fiction by Jason Edwards
The vampires in Portland are pretty cool I guess. Found one in this dive bar called Toreador, in the Alphabet district. I didn’t notice him at first because when I went in I had to take a wicked piss, so I made straight for the men’s room. Doors within doors. There were two guys at the urinals, frozen, or so it seemed like, and really creepy, in their identical baggy pants, thermal underwear sleeves under t-shirt, knit woolen caps. Like that guy at the end of The Blair Witch Project, just standing there. I mean, of course they were pissing, but it made me pause for a second. But only a second. No one was in the stall so I went in, another door, closed it, toed up the seat with my foot, and made a noise like one of those porno guys. Jesus Christ. But not as much blood in my urine, so I guess I was healing up.
When I was done I washed my hands and didn’t really notice there was no mirror above the sink, just a frame. But then I left the restroom and saw the vampire sitting at the bar, plain as night, and I realized he’d been there when I came in and I had missed it. That sent a shiver down my spine. Back in the day, missing a vampire and walking into the men’s room would have been my death sentence. They’ve got incredible instincts, and I know he would have clocked me for what I was, followed me, and did me right there. I stood there for a second, staring at him, and vampires are commonplace nowadays I guess but no so common that they’d don’t get stared at, but still. I shook myself out of it, shoved my hand in my pocket and cupped the tooth I had in there, then went and sat at the end of the bar. Ordered something local. Portland’s supposed to be famous for their hops or something.
Back in the day was about a year ago, and I was just getting good at vampire hunting, but I had to get out of it. My old buddy, Rebus, was closing in on his hundredth kill, but he was getting sloppy, and the vampires were just popping up everywhere. They were getting bold, just hanging out in places out in the open, and people were just accepting it. It kind of soured things, like, we sort of enjoyed the hunting and the shadows. Then we’d just see them places and we’d wait and follow them home and do them there. But it was too easy, and then it was like what’s the point? But Rebus wanted his century, and one night when I was doing something else, he followed one to a nest but one got away and followed him home and that’s where I found him.
It was pretty gnarly. He was naked, which made me nervous, because I didn’t know if the tooth in your pocket worked only when they did you or if it had to stay on you in the grave. If Rebus came back I’d have to do him and I did not relish the thought. I cleaned up the mess and tossed him an old factory incinerator we used when the ones we did didn’t go to ash, and I decided that was it for me, no more hunting. Still kept my tooth, just in case, but I’ve met several vampires since then, in bars and places and they can always tell. Like I said, instincts. But it’s like, they can also somehow tell that if I’m done it’s because they’re done so what’s the point in doing me if they don’t even know of the ones I did before? Vampires don’t have racial pride or anything like that.
So I sipped my beer and sort of glanced over at the vampire now and again. This bar didn’t have a mirror behind it, either, and I was getting the idea this was the guy’s main hang out. He was dressed like a punk rock reject from the 80s. Greasy black hair that had been spiked up and then neglected, one ear pierced with a dangly feather, black leather jacket all beat to hell, studded dog collar, dirty black pants. His skin was pale, of course, and his lips were pale too, like he hadn’t had a feed in a few weeks. Probably, if he had followed me into the bathroom, I could have held him off. He didn’t look like much.
I looked away and thought about Jenny and then got that cold shiver and he was sitting next to me, all of sudden and just like that. I tried not to react, but ended up cupping my arms around my beer like where in a prison lunchroom or something. “Hey there, hunter,” he said, in a thick British accent.
That made my stomach drop. I put my hand in my pocket again and he just laughed, throwing his head back and showing his fangs. They were yellow, dirty, so yeah, he hadn’t fed for a long time. “Thought so, I could smell it, when you came in. How’s tricks.”
I turned away. I was having second thoughts about whether I could, afterall, take him. He did look scrawny but he wasn’t jumpy at all, his eyeballs weren’t bouncing all over the place. He was all confidence and charm, like he kept a little girl on a chain in his backroom and didn’t need to feed unless it was for sport.
“Don’t worry, I don’t do that anymore,” I said. I took my hand out of my pocket and gripped my beer. Took a sip, pretty damn bitter.
“Oh I’m not worried, hunter. You mind if I call you hunter, even though you don’t hunt anymore, hunter?” He locked his eyes on me, tiny dots for pupils, no irises, bloodshot. Freaky shit unless you’d seen it a hundred times before. No stink on his breath, none at all.
“Call me whatever you want,” I said, and then reached into my jacket. I grabbed the stake, then turned to the other side as I turned to look away. Just like I thought, he switched sides on me to look me in the face again, and I already had the stake pointed at his chest. “I told you, I don’t do that anymore, but I could if I had to.”
He looked down at the stake, and I had it back in my pocket again as he reached to grab it. Then I went back to my beer. I’m not faster than vampires, or stronger. But they’re so damn predictable.
The vampire licked his lips, then laughed again. “Shit!” his accent was gone. “I know when I’ve met my match. Harry! Next round for the hunter’s on me.” Then he stood up, at normal speed, patted me on the back, and walked back to his seat.
