The Vampire Keeper

by Sabrina Street

He gave a chuckle as he responded, “Well, at least I haven’t eaten her yet. Ana will be happy to hear that.”

  Chapter 8: Checking In

  Wyler was at a loss to what he might tell Ana. He only knew he was happy she was not at home, because he knew she would be overly concerned about Larkin introducing himself to Jezalyn. As Wyler showed Larkin to the apartment all he could think was, How do I tell her? He mindlessly closed the door behind them as they entered. Wyler was so distracted that he had not noticed Larkin staring at him.

  “Wyler.” Larkin waited for him to respond, but he did not. “Wyler!”

  Although Larkin’s final exclamation caught his attention, Wyler responded lethargically and mechanically, “Hmm, Can I get you something, Larkin?”

  “No, nothing. Stop obsessing—the situation is controllable.”

  “I know it is, I’m sure you’ll figure out something with Jezalyn.”

  “Then what is bothering you?”

  He took a deep breath before releasing his anxiety. “It’s Ana. I don’t know how to tell her about the new situation. She is already uneasy; for she is scared you’ll choose to have her killed. They spent some time together the other day, and she seems to be quite fond of her. Anyway, the news of you introducing yourself to Jezalyn is only going to agitate her further.”

  “I wouldn’t worry. She didn’t have a problem with the Julius situation in the end.”

  The words, “I know” slipped out of Wyler’s mouth as the phone began to ring.

  Larkin, being closer, answered and held the receiver out to Wyler, while he mouth the words “it’s her” with a rather smug smirk that he had not even tried to hide.

  Gripping the phone tightly as he brought it to his ear, Wyler camouflaged his tension with a perky greeting. “Hi, Bunny. How is your day going?” As the conversation ensued, Larkin snapped his fingers to get Wyler’s attention before pointing toward the door. Wyler shook his head and watched Larkin hurry out the door that led back to the shop.

  Ana’s voice broke his stare, “What are you and Larkin doing today?”

  Unmasked anxiety entered his voice, “Oh, nothing.”

  Noticing her husband’s nervous tone, she prodded, “That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

  “Well, I think it would be better to discuss this when you come home.”

  “No! I want to discuss it now. Tell me what is going on over there.” Wyler unfolded the morning’s events to her trying to downplay Larkin’s decision to introduce himself to Jezalyn. Before Wyler’s wife could freak out, he quickly explained Jezalyn was under the impression that Larkin was an old friend who would be staying with them for awhile. Although she had quietly listened to her husband relate the incident, but when he paused for a moment, Ana’s sense of calamity fade as a gritting response rang in his ear. “He did what? Why?”

  “I don’t know. I expressed our concern, but he told me not to worry; it was all under control. He must still be trying to decide what to do with her.”

  “That is why I called. I thought of a plan to get us out of this situation without Jezalyn having to die.”

  “You did!” exclaimed Wyler being caught off guard by his wife’s proactive measures to keep Jezalyn out of harm’s way.

  “Don’t say no until you hear me out.”

  “Okay. What is it?”

  “What if we turn her into a Keeper? I think she could be helpful with Julius and we can go back to aiding only one vampire. And, the best part is she won’t have to die. ”

  “I don’t think that will work,” replied Wyler.

  “Why not? All we have to do is give her one of our cups of special tea,” countered Ana.

  “It’s not that simple, my dear.”

  “Why not? All I had to do was drink! Didn’t you?”

  Wyler made no response as he pondered Ana’s later question and the event that led to his present position as Larkin’s Keeper: Wyler’s release from General Cornwallis was not the last time he would ever use his medical skills as he had hoped. Many battles ensued between patriot-loyalist mercenaries. He patched up the injured, regardless of distinction, for food and shelter before continuing southward. As he traveled closer to home, he encountered several brutal aftermaths. On one occasion, after stitching up bullet holes and bayonet injuries, he took lodging at a nearby abandoned house. He was exhausted from the sweltering heat, arduous amputations, and disheartening deaths. He did not notice the stench of blood that lingered on him as he curled up on an old porch swing that now sat in what once appeared to be a grand sitting room.

