Releasing A Vampire

by Jacky Dahlhaus

  “Thank you so much for renting out the house to me. I am so grateful. It looks lovely.”

  “Thank you, dearie. I always only rent it out to teachers, you know. I’ve never had any regrets.” She opened another cupboard. “Now where did I put them…” she murmured. “All teachers have always been very well-behaved people and have taken really good care of the property.” She opened a drawer from the sideboard now.

  I felt my cheeks become flushed. “I hope I won’t let you down. I’ve never lived on my own, you know.” Automatically, my thumb went to my mouth to bite the skin next to the nail. When I became aware of performing my nasty habit, I swung my arm down. I clasped my hands behind my back, just in case.

  “I’m sure you’ll manage,” Mrs. Babcock smiled as she turned to me with keys in her hand. As I stuck out my hand, she took it and put the keys in it. Before she let go, she said, “But you know where I live and you can always come over if you need help with anything. Or if you just fancy a cup of tea of course.” She giggled.

  Her whole demeanor was so sweet. I couldn’t help but laugh with her. “Thank you, I will.”

  She let me out and I walked back to my car. She waved to me, and I waved to her in return, before she went back inside. I made myself a promise to have a cup of tea with Mrs. Babcock at least once a week.

  I grabbed the box with groceries from the passenger seat of my car and walked toward my new home. When I stepped onto the porch out the front, I made a turn on my axis while inspecting the place. The area seemed big enough to put a chair and table here to enjoy the setting sun. Happy about my second impression, I had a small setback when I struggled to turn the key in the lock of the front door and hold the box upright at the same time. I didn’t let this little thing bring me down and when I managed to turn the key, I finally stepped inside.

  It’s a pity I can’t carry myself over the threshold.

  My grin went even wider than it already was. My new home was small but cozy. I stood in an L-shaped living room and, like in Mrs. Babcock’s home, I felt as if I had stepped into a time machine, taking me to the fifties this time. I rented the house with furniture because I didn’t own any myself yet. There was a red, faux-leather couch and chairs, all with wooden legs and metal end bits. A metal-rimmed, bean-shaped coffee table with a strange, colored pattern on a black background on its surface, matching side tables, and wooden cabinets of a matching style. All were in a good state and gave the room a homely feel. Apart from the pink paint on the walls. I would have to do something about that. I popped the grocery box down on the coffee table. A separate room occupied the right-hand quadrant and I opened the door for a peek. It appeared to be my bedroom. I liked the white, metal double bed. It made the whole room have a romantic feel. The nightstand next to it, the dresser, and a wardrobe were also white. Definitely a touch from Mrs. Babcock. I opened the doors of the cabinets, one after the other. They would give me ample of space to put my stuff in.

  I returned to the living room and found the small kitchen at the back of it. It was more a kitchenette size-wise, to be honest, but it had a full stove and sink. The granite countertop had seen better days, with chips off here and there, but it was clean and functional. Through a side door in the kitchen, I found the bathroom. It also was small yet contained a shower/bath combination. I could already picture myself having a relaxing bubble bath every week. The bathroom wasn’t ensuite, but as I didn’t have to share my home with anybody else, I didn’t care. I picked up the grocery box from the living room and began unloading my groceries into the refrigerator and kitchen cupboards. Mrs. Babcock had been so kind to switch on the refrigerator earlier. I couldn’t help but smile when I realized I was putting my groceries into my refrigerator in my kitchen in my new home.

  Such happiness with such a mundane action.

  Even if it is a rental.

  I went back to my car and made several trips to move all of my stuff from the car into the house. When I had unpacked the essentials and stored them in the appropriate places, I was knackered. I went into the bedroom, kicked off my shoes, and let myself fall onto my back on the bed. It squeaked, even under my tiny frame. By now it was dark in the room but for a tiny sliver of light coming from above. I tilted my head up and noticed one little, high window on the outer wall, mostly covered by a white blackout blind. I wondered why. The window was too high for anybody to peek inside. I gathered a previous renter must have liked to sleep in.

