Vampire Man

by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff

  “You may call me Racker,” I say. Racker was what my maker called me when I was but his pathetic human pet. It is the name I deserve now after tonight.

  “Racker, nice to meet you. I’ll be right back.”

  I give Brandi the thumbs-up, unable to do much more than that. I have no idea what will happen to me now.

  Sleep. I will sleep. Tomorrow will be a new day.

  The next morning, I wake at a roadside motel just outside Houston. I vaguely recall us pulling in last night after I had Brandi procure food and drink.

  I look over at the other bed. Brandi is still here, passed out and snoring in a way that no lady ever should. Like a congested boar.

  The pleasant news is that I have to piss like a racehorse. A good sign because it means I am rehydrated.

  I get to my feet and trudge to the bathroom, where I look in the mirror. “What is that!” A gray hair. “No, no, no.” I lean forward and pluck it out.

  “What’s wrong?” Brandi stumbles into the doorway, her brown locks a wild mess.

  “Nothing.” I do not believe in whining. I am still a vampire, at least on the inside, and vampires do not cry over one silly gray hair. “I was merely shocked by my handsome reflection. Happens a lot.”

  “Errr…are you feeling okay?” she asks.

  “Of course.”

  “And the neck?”

  I turn my head and inspect the puncture marks surrounded by deep purple. “I’ve had worse.” My maker used to find it amusing to drain me to the point of near death and then heal me with his blood, only to repeat the cruel action. At the time, I did not know that had I died with his blood in my veins, I would have turned. I could have killed myself and been free of him long before.

  “That sounds pretty awful.”

  “Yes. But what is life without pain?” I say.

  She winces. “It’s called a good life.”

  I shrug.

  “So what will you do now? Where’s home?” she asks.

  “I do not have a home.”

  “No home? No family?” She sounds surprised.

  “No.”

  “A job?”

  “No,” I reply.

  “And the car?”

  “A gift from an acquaintance.”

  She nods, looking like she doesn’t entirely believe me. “Well, I know it’s a lot to ask after what you did for me, but would you be willing to drive me home? My family has to be worried sick.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “Missouri. That vampire woman took me from a bus. I was on my way home from University of Texas for summer.”

  Lucky her. If Brandi had been with her family, they would all be dead by now.

  “I am sorry, Brandi, but I cannot take you to your family. I have matters to attend to.” Mostly facing my impending doom and old age. “I will buy you an airline ticket.”

  “I don’t have my ID. When that thing took me, I didn’t have a chance to grab my purse.”

  “I will pay for a hotel until your family can come get you.”

  “You want to leave me alone?” Her big brown eyes tear, and her plump little lower lip quivers.

  They do not sway me. “A bus ticket, then.”

  “Bus?” Her worried expression turns into a crumbling mess of sobs. “No buses.”

  “I understand that is where Julia found you—”

  “Please don’t say her name.” Brandi covers her face and cries inconsolably.

  “She won’t take you again. I mean, yes, she could, but the chances are quite slim.”

  “Oh God. Oh God. She’ll come for me. She said she would if I ran. She said she’d find me and kill my little sister and parents.”

  That is Brandi’s problem, not mine, but something stops me from saying so. “Then what do you propose? Because I have urgent business. It cannot wait.” Mostly finding a dark hole to crawl into where I may die in peace.

  “What could be more important than getting me safely to my family after what I’ve been through?” She waves a hand through the air. “I mean, I get that you’re some perverse vampire lover, but you wouldn’t have saved me if you didn’t have a heart.”

  Oddly, I find offense with her words. “I am not a vampire lover. I simply love being a vampire.”

  “You? You’re a vampire?”

  “No. I was, though. For a very long time.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I was cured, but that doesn’t matter.” I wave a dismissive hand through the air.

  “Hold on, Racker.” She grabs my arm. “You were a vampire, and now you want to be one again, don’t you?”