  After a few hours, he awoke to find a tall figure lingering over him. He jumped back and exclaimed, “What do you want? Who are you?”

  “A stray musket ball hit me. I can’t reach it; it’s lodged in-between my shoulders. I need you to remove it,” requested the stranger.

  Wyler had enough experience patching up soldiers to grant his request, so he grabbed his bag and silently walked into the kitchen. “Lie down,” demanded the surgeon as he ran out the back to pump a pail of water. Without hesitation, the stranger did as he requested. Wyler returned to find him shirtless lying on his stomach. A short candle flickered in the dark reflecting a long image of a small knife and a pair of long tong-like tweezers moving towards the convalescent’s back.

  “You might want to bear down on something,” insisted Wyler as he prepared to open the wound.

  “Just get on with it,” replied the patient without hesitation.

  After making a larger incision directly over the hole where the bullet had entered, the stranger did not cry out. He only made a few grunting sounds as Wyler took his fingers and pulled against the sliced tissue to widen the hole. As he dug between his shoulder blades searching for the metal ball, Wyler thought, I have never seen so much blood. He poured some water onto his back so that he could get a better view to insert the tweezers and removed the bullet.

  Once the bullet was removed, he placed an old dirty rag on the wound and threaded a needle. The rag was quickly saturated and Wyler was getting nervous that he might soon lose his patient from exsanguination. With his needle now threaded, he lifted the rag and blood gushed everywhere. He quickly clenched his teeth down on the threaded needle and gripped the separated skin closed with both hands.

  The patient heard his surgeon’s breaths become short and fast, so he spoke. “Calm down. Take a deep breath. You’re almost done. You already got the ball out; I felt it leave my body. All you have to do is suture it up.”

  Through his clenched teeth Wyler muttered, “It’s just so much blood. I can’t see where to stitch it up.” Wyler stood there as he thought, I need another set of hands. The patient tried to get up. “Don’t move or you’ll bleed to death!”

  He laughed, but stood up any way. He stood with his back to Wyler, who still gripped the wound closed. “Listen, you will hand me a bowl of water and I will pour it down my back. Once the blood clears start stitching it closed.”

  “You pouring water would help, but I can’t see to stitch from this angle.”

  The patient leaned forward, placed his elbows on the table, and said, “Can you see now?”

  Wyler moved to the left side of the injured man and said, “Yes!” He handed the stranger a bowl to dip into the bucket of water, which now sat directly under the patient. “Quick, throw some water over your shoulder.” It only took a few scoops of water gliding over his back to wash away enough blood to allow the procedure to continue. The stranger remained motionless as his bent torso dripped blood and water. As his surgeon stitched, he concentrated on the blood rolling around his ribs into the center of his chest before dripping into the almost empty pail of water.

  Once his patient’s wound was completely closed, he stepped back and wiped the sweat from his brow leaving a bloody mark against his forehead. Completely in awe of the strangers awareness, he stumbled back to take a seat on an old, flimsy three-legged chair. Exhaling deeply, Wyler said, “It’s closed, but you lost a lot of blood. You should res
t and pray that you make it through the night.”

  The unconcerned patient made no reference to the concerns, but instead gave a simple, “Thank you” as he put on his blood stained shirt.

  “You-‘re” he stuttered, trying to swallow hard so that he could finish his salutation, “welcome. Hand me a bowl of water; my mouth is dry.”

  The patient made a repugnant face and said, “I think some of my blood dripped in there.”

  He extended his hand, “I just need a sip. A little blood won’t hurt.”

  The patient smiled at him brazenly, scooped the bowl into the water pail, and handed it over to him. He cradled the bowl with his blood-covered hands and gulped down the rose-tainted water. After several gulps, he inhaled deeply as he raised his head. “Thanks, so what is your name soldier?”

  “Larkin Drythe; I am not a soldier.”

  He stood up and trudged off. “I’m Wyler,” he uttered, heading back to his place of slumber.

