Path of the Vampire forum

Ant, Sergeant Hillock calls me, not because Anthony is my preferred name around the station, but because he’d like to squash me, just like an ant. He’s an ex marine, and I like to remind him of that. The force doesn’t usually take old military goats like him, because they all have superiority complexes. They think protect and serve means shoot now, ask later. Trigger Happy Gook. He’s been on stand-down twice. Twice. I’m a whole foot and a half taller, and somehow he's still able to look down his nose at me.

Reminds me of my father, but perhaps that's too kind. The old man only ever called me boy. Boy, do this. Boy, do that. Go fetch my slippers, boy. Feed the dogs, boy.

Best thing I ever did was leave home at sixteen. Biggest mistake? Going back. Guilt is the most useless emotion in the world, but it took me home seven years ago to watch the old coot die. Two years out of police college, and the ******** still had nothing good to say to me. He left everything to his wife, Rachael. They had two kids. I wasn’t one of them.

Guilt. Remember how I said it was the most useless emotion in the world? Turns out I can't outrun it. Guilt hasn’t done much for me in the last thirty-three years, but it did bring me to you.

An ad on social media went viral after a report by the local SPCA issued a plea for people to adopt black cats, fearing their shelter had become overrun as a result of their shrinking popularity, for reasons including, and I quote, “they don’t look good in selfies”. Did you know that word made it into the Oxford English Dictionary, and was named word of the year in 2013? Selfie. Honestly, what is this world coming to?

I called her Mandy, after Mandy Moore. Don’t judge, she was my dream girl back in 1999. I am not missing those years like candy, and my tastes have changed a little since then, but some memories just stick. How things have changed.

Mandy is quiet, she doesn’t take up a lot of room, and she eats everything I put on her plate. Perfect girlfriend if you ask me, and I think she thinks so too. Our relationship is… one of mutual understanding. I set certain rules, like stay out of the washing basket and don't knock the pot-plants off the shelf, and Mandy breaks them. I’ve learned to live with cat hair on everything, claw marks on all of the leather furniture, and the odd accident, but this I can’t forgive!

A decapitated mouse in one of my work boots.

As impressed as I am, I dread to think where the head ended up. You’re on time out today, Madam. I’m keeping you locked in the apartment while I go to work. Scratch up the corner of the couch if you must, while you stare at that thing called a scratching post, just remember that the baseball cards are off limits.

"That's right, Ma'am," Aaron said to the woman on the phone. "Under the current Emergency Act any provincial, territorial, or municipal government can declare a state of emergency."

Aaron held the phone a few inches from his ear as a voice yelled back at him, panicked, irrational.

"Police are suggesting people stay in their homes and away from any hot spots published and updated regularly on our website and all of the local news channels." He sighed, and listened again.

"Yes if you have any problems you just give us a call, eh? Okay, Mrs Leeds, you take care now."

Aaron put the phone down. Crazy Canuck, he thought. "Can you please tell the team downstairs to filter those calls better! A boot could have handled that," he yelled across the room at Conny, who was in charge of most of the admin for their floor. She nodded, still stuck on the phone herself.

Reaching out, Aaron took hold of and turned over the newspaper on his desk, the title informing readers that Harper Rock had declared a state of emergency following a cyber attack on a local government facility which had leaked information about a possible cure for the plague affecting those with the Vampirism virus.

“You know I’m yet to meet one,” Aaron said, knowing the man that sat at the desk behind his was listening.

Officer Steven Knowles spun about in his chair. “You kidding me? You’ve probably met a handful of them down the road at the local McDonalds.”

“They blend in that well, eh?”

“Bloody oath,” Steven said, “you’d never know with some of them, well, unless you go to the Quarantine Zone and catch a glimpse of one of them feral types.”

Steven was Australian, very Australian. He never shut up about the place. Aaron liked the way he said ‘Sydney,’ which was apparently the part of Australia Steven was from. “This just wouldn’t happen back home,” Steven said.

Here we go, Aaron thought.

“It just wouldn’t happen,” officer Knowles said again.

“Feed them to the snakes, would ya?”

Steven laughed. “Or the crocs.”

“The shoes or the animals?”

Steven laughed again.

“Hey, Steve, you know anything about Longslade?””

“The building the government was working on that cure in?”

“Yeah.”

“Not much more than that, sorry. I suggest you read the article,” Steven said, and pointed to the paper.

