I burn easily...

[Etienne]

Etienne sat on the closed lid of the commode in his flat’s bathroom. There was nowhere else to sit but the floor. All the furniture had been taken away with the rest of his things weeks ago. His elbows rested heavily on his knees and his hands held his face. He stared through his spread fingers at the tiled wall. Time to get his life back in order. He needed to make a telephone call. Two calls actually. He’d been sitting here for hours dreading them. The first must be to the head of his department at the university. This should prove to be an interesting call. He pulled out the cell phone and dialed the number listening patiently while it rang.

“Hello, Dr. Harold Salsbury speaking.” said the sleepy voice of an old man with an English accent when the line was answered.

“Dr. Salsbury, this is Etienne Thibodeaux. It is important that I speak with you.” Etienne spoke slowly and loudly into the phone enunciating every syllable as clearly as he could. The poor man was suffering from quite a bit of hearing loss since, but his mind was sharp as a tack at the age of 73. The other end of the connection was silent for a few moments.

“Dr. Thibodeaux?” the voice sounded confused and shaken. “Etienne?”

“Oui, Harold. C’est moi, mon ami.” Etienne said into the little phone.

“Where are you? I can barely hear you. Are you calling me from the Other side?” he sounded awake now, but surprised.

“Can you hear me now, Harold?” Etienne shouted into the phone.
“Harold, what do you mean the other side? The other side of town?” a banging noise started coming from the ceiling of Etienne’s apartment followed by muffled yelling. It was five O’clock in the morning and the sunrise was not due for another hour.

“We thought you were dead. I presumed you were calling me just now from Heaven or the Great Beyond or what have you. This is quite remarkable! Are you alright? Where in the Nine Hells have you been, man? “ his voice was trembling with concern.

“Indeed, Harold! I am well. At least I am well, now! I was out of town and developed a terrible case of hyperphotosensitivity!” Etienne shook his head at how ridiculous that must sound. It was vital that Harold Salisbury believe, though. So much depended on it.

“Hyperpodia- what? I can barely hear you, boy.”

“Hyperphotosensitivity, Harold! I was in hospital!” he shouted louder. Another barrage of banging on the ceiling followed along with more muffled yelling.

“Oh, a bad sunburn then. Aloe is good for that. Why didn’t you call sooner. Your car was found in the river. The police presumed you were dead when they couldn’t find your body. I helped them pack your apartment and send your things to your parents. Oh, your poor parents! They were devastated! Have you rung them up yet?”

“No. I am calling them next.” Etienne could feel a lump forming in his throat. That was the call he was dreading most.

“I do not understand why you have not called sooner, Etienne.” The old professor said again. Etienne could hear the tell-tale signs that the man was beginning to get angry. “You have missed much work and will have a great deal to catch up on. Dr. Zeitsman has been covering your lectures in your absence and making a great mucking, mess of things. That man is barely adequate to teach his own classes. Are you back in town now? I insist that you are in my office by nine O’clock, Dr. Thibodeaux! I have a mind to suspend you for the semester! ”

Etienne sighed. He was almost there. Now, for the tricky part. “Harold, I am afraid that will be impossible! The condition is permanent and life-threatening! I will have to change my hours and only lecture at night!” the banging on his ceiling became louder then stopped abruptly. Heavy footsteps could be heard receding.

“What was that? Lecture at night? Why, for Heaven’s sake?”

“My personal physician has strictly forbidden me from leaving my home during daylight hours! Even the smallest exposure could trigger a relapse that could prove fatal!” Etienne hid his face in his free arm at the awful lie. Well, it wasn’t a lie technically, he thought. Daylight would kill him. And yet he felt horrible for the deception. Harold Salsbury was his only human friend here. How would he keep this terrible secret hidden from him.

“What personal physician? I never knew you to have a personal physician. You’ve never missed a day before three weeks ago! What is his name?” Harold was clearly flustered now.

“Dr. Zachariah Staus.” Etienne felt a chill move slowly up his back. There would be no going back now and he would surely owe a favor to the Elder vampire for this.

“Staus? Who the Devil is Staus? I know every doctor in town at my age!” someone was banging on his apartment door now.