  She must’ve overheard part of my conversation with Julia last night. What she doesn’t know is that I blew my chance. Now I am going to die. “My dear woman, the time for your incessant questions has ended. Our time together must also come to an end. I saved you from Julia, but my obligation ends here.”

  “You owe me, Racker. I didn’t have to come back. But I did.”

  “And?”

  Brandi lifts her shirt and shows me her breasts. No, friends, it is not what you think. This is not a request for Mardi Gras beads. The soft fleshy mounds are covered with bite marks, and there is a tattoo of a black bat right across the left breast. It covers the entire nipple and extends several inches in both directions.

  I know what it means. She does not have to tell me. Julia intended to keep her. It also means that Brandi is correct in being afraid because Julia will hunt her down. I myself have the same mark on my arm, a gift from Narcissismo. Most days I cover it up or apply makeup over it—the mark did not fit with my Mr. Nice story.

  I clear my throat and push back the bitter memories of being sipped on repeatedly to the edge of death. “You may come with me to Arizona, then. But only until your family can safely retrieve you.”

  “Thank you, Racker.” Without warning, she lunges forward, and I think she is going to attack, perhaps attempt to claw out my liver. Instead, she wraps her warm arms around my waist and buries her face in my chest, crying with the sort of vicious despair only someone like me could understand.

  Slowly, my arm moves up to stroke her long soft hair. “There, there,” I whisper, feeling oddly at peace offering her comfort. “All will be well.”

  An odd sense of ownership washes over me, but it is unlike what I felt with any of my human or vampire slaves in my past life. It is a sense of obligation I have never known. She is mine to care for and protect, for no other reason than I should. I want nothing in return.

  What is happening to me? Maybe I am coming down with the flu.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Apparently, I have spent too much time in this modern human shell, and the supplements are beginning to affect my ancient mind. During the long drive back to Arizona, I noted water coming from the corners of my eyes each time I thought of returning to that big empty house, where I intend to rest, regroup, and re-strategize. No one on my list of allies will dare turn me now. Not until I prove I am still, and always will be, the notorious Mr. Nice. Ruthless, bloodthirsty, and all powerful.

  The challenge is that I cannot provide the pudding until I am immortal.

  “So whose house is this exactly?” Brandi asks as we pull up to the southwestern mansion situated in the Phoenix hills. The front yard is filled with a cactus garden that blooms with shades of hot pinks, reds, and oranges in the spring. The main part of the home is two stories tall with exposed wooden beams and large windows, modern but still very southwest.

  “It belongs to friends,” I say. “They are out of town. You will be safe here until your family comes for you.” The home has a state-of-the-art security system, an iron fence around the perimeter, and a massive vault in the basement. Miriam, who was trained by her parents to kill vampires—a profession she turned away from obviously, considering her marriage choice—has an arsenal of weapons, too. Crossbows, knives, and chocolate-filled bullets. Chocolate is a narcotic for vampires. If Julia comes for us, we will have ample warning.
We will be prepared.

  Brandi’s inquisitive eyes scan the impressive façade and tall fence as we drive through. “Must be some well-off friends.”

  I remain silent and park in the garage. I feel a bit foolish returning here, but out of the four hundred plus homes I own, none are fortresses. I never had the need for security as Mr. Nice.

  I exit the car and head inside. “Hungry?” I say as Brandi follows.

  “Yes.”

  “Too bad. Because I don’t cook. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.”

  I head straight for the kitchen and grab a bowl, which I fill with cereal.

  A warm hand stops me. “I make a mean steak. Or burger? If you have spaghetti, I can do that, too?”

  Oh, how I miss spaghetti night. Miriam is an excellent cook. My mouth waters. “There is ground beef in the freezer.”

  “You got it.” Brandi gets to work exploring the cupboards in the kitchen—a modern space with a large gas stove and granite counters. “I’ll get dinner going and then call my parents. May I use the phone?”

  “Help yourself.” I jerk my head toward the other room. “There is a landline in the study, just through that door. I will make up the guest room for you.”