My apartment isn’t much to look at. A one bedroom place with ensuite and, what the lady from the real estate office called an open-plan kitchen and lounge. Back in New York they’d call it four star living. Out here in Harper? Well I’ve seen more for less. I just can’t bring myself to leave.

Last summer I built a bookshelf that stretches from floor to ceiling in order to cut the room in half. It’s nice that I can still watch the game while cooking in the kitchen, but the smell of curry and spice is hard to get out of the furniture. There’s a pretty nice view of the river that runs through Coastside from the living room window and, this high up, the streetlights don’t keep me awake like they used to back home.

I don’t often entertain, so it’s a good thing Mandy doesn’t mind sharing the lazyboy with me. The couch is old and she’s had her way with it. The leather is past the point of no return and it was so cheap that it’s not really worth spending the money to get it reupholstered. Haven’t had any complaints from some of the guys who crash on it after our Friday night games of poker.

The television takes up the best part of the wall space. My last girlfriend hung a few of my old family photos she liked the look of, including some of my high school pictures. Don’t have the heart to take them down, especially the one of us three years ago in Italy. I don’t know if I think of it now as a shield or a deterrent.

She was in a car accident on her way home from visiting family about a year and a half ago. Knew I hated driving in the snow, so when work picked up, she didn’t push me to take her. Of course I wish I had. The guilt still eats at me.

Just finished a year of counselling. An hour long session every two weeks. It’s expensive to talk to someone and, in the end, Rhonda suggested I stop booking her time because, while it had helped, some might say significantly, we hit a wall and ended up talking in circles for months. It always took a good ten minutes to warm-up, get past the politeness and onto the heavy stuff. For the first session she just let me cry. I don’t know where it came from. I’ve never cried like that before, not at dad’s funeral. Or yours.

They all said how nice my speech for you was, that I managed to capture the true essence of Vittoria Emily Rossi in words.

You are just a box now… pushed under the writing desk in my room against the wall. It’s filled with all things you. My favourite shirt looked better on you anyway. There’s a stack of ridiculous postcards you sent me, one from each time you went away on business. The bare bums in France still make me smile. I gave all of your jewelry to your mother. She let me keep the diary I found and the photo album with all of your modelling shots. I don’t know why. I can’t bring myself to open either of them.

Remember the sweets you brought home from Thailand, the ones with wrappers that dissolved on the tongue and tasted like cigarette papers? You said they were coconut flavoured. I hated them, but I ate every last one. I ordered a few online last night. You’d be surprised what you can find on EBay. Cost a fortune to get them shipped out here, but I think they are helping, you know, with trying to give up smoking. I still haven’t managed to yet.

I wish you could have met Mandy. She turns one next week. We are celebrating with canned tuna. Her idea, not mine. You always wanted a cat. I know I was reluctant. I wish I had given you more of the things you wanted. I wish you were here and that saying goodbye wasn't as hard as saying hello to you the day we met.

My apartment isn’t much to look at, but because of you, it’s home.

“Mr Loch?”

Aaron got up out of the chair in the waiting room and followed doctor John Pasley towards his office.

“Take a seat, Aaron. How are you?”
“I’m all right.”

John sat down and studied Aaron with a concerned look on his face. Aaron made eye contact and noticed that doctor Pasley had blue eyes. He sounded English with a Canadian twang, but Aaron couldn’t be sure. Each time John spoke, he would touch the corner of his mouth with the tip of his tongue; a strange habit, Aaron thought.

They had spoken twice before, once about a heat rash Aaron had developed in the summer over the course of his efforts to quit smoking. The second visit had been arranged to receive the flu jab in preparation for winter.

“You look tired,” John said, his observation not wrong.
“I’ve been having trouble sleeping,” Aaron admitted.

John turned his swivel chair in order to face the computer. A few clicks of the mouse bought up Aaron’s file, which wasn’t long. John used his pointer finger to scroll, spinning the wheel on the centre of the mouse. He was looking for past history, Aaron thought, he wouldn’t find any previous complaints for trouble sleeping.

“Is that the reason for your visit today?” John asked.
“Was hoping I could get something for it, sleeping tablets preferably, nothing too strong.”
John leaned back in his chair. “How’s work?”
“Busy.” Aaron replied, without hesitation. It was the truth, which he always found much easier to part with than a lie.
John nodded. “Diet?”
Aaron shrugged. “Could be better, could be worse.”
“Exercise?” John inquired.
“Not as much as I should. Three mornings a week at the gym.”
“You’ve got me beat,” John said.