  I relaxed again and felt happy. I spread my arms and legs out to all four corners of the mattress and began moving them as if making a snow angel. I laughed. To have this place all to myself was like being a queen in a palace. My palace!

  Biosafety Level 2 Laboratory, unknown location

  Saturday, August 7th, 2004

  Dr. Bonnetti crossed the medical facility’s parking lot with a spring in her step. She couldn’t wait to get to the lab. They had injected the rats with the genetically engineered Adeno-Associated Virus the day before and she was eager to know how they were doing. The virus was not harmful in itself, but you just never knew. Hopefully, none of the rats had become ill. Any eye or nasal discharge or rattling lung noises would mean the virus hadn’t worked. The virus was supposed to create more muscle protein once it injected its genetically modified DNA into muscle cells, not replicate any unhealthy habits. Bonnetti wasn’t a religious person, but her Catholic upbringing got the better of her and she prayed under her breath as she entered the building.

  Once she had donned her lab coat, gloves, and face shield, she entered the room where the rats were kept. Jen Lam, the lab technician, was already checking the animals.

  “How are my lovely pumpkin horses performing today?” Dr. Bonnetti asked Jennifer.

  Jen looked up at her boss. ‘Why is she talking to me while I’m trying to listen to the rat’s breathing,’ she thought. ‘She should know better.’ Jen finished her lung exam, took the stethoscope out of her ears, and draped the instrument around her neck. “They seem to be doing fine,” she said. She smiled at Dr. Bonnetti, who thought that Jen’s words were music to her ears and was nearly dancing around the room.

  Jen was as happy with the result as Dr. Bonnetti was, but not for the same reasons. Jennifer had become a laboratory animal technician because she loved animals. It would take her a week of grieving when the rats had to be put down. Whether the treatments were working or not, none of them ever survived the projects. She had had to put down an awful lot of rats in the past, but she had always done it with love and care, or speed, which basically came down to the same thing. Jen always thought of the bigger picture, of all the people the rats would be saving by giving their lives to science. It was the only way to stay on top of it, the only way not to succumb to the repetitive grief.

  Together, the two women kept an eye on the rats for the rest of the day and the following weeks. Body temperatures were measured, as well as weights and leg circumferences. An eye was kept out for conjunctivitis, rhinitis, and any signs of lung involvement. All seemed to go as planned. None of the rats became sick although they did lose some due to aggression. Jen had never experienced this amount of fighting amongst the animals. It was known that too many rats in too small a cage would instigate aggression, but they had kept to the regulations of only two per cage. Some didn’t fight at all, but if they did, it was always to the death. She thought it very strange. Dr. Bonnetti dismissed Jen’s concerns and said it to be within normal parameters.

  Once the trial was over, all the rats were euthanized and dissected. Muscle tissue was taken from every rat and studied under the microscope. The results were unanimous; the virus treatment was a success.

  Bullsbrook, Saturday, August 7th, 2004

  Before I had left home, Mom had advised me to paint my interior before unpacking too many boxes. I had discussed it early Saturday morning with Mrs. Babcock and she had agreed for me to paint the living room walls as long as I did it to a good standard. So I went out to find the local paint shop. I learned my fi
rst lesson of country living as there wasn’t a paint shop in town. Instead, they had the Happy Hardware store, where you could find most DIY material, including paint.

  There, I saw Sue for the first time. We met when we bumped into each other trying to pick up the same can of corn-yellow paint from a top shelf.

  “Oh, sorry, you go ahead and take it. I’ll take the one behind it,” was the first thing she said to me.

  Her voice had an uplifting ring to it and hearing it made me even happier than I already was. I looked sideways to find out who this beautiful voice belonged to and my mouth fell open. She was the most colorful girl I had ever seen. She wore a yellow painters’ overall, purple army boots with red shoelaces, and a rainbow-colored, long-sleeved shirt.

  “No way, you go ahead and take this one. I’ll take the one behind it,” I said apologetically and stepped back to give her more space.