  I go down the hallway to one of several rooms in the home. The guest suite is a small chamber, thirty by twenty with a private patio, jet tub, and king-sized bed. Nothing compared to the nursery with the full-sized gym and sauna, but what can I say? I suppose I am a mama’s boy.

  Was a mama’s boy. I push back the memories lingering in every corner of this house, but then my mind drifts, wondering where they are now.

  What are they doing?

  Vacation in Greece?

  Perhaps they rented a villa in Italy.

  As a vampire, Michael is required to obtain a visa before entering another society’s territory, so I am certain the office here in Arizona knows where they have gone. They would have assisted him with the paperwork.

  No. I will not go and inquire. I do not care. They are gone.

  I pull a clean set of sheets and a comforter from the closet so Brandi can make a fresh bed for herself. I check the bathroom to ensure there are supplies—towels, shampoo, soap, toothbrush, toothpaste.

  I will go upstairs and borrow some clothes from Miriam’s closet. I am certain Brandi will want to wash the stench of Julia off her skin and wear something clean.

  I enter the grand master bedroom upstairs and note the emptiness in the room. The bed looks like a grave where my memories are buried. Gone and buried.

  So many good times in that bed. I loved when Vanderhorst would be in the mood and realize there was a crying infant in his spot. That look on his face when he knew he’d be spending yet another night with his hand in the shower. Alone.

  Hehehe…

  Afterward, he would come to bed and move me to the middle. I often unfastened my diaper and peed on him. He would lose his temper and accuse me of doing it on purpose, but Miriam would always come to my rescue. “You’re letting the past get in your head. The old Nice is gone,” she would say.

  “I’m telling you, Miriam, he is a bad apple,” Vanderhorst would argue.

  “Don’t say that. We are good people, and if he’s raised right, he will be, too.”

  Looking back, Vanderhorst always knew what I was. He could smell my blood. So why didn’t he send me away? Why not tell Miriam the truth?

  I wonder if he did not wish to break her heart. He knew how much she loved me. My mind drifts to the video she left. I have yet to hear it, and I miss the soothing sound of her voice.

  I pull out my phone and tap on the message.

  Miriam’s red face comes into view. “Hello, Nice. I’m sure you’ve read the note Michael wrote, but knowing you, you’ve come up with some delusional story in your mind about why we left. I want to set the record straight, in case you have any thoughts about coming to look for us.” She draws a slow breath and blots her puffy red eyes with a tissue. “We are leaving because if we don’t, Michael will kill you. And as silly as it sounds, I still can’t accept what’s happened, that you would deceive me like that.”

  She shakes her head in disgust. “I mean, after I took the cure, I had no memory of you or Michael or Stella. In my mind, I was twenty. My parents were still alive and still furious with me for becoming a librarian and refusing to be a Keeper.” The Keepers are a group of human vampire hunters her parents belonged to. “So when Michael showed up one day, imagine my shock when he told me everything that had happened—how you took me from him, how you turned me into a vampire against my will—but worst of all, I couldn’t remember my own daughter. I lost the memory of her growing in my belly, of holding her and feeding her. All that was taken from me, Nice, because of you. Because of you and your games.” Miriam straightens her spine. “But you know what? When Michael introduced me to the man who’d robbed me of everything, all I saw was a tiny, innocent baby. All I saw was a chance to get back something I’d lost. I decided then and there that the past was the past. I figured I had my daughter back, and I already felt a special connection with Michael. I knew with time, I would feel love for them again. But with you, I loved you from the first moment I held you.” Miriam begins to break down, and I see Michael’s arm reach for her shoulder from off-screen.

  “That’s enough, my love,” he says. “You’ve said enough. Let us go now before he wakes.”

  “No, Michael. He needs to hear this.” She looks at the camera. “I loved you like my own child, and you have stolen that from me. Again. It was all a game to you, and that is also why I’m leaving today. I never want to see you again. I never want to hear your name spoken until it comes accompanied by the news that you are dead. Goodbye.”

