah! You dumped this, baby! Feel sorry now?

  Scott didn’t want to think about it anymore. And he really didn’t want to think about his failed pursuit of Dawn. He would usually just mope at this point, but vampires don’t mope (or, at least, they shouldn’t). He tried to think of something else. He couldn’t come up with anything original, but soon the lustful thoughts started to diminish on their own. Unfortunately, they were being replaced with darker thoughts. This is not a good trade-off, he thought. But the beast within demanded satisfaction.

  Soon enough he found he no longer desired a sexual outlet for his pent-up vampire energy. Instead, he found a desire for a little of the old ultraviolence. And he knew where he could get some.

  CHAPTER 17

  Scott parked his Mustang down the street from the light-rail station. The rains had paused for now, leaving small streams that ran into storm drains, creating a light gurgling sound.

  He walked toward the station, keeping to the shadows. He took up a position at the far border of the now almost empty lot, in a thin bioswale populated with deciduous trees. Then he stood and watched. The two punks from earlier were still at the train platform; they had been joined by two equally nasty-looking young men. One was a second shaved-head tough with a horseshoe mustache and neck tattoos; the other had a mullet and a potbelly. Scott remained in the shadows and listened to their delightfully vulgar conversation, half the words of which began with the letter “F.” The one with the mustache was smoking a cigarette while lounging in a bus shelter, which surely was a violation of transit district rules, but he was probably not the kind to care. He shared it with the tall fellow with the goatee Scott had seen earlier. The mullet head was drinking an unknown but probably very potent beverage from a bottle within a paper bag.

  Some minutes passed before the final train of the night pulled into the station. The doors opened, and only one passenger got out—a black girl, probably a teen, wearing what was obviously a uniform from a fast-food joint. As she stepped out, the train left the platform, and the four scumbags immediately surrounded her.

  “Hey, baby, don’cha wanna party? Hey, ho, wanna suck on my balls tonight? Come on, don’t be that way,” one of the testosterone-addled punks said.

  The shaved-head with the mustache had not previously joined along in the harassment; now he did. Among them all, he was the angriest and the largest. He seemed to have taken over the alpha role from the other shaved-head. “You dumb motherfuckers, she don’t wanna fuckin’ party; you make her party!” he said. He came up and grabbed the girl by her arms. She screamed out in terror. This only encouraged the thug. “Oh, you wanna scream? I’m gonna make you fuckin’ scream, bitch!”

  Scott decided that now was a good time to work out his frustrations. He stepped out of the shadows and onto the platform. They were initially unaware of his presence, occupied as they were with being assholes.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” Scott said. “I am not sure the lady wants to party with you.”

  Mustache guy glared at him. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked.

  As he focused his attention on the newcomer, the girl slipped from his grasp and ran toward Scott. “Oh my God, Mister, I think they wanna rape me!” she cried.

  Scott didn’t need to be a vampire to sense that the girl was terrified. He looked down at her. “Run,” he ordered, and she was more than willing to obey.

  Scott noticed the hoodlums advancing and starting to surround him. It was a classic multiple-attacker scenario. He was completely aware of everything and everyone around him. He was also aware that there were no further bystanders. Potential witnesses could be a problem; God knows he did not want to be back on Father’s radar again.

  “You see what you done?” growled the tough with the mustache. “We was just havin’ a bit of fun. But you gone and fucked it up. That don’t play, homey.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry I ruined your entertainment for the evening. I mean, if by entertainment you mean hurting little girls, then, yeah, okay. I guess you’ll just have to find other ways to entertain yourselves tonight…homey,” Scott said as he made a gentle stroking motion with his fist, indicating the form of entertainment he was suggesting for them.

  This only infuriated Mr. Mustache further. “Oh, I think we found some entertainment, old man.”

  Old? That was the second time Scott had been called “old” that night. Come on! I’m only forty, and that isn’t all that old, now, is it?

