Some of my peers are complete Luddites.
They couldn’t navigate a Speak & Spell, let alone most of today’s technology. I know it sounds like an exaggeration, but it’s not. I have friends who still think the rotary phone is terrifying. It’s a little embarrassing. If you have nothing but eternity in front of you, it doesn’t hurt to expand your horizons. Try to blend in, for God’s sake.
Ouch.
There goes that damned burning sensation right between my eyes. It feels like someone drove a spike through my forehead. I need to stop taking His name in vain like that. You’d think I would have learned by now, but old habits die hard, just like the old fears of my Luddite friends. Back to my technophobic friends for a moment before I lose my train of thought.
I know this guy—Charlie, we’ll call him, to save any embarrassment—who lives in a cave in the mountains overlooking the city. A freaking cave. No TV, phone, Internet, or company to speak of except for the occasional time I drop by to say hi. When I ask him why, he says he likes it that way. When I ask what there is to like about it, he tells me he hates the neon lights at night. They’re easier on his eyes from his mountain vantage point. The last time Charlie set foot in a modern city was two hundred years ago. And that’s not my idea of modern.
One day I asked, “Charlie, what do you eat in the woods? How can you even stay nourished?”
“Oh, I get by,” he answered. “Small game. Deer. An occasional camper when they make it up here from the city.”
Small game and deer? Not for me. A guy could get ticks or something like that. Imagine that irony? The bloodsucker getting his blood sucked by vermin.
Me, I’ve always liked the way humanity’s technology constantly evolves. I immerse myself in it because it helps to pass the time, and sometimes it helps when I hunt.
I know vampires surfing dating sites might look pathetic to some. But screw those old-school naysayers. You do what you can to stay with the times or live in a cave on some mountainside forever. Or worse, staked at the hand of some over-zealous Van Helsing wannabe. Not for me. When it’s my time to die—not the pretend dying I did when I became a bloodsucker—I want to die a beautiful death.
Not many of us undead get that opportunity, but that’s how I plan to leave this plane of existence, with style, panache, and beauty.
My right index finger is getting tired from swiping across the screen of my iPhone. My stomach growls with hunger. So many profiles and choices.
There.
That’s the one.
Brandy.
You’re a fine girl, indeed. Only I don’t have plans to make you my wife. I have another need—desire—you can fill. The pain in my eyes has died away. Still, the slow-burning hunger in the pit of my stomach will continue to grow, radiating out like the fiery tendrils of a thousand solar flares, incinerating me from the inside out until I can’t control my insatiable need to feed on human blood.
Usually, I’m a charming guy when you get to know me. Sometimes people tell me I remind them of a cross between Tom Hanks and Robert Downy, Jr. Frankly, I’d hate to think what that love child would look like, and I hope those people saying that mean my general demeanor. You wouldn’t want to meet the guy I become when I lose control of my eternal craving. That guy would remind you more of Lon Chaney in London After Midnight.
That’s why I need to act fast. It’s hard for a blood-hungry vampire to stay hidden in the city’s heart in the new millennium. And I don’t want the ugly death every vampire hunter has freely given since the dawn of time.
Quickly, I swipe right on Brandy’s profile.
I wonder if Charlie is cuddling with some deer carcass he just drained of blood?
Brandy and I meet downtown, near the waterfront. One of my good friends—a witch doctor and a great cook—has a quiet little place that serves authentic Brazilian cuisine. He’s originally from deep in the Amazon, a member of one of the last cannibalistic tribes in the country. He keeps promising me that all his meats are animals, but I’m not sure, and I’m not judgmental. Doc Cavalera has a fantastic life story. How he got from the Amazon to here is a tale that could fill up a trilogy of books and still leave you hungry for more.
I wish I had time to tell you about it.
Back to what I was saying. I chose Docs because it’s always slow on a weeknight. Quiet, dark, and cozy. I’ve always been a romantic at heart. That’s how I became undead. I let a pretty face turn my head. And then she bit my neck. I could lie and tell you it was all worth it, but she left me two weeks later, and then two years later, she took a stake through the heart and got decapitated. I really can’t remember her face. It’s been a long time. Too long.