  She ends the video, and I feel a strange sensation in my chest, like it’s caving in. Suddenly, there is moisture collecting in the corners of my eyes again.

  I have lost her. My Miriam. All along I thought that somewhere deep inside her heart, she had feelings for me, that she would remember. But she only saw me as an opportunity to reclaim her lost years of motherhood with Stella.

  It was motherly love all along.

  The realization makes me feel surprisingly dirty inside. What she felt was pure and unconditional despite our history. What I felt for her was quite the opposite.

  “Racker? Hello!” I hear Brandi’s voice down the hall.

  “In here,” I say, wiping my eyes to hide the evidence of my unexpected wimpy emotions.

  Moments later, she pops her head in. “I was calling you from downstairs, but you didn’t answer. I got worried.”

  Ah, yes. Brandi fears being alone. “All is well. As I said, this home is a fortress. If anyone attempts to get in, we will know.”

  She nods, but I sense my words do not ease her fears. “Well, um, the phone isn’t working. I was wondering if I could use your cell again? I want to let my parents know I’m safe.”

  Brandi already called them from the road. It had been a brief but teary exchange. She told them she was all right and moving to a safe place where they could come get her.

  “Of course.”

  I hand her the phone.

  “Who’s she?” Brandi asks.

  I forgot to close out Miriam’s video. “An old acquaintance.”

  Brandi stares at the screen. “This is her house. I saw a photo of her down in the study. She’s with a man, a little girl, and she’s holding a baby in a leather onesie.”

  I smile. The leather onesie was one of my ingenious methods of torturing Vanderhorst. It served to remind him who I really was. Psychological torture. I would cry for hours until they put it on me. Of course, the onesie wasn’t made of real leather, but it did look rather nice. I was a badass, even as a baby.

  “Yes, that baby would be yours truly.”

  Brandi frowns. “So those are your parents?”

  “No. Not exactly. They raised me. This time, anyway.” I begin telling Brandi the short version of the story, leaving out the part abo
ut being a notorious, evil vampire, feared by all.

  “You’re joking.”

  “Which part of my story do you find difficult to believe?” She already knows that vampires are real.

  “So you took a cure, turned into a baby, and then your enemy raised you?”

  “Yes, and his brother has prohibited anyone from turning me.”

  “But why would you want to be a vampire again? I just don’t get it.”

  “Because I am experiencing a rare side effect of the cure, and that photo in the study was taken five years ago,” I reply.

  Brandi is a smart one. I know this because it takes her a mere two seconds to connect all the dots. “That’s why you wanted Julia to turn you. And, ohmygod, I messed it up.”

  I nod.

  She cups a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

  “What’s done is done.” I raise my chin.

  “But you’re sure no one’s willing to turn you?”

  “Yes.” Any allies I had will turn their backs on me now.

  “But can’t we, I don’t know, catch a vampire and force him to turn you?”

  “Any vampire that weak would not be an adequate maker. I would be victimized by the stronger ones—mostly my friends.”

  “I’m sorry, but your vampire friends sound like a bunch of assholes,” Brandi says.

  “All the same, I would rather accept my fate and die than be turned by a watered-down, weakling, hundredth-generation vampire.” The most respected vampires are powerful vampires. And to be powerful, you must have a close lineage to the original twelve vampires. Second-, third-, and fourth-generation vampires are very strong. Of course, vampires also grow stronger with age, but lineage trumps everything else.

  Narcissismo was a fourth generation, which made me a five. Not good enough. I quickly came to realize that if I wanted power, I had to fake my way to the top. So I began convincing other vampires I was a second generation—a big step above most. I became quite good at demonstrating my speed, a skill I had to work hard at achieving.

  After a while, I had everyone believing I was a force to be reckoned with. Of course, I actually was. With so many allies and everyone fearing me, there has never been a more powerful vampire. Even Vanderhorst, the legendary Executioner, feared me.