  ***

  After listening to a long pause, Ana finally said, “If it worked for us, then why would it not work for her?” Her question broke his daydreaming. And, in a somewhat inattentive moment Wyler asked his wife to repeat herself. With annoyance in her voice she granted his request, “I said, if the special tea worked for me, then why won’t it work for her?”

  “Becoming a Keeper has rules just as vampires do.”

  “What rules? All Larkin has to do is drink until the point of death and replenish the depleted body. It’s kind of simple to turn someone into a vampire, much like drinking one of his special cups of tea. And, Jezalyn loves tea.”

  Trying to disguise his surprise at her over simplifying assumption, Wyler took a diplomatic approach when responding. “It’s not that simple, my dear. Once, Larkin told me when a human is that close to the point of death their bodies release endorphins into the blood stream. He says most vampires can’t give up the high that they get, so they don’t or won’t create.”

  With a sound of boredom she grumbled, “Whatever. What do vampire rules have to do with Keepers anyway?”

  Wyler, being the original vampire keeper, had never actually had to discuss such topics as these, but since he was now sharing the honor he did what any loving husbands who was questioned. He took a firm yet gentle tone as he responded to her snarky remarks, “It is similar in the essence that vampires can’t enter a dwelling unless invited or accepted in, and a human can’t become a Keeper unless they accept the blood; it won’t work if it’s forced on them. Once the blood has been accepted, they are loyal for life.”

  “Okay, well. If we are loyal for life, no matter what—why do we drink that tea every day?” she retorted, not ready to consider her plan, for Jezalyn to become Julius’ keeper, failed.

  Becoming irritated at Ana, Wyler tried to restrain his annoyance, “Remember, I told you drinking what we call the special tea allows us to age slower; we only age a year for every ten that we drink it. Also, you can’t drink pure vampire blood unless it’s for the change or you will become ill, so we mix it with a liquid.”

  She gave a little giggle followed by a sigh, “I know. It’s an attribute I wouldn’t want to give up either.”

  “Do you understand why we can’t trick her into drinking the tea?”

  “Yes, but what would happen if I had given her the tea?”

  Wyler’s tone became serious, “If you tricked her, she would gain all the attributes of a Keeper, but none of the loyalty. She would never be loyal even if she wished to choose it for herself later. She would be more difficult to deal with then Julius.”

  “Oh! Good thing she was not awake this morning when I left,” she said with relief in her voice.

  With anger, he gripped the phone “You better never—”

  Ana quickly interrupted him, “I was only joking, Darling. Please do not be cross with me. You know I would never do anything without talking to you about it first.”

  Wyler did not find it funny and said nothing.

  “I am sorry, if I upset you. How is the rest of your day going? Did you get that little note I jotted down for you?”

  His earlier countenance was replaced by a boyish smirk that slid across his face. “Yes, I did.”

  She waited a second for him to say more, but when he didn’t she said, “And, what did you think?”

  With all the affection of his heart, he said, “I am that grass anxiously awaiting the dew and you’re the dew that rejuvenates my very soul. I would wither and die without you.”

  She tried to choke back a sigh, but could not. “Aw. I love you.” He heard a smacking sound before she continued, “I wish I could come home to you now.”

  “Me too, Bunny. I have to go; I need to check on Larkin.”

  “Okay, but would you mention to Larkin about making her a Keeper?”

  “Sure, Bunny. I will talk with you later.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  Chapter 9: To Be or Not to Be…

  Wyler listened for the receiver to click before hanging up. His hand rested on the phone as his mind wandered back to the night he removed the musket ball from Larkin’s back.

  He awoke disorientated to the sound of shattering glass. The advanced years of war taught him the importance of quickly focusing to assess his surroundings for potential dangers. He did not jump up immediately, but quietly remained in the fetal position. He knew the first rule of survival was never to expose one’s self unless you have a clear visual of your area. He had to first let his eyes adjust; it did not take long. Once adjusted he thought, I can see everything so clearly. It must be a full moon out tonight, and the moonlight has flooded this dreary room. Now that he could see, he found himself and his bag in an empty porcelain bathtub. He grabbed his medical bag took out his scalpel and a small shard of mirror. Holding the looking glass over the edge of the tub, Wyler observed that he was in a small-enclosed room. He was alone, so he took a deep breath and plotted out his next move. How did I get up here? Wyler silently question, for the last thing he could remember was falling back asleep on the old porch swing.