Aaron believed him. John may have been a doctor, but it looked like a good part of his six figure salary went on food and expensive drinks.

“Anything bothering you?”
“Just a little down, I guess.” Aaron said.
“Not uncommon at this time of yeah,” John attempted to reassure him.

Aaron looked out the window to his right. There was nothing to see from John’s office that overlooked the car park and a small shopping complex.

“Are you depressed?”
“No,” Aaron said, “just tired.”
“I can prescribe something for depression.”
“I just need a little more sleep.”

John punched a couple of the keys on the keyboard and spoke as he typed. “I’m going to prescribe you a low dosage sleeping pill. Break them in half and see how they go. If you still have trouble sleeping, try a full strength tablet.”

The doctor slammed his finger against the enter key and signed the piece of paper the printer spat out moments later. “A three month supply. If you find they don’t work for you, book another appointment and we’ll talk,” John sad.
Aaron got up and shook the man’s hand. “Thanks, doc.”

N A D U M A the armband read, slapped down on Aaron’s desk by the sergeant. Aaron looked up at the man from where he sat in his chair, thighs spread, hands in his lap. “I already told you during our meeting yesterday, I don’t want any association with this group,” he said.
“Too bad, sunshine, we need more men in the field making sure these cowboys don’t kill anymore citizens by mistake.”
“Right, by mistake,” Aaron scoffed, shook his head, and picked up the armband. He studied it for a time.
“Come on, Loch, I need my best man on the case.”
“Don’t even try to pretend that’s me,” Aaron challenged, “if anything you’re hoping they’ll mistake me for a zombie and rid you of one of the thorns in your side.
Sergeant Hillock laughed. “Take your gun, and your badge, and get down there. You’ve been assigned to the street, if I so much as see you step foot in this office before this problem is resolved, the next thing I put on your desk will be a written warning, you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” Aaron told him, and got up out of his chair.
“That goes for you too, Knowles. You can work on this one together.”
Aaron turned around to looked at officer Steven Knowles, his friend and coworker.
“Yes, Sergeant Hillock,” the man said, his thick Australian twang humorous as always. As Hillock made his retreat, Steven looked across at Aaron and smiled. “Call that a knife?”
Aaron had been taking a sip of coffee, which he just about shot out his nose. “Jesus, Knowles!”
Steven laughed. “To the riot gear?”
Aaron was already heading towards the changing rooms. “You know that **** makes me feel like RoboCop?”
“Feel, I thought you were?”
Aaron laughed.

Outside the Quarantine Zone, both officers were briefed and brought up to speed on the situation. Shufflers, one of the volunteers had called them, the zombies that was. “They’ll give you a hundred bucks for every ear you bring them,” the stranger said.
“That’s ******* sick,” Steven muttered.
“You’re telling me,” Aaron agreed. “**** it, let's get this done or it's going to be takeout coffee from now on.”
“And no Heather Barns to greet us every morning,” Steven interjected.
“She talks to you?” Aaron gave him a perplexed look.
“All the time!”
“God damn it, you put a fake spider on her shoulder one time.”
Knowles smirked. “She hates you.”
“Listen up sissies,” the man who had briefed them spoke up. “I don’t want anymore mistakes, the locale police department has joined forces with us, and I don’t want them showing us up!”
Steven nudged Aaron, “that won’t be hard.”
Aaron took his turn to smirk. “First to fifty?”
“Make it a hundred.”

The apartment smelled of cigarette smoke, not that Aaron could smell it, smokers could never smell smoke on themselves, not while they were smoking at least. Mandy was curled up on his lap, she didn’t seem to mind, and ahead of him a rerun of the baseball game he had missed due to long work hours, played on the television, the sound off. Aaron didn’t need the roar of a drunken crowd to watch and enjoy the game, and he was mindful that it was two in the morning and that his neighbours probably wouldn’t appreciate the ruckus.

Aaron had gone weeks without a cigarette. He hated that he was smoking again now, after doing so well. Work was ****, his personal life was ****, he found no joy in his hobbies anymore, found himself barely watching the game. Excuses. Excuses to dampen the guilt. Aaron put out the cigarette, sat for a moment in silence, stared at the slow and grinding baseball match, and then lifted the cigarette to lips once more to light it again. **** guilt. Guilt is for suckers.

