Good & Dead #1 (8 page)

“My Father planted it,” she said, “A very long time ago.  Look, Michael,” she said, returning to her plate, “Can I give you some advice?”

“Okay.”

“Choose your first victim while you’re still able.  The hunger will come.  And it will choose for you.  It is no respecter of persons.

“Now, give me your cell phone,” she said briskly, holding out her hand.

Michael blinked and obeyed.

“Really?” she asked incredulously, flipping open his beat-up 5-year-old cell phone, “I am putting my number in here.  I’ve got something to wrap up right now,” the corners of her mouth twitched in annoyance, “so don’t worry about how we’ll fit you into our family right now.  Just figure out your first couple of meals—”

“First couple?” Michael interrupted, “How often do I have to…?”

“Once the turning is over, you can get by with one a week, but for now you’ll need to feed about every other day for your new strength to reach its full potential,” she snapped his phone shut.  “So, if you’re still alive in a week or so, give me a call.” She smiled warmly at him and slid his phone across the table.

Michael pocketed it.  “Thank you.”

Bell’s sleek white phone beeped merrily from the table.  She took one more hurried bite of cheesecake, and silenced the ringtone.  “I have to go,” she said, smiling, “I’ll see you soon.  Tanish will take you home whenever you’re ready.” 

She paused on her way past to rub his shoulders. “Please stay and enjoy your dessert,” She tousled his curls with a lilting laugh and left.

Tanish slid in before the door had closed behind Bell.

“Are you going to finish that?” he asked, gesturing to the untouched three fourths of the cheesecake.

“Oh,” Michael said, “No.”

“Fantastic,” he said, settling into Bell’s chair and pulling the tray toward himself.  “Linda hardly ever makes this.  How’d it go?” Tanish asked, smiling, “You’re still alive so it couldn’t have been too bad.”

Michael smiled uncomfortably. 
I’m still alive,
he thought bitterly,
that’s the problem
.

“Well,” Tanish said, pausing in his rapid cheesecake consumption, “You need to get a move on and feed, friend,” he said in a half joking tone, “So I don’t have to run you all over town.”

“Will I be able to run like y’all?” Michael asked.

“Y’all?” he nearly choked laughing. “Sure,” he said, “Once you’ve fed.  It comes pretty naturally.”

Michael frowned.  There was nothing natural about it.  He ran his hands through his hair in frustration.  What was he supposed to do now?

“So…you guys just…what?  You kill anyone you choose?” Michael asked.  He was unable to mask the emotion in his words, but Tanish either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Not exactly,” Tanish said, “You aren’t allowed to kill anyone that the cops will try too hard on.  No one high profile.  You have to keep it to people no one cares about.  Homeless, prostitutes, gang members.  Drunk loners” he gave Michael a conspiratorial look.  “It’s New York,” he said with a shrug, “Plenty of bodies.”

Michael’s stomach churned.  This was wrong on so many levels.  He thought of the woman Tanish had singled out in the bar.  He wondered if she had family.  He thought of the woman in the alley.  Surely there was someone out there missing her. 

“You ready to go?” Tanish asked, setting down the tray.  “I’d like to catch the rest of the party.”

“Whose party is it?”

“Oh, Germaine got a promotion,” Tanish said, leading Michael to the door, “Partner in his firm.”

“Really?” Michael asked, shocked, “There are lawyer vampires?”

“Sure,” Tanish said, unimpressed.  He headed back down the wide hallway toward the front doors, “It’s not like it’s his first life, though.”

“First life?”

“Yes,” Tanish said, “We age really slowly, right?  So your ‘first life’ is your first identity.  You have to switch things up or people will start to notice you aren’t aging.  I think he goes by Charles D. Huntingdon right now,” he said with a pompous air.

Michael shivered.  How many people had he passed on the street who were more than what they seemed?

“So you just choose a new name?  What about identification?” Michael asked, trying to keep up with Tanish’s quick pace.

“With Bell’s connections?  She can get IDs and birth certificates and even social media history in an afternoon, no problem.  And when you need a quick exit, she’s got paramedics and M.E.s that’ll swear to whatever she wants.”

Michel blinked stupidly.  “So you have jobs?  During the day?” He asked as they stepped out into night.

