The Utterly Uninteresting and Unadventurous Tales of Fred, the Vampire Accountant (2 page)

3.

I must admit, my former academic colleagues were quite adept and varied in their costume conceptions. The only rules of the evening were that one could not cover one’s face, which served to fuel the creative fires in fashioning a functional costume, and that a visible nametag was required all night. The latter of those two killed any sense of realism I might have felt while staring at Anne Boleyn, Elvis, or Jake Blues. My doctor garb was relatively untainted by the cheap tag. I had read the invitation carefully and therefore procured a name-badge holder that real doctors use and slipped the identifying piece of plastic inside. There are times when it pays to be careful and prepared.

As I slunk, for lack of a better word, around the cheaply decorated cafeteria, I found myself taken aback at the changes that had clearly not taken place in my fellow Kent High alumni. Near the entrance sat a fairy princess in a low cut top: Joyce Trainer, homecoming queen turned mother of four. To the human eye, she appeared a miracle, still firm, fit, and perky even after four rounds with hormones and weight gain. She was significantly less miraculous to me, since I could actually smell the plastic and Botox that riddled her body. Ah, the crux of vanity. The upside of never having good looks was that I didn’t have to fear losing them with age. Pity I wasn’t pretty though; then they would have kept for eternity. Although for all I know, I wouldn’t have been bitten if I were good looking, so I suppose there’s no sense second-guessing fate.

Brent Colter, one of many of my school-day bullies, was standing near the refreshment table, romancing a collection of former co-eds whose names I couldn’t recall. His cheap Spartan costume covered him fully, but it was tight enough that his frame was hardly obscured. His former football-player’s physique had softened around the edges, but as the ladies’ attention indicated, he was still a broad-shouldered, muscular man. I felt mildly disappointed; I was hoping he would devolve into full blown obesity, but I suppose ten years is a little soon to expect age to have caught up to him so severely. It dawned on me that I wouldn’t be able to attend many more of these. Sooner or later someone would notice that the rest of the class was growing older, while dear Fredrick stayed frozen in his mid-twenties. Brent was clearly aging though, which was pleasant to see in my former tormentor.  I was hopeful that I could visit him in the nursing home one day, and rub in that I was still young and fit while he had grown weak and decrepit. Assuming I could find time to keep track of him, of course . . . and only if I could be assured he wouldn’t spill my secret to others . . . and if it wasn’t during tax season.

Maybe I would just settle for a trip to dance on his grave.

The nameless clustered herd of my class was filled with people who were as much the same as they were different. Bodies had grown or shrunken with mass, and minds had been filled by knowledge or numbed by boredom, but the people under the faces were nearly the same as before. The basketball team was dressed predominantly as pimps and rowdily slapped high fives with each member to enter the gym. The chess club was in their own corner, dressed in superhero costumes that bore exceptional detail. The theater club was here and there, danced as characters I could only half recognize from famous plays and films. Amidst it all, I felt just as I had in the human days, different and set apart. I took a seat at an unoccupied table, sipping on the poorly flavored sugar water they had the gall to call punch. I should have been up and mingling, but that just wasn’t me. I wasn’t like these people . . . even back when I was still biologically like these people.

I was on the verge of giving the whole trip up for a bad idea when the devil sat down next to me. She was wearing a black and red corset, with black leather pants and red boots. Two horns sprouted from the blonde hair that hung to her shoulders; red contacts obscured the brown eyes that I could still make out underneath. She was fit and sexy, not a whiff of plastic on her person, either. A vampire in the movies would have delivered the perfect opening line that conveyed mystery, power, and sex appeal.

Instead I said, “You’re supposed to be wearing a nametag.” She arched an eyebrow and stared me down for a few moments. I had begun contemplating faking a bathroom emergency to escape when she replied, “Well, I am the ultimate rebel.” I laughed a little in spite of myself. I liked rules, and they only worked if they applied to everyone, but I also liked a beautiful woman who would talk to me. Guess which one was taking precedence at that point?

“Seriously though,” I said, “how do we know who you are if you aren’t wearing a nametag?”

The devil leaned toward me, offering a more apt view down her corset in the process, and whispered conspiratorially, “And why do you want to know who I am, doctor?”

“Well . . . um . . . I suppose we might have known each other . . . back when we went to school here.”

“Did you know many women who looked like me?” she asked with a hint of a purr in her voice. All her body language indicated that she was flirting with me, but her heart rate was steady, and I didn’t smell any pheromones or hormones being released. If only I had these senses during my formative years, I could have saved myself a multitude of embarrassments when girls thought it was funny to flirt with the nerd.

I pulled my back straight and made a significant effort not to look down the appealing ravine of her corset, and then spoke
.
“I feel I knew far too many women like you in those days. Granted, none bore your particular physical features, but the streak of cruel humor was most notably the same. I don’t know why you are pretending to flirt with me, but I assure you that I am on to your little game. I would very much like it if you left me alone now.”

