A Vampire Comes Calling
by Charles C. Cole
Darkness filled my office window, a sign of new beginnings. When most others were doubtless home from a long workday, I was preparing for the start of my evening-oriented clients.
I leaned back in my chair, and a vampire appeared at my open door. He was towering, exceedingly pale, with sunken, searching eyes.
“Right on time,” I said.
“Dr. Lech Weissman, I presume. May I come in?” he asked. “You can say no, but I hope you won’t.”
One might say I had a reputation as the freak’s friend, a guide to ghouls, the therianthrope’s therapist. I built my profession as a compassionate counselor to a cadre of self-loathing non-humans. One might think I was a death-defying thrill-seeker, but I assure you that all my clients came seeking the best path forward.
“You may enter,” I said, well aware of the vampire’s intimidating reputation. “Please close the door and have a seat.”
He did, without hesitation or attitude.
“It’s hard not to get lost in your eyes. A victim’s perspective, no doubt. I hope you brought sunglasses.”
“Of course,” he said, “as requested.” He held them up. They were almost silly: purple and round, like something worn by hippies in the 1960s. “Better?”
“Indeed,” I said. I jumped ahead. “Since we both know there’s no cure to your affliction, I’m assuming you want help making better choices.”
“Exactly. No terrifying little children, but no converting to animal blood, either.”
“You understand this is a journey,” I said, “not a one-and-done solution.”
“You were suggested by a dear friend, because of your patient and non-judgmental professionalism.”
“I don’t condone your lifestyle, but I recognize the addiction-like behavior. My personal feelings will not enter into our conversation, I promise. May I ask who recommended me? You may have told me.”
“You may ask, but he prefers being anonymous. He said he didn’t make it easy on you, but he always trusted you.”
“You’re describing most of my clientele. I say that with pride.” We paused. “Please tell me that you don’t kill people.”
“Not usually. In self-defense a couple of times. Once because I had tried a blood-free diet on a lark; when I finally hit the streets and alleys, I was absolutely starving. The young lady fainted at first bite and, sadly, never woke up. That was a couple of years ago. I’m on the Paleolithic diet now.”
“Unprocessed foods, like vegetables, fruits, and meat?” I asked, familiar with the fad.
He looked confused. “Is that what it means? Not to me. I mean I mostly snack on big guys with heavy foreheads, who look like cave men.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Someone had obviously tricked him. “I can see why you’d use the term,” I said.
“I usually wait till they’re fully drunk. Then I get an entrée seasoned in alcohol. If they haven’t quite passed out, I know they’re ‘too manly’ to tell anyone.”
“Let’s talk about first steps. I want you to leave here with homework, a few things to do and not to do. Is that okay?”
“You’re the boss,” he said.
We talked about limiting the bloodletting, using his power of seduction in preference to brute force whenever possible, and about commitment to change. Our time together flew. Before I knew it, the hour was almost gone.
“I like the way you think,” said the vampire, who agreed to go by the name Mr. Smith. “I was afraid you’d be all talk with no action. Am I your first vampire?”
“I’d rather not divulge. It could lead to a guessing game. Most of my clients have fragile egos. What do you think about returning in a week? Will this work for you?”
“I’d like very much to return.” We stood and he shook my hand with both of his. He was as cold as ice. “I don’t like the homework, but I appreciate earning my progress.”
A week later, when I thought we were partners in optimism, he came several minutes late and refused to come in, even when I encouraged him.
“Mr. Smith, it’s okay that you’re late. What matters is that you’re here.”
“I’m not staying,” he said. “You make it sound so easy, but the urge is primal and deep. A couple of nights ago, I was having a delectable nibble when I decided to binge. I stopped myself, but I could imagine reveling in excess. The idea of giving it up completely, forever, felt like not being true to who I am.”
“I understand,” I said. “My door is always open, professionally speaking, should you decide to return.”
“Thank you from the bottom of my heart for doing the work you do.”
“One question. The friend who told you about me, is he still a client? It would make me feel better to think I’m still making a difference.”
“He’d never tell you to your face,” said Smith, “but he adores you. He thinks working with you is the best thing he’s done in twenty years.”
Then Smith left. I never saw him again.
We all have goals. Sometimes someone, even ourselves, sets limits, introduces barriers to our tasks, maybe so we can enjoy “earning” our progress. For Mr. Smith and others like him, I wish you well on your way.
Copyright © 2024 by Charles C. Cole
