Better Off Undead

by Martin H. Greenberg

  I glanced over at Lilah and mouthed the word “cult.’’ She nodded.

  “Guess it’s not your fault, Anna.’’ I shrugged. “You got someplace to go?’’

  She shook her head. “Mom and Dad . . . they split up six months back. Dad said I was old enough to be on my own, and Mom’s boyfriend . . .’’ She shuddered. “Jason . . . he . . .’’ Her eyes filled again.

  “You’re staying with me, sweetie, till we find you someplace.’’ Lilah nodded in my direction. “And you ain’t letting toothy here seduce you, either.’’

  I mock-leered at her, but it felt wrong.

  “The cops didn’t look too close,’’ Lilah added. “Seems they’ve been wanting to get a hold of this lot for a while. Oh, and Deputy Lenny said to tell you you did a neat job.’’

  Aw, crap. All the cops that could have come to the apartment, and Lilah gets the one and only vampire. I’d never hear the end of it. Sure, Lenny was just doing his job, same as I was just doing mine. But . . .

  Ah, what the hell. “Tell him I said he can shove it where the sun don’t shine.’’ It was probably a good thing, I told myself. Lenny would accept Lilah’s self-defense thing, and wouldn’t ask any awkward questions. He’d probably also put the word out that Lilah was good folks, and not to be harassed. He was that kind of guy.

  “You tell him, sweetie. I got work to do.’’ Lilah grinned at me. It was kind of sickly compared to her usual grin. “See you tomorrow?’’

  “Sure thing.’’ I gave her my best cheerful wave. “Take care, y’all.’’

  I watched as they left, then locked the doors after them. At least this time, I wouldn’t need to do an incident report.

  And the way Anna looked back at me as they headed for Lilah’s car, well . . . maybe things were looking up.

  Maybe life was about to start sucking in a good way. I started to whistle as I got out the mop and went back to my job.

  TWELVE STEPPING IN THE DARK

  Rebecca Lickiss

  The drab plain door had a small paper sign taped to the inside of the window saying “Free Clinic.’’ Serena looked at the dilapidated building and sighed.

  She pulled her floppy, broad-brimmed hat further down on her head. The white gloves made her hands awkward. As she’d expected, wearing a heavy, long-sleeved, cotton shirt with jeans, boots, gloves, and a hat in warm weather drew stares. Serena shrugged her shoulders. She didn’t care what they thought. Or rather, she preferred to pretend she didn’t care.

  Why here? Serena wondered. In the middle of some small town. But then again, why not? Where else would you find a vampire rehabilitation clinic?

  Inside the building, the smell of sunscreen was overwhelming. The small lobby looked like a redecorated old store, complete with a dilapidated wooden counter about six feet from the back wall. Shabby blue plastic chairs lined the pastel pink walls. Several paths had been worn into the drab gray flooring. One path led straight from the door to the counter.

  The only other person in the room was a quiet young man who sat behind the counter watching her. She noticed first his raven black hair, and pale, pale skin. He smiled cautiously, without parting his lips, so she couldn’t be sure. He said, “If you haven’t decided on your goal, you’ll never achieve it.’’

  A goal. Yes, goals were a good idea. Speaking of which . . . Serena tried smiling at him. “I heard about this clinic.’’ Serena sounded stupid even to her own ears. “It’s just that . . . Well, I really don’t think anything can help.’’

  “We can help.’’ He stood. “I’m living proof, so to speak.’’ His lips pulled back in a wide smile, revealing pointed canines.

  Serena rushed to the counter, and leaned on it to support herself. “I don’t even remember being bitten.’’

  “You’ve come to the right place.’’ He patted her arm with his right hand, while lifting a section of the counter with his left, and kicking a front panel open. “You come on back and sit. I’ll get you some juice, and we can talk.’’ He put his arm around her shoulder, steering her through one of the doorways down the hall.

  She glanced back the way they’d come. “Don’t you need to wait out front?’’

  “No. You may have noticed we’re not real busy right now.’’ He opened a door to what appeared to be a break room or lounge. “We get most of our customers after dark. I can tell you’re new. Most won’t even go out in daylight.’’

