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

by Franklin Posner

  “Right. There is some dispute over its authorship, and no definitive answer. And even I have no idea who wrote it or where it came from.”

  “And it doesn’t just parallel IshBosheth; it confirms it. In fact, you can correlate passages from Vampiricus to passages in IshBosheth, and vice versa. And Vampiricus has never been disproven, either.”

  Sinner opened the book, leafing through its pages. He stopped at one yellowed page. “Okay, here it is. This is a passage about the chosen one. Let me read it for you. It’s in ecclesiastical Latin, so let me put it in modern American:

  From this one, unwilling, and yet turned

  Shall spring forth the root of justice

  He shall not bend to the dark

  But shall embrace the light

  Cursed and yet redeemed

  He shall come from the line of the Crooked Mouth

  Their descendants crossing waters

  Shall he come, son of heroes

  He comes cloaked in humility

  And because of him, many shall live

  And he shall bear witness

  Unto the end of days

  “Okay, so vampire poetry sucks. It’s pretty much like the IshBosheth text, though, except this Crooked Mouth business. You know, reading on…huh. That’s weird. Apparently, this witness thing is paralleled, would you believe, in the Revelation of John.”

  “You mean the Book of Revelations? From the Bible?” Scott asked. Now here was something with which he was familiar.

  “Yeah. Apparently that text talks about two witnesses to the apocalypse. So?”

  “Yes, it does,” Jeremiah said. “The Revelation of John the Disciple. I am very familiar with that one.”

  “I didn’t know you were a Bible reader, Jeremiah.” Scott said.

  “I’m not. But I know John. I was on Patmos when the revelation was given to him.”

  “Um, ‘know,’ Jeremiah?” Scott asked.

  “I mean ‘knew.’ Not current tense. Sorry. Anyway, why does the biblical parallel excite you so?”

  “’Cause it’s another piece in our arsenal! Vampires surely fear the Word of God; I’m sure they’ll—”

  “Whoa, back the horse up, Nellie!” Sinner cried. “That whole ‘using the Bible in a vampire proceeding’ thing? Bad idea. Lead balloon, my friend.”

  “Why? They do fear the Word of God, don’t they?” Scott asked.

  “Not like in the movies. Handling a Bible won’t actually burn a vampire. It’s just a book. Printed pages bound together. You have to actually read it to have any effect, and that’s not necessarily a good idea as far as vampires are concerned. Also, the Bible is like an antivampire manifesto. Some of the most prolific vampire hunters and slayers in history were big-time Bible thumpers. I mean, taking a Bible into the House would be sort of like getting your buddy’s kid a copy of Mein Kampf for his bar mitzvah. You feel me?”

  “Yeah, okay. I guess.”

  “Good, that’s settled. We’ve got Vampiricus and IshBosheth, and what the hell, we’ll add Flavius, too. I mean, sure, he’s a fraud, but they may not know that. Then I have to work on my argument. You have e-mail?” Sinner asked Scott.

  “Sure, I do.”

  “Send me your résumé. Your curriculum vitae, as they say. I need to get cracking on this. And phone me when your appearance is scheduled. I’ll clear my schedule for it. I’ll make up some lame excuse, I’m sure. So I lose a few paying clients, no big, right? Speaking of clients, the rest of my day is booked. And these people actually pay me. So if you don’t mind?”

  Sinner then pointed toward the door. Jeremiah and Scott took the hint and left the lawyer’s office.

  Grace returned to the detectives’ squad room, walking past her partner without even acknowledging his existence. She went straight to Mason’s office and opened the door. He was on the phone and motioned for Grace to sit, which she didn’t. Soon after that, the sergeant hung up.

  “Sorry,” Mason said, “that was the DA. He wanted an update on that new case Miller and Fratelli are working. Wants to make sure the witnesses are all ready to go for the grand jury. What’s up?”

  “I talked with Stevens.”

  Mason rolled his eyes. “Oh, Jesus, not this again. Did he say anything new?”

  “Yeah, he revealed quite a lot about what stopped him that day at the mall.”