  “Okay, thanks,” she said and lifted the can off by the handle with ease. She didn’t even have to stand on her tippy toes to do so. She stepped back to let me grab the next can. To my embarrassment, I was too short and couldn’t reach it, not even on my tippy toes. I looked over my shoulder to see if she was still there and noticed she was indeed. She smiled a big smile at me.

  Please go away and let me embarrass myself without an audience.

  “Don’t worry, I can do this,” I said as I re-adjusted my handbag and did my best ballet impression. Holding myself up with one hand on the shelf post, I let my other hand make grabbing movements in the space where the first can had been, trying to locate the second one. Instead of a prima ballerina, I felt like an orangutan hanging off a tree. When I peeked over my shoulder again to see if I still had an audience watching my animal escapade, my eyes met hers. There was a brightness in hers, a happiness that spread to her cheekbones and her broad smile. I realized how stupid I must have looked and we both began laughing out loud, her long dreadlocks bouncing up and down. Less embarrassed now, but only slightly, I stepped back again and she pushed the paint can she was holding into my hands and easily grabbed the next one from the shelf. She secured the can on her hip and turned to me.

  “I’m Sue. I’m the new English teacher at the local high school,” she said.

  “No way, I’m Kate, the new science teacher,” I replied to my soon-to-be-colleague.

  “Wow, I can’t believe you’re also new here. I thought I was going to be able to blend in quietly on my own.”

  I didn’t blink for a few seconds, the sudden silence awkward. Then, Sue threw her head back and laughed a beautiful, full laugh.

  “No need to keep it in, peeshwanck. I can take it,” she said as she wiped tears away from the corners of her eyes.

  “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t want to offend you, but you’re not exactly camouflaged,” and I indicated her whole being as I smiled.

  “I know,” she said as she inspected herself. “Life’s too short to be restricted by conventionality. You should try letting go. It’s liberating. Say, where’s your koté, your home?”

  I told her the location of my new home and we began chatting. It appeared Sue rented an apartment not far from mine and was also re-decorating. She invited me over to her place for a cuppa which I gladly accepted. I was so happy to have found a friend. Sue was completely into purples and pinks but wanted the yellow paint for her kitchen cabinet doors. I stayed the rest of the day to help her paint them.

  We got on really well and we helped each other paint our new homes and gave each other tips on decorating. Of course, Sue would have turned my house into a multicolored circus attraction if I had taken all of her advice, but fortunately, she was not offended when I settled for more muted fall colors such as corn-yellow and orange. These went well with my red furniture.

  From that first day on, we had dinner together most of the time until school started. Her cuisine was very different from what I cooked for her. Hers included lots of things that I had never heard of, like gumbo’s, boudin, and tasso. My mother’s cooking had been extremely bland—to keep Dad happy—and Sue’s dishes were a revelation for the senses. I didn’t appreciate all the food she put in front of me. She once fed me something so spicy, the tears were rolling over both our cheeks. Over mine, because I felt like my insides were on fire, and over hers, because she had one look at my face and couldn’t stop laughing. Once I extinguished the flames with some cold yogurt drink she had quickly made for me, I had one look at her and we both burst out laughing again. Whenever one of us mentioned fish from that moment on, we would both laugh.

  August was wonderful with plenty of hot days and balmy nights. We often sat on our porches after dinner, enjoying a glass of wine and exchanging teaching tactics and experiences from our training days. We regularly discussed the plumber Sue had had to call in to fix a leaking sink. Apparently, he was a looker and she described me every detail of his cute butt that she studied intently when he had his head stuck in the kitchen cupboard.

  Life was good.

  Bullsbrook, Monday, August 30th, 2004

  My first day as a teacher began on Monday, the 30th of August. Bullsbrook High was large for a country school as it also housed the adult education center for the area. The double story, main building loomed in front of me as I walked up to it from the staff parking lot. I had felt extremely anxious on Sunday, but there had been no need for it as the first day at school was a ‘teachers-only’ day. I had a reprieve from the students’ judgment for another day.