Brandy has an unforgettable face, however. One might say classically Romanesque. Shining baby blues glint with good humor, intelligence, and compassion. Her long hair is straight and sandy blond. She greets me with a broad, charming smile. Being the dog I am, I’m shaking her hand while checking out the rest of the package. She’s tall for a woman, skinny, but not in that frail supermodel way. She’s got curves where it counts. Tight black jeans, knee-high brown leather boots, and a burgundy crushed velvet jacket over a red blouse that pushes up her breasts.
I immediately like Brandy and wish we could meet under different circumstances.
“I’m Brandy,” she tells me as we shake hands.
“Christian Neville. Most of my friends call me Nev.”
One of Doc’s people leads us to a corner table usually reserved for me. It’s a lovely spot near a planted palm tree and away from most other tables. I pull the seat out for Brandy, and she thanks me as I take mine.
“Doc is out tonight,” the hostess says. “But your waiter will be with you soon, Mister Neville.” She leaves us alone over a candle burning inside a yellow glass globe.
Brandy arches an eyebrow at me. “Regular here, Nev?”
“I know the owner.”
“I’ve never been here.”
Smiling, I assure her, “I think you’ll like it.”
“I’m not all that hungry,” she informs me.
“Me neither,” I agree. My stomach burns in protest to the lie. Well, part of a lie. I’m hungry for fresh blood, pulsating from the jugular and straight into my mouth. I’ll have to settle for what’s on the menu here.
“Drinks, then?” I ask Brandy.
“Sure. One or two. But I have to meet some friends later tonight.”
Of course, you do unless you decide we have something going on here. Some connection that either leads to some fun times in bed together or maybe even a serious relationship. If not? Then the exit strategy is in place. She’s a wise woman and a savvy Internet dater. Beautiful and intelligent. Once again, I wish we could meet under a better moon.
Our waiter Simon appears and takes our drink order—a glass of port for my date.
“I’ll have my usual,” I tell Simon.
“Of course, sir. An excellent choice, as always.”
My usual is a concoction of Docs. Some aromatic juices and drained blood from the meats they prepare. The juices mask the scent of blood, making it smell like red wine. The blood itself will take a bit of the edge off the pain burning in my gut, but only the sweet satisfaction of humanity’s red-red groovy truly tames the beast trying to break free from its mortal guise.
“Can I ask you a question before the drinks get here?” Brandy says.
“Of course.”
“You’re not a musician, are you?”
I laugh softly. “No, I’m not.”
At least not in this current persona. I have to fake my death and take on a new identity from time to time. Usually, a fictional relative happens to look a lot like me. It keeps the illusion of my humanity alive. That’s a more manageable task in the digital age than you might think.
She seems honestly relieved at my answer and relaxes back into her chair.
“Good to hear. I’ve had a few bad experiences with musicians lately.”
“I’m in import and export,” I tell her. “Nothing too exciting. Or exotic like being a rock star, but it has its moments.”
“Really?” she asks. “I worked in that field for a while,” she tells me as Simon arrives with our drinks.
“Tell me about that,” I request, raising my ‘wine’ in salute.
Brandy raises her glass of port in return and smiles. She does have a beautiful smile.
She tells me about her time working in the import and export business.
My gut growls as the animal blood slides down my throat. It’s like trying to put out a forest fire with a squirt gun, but it’ll have to do for now. I’ve got to focus my attention on Brandy and be my usual, charming self if I hope to get her back to my place before losing control of the demon inside me.
And so the dating dance begins.
More than one or two drinks are had.
We have a great time, enjoying each other’s company and conversation. It takes three more glasses of Doc’s wine to quiet the pain, but I finally make my move, asking Brandy back to my apartment to see the view and have a nightcap. She gives me a ration of good-natured grief about my pickup line. I’ve learned that she has a great sense of humor and isn’t afraid to tease if she’s feeling comfortable.
Before long, we’re walking the city streets back to my place. It’s a beautiful summer night, with fresh air blowing through town, keeping the night from becoming too hot. Brandy is filled with energy. The buzz of her drinks has loosened her up, and she’s talking a mile a minute, but not in an annoying way. Her spirits are high, and joking and quipping with her while we walk is fun. We meander slowly up to my building, and she turns her neck upward, her eyes showing appreciation.