  “Oh, I know what stopped him: Scott Campbell. What is your beef, Montoya?”

  “I checked Campbell’s criminal history. He has none. He’s squeaky clean. Too clean. Don’t you find that odd? Not even a traffic citation. I couldn’t even find parking tickets. Something is wrong with that man, Mason, and I know it.”

  “So because the guy has no criminal record, you think he’s dirty? Seriously?”

  “No, Sergeant! But I’d like to find out. Maybe if you gave me leave to watch him—”

  “No! I will not let you watch him. Campbell is not the subject of any investigation, and he will not be harassed by any member of this department.”

  “How about on my own time?”

  “For Christ’s sake, Grace, listen to yourself! Let me be clear here: Scott Campbell is a hero. The sheriff is going to be giving him an award for valor. What do you think the press is going to do when they find out about how the sheriff’s department is conducting surveillance on the hero of Clackatonic Faire? Sheriff Forrest is running for reelection next year. How do you think he’ll react when he finds out about your little vendetta?”

  “Then what do I do? Just not follow my instincts?”

  “That’s right. Just don’t follow your instincts. Look, I know your record. You are a good cop, a great investigator. But this time, you’re wrong. For the love of God, just let it go.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  Mason shook his head. “Grace, I am ordering you to let this go. Don’t make me go up the chain on this. We need your head in the game. Take your weekend and get some rest. Come back on Monday ready to shine, and forget about Scott Campbell.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll do that.” Grace then left the office, knowing she would not be able to obey her supervisor’s order.

  Saturday morning came with more rain, which wasn’t unexpected, since this was Portland, after all. Irene was fixing pancakes and bacon, her son’s favorite breakfast. She was dismayed when Scott passed on the pancakes and only had a little bacon. (Hey, even vampires like bacon. How can they not?) He was otherwise his normally nonconversant self, which Irene took in stride, considering it was his usual morning pattern. Instead, he drank his breakfast, as he always did, from the same metal thermos he took to work. He had gone through most of his supply, since he usually consumed a full bag every other day, but he made arrangements, as previously suggested by Father, to get more from the House later that week.

  Scott had also just received his new mini refrigerator. He had had it drop-shipped with overnight delivery, the price of which was, as he would say, freaking insane. He initially balked at the price but decided that it was worth it, as he really needed it ASAP. He set the small refrigerator in a corner of his room and placed his “medicine” in it. He had specially ordered it with a padlock, which was a low-cost option that was popular among parents of teenagers. Scott was confident that the lock would defeat the curiosity his mother swore she didn’t have.

  Scott had been planning on hanging out with Tim again. He may have been a vampire, but Scott still craved interaction, friendship, beer, and cheesy sci-fi movies on Tim’s Blu-ray. Tim wanted to take a spin in his Mustang, and Scott was more than eager to show off. Nothing impresses a guy like classic American muscle, after all. But before Scott went to visit Tim, he had another stop to make that afternoon. One he wasn’t really looking forward to.

  Goalz! Restaurant was based on a sports bar theme but hoped to appeal to a more family-oriented customer base. The waitstaff wore various sports-team jerseys and khaki shorts, the female servers’ shorts tending to be a bit shorter and less loose-fitting than the male servers’ sho
rts. Scott entered the lobby of the sports restaurant, noting that it wasn’t really busy yet in the early Saturday evening, and right away he saw what he’d come for. And it wasn’t the wings.

  Dawn Rhinebeck served as the hostess. She stood at the hostess’s booth in the lobby near the entrance to the dining room. Because she was hostess, she was dressed differently from the serving staff, in a white, long-sleeve, vintage-style blouse with ruffles and a collar with a thin black bow tie that matched her above-the-knee tight black skirt. The long black stockings she wore were a concession to Dawn’s modesty. She wore moderately high heels, and her red hair was tied up in a bun. Scott thought the ensemble was extraordinarily sexy yet professional, much in contrast to the more casual dress of the serving staff. This was most likely what Dawn’s manager had been intending. Especially considering the man was standing right next to her with his left hand on her upper back. They were looking at pictures on Dawn’s cell phone. The manager reminded Scott of his physical self. He was a slightly overweight white guy, probably in his thirties, balding, and sporting a soul patch. He wore a white oxford shirt and black trousers, and he was obviously more interested in visually undressing Dawn than he was in doing his job. Scott stood in a corner, working up the courage to approach her, as he caught part of their conversation.