“He’s from out of town. A… specialist, you might say.” The door banging was getting louder, accompanied by a muffled angry voice. Etienne stuck a finger in his ear to blot it out. “Harold, I will meet you tonight at nine o’clock, oui? At your home in Coastside. Can you hear me, Harold? OK?” the banging on the door was growing more insistent, rattling the frame and hinges.

“Alright. Alright! I’ll see you at nine! You had better bring me some wine, you lout! Night classes! Bah!” the line went dead and Etienne relaxed. He would have access to the University again and could continue his research. The noise at his door caught his attention now that the phone was no longer blotting it out. He put the cell phone on the sink and strode to the door.

Etienne snatched open the door to find a large human male in his pajamas brandishing a plunger. The man’s face was a livid red, his mouth spewing obscenities and threats. Etienne’s grin split his face. “I am so glad you came by, mon ami!” his hand shot out impossibly fast catching the human by his throat, long fingers like iron silencing his tirade and pulling him into the apartment, the door slamming shut behind them. The man’s eyes went wide with fear as he saw long fangs flick out. Etienne’s free hand snaked up, fingers glowing with a dimly flickering Eldritch light, to hover over the terrified human’s face. His eyes darted to the glowing hand before him then crossed and rolled back under his eyelids as a glowing fingertip touched his forehead. The man’s body went limp and collapsed into the vampire’s waiting arms, snores gently issuing from his sleeping form.

“I was famished!”

[Etienne]

The line was ringing. Etienne sat Indian-style on the bare floor, cellphone pressed to his ear, a finger tracing the grain of the hardwood boards idly. He belched into the back of his arm absently then screwed up his face in disgust before continuing tracing the woods grain. The upstairs neighbor tasted terrible. His diet must consist largely of spam, convenience store pimento cheese sandwiches, and the cheapest beer available. He had placed the still sleeping man in the elevator and pushed all the buttons. The man would regain consciousness thinking he had a terrible nightmare and had been sleep-walking.


((OOC note: The following conversations have been translated from French for ease of the reader.))

“Hello!” A young girl’s voice answered the line.

“Hello! Is this the Thibodeaux residence?” Etienne replied nervously. Was this his niece answering the phone? She was just a baby not long ago. How could she be big enough to be answering telephones already.

“This is my grandpapa’s vineyard. What’s a residuns?”

“Henriette? Is that you, little one? Where is your father?” his brother must be visiting.

“How did you know my name?” the little girl said.

“It is your uncle Etienne, sweet one!” he could feel emotion start to build in his chest. She was so beautiful, this little one. He remembered her wild brunette curls and big brown eyes. She was the image of his brother, but with Margaux’s gorgeous Gallic eyes. She would break the hearts of many boys someday.

“My uncle Etienne is in Heaven! Mama and Papa told me so.” She said as if the man on the phone was being silly.

“Who are you talking to, Henriette?” said a man’s voice in the background. It sounded to Etienne as if the phone was being taken from the little girl.

“Who is this?” said the man’s voice into the receiver. His tone was annoyed.

“Gaston? Is that you? Please, sit down.” This could be difficult.

“Who IS this?” the man’s tone was becoming irritated.

“Gaston, it is your brother Etienne.” He said, his hand going to his head, fingers clenching in his curly hair.

“**** you! How dare you call this house with such nonsense! My brother is dead you ********!” It was definitely Gaston on the phone. Etienne would recognize his older brother’s angry voice anywhere.

“Sit down and listen, Gaston, before you give yourself a heart attack and leave poor Margaux a widow!” the other end of the phone was quiet for several breaths. “Have you sat down, brother?” the only response was a muted sputter and the scrape of a chair across a wooden floor.

“Our first love was Odette. She had curly blonde hair and was the daughter of the dairy farmer a mile down the road from our vineyard. You had written her love poems and wooed her, but I kissed her first. You broke my nose for it. I swore to Mama and Papa that I fell from the fence and broke my nose.” Etiennne paused, but heard only silence from his brother.

“Odette, was angry with you for breaking my nose and would not speak to you. She married that pimple faced cheesemaker Claude two summers later. You never forgave me. I am sorry, otter.” His voice cracked on the pet name. “Mama always called you her otter because you loved to swim so much.” He listened to the receiver for a response, but none came. Only silence.