“You live here?”
“I do,” I answer, which is true. I don’t tell her I also own the building. I’ve had many centuries to accumulate my ‘family’ wealth and invested much of that wealth in real estate.
“Then you’re not a musician,” she says with a smile. “At least not the kind of musicians I’ve known.”
Carl, the night-shift doorman, tips his cap at us as he opens the door.
“Good evening, Mister Neville,” he greets.
“Carl,” I respond, with a nod, slipping him a little something. He winks at me knowingly.
Ahhhhh, Carl. If you only knew what my intentions were for this lovely woman tonight.
We go through the lobby, Brandy’s eyes wide as she takes in the view. Leading her to my private elevator, I distract her by pointing out some architecture. While she’s looking at that, I slide my card key into the buttonless router control panel. No need to show off my wealth, I figure. Besides, I like her and genuinely want to surprise Brandy with the view from my apartment’s balcony. We enter the elevator, and I stand with my body in front of the control panel inside. Besides the emergency buttons, there are no other controls. This elevator only goes to and from the top of the building.
Suddenly, we find ourselves alone for the first time tonight.
I can feel the tension in the elevator car. Even fighting the pain of the blood hunger, I can’t help but desire Brandy fully. I feel the heat between us and know she wants me to. But the dance has to continue for a while longer. I resist the urge to take her into my arms because the smell of her blood being so close would drive me insane.
Then I realize we’ve been looking into each other’s eyes for several floors.
“Um,” she says, “I don’t do this sort of thing often.”
“Ride in an elevator?” I ask with a wicked smile.
“Yeah. That.” Her smile reflects my own.
The elevator doors open, ending the momentarily awkward spell cast over us. I let Brandy step into the foyer of my penthouse apartment as I lock the elevator in place with my card key. I follow her into my home. I keep the lighting dim for the atmosphere but step to a wall to bring the illumination up so Brandy can get a good look at the place. She makes an approving sound as she takes it all in. The architecture is streamlined and modern because, as I said before, I like keeping up with the times. It would scare off any woman I brought home if my place looked like Bela Lugosi’s castle.
“I think I may be out of my league,” she jokes.
“I’m sure you’re in a league of your own,” I answer.
“Ouch, Nev. You already got me back to your place. Stop killing me with those awful pickup lines. How about showing me that spectacular view you promised? And that nightcap, of course.”
I extend my hand and take hers, leading Brandy through the apartment and the billowing white silk curtains. I leave my apartment windows and sliding glass doors open during the summer. Not much to worry about when you’re on top of the world. Not to mention the top of the food chain.
We walk up to the edge of the balcony. Twenty stories below us, cars and people pass by. Above us, the stars of a moonless night shine down. In front of us, the lit buildings, neon signs, and bridges spanning the river echo the twinkling of those stars above. The sight takes Brandy’s breath away, and she’s speechless for the moment.
“Enjoy the view for a few minutes,” I tell her. “I’ll be back with our drinks.”
In my den, I pour her a bourbon and ginger ale—a light summer drink she told me she had just discovered—and I pour myself a glass of chilled human blood. I slam the blood back in one long gulp and carefully wipe the corners of my mouth. This quick fix will help quell the hunger a bit. It’s better than animal blood, but it’s still no substitute for fresh blood—straight from the well of the human heart.
When I head back to the balcony, I find Brandy has moved inside again. She’s got her back to me as she admires some of the framed artwork and pictures on the wall. She’s stopped in front of an old portrait from the 1800s. I join her side, handing her the bourbon and ginger ale.
“Guess you weren’t that impressed with the view?”
“It’s fantastic,” she said, accepting the drink. “The breeze up here is just a bit chilly.” She sips her drink and nods at the portrait. “Amazing family resemblance,” Brandy admits.
“Yes,” I agree.
The handsome man posing in the picture is me, of course.
“Who is the woman with him? Another relative of yours?”
“Not exactly. I believe she was his paramour, but she might have died of some frontier disease. I can’t remember the story.”