  Sitting in a wobbly folding chair at a cheap round table, Serena watched him open a scratched and dented refrigerator. He pulled out two cans of tomato juice, opened them both, and put one in front of her. She looked at the tomato juice, wondering if it was really a viable substitute.

  He sat in another rickety chair. “I’m Boleslaw Woronow. My friends call me Les. It’s shorter, easier, and less vampiric.’’ He nodded to her, and sipped from his juice can.

  That he’d actually said the word surprised her, nobody else would say it around her since . . . However, since he was one also, and this place was what it was, she supposed that it would be necessary. She braced herself to be brutally honest. “Serena Tropashko. And I don’t want to be a vampire any more. I don’t even know how it happened. I don’t remember being bitten.’’

  “We can help.’’ Les smiled, again without letting his lips part. She wondered if that was to keep others from seeing his fangs, and decided to try copying it herself. It couldn’t hurt. “Actually, it’s common not to remember being bitten.’’ He patted her hand. “However, with rehabilitation you have to do the work, and it must be something you want with all your heart.’’

  Serena nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes, I want my life back.’’

  “Good, good. First thing,’’ he held up one finger, “No biting. Second,’’ another finger, “You must be completely honest, with us, with yourself, and with others. And third,’’ another finger, “No biting.’’ Les smiled at her, showing his teeth. “Actually, if you’re as new as I think, you probably don’t have the urge to bite anyone yet, and won’t for years to come.’’

  Serena nodded; she didn’t want to bite anyone, never had.

  “We offer therapy every night. Vampirism isn’t an easy thing to overcome, but it can be done. You have to take it in steps, sometimes little baby steps, sometimes giant leaps, but little by little, bit by bit.’’ He took another drink of juice. “First thing, though, we have to take care of your immediate needs. Everyone needs food, shelter, a job, all that stuff. Let’s start there. How’re you set?’’

  “I lost my job, when . . .’’ Her hand touched her neck, and he nodded for her to continue. “I haven’t been able to get one since. I live about seventy miles away from here. I didn’t want to go where someone might recognize me. I’m so scared my landlord will find out, but if I can’t get a job it won’t make any difference because I’ll be evicted anyway. My whole family is upset. There’s never been a vampire in the family before.’’

  Les held up a hand to stop her. “We can get you a job. Employers are more lenient if they’re sure you’re trying to rehabilitate yourself, and won’t bite them. However, you may want to find someplace closer to live. Therapy sessions take a minimum of one and a half hours, and three or four hours isn’t unusual. Add a regular work day and several hours of driving on top of that, and you could easily fall asleep at the wheel, maybe even get in an accident.’’

  “But I love my apartment. I love living in the city. Besides, now that I’m a vampire I can’t be killed in an auto accident. Right?’’

  “No, probably not.’’ He shrugged and pushed her tomato juice can closer to her, a broad hint. “It’s your decision. Let me get you some addresses where you can go apply for a job.’’

  She picked up her tomato juice after he’d left the room. She’d never cared for it, and one sip confirmed that she still didn’t much like it.

  Les returned with four business cards, which he handed to her. “You may have some trouble with your name. It sounds like it’s from the old country. You
’re not, are you?’’

  “No!’’ Serena sat up straight in surprise. “My family has been in this country for over a hundred years.’’

  “Didn’t think so. You don’t sound like it. But your name will work against you now. Smith and Brown now, they don’t sound so threatening. That’s why I’m working here. When Boleslaw Woronow, Vampire, applies for work the employers seem to think I’m from the old country and knew Vlad Tepes personally.’’

  “How long? Ah.’’

  “It was 1743.’’

  “Sorry.’’

  He waved his hand to ward off her apology. “Try these places. Be back here by a half hour after dark for therapy.’’

  Serena nodded, and followed Les numbly to the door. She cringed from the bright sunshine outside, but even that couldn’t destroy the tiny seed of hope planted in her heart.