  The two toughs who had positioned themselves behind Scott suddenly grabbed his arms. This was not unexpected, even though their intent was surprise. Their grip felt like being wrapped in toilet paper—which had actually happened to him once, not something he was proud to admit. Mr. Mustache balled his fist and let loose with a forceful blow to Scott’s stomach. He doubled over, not so much from pain, and certainly not from the force of the blow, as he didn’t find the punch particularly impressive. It was more from habit; he’d been punched more than once as a youth. Again, it wasn’t something he was proud to admit. Muscle memory lasts into undeath, it seems.

  Mr. Mustache did not strike Scott again, at least not yet, waiting to see if his blow had the desired effect. Scott straightened himself up, the two punks still holding on to his arms. “Huh. That was interesting.”

  Mr. Mustache was not ready for that response. He had an extensive record of violence and had beaten plenty of men and women, some within mere inches of death. None of them had ever called the experience “interesting.” Feeling the blow failed to get his message across, he struck Scott again in the stomach. This time it was even less impressive, and Scott did not double over.

  “Okay, so when are you actually going to hit me?” Scott asked, adding fuel to an already blistering fire.

  Mr. Mustache delivered a vicious right hook to Scott’s jaw. The force of the impact should have broken Scott’s jaw; as it was, it nearly broke the other man’s hand. He shook his injured paw in pain.

  “If I really wanted a kiss, I would have called your mother,” Scott said.

  That angered Mr. Mustache even more, but it didn’t help him plan his next move all that well. Scott took advantage of this indecision. With little effort, he pulled his arms free of the grips of the two punks and landed a punch on Mr. Mustache’s jaw. He didn’t think he hit him very hard, but Scott heard a distinct crack as the alpha twisted around and fell to his knees.

  The fat kid with the mullet came from behind and wrapped his arm around Scott’s neck, hoping to choke him. Scott found the punk’s cheap gin-and-onion-laced breath simply annoying. He drove his elbow in to the guy’s stomach, again not thinking that he had hit very hard. The overweight man flew backward, crashing onto the platform with a hollow thud, and then sat there grasping his stomach and vomiting.

  The other shaved-head swung at Scott, who gr
abbed him by his shoulders and sent him spinning toward the ticket-vending machine, which was several feet away. The man’s face slammed into the machine with a crack, fracturing his jaw and sending several teeth flying before he collapsed, unconscious.

  Scott then noticed that the tall skinny kid with the goatee was just staring at him like a deer in headlights. Scott pointed at him. One of his father’s old sayings came to mind that Scott had always wanted to use. “Get to dancing or get off the floor!” he barked. The dude needed no further prompting and bolted immediately from the platform.

  That left Mr. Mustache, who got up, blood dripping from his mouth and his jaw swelling. In his hand was a cheap flea-market butterfly knife. His anger had not been tempered by his cracked jaw. He stabbed Scott in the lower abdomen and then stepped back and smiled, thinking that perhaps he had taught him a painful lesson.

  Unfortunately for him, the lesson was completely lost on Scott. He looked down at the knife sticking out of his stomach. “Ouch,” Scott said. He was a little upset. The shirt he’d worn that night was one of his favorites. It was a forest-green foreign military dress shirt he’d picked up at a discount price at a military surplus shop. It looked good with jeans and khakis. But most of all, it was inexpensive. Now there was a tear in the fabric and a bit of blood staining it. Scott was sure he’d have to discard it. “You know, I like this shirt. And now look at what you’ve done.”

  Scott pulled the cheap knife from the wound and tossed it toward the train tracks. He checked the wound; it already seemed to be healing.

  Mr. Mustache decided that he’d had quite enough. He turned to run. But Scott was much too fast. Immediately, the beast came out. Fangs protruded from Scott’s jaws as he grabbed the guy, grappling his head with his left arm and exposing the neck. Scott bit deeply, right over the tattoo of a spider in its web. The hot, red blood spurted from the man’s artery as Scott began to drink, his victim’s screams echoing across the train platform.

  Jack had been right: this was better than the bagged stuff. It was so much more of a rush, a completely sublime experience, and more delicious than any of the food Scott had once enjoyed as a mortal. And the man’s screams were sheer music to his ears. Scott found his screams not only musical but empowering, better than the loftiest songs from any church or any choir, including the choir at his church. The choir that had Dawn as a member.