That’s a lie. I know what happened to her. I killed her when she tried to kill me. After I revealed that I was undead. I wanted her to join me in eternity as my wife. It was the last time I ever tried to Turn someone. Her death still haunts me, and I miss her as if she passed away a short time ago. But when you’ve lived as long as I have, the meaning of time changes in ways a mortal can’t possibly imagine.
“I love old family pictures and stories,” Brandy tells me. “You can learn much about someone through those pictures and stories.”
“Do you think so?”
“I do,” she says as she turns away from the portrait, looking into my eyes over the top of her drink.
A thought suddenly occurs to me.
“Do you want to see more pictures of my family?”
“That’s the best pick-up line you’ve used all night, Nev. I’d be honored if you shared something that personal with me.”
I offer Brandy my right arm, and she takes it. She sips her drink for the next fifteen minutes as I lead her around the apartment, looking at photos of myself and people I knew and left behind to the sands of time. She asks questions, and I tell her the truths I can, embellishing here and there to keep the family illusion intact. We refill her drink in the den, and I excuse myself for another shot of blood—this time from the kitchen frig—then, we find ourselves back in the living room and on a long leather couch, sitting face-to-face, a photo album balanced between our touching knees.
She flips through the photos and drinks and asks many more questions. I can’t remember the last time someone has taken such a deep interest in my life. I don’t feel any pretense in her questions; she’s not after my money, and she already knows she can sleep with me anytime she’s ready. Her curiosity is natural and compassionate.
I’m falling for Brandy hard.
It’s been a hundred years or more since I felt the ecstasy one feels when realizing they’re falling in love with the person sitting across from them. I hang on to her every word, watching her bright features intently. I can hear her generous heart's steady beating and blood flow in her veins. The last time I felt like this about a woman, I let her go, afraid to show her what I was and fearful that I might cause her harm if she rejected me.
Again, bad timing that I just met Brandy. We could have had something together. Maybe.
“You know, Nev, I really can’t believe the strong family resemblance that all of the men in your family share. It’s amazing how much you all look alike.”
She looks up from the photo album, and I look into her blue eyes, a sinking feeling growing in my stomach as if I’m hanging on the edge of a thousand-foot drop. I’ve faced angry mobs, skilled hunters, near starvation, and the loneliness of the passing centuries without feeling as afraid as I do now. Do I dare tell her the truth? Is she the one I’ve been waiting for? I knew when I brought Brandy home tonight, there would be two outcomes; her blood would quench my thirsty hunger, or—
“Nev,” she interrupts our locked gaze, narrowing her eyes in concern, “are you okay? The look you’re giving me….”
“Brandy,” I answer, gently taking the photo album from her hands and closing it. I set the album on the coffee table before the couch and then took her hands in mine. “Brandy, I know you don’t know me and want to get to know me. I can tell by the interest you’ve taken in my family history. The connection here is more than just lust. I can see that in your eyes, and I hope you can see that in mine.”
Pausing, I watch her visibly gulp. She looks nervous but doesn’t pull away from my grasp or gaze. Emboldened, I go on.
“I’m more than what you see. I’m older than you think. Much older. Those men in the photos—all of those men—they’re me.”
She still doesn’t pull away, but her narrowed eyes widen, and one corner of her mouth turns up in a humorous smile. “That’s a truly original pickup line, Nev. Just how much do you think I’ve had to drink?”
“It’s true, Brandy. I’m immortal.”
“And I thought musicians had big egos.”
“You’ve seen all of the pictures, Brandy. Have you ever seen such exacting resemblances between family members over generations? And did you ever see more than one of my male ancestors in a picture together? Did you see many women in the pictures? Did I mention anyone of the people in the pictures being my blood relatives other than the men who look exactly like me? Open your mind, use your intuition and imagination, and you’ll see the truth.”
Brandy eases back from me, taking her hands away.
“Jesus, Nev. You’re serious.”
I’m losing her, and I don’t want to. I’ve waited too long to find someone like Brandy. I can’t lose her. Not now. Not until this is all over. Desperately, I snatch up a long, golden letter opener on the coffee table.
Startled, Brandy pushes back from me to the other end of the couch, her hands coming up defensively.
“No, no, no,” I hold up, trying to show her I mean no harm. She looks warily at the glinting letter opener in my right hand. “Not for you,” I assure her.