  She was back in the shabby, pastel, lobby-that-used-to-be-a-shop long before sunset. Two men and a woman stood with Les behind the counter, gossiping. Of the two men one was as pale as Les, but the other man and the woman were both heavily tanned. They all turned when Serena entered.

  “How’d it go?’’ Les asked. One look at her face and he added, “Not so good?’’

  Laying three of the business cards on the counter, Serena said, “These three claimed they had no jobs open, even though two of them had Help Wanted signs in their windows. This one,’’ she put the fourth card, for a natural fertilizer place with the motto Manure Is Our Business, on the counter. “I didn’t get to.’’

  “Don’t bother,’’ Les said after looking at the card. “It’s probably your name.’’

  “What’s wrong with her name?’’ the woman asked.

  “Serena Tropashko.’’ Les turned to face the woman. “She’s the newbie I told you about.’’

  “You poor dear.’’ The woman opened the counter, ushering Serena in. “I’m Dr. Felicity Van Helsing, I run the clinic here.’’ Clucking and fussing, Dr. Van Helsing herded Serena back to the breakroom, and forced another can of tomato juice on her.

  What followed would usually have been considered a grueling interrogation, except for Dr. Van Helsing’s solicitous concern for Serena’s welfare. Les finally rescued her by reminding Dr. Van Helsing that Serena needed to eat before therapy that night.

  He took Serena to a nearby fast-food restaurant, and bought them both burgers. They ate in a quiet back booth, where the rays of the setting sun wouldn’t reach them.

  “Dr. Van Helsing doesn’t seem the least bit afraid of us.’’ It was a statement, but Serena hoped he’d take it as a question.

  “She’s from a long line of vampire hunters.’’ Les grinned, without parting his lips. Serena noticed he managed to eat without showing his fangs. “She has nothing to fear from any of us. Even if we were inclined to bite, the thought of spending the next several hundred years—or several thousand years, or eternity—with her would give anyone pause.’’

  “Do all of you . . . know each other?’’ Serena asked, a vague suspicion turning her burger into a lump of lead in her stomach.

  “No, not all. But since vampires have always been about one hundredth of one percent of the population, most of us get to know at least the ones in our country.’’

  Serena gasped. “Do you know who bit me? Did you?’’

  “Not me. I haven’t bitten anyone for almost a hundred years. I work at the clinic, remember?’’ He looked wistfully sad. “Don’t thirst for revenge. I’ve seen it happen so many times. I tried it myself. You only end up hurting yourself. And it doesn’t change anything.’’ He shook his head, his eyes stared out unfocused, as if lost in some far away thought.

  Unready to let go of the desire for revenge, she changed the subject. “Can you tell me, what’s true and what’s not, about . . .’’

  Les broke off from whatever memories held him and looked at her, nearly smiling. “Think of it as a disease. It probably is, if anyone would ever do the research to prove it. You’re still a human being, but some things are different. We can’t turn into bats or fly. That got started because we’re so much stronger, so we can jump higher, farther. I guess some people mistook that for flight. We have better reflexes. Sunlight doesn’t kill us, but we’re very light sensitive. You’ll burn much easier than anyone else. A wooden stake through the heart will kill you, as it would everyone else. You do have incredible powers of recuperation. You’re nearly impervious to disease and injury. One drink of blood can heal almost anything, completely rejuvenate you. However, I have no idea where the idiocy with the mirrors came from. The laws of physics are still operative. We have all too solid forms, and light still reflects off us.’’

  “If you need blood to rejuvenate you, how have you managed for almost a hundred years?’’ she asked.

  “Therapy.’’ He checked his watch. “We’d better be going, or we’ll be late.’’

  That night there were seven in the group, only Serena and Les had old-world-sounding names. Dr. Van Helsing mediated. Each of the others expressed their sympathy to Serena and offered some little insight or thought. The whole idea behind the therapy, and the clinic, seemed to be to support each other in building a new life and to keep up the pressure not to bite anyone. And, of course, drinking tomato juice. Serena wasn’t sure she thought much of either purpose. She appreciated the support, particularly the job Dr. Van Helsing offered her, but didn’t feel like biting anyone anyway and didn’t like tomato juice.