It was three in the morning before the thought to go to bed struck. ****, shave, shower. And so the wheel turned. Mandy was already curled up at the foot of the bed by the time Aaron crawled under the covers. She gave him a sinister look, squinting at him with her head turned almost completely up the wrong way. It was rather endearing, if not a little chilling at the same time.

“You’ve been holding onto a lot of guilt.” Rhonda’s voice was in his head again. “You need to find a way to forgive yourself for what happened to Emily. It wasn’t your fault.”

For a long time Aaron lay in bed just staring at the ceiling, thinking about Emily. Her features were still as sharp in his mind as they had been the day he had met her. The warmth of her memory was soon replaced with the biting cold realisation that he would never see that face again, not in person anyway. The sadness that came with such a thought left him with a weight on his chest that squeezed all of the air out of his lungs.

Aaron closed his eyes, his lashes wet, glued together with unshed tears. He let the pain sting behind his eyes for a moment and subside. Tomorrow was his first day off in two weeks, and to think, he was going to spend it removing any last trace of her from the apartment. It would help with the healing, Rhonda had suggested. What did she know? He had told himself for so long that she was wrong, but nothing had changed in the years since Emily’s passing, and eventually Rhonda had stopped trying to help him. It was time for him to help himself, time to move forward. Forward but no on, he had rationalised.

“I miss you like crazy, Em…”

The numbers on the clock flipped over, another hour gone, another hour closer to dawn. Aaron shut his eyes, saw her again. Fingers Crossed by Billie Eilish started playing on the radio, a low, wistful melody.

Heartache is a bit like an old sports injury. They don’t often go away untreated. We exercise love every day, sometimes in the form of loving others, things, our pets, or simply a moment of silence, when the world, just for a few fleeting seconds, seems like it slows down just for us. But what happens when we lose the thing we love most, when love is benched, when our world stops turning?

I got a phone call the night Emily died. I remember it as keenly as I wish I could forget. I could hear her mother, Sarah, crying in the background as Frank broke the news. My heart stopped in the confusion. And then it raced, as if trying to beat an escape path between my ribs, faster and harder than it had ever done before. The silence was loud, ringing, screaming in my ears.

No, no, no, it can’t be.

“No,” my mouth made the shape of the word but my breath denied it life.

I spent a week with Emily’s family following her death. I found out more about her in those seven days than I thought I deserved to know after a short four years together. Emily was an only child, adopted at the age of four. She was Russian but had been raised by an Italian father and a Canadian mother. She had always loved cats, old school rock, and the smell of rosemary.

In her room I found a bottle cap collection of different beers she had tried from around the world. She liked to scrapbook all of her adventures, and there on the desk was the same picture of us in Italy, the only one I kept after the clean out two days ago.

I don’t go to bars with friends anymore. I know they mean well, but I just wasn’t ready for anything after Em. Our happy ever after had been taken from us, and for the longest time all there was left was guilt, pain, and anger.

It’s been nineteen months. My heart on the bench, love reserved only for the black ball of fur that curls up at the end of my bed every night. Everything else has lost its sheen. My love of baseball, of running in the morning when no one else is on the road, of poker of a Friday evening, snooker on a Wednesday, and an ice cold beer after a long day’s work, especially a bad one.

I’m depressed, I can’t sleep without popping a pill, and I can’t turn off the voice in my head, that persistent nagging that says it was all my fault. Sometimes it sneaks up on me, reminds me in moments of silence, grates at my last nerve like nails on a blackboard.

You should have been there. Why weren’t you driving?.

I look up at the zombie shambling towards me and I see myself, dead but still moving, existing, just taking up space. I look at the zombie and I envy what it must be like to live without pain, without thought, and sense of self. To know nothing but the desire for my next meal. When did I last eat? Would it matter if I wasted away? What if…

B A N G!

The alarm on my dresser goes off. I’d know that noise anywhere. I keep it across the room so that I’m forced to get up, forced to function.

Mandy opens one eye. She doesn’t appreciate the beeping sound. I get up, shut it off. Another day, another dollar. My running shoes are by the door. I look at them for a long time in the dark.

Life goes on.

Have you ever taken a sleeping tablet? I’ve often wondered if the numb wave that washes over my body moments after taking one isn’t just the placebo effect. We believe, therefore we are. What does it matter if it works?