“Yes, Michael,” he said, eyeing the party on their way past and flashing his smile at Jess, who was sipping champagne on the patio, “That’s how we can afford all of this.  That and, you know, Bell’s Father has… acquaintances.  Besides, it gets boring after a while.  You want something to do.  You really were expecting a cave full of coffins, weren’t you?”

“No.  I don’t know.  It’s just…” Michael searched for the words, “You all seem normal…almost.”

Tanish laughed, waving flirtatiously at Jessica, who handed him the key she had been wearing around her neck. 

They walked on in silence.  Michael listened to the sound of their steps on the gravel walkway and felt his mind stretching to maximum capacity.  He pressed a hand to his forehead in an effort to dull the pain.

“Still have that headache?” Tanish asked.

“Yeah,” Michael said, cringing.

“It’ll get better when you feed,” Tanish said, turning the key in the lock and tossing it back toward the party on the lawn, where, Michael was sure, Jess caught it.   The gate swung open silently.

Michael marched out after Tanish.  ‘
When’ I feed.  This can’t be happening
.  It felt like a horrible nightmare from which he would wake at any moment.  But the cool night air smelled clean and refreshing, and the wind on the night-consumed grounds caused the frozen grass to shiver.  This was real.

“Have you chosen who it will be?” Tanish asked, closing the gate.

“No,” Michael said, his stomach doing somersaults at the thought of picking who to kill.

“It’s not like you can wait around for a volunteer.”  Tanish started down the driveway.

Michael couldn’t imagine killing anyone, let alone someone who wanted to live.  He thought how nice it would be to come across a person while they were jumping off the Brooklyn Bridge.  They would have had to already have jumped, though.  He could wait underneath an underpass and try to catch someone….

“You ready?” Tanish asked, shaking Michael from his strange daydream.

“I guess,” Michael said begrudgingly, bracing himself for Tanish’s firm and freezing grip.  But it was much warmer than before.   

Michael started to take a breath to ask why he felt warmer, but Tanish took off in the middle of it, causing him to choke and splutter as the colors whipped past and the crisp country air turned heavy.  The world grew brighter as more lights populated their surroundings.   The pain in Michael’s head swam with the seafood in his stomach.  He closed his eyes tight, trying to hold in his dinner. 

For a split second Michael felt as though they were flying completely off the ground, and then they came to a sudden halt, his feet firmly planted on his rusty balcony.  Michael inhaled sharply, losing his balance along with his bearings.  He fell backwards, the cool metal of the railing pressing against his lower back. 

“Hold on!” Tanish said, grabbing hold of Michael’s arms.

Michael swayed on his feet, looking down three stories to the cold pavement below.  “Thanks,” he muttered, closing his eyes against the spinning world. 

“You got it?” Tanish asked, slowly releasing his arms.

Michael took several deep breaths.  “Yeah,” he said finally, gripping the railing so tight his knuckles were white, “I’m good.”

“Okay,” Tanish said, patting him on the back. “Good luck.”

Tanish turned to go, but Michael caught his shirt sleeve before he could disappear.  “Wait!” he said. “Sorry.  It’s just…I can’t….”  He ran his hands through his hair in frustration.  “Can I ask you: Who did you choose first?”

Tanish smiled brightly.  “My brother.”

Michael blinked.

“You wouldn’t look surprised if you’d met him,” he laughed and started down the fire escape, “Have a good night!”  Tanish blinked out of sight.  Michael thought he caught a glimpse of his suede jacket whip around the corner.

Michael stayed on the balcony for a long moment, staring into the darkness, too numb to think.  Snow was starting to fall; the first fine sprinkles of dust pricking Michael’s cheeks. 

The dark alley, which would have been barely navigable the night before, held no mysteries now.  He could see all the way to the other side, and hear a thousand sounds he would have been unaware of before.  A cat stalked near the end of the alley, the light dim on his dirty black fur.  His eyes were locked on a target just ahead, and Michael followed his gaze to find a rat busy with a discarded garbage bag.  Every filthy hair stood out with crystal clarity.  The cat pounced.  A cloud of potent stink rose from the garbage heap as the bags rustled with the impact.  Michael turned away, but he couldn’t help but hear the crunch of the rat’s body or the panicked scrabbling of its tiny claws. 

Michael tried to open the window, but it was locked.  He pressed his face to the glass.  A stack of mail lay on the table.  Randy must have been over while he was out.  He had given him a spare key so he could let Michael in when he lost his keys, which usually happened once a month or so.  Michael hung his head and started his descent through the fire escape. 