  “And where was this one taken?” the manager asked.

  “The Deschutes River. This was from my young-adult group’s retreat to Central Oregon.”

  “Nice! And who’s the cute little Asian gal in the bikini?”

  “That’s my friend, Jenny.”

  “And why aren’t you wearing a bikini, too?”

  “Oh, my parents would never allow that!”

  “Aren’t you like twenty-one? You’re an adult now! You can do what you want. And I think you’d look really nice…”

  Dawn was taking his comments as complimentary or as friendly conversation, not understanding—or wanting to understand—their true nature. She may not have been truly naïve, but she did want to think the best of people, that people were generally good at heart. She wanted to think that way of her manager. Of course, she was wrong, but that wasn’t her fault. Scott blamed the manager. He was afraid this might open her up to manipulation or abuse; then again, he remembered what he had told Dawn about her own strength. And he remembered her strength the other night, when she shut him down. Did you have to go there, Scott? he asked himself. Hey, okay, so it hurt, but you deserved it for that stunt you pulled.

  Scott cleared his throat. Dawn looked up from her cell phone, and her manager looked up from her ass.

  “Good evening! Welcome to Goalz! May we help you?” the manager asked.

  “Um, Todd?” Dawn asked. “May I have a few minutes? This won’t take long. Maybe you could get Megan to cover the booth for me?”

  Todd stood there with a stupid grin on his face. He extended his hand to Scott. “Hi there! I didn’t catch your name. My name’s Todd!”

  Scott did not shake his hand. “Beat it, Todd,” he said. He actually wanted to tell the jerk to quit sexually harassing Dawn and do some actual work. Todd got the gist of the message and left. He was replaced by a gorgeous blonde with an obviously fake tan. Dawn and Scott then went outside, the rain having subsided somewhat. Scott wanted this conversation to be as private as possible.

  “What do you want, Scott?” she asked.

  “Dawn, I really want to apologize for the other night. My behavior and the things I said were completely off base. I know I came across a bit strong…oh hell, I was a total ass hat. I’m really sorry. It’s just…I’ve been going through some things lately. I’ve been under some stress. Not making excuses for my behavior. I mean, there is no excuse for boorish behavior. I’m sorry.”

  “Scott, you know, I like you. A lot. I’ve liked you for a while. I always thought you were a nice, sweet man who didn’t deserve a lot of the bad things you’ve been going through. But the other night, I was not expecting that. At all.”

  “And I get that you’re a bit upset—”

  “No. Not upset. Disappointed. I was expecting better.”

  “You deserve better. I wish there was some way to make it up to you. Anyway, I hope you can accept my apology, because I really do mean it.”

  “I accept your apology. I accept that it wasn’t the real you the other night.”

  She accepted my apology! Scott liked that. Maybe this was not going to be so painful after all!

  “But, Scott?”

  Uh oh. Buts are rarely good.

  “We can’t do this. I mean, see each other. We can’t hang out together. We’re not going to have a relationship. Can we just be friends?”

  Oh crap. That phrase again. “Can we just be friends?” Seriously? Scott had heard that line a million times before, and he was really getting tired of it. Only one woman had ever broke that record, and even she had eventually changed her mind. Oh well, he told himself, might as well get used to it. It’s the best you’re gonna get under the circumstances.

  “Okay. Yeah. Friends,” Scott said. He briefly shook her hand and walked away.

  “See you in church tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, see you there.” Of course, he was now really not looking forward to the experience—as if he had been before.

  Dawn reentered the restaurant, taking back the hostess station. The blonde who had relieved her greeted her with a hungry grin on her face. “Who was that?” she asked. “He was fine!”