Slowly, I extend my left arm, turning my inside forearm to her. Brandy looks on, not terrified, but she has her defenses up. I credit her strength, self-control, and presence of mind. She doesn’t flinch or make a sound when I thrust the letter opener deep into my arm. Watching her watching the golden spike sticking out of my arm, I pull the opener hard across my arm with the sick sound of rending flesh and yank it free. On an ordinary mortal, blood would be gushing from the wound. As dry on fresh human blood as I am, very little seeps from the gash.
We watch the wound heal in front of our eyes, and the only sound in the room is the quietly ticking antique grandfather clock on the far wall; the wet noise of my repairing undead flesh and the thud of Brandy’s heart is the only other sounds I hear. I can smell her perfume over the scent of the blood in her veins. I can smell her womanhood. Every nerve in my body is alive with a desire for Brandy.
As the wound fully heals, I drop the letter opener back onto the coffee table with a clank of metal on the glass.
Brandy takes a deep breath and breaks the silence sitting between us.
“Unless you dropped some pretty powerful roofies in my drink…” she started, trailing off, not knowing what else to say.
I slowly slide across the couch to her. “Everything I’ve told you is true, Brandy. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt I could trust someone with my true story. Since I felt like I could—”
She leaps forward suddenly, wrapping her hands around my head and pulling me violently to her lips. She tastes sweet, like good bourbon and honey. Our tongues eagerly intertwine, and I feel myself losing all thought of my blood hunger, my needs as a man—undead or otherwise—outweighing my survival needs.
Brandy continues to kiss me as she struggles to get my shirt unbuttoned. Finally, she gives up and rips it open, sending buttons flying all over the couch and the room. She stands, pulling me to my feet, dragging me by the arms, and leading me with her kiss. Our lips never stop touching as she expertly guides me to my bedroom. Brandy had been paying attention to the apartment’s layout as I took her on the tour.
At my bed, she spins me around and shoves me hard. I fall back onto the black silk sheets, propped up on my elbows, looking up at her. Her heart is beating like thunder, and her blood rushing through her veins drives me crazy. It takes every ounce of my will not to lose control and rip out her throat to bathe in her blood. I fight like mad to keep the beast at bay, but I’m scared I’m losing that battle.
She smiles wickedly and begins to take off her clothes.
After what seems like hours of endless ecstasy, we lie in each other’s arms, staring into each other’s eyes. The beast lies just below the surface of my human guise, its voice begging me to rip her to shreds.
Sweat cools on her athletic body. She breathes heavily. Although my heart is racing by undead standards, my skin is dry and cool. She strokes my bare arm and smiles at me. I could lie in her arms until the end of time, looking at her radiant face. I’ve always wanted to find the right woman to spend the centuries with, but that’s just a dream. A long-dead plan I knew I had to let go of decades ago. I hadn’t brought Brandy here to make love to her. I hadn’t brought her here to be with me.
Knowing I must let go of my dream of eternal happiness and Brandy both—and quickly before I take her life—I reach down inside and summon the courage to tell my lover why she’s here.
“Brandy, there’s something I need to ask of you.”
“Anything,” she says, and I know she means it. Hopefully, what I’m about to ask isn’t too much for her.
“I’ve lived a long time. A long, lonely time. I need your help.”
Propping herself up on one elbow, she asks, “Help with what?”
“I need you to kill me.”
I hear her heart skip a beat and then begin to pound harder.
“You can’t be serious, Nev.”
“I’ve never been more serious. I can’t go on anymore. I’m too old. Too tired. But I can’t take my own life. I need you to help me. I need you to give me a beautiful death. I can’t think of any better way to spend my last night on Earth than the night we’ve just had. I wouldn’t have wanted to be with anybody else. Please send me on my way with the memory of our night together. I’d die peacefully, with a smile I haven’t worn in a hundred years.”
She grows quiet, staring at me. I can see an array of emotions playing across her face—disbelief, anger, fear, and something else I can’t quite place.