The bartender poured me another and brought it over, so I knocked back what was left of the old one and grabbed the new one. I thought about Jenny again, about how much she hated vampires, but hated what I told her I done even more, like somehow I was cheating on her, doing vampires. I chugged the second beer.
Thought about ordering another, but I had to piss again and I thought about what I would do if I walked into the men’s room and those two guys were still there, still standing still, still pissing. I looked around the bar, at the other people. The bartender looked normal, or at least Portland normal, in his full beard and mustache, pink t-shirt, tattoos. There were a few other patrons sitting at tables. A DJ with dreds mixing old B-52 songs, and doing a horrible job at it. A Korean kid shooting baskets on one of the pop-a-shot machines. None of them seemed to be in thrall. None of them seemed to not know the punk was a vampire, or to know and not care. He was just another weird thing in a weird place in a weird town. So much weird, nothing was weird.
Except for those guys at the urinals, so I dropped a few bills on the bar, and got up to leave, to hunt down a cafe or a diner for some eggs and hopefully a less occupied men’s room. Walked outside, and the cold hit me like a slap and sunk into my bones. I shoved my hands in my pockets and made it a few steps before the vampire was next to me with his arm on my shoulder. “Where to next, hunter?” He said.
I kept walking. We looked like lovers. “I’m hungry,” I said.
He laughed again. “Oh, I doubt that,” he said, and then he was gone.
I walked a few more blocks and thought about Jenny some more. I didn’t want to. I never wanted to. About the way she looked the first time we met, in that sun dress and the sun behind her like a halo, so fucking corny, long blond hair and freckles and green eyes and she smelled liked shampoo and peppermint candies. How I was outside of myself, talking to her, no way I could have done that on my own, I must have been possessed, and it never occurred to me there was something wrong with her, had to be, a girl like that talking to a guy like me, and us on the stupid futon, me too poor to even afford a frame for the damn thing, and the way she looked at me.
How it freaked me out, the first vampire I ever did, that same damn look in her eyes, somehow, and me again feeling outside of myself, no way I could do something like that, kill a living creature, undead but alive, whatever, not even a futon, just a bunch of filthy blankets wadded up on the floor, the vampire all coated in scars and dried up blood, her hair matted and black, but that same look, and damn me to hell, that same feeling when I drove the stake in, a dry tearing sound, a wet squelch and poof she was ashes.
Getting drunk, going home to Jenny, not telling her, and her so trusting. And I did it again, and again, and finally told her, and she acted like I was the monster, and left. So I did ten more. Goddamn I was good at it. And then ten more. And you know how this ends, the way stories like this always end, number 37, and it was her, same blonde hair, same freckles, but her eyes weren’t green anymore, they were red, blood red, full red, and I wasn’t outside myself anymore, I was right inside me, and I did her, right there in that great big ass mansion, huge four poster bed, blood everywhere, no ashes, and we did the owner of the place too, and bunch of other little new vampires, I was up to 43 end of that night, Rebus was in his 80s, and we felt like shit, we felt like total shit.
I walked around the corner, and the wind died down a bit, things were quiet except for my boots on the pavement. Through the midnight gloom I spotted some neon, a hole in the wall, every god damn place in Portland is a hole in the wall. I just wanted to some eggs. Went inside. No one else was there. It wasn’t dark inside, filled with a yellow light, but not the light you could really see by. Ordered some eggs, found the men’s room, took a wicked piss. No blood at all. Beer cures everything.
I ate my eggs. Added too much salt. Too much pepper. I really didn’t have what you could call taste buds anymore. Everything tasted like ash. But I drank a huge cup of coffee anyway, milk and sugar. When I was done I wasn’t full, but I wasn’t hungry anymore. I paid, then went back to the bathroom to wash my hands, wash my face. Checked this time– there was a mirror. Not sure if I had noticed it the first time. I took a long look at myself. I didn’t see much.
I left the bathroom in time to hear the soft ting of the bell above the door going outside- someone had just left. Whatever. The place had been empty when I’d come in, so who knows. I shoved my hands into my pockets for the cold, felt that tooth again. To become a vampire would be the worst thing that could possibly happen to a person.
I wasn’t exactly lost, but I wasn’t exactly sure where my car was, either, and I wanted to get on the road. So I walked around for a bit, stiff against the cold. I started recognizing places that I’d walked by already that night, so I kind of got my bearings and headed in the right direction finally. Turned a corner, and of course, right across the street was the 80s reject punk vampire, up against the wall, some girl shoved up against him, lots of red hair. She was bleeding freely from the neck, but she had her hands all over him, and he was just taking it, smiling, his chin stained with her blood. He saw me, licked his lips, smiled, and gave me a thumbs up. The girl kept kissing him all over, and he’d occasionally tilt her head to the side and suck. But he looked bored. I stopped watching and kept walking. Whatever.
I found my car, and got in. Checked my phone, found the easiest route to the highway. I had enough gas to get to Seattle. I figured I’d drive up there next. I haven’t slept in weeks, not since that old vampire, the one I’d met in a bar in Oakland, told me that if you don’t see them go to ash, or turn them into ash yourself, then they’re not all the way dead. And there’s ways for them to come back.