  “Scott Campbell. He’s just a friend.”

  “Oh! Does that mean he’s available?”

  Dawn just shook her head.

  Goalz! was situated across the street from a gas station that had been closed down for renovation. At that gas station was parked the same black Chevy sedan that had been following Scott since the previous evening. Scott still hadn’t noticed it, nor had he noticed the driver snapping multiple photographs of his discussion with Dawn.

  “Hey, what do you think about that?” the driver said to the man in the passenger seat.

  “Tasty. And I’m not talking about the menu.”

  “Keep it in your pants, Bill. Still, you’re right; she’s a tasty little thing. I think Scotty’s got a girlfriend. The boss is definitely gonna want to see this.” Their task accomplished, they started the engine of the car, and the vampires drove away.

  “Woo-hoo!” Tim screamed as Scott took a near-hairpin curve at high speed on the winding rural road. Dark trees flew by in the night. All Tim could see was a black blur. “How fast are we going?”

  “Who cares? Feel that torque!” Scott said, easing his depression over Dawn with pure adrenaline.

  “This is a sweet ride! And that engine just growls!”

  Tim’s praise of his car lifted Scott’s ego a bit. He seemed impressed. “That’s the Cleveland you’re hearing. This Mach I has been totally restored with as many original factory parts as possible. Except the radio—it’s modern. It can play CDs, MP3s, satellite radio, the works. Check out the woofers on this bitch!”

  Scott flipped on the radio. Van Halen’s “Panama” came blazing through.

  “Oh no, dude, this is my jam!” Scott said. He stood on the gas pedal.

  “Scott? Maybe you need to slow down before you, like, die…again.”

  “Tim, it’s ‘Panama.’ You cannot drive slow when the radio is playing ‘Panama.’ I think it’s a law.”

  “You know, I thought we were going to talk about Dawn. We can’t do that at however-illegal-miles per hour with Van Halen blasting.”

  “You’re such a buzzkill.”

  “Well? What’s up with that? Last I knew, you guys were making eyes in church. Then you told me you were gonna pick her up after work. Are you finally moving on? Starting to play the field again? Come on, Scott, talk to me.”

  “Nothing to talk about. Nothing’s up with that. Look, Dawn’s a nice girl and all, but you said so yourself, she’s a little too young for me. I mean, the age difference would be kinda weird. So, that’s th
at. Happy?”

  “Not really. I mean, if you guys are happy and in love, that’s what’s important.”

  “Well, we’re not in love. We’re just friends. What else do you want?”

  “I want you to slow down.”

  “But I haven’t even pushed her to the red line yet!”

  “Scott, I mean it!”

  “What? Getting scared?”

  “Yes! And there’s a cop behind us!”

  There was indeed. Scott’s vampire senses had somehow failed to pick up on the fully marked Oregon State Police cruiser that was now behind them, its blue-and-red lights flashing. Scott slowed the Mustang down and pulled to the side of the road.

  “Dude, you are so busted. That cop was behind us for a while. Man, I’d hate to have to pay the fines you’re gonna get.”

  The state trooper advanced to the Mustang. She was tall, made taller by the blue Smokey Bear hat on her head. Scott rolled down his window.

  “Good evening, sir. I’m Trooper Dennison. Do you know how fast you were going back there?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “You were going about eighty. And it’s night, on wet pavement. Do you know how dangerous that is, sir?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Very. Do you know what the speed limit is on this stretch, sir?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Forty. I’ll need your license and registration.”

  Scott locked eyes with the trooper and stared into them. “You do not need to see my license and registration,” he said.

  “That’s okay. I don’t need to see your license and registration.”

  “You are not going to give me a ticket.”

  “I’m not going to give you a ticket, sir.”

  “You are going to tell me to drive carefully, wish me a good-night, and then get back in your car.”

  “Drive more carefully, sir. Okay? Good night.”

  The trooper went back to her patrol car, got in, shut off the overhead lights, and pulled away.

  Scott could feel Tim’s eyes on him. “Dude! What’s up with the Jedi mind trick?” Tim asked.