A hot, heavy feeling had settled into his stomach, panic just under the surface.  Twenty-four hours ago he’d been living his life.  He’d been normal.  He might not have been the bravest or most exciting person, but he’d been basically good; at least he never hurt anyone.  Now he had to choose between becoming a murderer or dying a horrific death. 
Why is this happening to me?

Heat rose in Michael’s face.  His eyes stung.  He gripped the rail as his vision was blurred by threatening tears.  He sucked a cold breath in and shook himself.

Just keep moving,
he told himself.
  Just get inside.

He swallowed hard before rounding the corner onto the sidewalk.  Faceless people passed him as he pushed his way to the front steps.

He faced his building again, almost unable to believe that he had looked up at it just that morning, unaware of his new condition.  The faded façade looked the same as before.  The slightly crooked front steps felt the same underfoot.  The large mailbox in the hall was as rusty as it had always been.  Everything looked the same.

But it could not have been more different.

With each step up the stairs Michael felt the last dying bits of his denial slough off.  He was a vampire.  His life was over.  Tears welled up again as he worked the key into his door.  He wiped them off angrily and lifted the door, wiggling the lock.  It didn’t budge. 

“Come
on
!” he yelled, banging his fist on the wood.  It swung open with a deafening squeak.  Michael stepped inside and slammed the door behind him.  He leaned against it and slid down into a weary puddle.

I can’t kill anyone
. 
I won’t trade anyone’s life for mine.

Michael pulled his knees against his chest, rested his pounding head on his forearms, and sobbed until he was out of breath. 
I’m going to die. 
He cried the ugliest cry of his life, with great gasps for breath sending waves of intense pain through his temples.  He had to force himself to stop, snotty, sobbing aftershocks shaking his whole body.

He stared down at his lap morosely, wondering what would happen to him when he starved to death.  Bell hadn’t actually answered that question.  His eyes focused uselessly on his desk, and the stack of mail Randy had brought inside.

He stood, his head pounding furiously as he stumbled to the makeshift desk.  The office chair made a jarring squeak when he sat.  There was a note on top of the pile, in Randy’s handwriting.

“
Came over to steal your food but there wasn’t any.  Brought in your mail.  Hope you’re having a good night.”

Michael sighed.  Randy’s passive-aggressive b.s. calling was not lost in him.  He’d known he couldn’t lie to Randy.  He knew him too well.

What am I going to do?
He put his head down on the table, the glossy ad paper cool on his cheek, and stared at the sink faucet, the steady drip hypnotizing his pulverized brain.

dripdrip

I’m going to die.

dripdrip

Will they have to lock me up?

dripdrip

How much will it hurt?

dripdrip

I really liked Charlotte.

With his face sideways on the surface of the table, tears and snot leaked out to moisten his cheek.  It got uncomfortable after a few minutes, so Michael sat up and looked at the mail.

He sorted through it pointlessly.  Large pizza for 9.99: garbage pile.  Mattresses from the Mattress King for zero down plus no interest for 12 months: garbage.  An advertisement for the “Shady Plantation Retirement Villa”.  Michael looked at the smiling face of the elderly gentleman on the cover of the glossy brochure.  He sat on a park bench, surrounded by the colors of fall, his wheelchair sitting abandoned in the background of the picture.  Michael flipped it open.  They only paid the professional photographer for the cover shot.  The inside was full of bland rooms with inexpertly bright paintings and awkwardly placed medical equipment.  Michael could almost smell the stale air of inactivity.  The last page featured an advertisement for a funeral home which was, apparently, “conveniently adjacent” to the “retirement villa”.

“Ugh,” Michael said aloud.  The stark blandness of the “Villa” reminded him suddenly of his great grandpa Miller, who he’d been forced to visit every other Saturday when he was young.  He’d stare out the window for the whole visit, his face limp and his eyes blank from all the medications.  Every time they’d get up to leave he’d roll over onto his other side and point to the machines that beeped and prodded his life along.  His mother would pretend she didn’t see.  Michael tossed the ad in the garbage pile.

Then he froze.  He looked down at the brochure again. 

Tanish’s joke sounded again in his mind: “It’s not like you can wait around for a volunteer.”  Michael stood and wiped his nose on his sleeve.  The overzealous smiles of the actors looked up at him from the pamphlet cover.