“I… I don’t know what to say, Nev. I never thought the night would end like this when I met you. I never thought I’d fall so quickly for somebody I just met. I never have before. And now you ask me to kill you? You seduce me, make me feel things I didn’t plan on feeling, and now you want to leave me blowing in the wind? I can see in your eyes that you feel the same way I feel. How can you be so cruel?”
“I didn’t intend for this to go so far,” I offer, knowing how lame it sounds, even to my ears. “But I’ve searched long and hard for someone like you, Brandy. Someone I can trust. Someone to give me the beautiful death I’m looking for.”
Her eyes begin to tear up.
“There’s always another option,” she whispers. “You can make me undead, like you.”
The words hang in the cooling air between us. I see the realization of what she said dawning on her face as she starts to pull away from me.
“I never told you I was undead. I told you I was immortal.”
Brandy slips from my grasp, off the bed, and onto the floor. Standing up, the tears begin to fall.
“I know you trust me,” she says quietly. “But I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”
“You know what I am?” I ask, bewildered.
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand. Why would you come here then? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Brandy slowly reaches under the pillow on her side of the bed. Just as slowly, she pulls a long, sharp stake made of the wood of an Ash tree, holding it up for me to see. Instantly, the beast bellows in my soul. My survival instinct battles with my love for Brandy and my death wish.
“I came here to kill you, Nev. I come from a long line of vampire hunters and follow in my family’s footsteps. You would’ve been my first kill. But you’re nothing like the animals I was always taught your kind is. You’re not the demon I thought you’d be.”
“Then, if you came to kill me, I’m inviting you to do it. I won’t fight. I’ll embrace true death just as tightly as I embraced you.”
She shakes her head, looking down at the stake in her hand with dismay.
“I can’t. Not now. But as I said, there are always alternatives for you. You can Turn me and be together forever.”
Her words hit me as hard as the stake would if they were to punch through my breastbone and into my heart.
“I can’t do that to you, Brandy. You don’t know what you’re asking me to do. I am a demon in the body of a man. You haven’t seen the nasty side of me. You’ve only seen the man I want to be, but the curse of being undead will never let me remain that man for too long. I have to murder innocent people to keep the beast at bay. If you saw my true face, it would repulse and terrify you. I love you, Brandy. I couldn’t curse you like that.”
We look at each other for long moments, pleading with the other, silently asking to fulfill our heart’s desire. Her tears fall on my silk sheets. The wooden stake follows, landing with a muffled weight on the pillow.
“I can’t kill you,” Brandy says, wiping tears away with her hand, “and you won’t make me into your kind.”
She turns, moving slowly like my words have been sharp knives inflicting her with deep wounds. I watch as she gathers her clothes and holds them tightly to her body, her back turning to me.
“Brandy…”
She strides to the bedroom door and stops.
“Don’t go.”
Her back still to me, she asks, “Will you Turn me so I can stay with you forever?”
“No,” I answer flatly.
Brandy turns her head over her shoulder and looks at me with dry but sad eyes.
“I love you, Nev.”
And with those words, she walks out of my undead life forever.
The first light of dawn touches the edges of the mountains east of the city.
I’m standing on the balcony naked. My arms spread wide on the railing as I watch the city come to life. The irony doesn’t escape me. The day I die will be the last time I watch this place I’ve called home come to life.
Stepping back from the railing, I lay down on a chaise lounge, feeling the cool air of my last summer morning on my skin. I can still feel Brandy’s touch, which excites me with longing. At the same time, it makes me sad. Placing my hands behind my head, I wait for the coming Sun.
It’s not how I imagined I would go. I didn’t think I had the will to take my own life. But Brandy showed me that I would never find a perfect death at the hands of someone special. It’s impossible to separate my need to end it all at the hands of someone like Brandy from the fact that I would fall in love with someone like her. I have waited decades to find that right person. I don’t know if I’ll ever find a woman like Brandy again. I don’t know if I ever want to.
I think about my friend alone in his cave, and I’m grateful I’ve met the people I’ve met throughout the centuries. Thankful that I had the pleasure of their company. But mostly, I’m pleased with the night I spent with Brandy.
She is a fine girl, indeed.
I can’t remember the last time I saw the sun. It’s been too long.
I wait for the touch of its rays, and I welcome the beautiful death it will give me.