If I were still human, then my face would have been bright red from embarrassment. I expected her to be grumpy that I spoiled her fun, or fake anger at me for calling her out. The devil did neither. She threw her head back and laughed whole heartedly. I became increasingly uncomfortable as she devolved into guffaws and then to chuckles. Finally, when her humor was little more than a low murmur in her throat, she responded.

“Well look at you, Freddy, ten years and about fifty pounds ago, you never could have stood up to a girl like that.”

I blinked a few times (another trait that is all habit and no need) before tentatively answering her. “Krystal?”

Krystal was the only female friend I had in my younger days, and, truthfully, saying “friend” is stretching it. We were both out of shape and had more caution than ambition in the social world. We didn’t really spend time together per se, but our friend group was the same, so we knew one another well enough. She had an annoying habit of nicknaming people, so I was thusly deemed “Freddy” in her eyes.

“You got it, Freddy, and in one try, too. I think I should be a little bit offended.” She smiled at me as she reached into her purse and pulled out her own name tag, sticking it in a very high-profile area on her corset.

“Wh . . .  what . . . what on earth happened to you?”

“About the same as happened to you, I’m sure. Lasik for my eyes, diet and exercise for the body, just plain old growing up for the rest. You look good, by the way, very lean.”

“Thank you,” I murmured. I was glad I didn’t have blood pumping through my system anymore, otherwise I would have been so red faced my costume could have been titled “Dr. Tomato.”

“So catch me up, Freddy. How has life been? What do you do? You have a wife?” She began blathering, eschewing the calm and seductive vibe.

“Life has been . . . well, pretty boring, to be honest. I work as a CPA. No wife or girlfriend, but I do have a very robust film collection. Yourself?”

“Eh, not so far off from yours. No relationships . . . . They don’t work so well with my line of work. I can’t say my life is boring, but it is more predictable than I would like sometimes. All in all not too bad though. I make a living, and that’s something to be thankful for.”

“True. So what is it that you do?”

“Ahhhh, what now?” She tripped over her words as her heart rate went up. I had just caught her off guard.

“You mentioned your job was counter to relationships, but didn’t clarify what it was. Therefore, I asked what your job was.”

“Oh. I’m a . . . cosmetologist. You wouldn’t believe the hours they make us work. No time for dates at all. Look, Freddy, I need to use the ladies’ room. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” she lied as she hustled herself off to the restroom. I turned my attention back to my glass of punch. If I had thought I wanted to leave earlier, getting recognized and ditched by one of the few people I thought of as close to a friend had undoubtedly strengthened that resolve.

I left my sad little corner and ventured to the refreshment table. Brent was still talking to two girls, one a slutty cop and one a slutty nurse, but otherwise the area was unattended. They detached themselves from him and headed toward the restroom. With the looks they were throwing back, it was not at all likely that he was being abandoned in the same fashion as me. It wasn’t even eight yet, so the party was relatively sparse. I had been led to understand that it was more fashionable to arrive later, but it was a talent I never had the inclination nor the opportunity to cultivate. After all, the few times I was invited places I was too afraid of missing things to arrive late, and I was too tired to stay when things worth seeing actually happened. I blended into the background, and no one ever remembered to invite me a second time. As I took a small block of swiss onto my plate and refilled my punch glass, I began thinking if maybe it had been better that way. At least at home I was comfortable. Being out here, with these people, I was just being reminded of all the things that I wasn’t. And alive wasn’t even the highest item on the list.

I stayed in my funk until an hour later, when the lights went out and the chaos began.

4.

The crowd had swollen with costumed, former students. The range and variety of outfits were actually rather fascinating. There was everything from vampires and werewolves, to pixies, to knights, to what I was 90% sure was a local fast-food chain’s mascot. I had plucked up enough courage to speak to a couple of people whose names I vaguely remembered, though my attempts were not well received. There had been a select few I would have been comfortable talking with, but, unfortunately, aside from Krystal and me, none of the formerly socially outcast individuals had elected to attend. I had kept an eye (and perhaps a nose) out for Krystal; however, she seemed to have utterly vanished since her trip to the ladies’ room. I was standing by the gym’s bleachers, fighting with myself on whether staying or leaving would be more cowardly, when the power in the building suddenly died.

At first there was an awkward chuckle that rippled through the attendance. Power outages happen, and when they do, it is human nature to assume that someone is already on the problem fixing it. I scarcely even noticed. I didn’t need light to see anyway. After a few minutes, some of the more responsible members of my former class elected to open the doors up and let in some light from outside. That was their intention, anyway. I heard the rattling from the door frame and recognized the sound even before the shout of clarification accompanied it.