“It is your little brother Etienne you ********! I hit you with a stick and put a scar on your left thigh when you were thirteen! We were pretending to be knights down by the grape pressing vats. Aunt Sylvie gave you seventeen stitches. You cried like a girl and made out like I had maimed you!” he was banging his fist on the floor now.

“It was only fourteen stitches, you little bookworm! Where the **** have you been? Why did you make us think you were dead?” Etienne could hear his brother crying on the other end of the phone. “Papa almost had a heart attack because of this and mama will barely eat!” Gaston’s voice was almost a whisper now. “Henriette prays for her uncle every night that the Saints will give you papa’s wine in Heaven. She misses her uncle Wolfie. Where have you been brother? Why did they tell us you were dead?” his voice was pleading. Etienne must tell him the lie now. He must make him believe.

“I was out of town, Otter, when I got sick. I was doing field research again at some old dusty ruins, you know my ways. I thought I had too much sun, but it was more than that. It’s a hyperphotosensitivity disorder, the doctor said. I was in hospital for weeks. Now I can’t even go out in daylight or it might kill me!” he growled in frustration to emphasize his point. His fingers went back to tracing the floor grain again as the lie began to take on more life. “Some bastards stole my car and ditched it in the river while I was convalescing!”

“They shipped all your books back home.” Gaston said. “Mama would not open the boxes. I think it would make it too real for her.” He sniffled and Etienne could hear him whiping his nose on his sleeve. “When are you coming home, Etienne? We need to see you again. Mama and Papa and Henriette and even Margaux and I miss you terribly!” his voice was breaking again. It was tearing Etienne apart, but the lie must live so that he may live and his parents might go to their graves thinking their youngest child was still alive reading dusty old books and not giving them grand children.

“My doctor has forbidden me to travel long distances during daylight hours. It would mean my death to be caught out in sunlight.” At least this was not a lie. He tucked his knees under his chin and wrapped them with his free arm, cringing with the deception. How he hated to lie to Gaston, but the truth would be impossible to believe! They must never know the truth.

“We will come there then! We will fly to Canada tomorrow!” Gaston was excited by the idea and over emotional at his younger brother’s apparent rising from the dead.

“No. No. You can come at Christmas or something. I have to get all my things back and my flat back in order. All my things were sent back to France or sold to cover rent!” he growled in genuine annoyance. “Can you send my things back, Otter? I will wire you the money for shipping.”

“Keep your money, little brother! I will send your things, but we will see you at Christmas!” his brother was laughing now a weight gone from his heart. “You always did burn easily, didn’t you, bookworm?”

The connection went dead. Etienne unfolded himself to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling. The cell phone dropped from his hand to lie beside him on the floor. He wanted desperately to see his family, but it could not be. They would surely see what he was. He must content himself with his things returning to him. Soon he would have his books and materials and he could continue his research with new found vigor. New found knowledge that changed all of his prior assumptions. He was a vampire now and magic was real.

[Etienne]

The lecture auditorium was filled with excitedly talking college students. It seemed that a certain professor presumed dead had returned from the grave and was now only giving his lectures at night. Rumors were running wild on campus about the professor’s mysterious illness. When he strode in and proceeded to the podium the noise became even louder.
“Mesdames et Messieurs, Votre attention, s'il vous plaît, de la classe! “ Etienne slammed a large book on the podium before him bringing the cacophony to sudden silence. “Very well then!” he cast a stern gaze around the room. “Such uproars are not conducive to an environment of learning.” All faces were on him now and he felt he had their attention.

“I would like to take a moment to thank you all for adjusting your schedules for my lectures. My health will no longer permit me to appear at my prior times .” He reached into the battered leather satchel next to him and produced a stack of lecture notes. “Now I am certain that you have all received a copy of the new syllabus and classroom rules. These rules are not optional.” The tall Frenchman addressed the class seriously casting about a wide-eyed gaze that met each of their eyes in turn. “There will be absolutely no video or audio recording equipment of any kind allowed during my lectures. I am afraid you will have to take notes the old fashioned way… by hand!” there were a large number of groans from the class. “Neither will there be still photography, especially flash photography, or this obsessively narcissistic use of mirrors.” He pantomimed a girl preening herself in a hand mirror while making a silly face. “Mesdames, you may apply your paints and powders on your own time and elsewhere, comprende vous?” again he cast his brown-eyed gaze about the room. There were no groans this time, just annoyed sighs.