  Suddenly, a loud thud from below startled Wyler. Moving quietly he tried to secure the door, but it would not lock. The thuds grew closer, and he froze as he could now hear the grunting of two men struggling. Thinking swiftly, he braced himself behind the door so that if it swung open he would be able to force it closed. Wyler tightly gripped his scalpel at the sound of accelerated footsteps. The door did not swing open as expected, but burst open like an explosion. Wyler watched wide-eyed as an individual erupted through the door and into the wall. There was a gaping hole where the assailant’s body bounced before hitting the ground. Wyler was surprised to see that the man picking himself up out of the debris as if nothing had happened. The man spotted him and stared directly into his eyes. Wyler recognized his face at once, for it was the man he had patched up earlier that night.

  Before Wyler could speak, he was gone. Wyler scanned the room but did not find him, Where did he go? I didn’t see him pass by me. He moved to the tub, but found nothing. He heard a struggle downstairs; it sounded as if the house was coming down around him. Wyler debated on whether to try to run for safety or fight. He stepped to the window and saw several figures standing in the dim shade of the trees below; It’s not a full moon. How can I see so well? Trying to comprehend the situation, Wyler heard several more thuds, before his former patient Larkin reappeared. Ducking down below the window seal, Wyler whispered, “They spotted me.”

  “I’ve taken care of all of them; it is safe to come out,” reassured Larkin.

  “No! There are two outside under the tree,” replied Wyler.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes! They spotted me! I need a musket.”

  “A firearm won’t help you now,” said Larkin as he crouched down and closed his eyes.

  “What is your name again?”

  He answered, “Larkin” before making a shushing sound at him. After a few seconds, Larkin whispered, “You’re right. There are
two downstairs plus one on the roof.”

  Until his return, Larkin directed Wyler to remain quiet and out of sight. With a blank stare on his face, Wyler moved to the back of the porcelain tub and crouched down.

  Wyler shifted from side to side as he debated on whether to help Larkin as the brawl below ensued. If there are two he will need help. I must help him, thought Wyler; although, he could not perceive why he felt the sudden urge to help, Wyler boldly charged out of the room. Before Wyler could reach the staircase, an adversary crashed through the ceiling landing on his feet directly in front of him. Wyler stumbled back in shock at the intruder’s cat like reflexes.

  Wyler’s mysterious opponent moved one-step closer and said, “Your brother sends his regards.”

  “Brother! I don’t have a brother,” yelled a terrified Wyler.

  “He is talking to me,” Larkin said as he lunged forward gripping him from behind. Once he had him in a chokehold, Wyler’s mysterious acquaintance’s slammed their foe onto the floor with such force that they fell through to the first.

  Wyler stood frozen for a minute as he gawked at the hole they created. Edging to the corner, he peered in to see if anyone survived. Neither was dead. He watched them fighting below as he pondered, He moves like he was never injured. Larkin was winning until the enemy swirled around him, grabbed his neck, and pounded his head into the wall several times. With Larkin’s cheek pinned against the wall, the enemy pulled out a wooden dagger and plunged it into his back. With a slight, hesitation, Wyler pulled the scalpel out of his pocket, jumped down onto the enemy’s back and slit his throat before he could snap Larkin’s neck. Wyler stood stunned for a second as he watched the blood flow from his attacker’s neck.

  Wyler rushed as Larkin called to him “Hurry, remove the stake! He is not dead, yet.”

  He followed Larkin’s directions, but alleged, “He looks pretty dead to me. I slit his throat from ear to ear.” He reached up and pulled at the stake, but it wouldn’t budge. He gripped it with both hands, but it still would not move. “I can’t get it. It must be deep. If you remove it, you will likely bleed to death.”