I can see why people get addicted to these things, come to rely on sleeping pills in order to sleep. The first one I took made me smile like and absolute idiot. Of course I was unsure, I like control, being out of it scares me, tests my inbuilt need to survive, to stay alert. If I were being honest, I’ve never slept better. There is the issue of oversleeping, something I’ve only experienced a handful of times since the pills were prescribed to me, but the reward far outweighs the risk.

Yes, the thought has crossed my mind, but what if I got the dose wrong? Anything less than lethal would turn me into a vegetable, and thanks, but no thanks. I’ll save the trouble of having a stranger wipe my arse for my twilight years.

Besides, I don’t think I want to kill myself. That’s stupid, why throw it all away just because things are hard right now? I know sometimes it feels like I might die of loneliness, but the cure is simple enough, and as Rhonda said, the only person standing in my way, is me.

I watched Ready Player One at the cinema today. It wasn’t like the book, but most movies never are. Still, I enjoyed it. Made me what to pull the old Sega Master System out and give it a jam. I remember all those hours I wasted clocking games like Alex Kidd, Wonder Boy, Sonic, and Land of Illusion. I always liked playing the hero. the good guy. I wonder if that influenced who I am today?

I’ve always worked Saturdays. My boss wants me to go in Sunday this week for an eight till eleven shift. It’s not long, and while three hours at work barely seems worth the wait in traffic, it’s for a good cause. A handful of us have been nominated to dress up and take a couple of cars to the children’s hospital. They like to play with the sirens, hell I can’t blame them, I would have loved that as a kid. I really wanted to go as Batman, but the cool superheroes are always taken first. I got stuck with Spiderman. Praying I can pull off those tights. Jesus, I’m getting heart palpitations just thinking about it.

Conny is going on maternity leave for the next six months. Half the office thinks she will be gone for the year, this being her first and all, but I don’t know, she seems like a workaholic to me. All that free time will drive her crazy. The girls have planned a shitty surprise-farewell party for her, and guess who they put in charge of picking up the cake? I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but I plan to bring back the most inappropriate cake possible. Conny will appreciate it, even if Karen and the girls will try to string me up for it.

It’s the little things.

“Holy ****,” Aaron beamed, as Conny threw her arms around him. “You’re a sight for sore eyes! Are you back at work?”
“As of next Monday,” the blonde said, grinning up at him after shuffling back from the embrace. “Did you miss me?”
“Let’s just put it this way, I won’t miss the temp,” he admitted.
Conny giggle and smacked the upper part of his right arm. “Shh, she’s only over there, you big lug!”
Aaron twisted to find the temp, Fiona, typing away at her computer, oblivious. He wrapped his right arm about Conny’s neck, pulling her into a playful headlock before messing up her hair. “How’s the kid?’
“Adorable,” she said, pushing Aaron back with a light shove. “He can’t wait to meet spiderman.”
Aaron cringed, one of their workmates still had a picture of him in those ridiculous blue tights. “Never again,” he said, doing his best to suppress a bout of laughter.
“Aw, but you looked so cute,” Conny teased.
“Heads up!” Officer Knowles called as a pair of keys went flying through the air in Aaron’s direction.
He snatched them up and tossed them back again. “Prescription says I can’t drive for another week,” Aaron reminded his co-worker, “but I’ll grab my badge and meet you in the lot in five.”
Steven nodded and continued on to the elevator. “I’ll get the car warmed up.”
“Monday.” Aaron smiled as he looked at Conny, “let’s do lunch.”
“My shout,” she called after him.
Aaron winked and pulled on his vest before heading down to the basement level.

“Conny back?” Steven asked inside the car.
“Starts Monday,” Aaron told him.
“Thank Christ, if Fiona tags me in one more all-staff-email.”
Aaron laughed. “Coffee guy’s here!”
“Staff function Friday,” Steven echoed.
“Someone left their lights on in the lockup again.”
“Someone else left their manners at home.” Aaron laughed. “Where we headed?”
“Got a call out for south side. Accident outside the airport, another black-ice incident.”
“**** yeah!” Aaron grinned and put the lights on, turning on the siren shortly after that. It really was the little things.

They took a right at the first intersection, slowing just long enough to make sure there were no pedestrians or oncoming traffic blocking their path. Steven sped through a red light. “You love pressing that button.”
“Never gets old.” Aaron smirked.

Steven took his eyes off the road for a second and the truck came out of nowhere.