“Hey . . . Hey! This isn’t funny. Somebody locked us in!”

I was remarking in my mind how much more at ease I felt when everyone was as invisible as me, when the second scream tore through the party, this one much bloodier than the original. Everyone turned in the direction of the yell, but I’d bet I was the only one who could actually see a pudgy, brunette mummy being pulled into the hallway. I was sure I was the only one who could smell the sweet, tangy blood pouring across her sadly appropriate bandages. Odds were good I was
still
the only one who could make out the form of a hulking creature in the doorframe that was doing the dragging. All of this told me quite clearly that being at this party was no longer a minor risk. In that moment, I decided to do what any intelligent vampire would do in my position.

I ran like hell. Admittedly, I jumped the gun before the rest of the revelers, but they had only heard a horrific scream. I had seen what caused it. They joined in a few seconds later, though. Say what you will about humans; they have a flight-or-fight instinct that is surprisingly well developed. They didn’t even know what was going on, and they were making the right move.

Or were they? I slowed my sprint to the door and moved toward
the side of the wall. The rest of the crowd assaulted every exit, only to find each one reinforced and wrapped in chains on the outside. I could have ripped them down if it came to it, but then I would have had to explain how I did it once we were outside. Being hunted as a monster by a group of angry townsfolk wasn’t much better than the situation I was already in, so that was a last resort.

There were two other ways out of the gym. Doors that led into the school were at the north and south ends. Since the scream had come from the north end, everyone began stampeding toward the south exit. As I watched them, I was struck by how much they resembled livestock being herded into a chute. That thought solidified my decision. No way was I leaving with the crowd. I could just wait until they all left and then rip open a door and be on my merry way. I know it seems like I was being a coward, but let’s be fair. These were hardly people I had fuzzy feelings toward, and dying scared me quite a bit more since I had already done it once.

I was watching them stumble over ill-conceived costume decisions as they fumbled in the dark, when something caught my eye. There was a commentator’s box near the top of the gym. It had a catwalk and opened into the 2
nd
floor of the school. With all the bleachers pulled out, it would be easy enough to access; however, since they were shoved into the wall, it would be nearly impossible to reach from here. That is, assuming one didn’t have enhanced physical abilities and a fear that served as an exceptional motivator. It was pitch dark, and no one was looking at me anyway.

I scaled the bleacher wall in under a minute. If anyone noticed sounds from the room behind them, they opted not to try and peer into the darkness, but rather to just escape faster. The door on the side of the commentator’s box was unlocked, so I slipped in without needing to break off the handle. From here it would be an easy journey to a balcony to the outside where I could hop down to my car and to safety. I was halfway through the small cube when a surprising scent caressed my nostrils. Leather, human, sweat—and recent familiarity. Krystal. Now that I was listening, I could hear her heartbeat as well. She was bound and gagged, taped under the table where the commentators would normally sit.

I reached for her very quickly. Helping a former friend was all well and good, but I still needed to get the hell out of there. She immediately began thrashing against her bonds and screaming into her gag. I’d forgotten I was the only one of us who could see in the dark.

“Krystal, calm down. It’s Fred. Something very strange is happening, and I’m trying to get you out of here.” She stopped struggling immediately and looked in my direction with gratitude and what seemed like a bit of embarrassment. I dismounted her from the table’s underside with relative ease. The tape was a more gradual process, but once I freed her arms, she was able to help the escape effort.

“What happened to you?” I asked as she spit the last fibers of her gag from her mouth.

“I got ambushed in the bathroom. Stupid bitches.”

“Ambushed? By whom? Why would they do that? What the hell is going on? Do you know why the power’s out?” My frustration at the evening’s sudden turn from unenjoyable to potentially deadly apparently decided to manifest itself in the form of verbal diarrhea. Under my articulated assault, Krystal’s heart rate spiked again, then subsided. Her face took on a resigned look. Much as it had when we were kids and she was on a diet. She might not like what she was about to do, but she would do it anyway.

“Okay, Freddy, slow down. I owe you a little bit of truth for helping me out tonight. I gotta keep it brief; this isn’t exactly the safest area to hide since it’s the first place anyone who wants me will look.”

“That’s fair.” In reality her point made me far less concerned with my own ignorance of the situation and more interested in extricating myself from it. However, I was genuinely curious, and Krystal was still wearing her corset. Besides, if push came to shove, I would probably be okay. Vampires can really haul some ass when needed.

“To begin with, I’m sorry I flaked out when you asked me about my job.”

“It’s okay, Krystal.”

“Nah, it isn’t. You’re a sweet guy, Freddy, and I know how personally you take that kind of stuff. See, I didn’t actually come here planning to talk with anyone tonight, but when I saw you sitting by your lonesome, I couldn’t help myself. Then you caught me off guard with the job thing, and I didn’t have a lie prepared.”