  We sat through the morning meeting in the staff room. Our Head Master, Mr. Finkle, went through the year’s aims and budgets. He also introduced the new teachers to the existing staff; Sue, myself, and a guy named Charlie. Charlie was the new Arts teacher. Most teachers greeted us with a friendly smile, but I noticed some didn’t smile at Charlie. I sure hoped it had nothing to do with him being a dwarf.

  After a private tour of the buildings by one of the teachers, Sue, Charlie, and I sat together in the staff room for lunch. My guess was that Charlie was about ten years older than Sue and me. I asked him how he became an Arts teacher and he told us he used to be a silversmith. After years of struggling to sell his creations on markets and fairs, he had realized he could hardly earn enough money to sustain a normal living, let alone a pension. Hence he had re-schooled to become an Arts teacher.

  “What kind of jewelry did you make?” Sue asked.

  “Rings mostly,” Charlie answered, “but also necklaces, earrings, and belly button piercings. You need any?” Charlie smiled.

  I looked at Sue, who shook her head.

  “Sorry, me neither,” I said to Charlie. I pointed at the rings on his hands. “Did you make those yourself?”

  “Sure did. They all have their own story, but I won’t bother you with those.” He smiled a mysterious smile.

  “I like the dragon one,” Sue said.

  “I like the Celtic one,” I blurted out after Sue’s comment. I didn’t mean to overshadow her remark and I hoped I didn’t hurt her feelings.

  Charlie glanced at me for a moment and seemed to understand my expression as he first mentioned to Sue how much time and tries it had taken him to make the dragon ring. It was made with a mold. Then he told us he made the Celtic ring to remind him of his Irish background.

  “How do you get the metal strings woven and connected without a seam visible?” I asked him.

  Charlie explained that they actually weren’t woven. “You make the ring from a rectangular sheet of metal which you weld into a closed band. The trick is to make it so the seam doesn’t show.” He took the ring off his finger and showed us that there was indeed no seam to be seen, inside or out. “Then you punch holes in calculated locations and file the remaining silver strands to look like they’re woven over and under each other.”

  “Wow! That must take forever,” Sue said amazed.

  Charlie laughed. “Yes, it kind of does, but it’s so worth it!” He beamed as he admired his own ring.

  The ring truly looked marvelous.

  I l
iked Charlie. Like Sue, he was easy to talk to and I felt at ease whenever he was nearby. Even though he was almost ten years older than Sue and me, he was one of us. He liked our kind of music and made the same type of jokes. We were a great team, the three of us, having lunches and dinners together, exchanging teaching experiences, and relaxing on Friday nights at the local bar. We called ourselves the three musketeers and toasted to ourselves at every round.

  Biosafety Level 2 Laboratory, unknown location

  September 20th, 2004, Monday

  The man wearing a green beret saluted Dr. Bonnetti.

  “Officer D.I.M. Becker, 3rd Infantry Division, 1st Armored Brigade Combat Team, 3rd Combined Arms Battalion, 69th Armor Regiment, at your service.” He yelled his name and rank more than say it. Such was standard amongst green berets and other special operations forces. It basically said these were men not to play with.

  The fact that the initials of his first names, David Ian Michael, spelled ‘dim’ hadn’t helped his initial time with the armed forces. Everybody had assumed he also was dim and had treated him as such. The fact that he had an IQ of 140 had helped David to overcome this hardship and he soon had earned respect from his fellow trainees. By the end of the Q Course, he had earned the nickname ‘Gov,’ and even though each and every Green Beret was trained to make instant decisions in a variety of circumstances, all of David’s troop officers looked at him for advice whenever a decision had to be made and they gladly accepted that he was made their Commander.

  David had cried when his troop of Green Berets had told him they would join him as a volunteer for this new virus test. They knew his little boy had a brain tumor and needed expensive treatment. The extra money David would make by participating wouldn’t be enough and he hadn’t wanted to let his mates down by leaving them, but what choice did he have? When his troop told him that they would join his cause and donate their extra income toward his son’s operation, the closeness between the men felt like a bunch of sardines in a tin. You really couldn’t get much closer than that.