Out of the Fire, Into the Night

by Charles C. Cole

Clayton Stengel had few viable options. His ex-wife, Doris, texted him several times a day looking for overdue child support, but he had none to pay and was running out of excuses. Against his accountant’s advice, he’d invested heavily in a micro-brewery that went nuclear, making a scrambled mess of his nest egg.

Now, he lived paycheck to paycheck as a remote-employee healthcare business analyst. He could have told her the truth, but the truth didn’t pay the bills, and he was embarrassed. Nope, if Doris wanted blood from a stone, he’d give her the stone, his dead body - and that would put an end to her pressure tactics, before she reached out to Human Resources for a garnishment on his salary.

So, he did the next-best responsible thing. He hired a vampire through the dark web to come drain him dry, with the entire balance of his life insurance going to dear old Doris.

Clayton vacuumed the apartment, washed the dishes in the sink, and took a long hot shower, killing time until his midnight assignation. Don’t want to offend the nice Mr. Vampire. Just his luck he’d get someone allergic to cats or strong clothing detergent. He wanted to drink until he passed out, or take an Ambien donated from a friend at work, but he was committed to seeing this through, clear-headed and eyes open. He watched sports highlights on TV with the volume down and wiggled his restless feet.

There was a moment of old-fashioned static on the TV, during a PSA for prostate issues, then there was a looming presence in the room.

“That you, Baron?” Clayton called out.

“You sure you’re not a Christian? You’ve got the heightened senses of a warrior archbishop who once tracked me down for most of a decade.”

“I invited you. I knew you were coming.”

The floor-length drapes fluttered. Beside them, a shadow took the shape of a tall man. He looked like a Victorian dandy. “Shall we proceed?”

“Is it gonna hurt?” asked Clayton. “You never said.”

“Not if you surrender to the inevitable.”

“Before we start: my biggest fear, a lips-shaped purple hickey.”

“I’ve done this thousands of times.”

“Thousands?” stammered Clayton.

“Recline your chair, put your arms at your side, and roll your face away from me.”

“Right. Right. My idea, after all.” Clayton felt a face get in close, pressure on his neck but no sting, and two strong hands squeezing his shoulders. He held his breath.

“Relax. Breathe like your life depends on it.” The voice was ominously muffled.

Clayton went limp, sights and sounds faded away. Then he was back, like having dropped off for a brief nap.

The Baron handed him a glass: “Drink up. Need your strength.” Still coming round, Clayton did as he was told. It was blood!

The Baron grabbed something from the freezer. “Bingo.” He stood beside the fridge, lit by the little bulb of the oven hood, slurping on a raspberry ice pop.

“I love these. They’re all juice, unlike the big brands.” The Baron wiped his mouth on a dishtowel and dropped the remains of the popsicle into the kitchen trashcan.

“Why’d you stop?” asked Clayton.

“I’m more a fan of tangerine.”

“Why am I not dead?” demanded Clayton.

“I drank your blood. It wasn’t bad, by the way. A little watery. You must be a vegetarian.”

“You had one job to do.”

“I know. I shouldn’t have, but I ate before I came. Beautiful college co-ed. I couldn’t stop. So, I was already full when...”

“We had a deal. I wanted to die,” said Clayton.

“You’re dead. Technically, you’re undead. You’re now officially on the team. Congrats.”

“My child support. I was hoping to leave it all behind.”

“My bad. I didn’t know. Some people would die for what I just gave you, no pun intended.”

“How long will I live?”

“Forever,” said the Baron.

“No!”

“Afraid so.”

“You don’t understand: my ex-wife is gonna haunt me for the rest of my life,” said Clayton, “which sounds like it’s going to be a very, very long time.”

“If it’s too much, bite her. Who would suspect you?”

“You couldn’t pay me to bite her,” Clayton said.

“Your call. I gotta go. I see dawn nearing the horizon. You know how to reach me.”

“Wait. How do I go about hunting and eating? Do you offer mentoring?”

“It’s as easy as falling off a log. Your instincts will kick in,” said the Baron. “Word to the wise: community college campuses are a great place to start your rounds. But don’t do like I did, just a nibble here and there. They like it. They think it’s kinky adult stuff.”

The drapes fluttered briefly, and the Baron was gone.

Clayton’s cell phone chimed. He grabbed it from the coffee table. It was Doris. Of course it was. He hadn’t made the permanent escape he’d planned, but maybe...

He was a vampire. Surely, he could make some extra money moonlighting into the late hours as an immortal assassin or as a for-hire vigilante. Think, man; you’ve got new skills. There’s got to be a way to turn this lemon into lemonade.

Thump. Thump. Thump. What was that racket all of a sudden? And at this hour? His neighbors were usually more conscientious than that. His neighbors? Of course, now he could hear the sound of old Mr. Thurlow’s heart, one floor up, drumming vividly, like a high school marching band. Lemon to lemonade, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Darling Doris, bitter ex-wife, just you wait for what’s in store for you. Let’s call it her just desserts.