“So, why did you come tonight if you weren’t going to talk with anyone?” As I asked my question, she began rooting around the room blindly, groping under chairs and in cabinets.

“I came here on assignment for work.”

“Will you elaborate this time?”

She let out a heavy sigh. “Damnit, Freddy, this is the kinda shit I was specifically trying to avoid. Look, I’ll tell you what I do, but you won’t believe me.” She had finished the obvious places and began checking behind speakers and electronic equipment.

“Given that I just found you bound and gagged, my mind is somewhat more receptive than it might normally be.”

“Well, then, here’s the deal,” Krystal said as she sat down next to me. “Everything you think you know about monsters is a lie. Ghouls, ghosts, werewolves, all of them and more are real and hiding out behind the scenes in our world. Officially they are known as ‘parahumans,’ and part of my job is to hunt down the ones that get out of hand. I work for an agency without an official name or address. I’m here because we learned that some local werewolves planned on using tonight as an all-you-can-eat buffet. You know, you can call me crazy at any point here, and I’ll shut up.”

“What about vampires?” I asked. From the look on her face, that was hardly the response she was expecting.

“Um, yeah. Vampires are real, too. They’re hard as shit to root out, though, and major league badasses to boot. Only the top operatives deal with those things.”

“I see,” I said. I was a little relieved. If they had thought that highly of vampires, it was unlikely I’d have to deal with this “agency” anytime soon.

“I gotta tell you here, Freddy. You’re taking this a hell of a lot better than I was expecting,” Krystal said, before resuming her hand-guided search around the room.

“It’s been an interesting few years. Besides, as I said, finding you stuffed under a table lends some credence to your story. What are you looking for anyway?”

“My purse. I need my gun and my silver bullets. I thought I heard them put them in here somewhere, but I didn’t really have a great vantage point, so I might be wrong.”

I could feel my skin prickle at the mention of silver. Still, if she was going to gun down several monsters, then she would need her weapon. I smelled carefully, trying to ignore her immediate scent. I needed to track the same smell, but a version that was muddled and fading. That would lead me to any objects that had spent long amounts of time around her, such as her purse. It took me only a few seconds to find it; the kidnappers had oh-so-cleverly put it inside one of the speakers. I got up to pull the speaker open, but a power cord had entangled my foot. So, instead I went crashing into it head first.

“Shit!” Krystal whisper-shouted. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Just fine. Cheap plastic, and all that. Also, I think I found your purse.” I handed it to her as I pulled myself up and extricated my leg from the diabolical power cord.

“Awesome! You still rock, Freddy.” She pulled a handgun out from the purse, followed by a series of clips exuding a smell that made my stomach start churning. She tucked all that into her pants, then pulled out what appeared to be a pair of swimmer’s goggles with electronics glued to them. She adjusted the band and slipped them over her eyes. When she turned to me and waved, the gears clicked in my head, and I realized she was wearing extremely compact night vision goggles. I also realized I should probably pretend to be far less capable of seeing in darkness than I really was.

“Thanks for the assist, Freddy. You literally saved some lives tonight. Once this is all said and done, we should get lunch or something before we head home.”

“Sounds like a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.”

“Yeah.” She went to the door that led into the school’s second floor, pressing her ear against it and keeping her gun at the ready. Her free hand crept down to the knob, turning it slowly until it came to an abrupt stop. “Damn, it’s still locked.” Her head flicked toward me for a moment. Then she took a knee and produced a set of picks from her hair. In seconds she had the lock disabled and resumed her careful opening of the door. She pulled it open inch by inch, minimizing the sound and getting a full view of the hallway. After stepping out to make sure it was clear, she walked over to me.

“Okay, Freddy, listen close. The nearest balcony to here is to your right. Once you walk out the door, go right till you hit a wall, and then go to the left. Trace your hand along the wall on your right, and when you feel the third door, open it. It should be a classroom with a big window and door to an outside balcony. I know it will hurt, but you need to jump off that balcony and run to your car. Roll with the landing if you can—it will minimize chances you’ll break something. You got all that?”

“I believe I can handle it.”

“Good. One last thing.” She pushed a stiff, smooth rectangle into my hand. “That’s my card with my cell number. Give me a call when you’re safe, and let me know you lived through this. Okay?”

“I certainly will,” I lied.

She got up and headed back to the door. Gun in front she exited, pausing only to look at me once more. I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to be able to see those looks, and then that made them all the more curious. At any rate, I was ready to get out of here. Krystal had handed me an exit, and I had no inclination to let that information go to waste. I’m sure a Hollywood vampire would have run after her, swept her into his arms, and handled all the villains himself. That, however, was not me. All I wanted to do was get back to my hotel room safely and relax.

Werewolves, real or not, most definitely fell into the realm of someone else’s problem.