  Before she left that night, Les caught her alone by her car and pressed a thick wad of money into her hand. “Pay off your rent and any other bills you have outstanding.’’

  Serena stared at the twenties and fifties in her hand; there had to be a couple thousand dollars. “I can’t take this.’’

  He closed her fingers around the wad and patted them. “I’ve had money in the bank since 1743. The interest adds up. Take it. You can pay me back in a couple hundred years.’’ His grin winked in the dark night, and the moonlight gleamed menacingly off his fangs for a brief moment, then he left.

  Wrapped inside the money, she found one of the clinic’s business cards, with Les’ phone number on the back. She put the whole thing in her purse, and headed home, feeling better than she had in months.

  Over the next several weeks Serena settled into a routine, working at the clinic, attending therapy, driving the long trip back to her apartment, sleeping, and driving back to start all over again. Her family was thrilled that she’d started therapy, and wanted to know when she would be cured, but they didn’t want to see her or be seen with her.

  Serena considered moving closer to the clinic a thousand times. She considered it mostly at night, as she drove back to the city, tired and worn. Still, she liked the anonymity and diversity of the city. Even with as different as she was now she could still blend into the crowd in a big city.

  Driving home late one night she saw the lights of the other vehicle come round the corner up ahead, realizing that they were in her lane too late.

  The pain of her smashed chest, where the steering wheel trapped her in her car, woke her. The flashing lights indicated that emergency vehicles had arrived on the scene. She managed to turn her head, and saw someone standing by her car door. She tried to think things through, but the best thought she could come up with was, Whatever you do, don’t open your mouth.

  She lost consciousness again as they pulled her from the car, waking when someone shone a light in her eye. She batted at the hand holding her eye open.

  Someone said, “I think she’s going to make it.’’

  Looking around, Serena recognized the forbidding white walls and sterilized smell of a hospital.

  “Pulse is weak, but steady,’’ someone else said.

  A face hovered into her view. It looked delicious. She could almost see the blood pumping through his arteries and veins. She suddenly wanted to bite him like she’d wanted nothing else in her life. Without thinking she opened her mouth.

  “What’s this?’’ O
ne hand clamped down on her chin, forcing her mouth open; another grabbed her nose, pinching it firmly and pulling one side of her upper lip back. “Code Vee. We’ve got a vampire here.’’

  Serena watched weakly, as people rushed around her, putting very strange looking clothing on, until they resembled astronauts.

  Someone leaned over, peering at her through a bubble helmet. “What religion did you belong to?’’

  “I’m an agnostic,’’ she murmured.

  “Yes, but were you a Christian agnostic, or a pagan agnostic, or a Jewish agnostic, or . . . ?’’

  What an idiot. She reached toward them, and they moved away. Finally the people in the room settled down and began moving the gurney out of the room.

  “This isn’t right,’’ someone near her feet complained. “She needs healing.’’

  “She’s one of them,’’ the weirdly garbed astronaut near her knee said. “No one, not the administration, not the mayor, not the police chief, no one will complain if we throw her out. She’ll recover on her own, or she’ll wither in the sun. We don’t have to risk this kind of stuff.’’

  They wheeled her out of the hospital, off the smooth floors, and through the painful bumpy darkness. It appeared to be an alley, or something, but she couldn’t tell for certain from her position. It was hard to focus on anything with every lurch and jolt shooting pain through her body. Someone pulled her off the gurney, and set her gently beside a large, smelly, metal dumpster. He set her purse in her lap, and whispered, “Good luck.’’

  Some time passed before she could move. Finally she managed to stand up, leaning against the building by the dumpster, scraping her hand against the rough bricks. She walked down the alley, heading toward a lighted area, away from the rotten odor of the dumpster. In the opposite direction from where she guessed the hospital was.

  She stood, leaning on the building, at the mouth of the alley. Several streetlights on the corner shed a circle of light that reached the alley and spilled a short way in. Closed and barred stores faced her across the wide, dirty, patched street. An empty paper cup rattled down the street, pushed by a stray breeze.