“What about cellphones, Professor Thibodeaux? Can we use them in here?” said a familiar voice from the middle of the auditorium seats. Etienne’s eyes focused on the young man who had spoken, his lips curling in distaste. He knew that voice and face well.

“Monsieur Fredrickson, I am honored that you would elect to sign up for my class again. I would be even more honored if you would reserve your cellular telephone use for the event of an emergency such as someone in the classroom in need of medical assistance.” Etienne couldn’t help imagining the annoying young man being that individual, perhaps lying in a pool of his own blood on the auditorium floor. His hands straightened the stack of notes absently as he considered how the young man’s blood would taste and decided it would be awful. His complexion spoke of fast food and soda. Etienne found his lip curling in disgust at the thought. He had always hated fast food. It was soulless and devoid of art. This pimply bag of flesh and blood revolted him. His submitted assignments had always been of a similar character devoid of soul or art, yet he continued to submit them despite his lack of a grasp of the material or any real aptitude. Frederickson was an annoying enigma to his professor. What a source of pride he must be for his poor parents, Etienne thought sarcastically.

“This semester we will be discussing the Poetic and Prose Eddas of Snorri Sturlason. Much of what we commonly accept of the Myths of the Viking Age and much of the religious imagery of the pre-Christian Scandinavian peoples have been attributed to Monsieur Sturlasson’s accounts. Modern Asatru or Germanic Heathenry take much of their teachings from the information found in these works as well as the various Sagas, such as the Saga of the Jomsvikings and the Kallevala.” His lecture went on, Etienne quickly finding his rhythm again despite his long absence. It felt good to be back at work. Students took feverish notes, occasionally stopping to work out a cramp or copy a missed bit from their neighbor’s notes.

How amazing, he thought. I am in a room with dozens of humans who have no idea what I have become. Etienne pulled the opaque water bottle from his bag and occasionally pretended to drink from it as he had always done before during his lectures. It was important to maintain the illusion. A careful adherence to his prior human behaviors would be beneficial where possible. Eating and drinking were out of the question, but he would have to pretend whenever possible.

The lecture ended without incident. Several students surrounded the podium as he gathered his notes and began to put them in his satchel. “I cannot stay for questions tonight, mes amis. You may speak with me after the next lecture or send me an email with your questions.”

“Professor Thibodeaux, you look very pale.” said a pretty young redhead who had inserted herself in his personal space and now placed a concerned hand on his own. “Professor! You’re so cold! Are you sure you are well? You need a woman to take care of you!” Her mouth pressed into a pout. Her concern was obvious, if befuddling to Etienne and far too intrusive for his taste. Etienne, moved his hand away and patted her on the shoulder with a reassuring smile. “Poor circulation. I am always cold in here.”

He addressed the lingering throng. “S’il vous plait, I ask that questions are germane to the course material. My health is good and my personal life is my own business, but I thank you for your concern. Bonne nuit, classe!” They slowly filed out leaving him alone at last. His notes and materials stowed, he made his way to the exit stopping short at the appearance of a familiar figure. An elderly gentleman in a tweed suit blocked the doorway. His cane was made of ebony and covered with intricate carving in an African style. A wide brimmed hat perched atop his head, long white locks escaping from beneath it.

“Etienne. You cannot avoid me for the rest of your employ at this university.” He said sternly.
“Harold!” the Frenchman said with some surprise. “You are quite stealthy for an old man with a cane. That old wound does not slow you too much, oui?” he clutched the leather satchel before him with both arms.

“You look like death itself! Come. Let’s get a drink. There’s that tavern nearby.” Dr. Harold Salsbury took Etienne by the arm pulling him from the lecture hall and into the waiting night. “We always get better service from the barmaids when you are with me.” He chuckled and slapped the French professor on the back. They were walking down the campus path to the street. “It must be the accent!”

“Thhppt! I do not know about that, Harold! I pay in Canadian money the same as you. I just tip better!” he grinned at his older friend as a thought came to him. “I’m sure it is your rakish maturity that they admire. Young women seem to be quite fond of older men.” A laugh bubbled up out him. “Or you remind them of their grandfathers!”

“You French ********!” Harold swung his cane at Etienne narrowly missing him. He glared in outrage at his companion as the tall man dodged the blow. “I should fire you after all!” his outrage turned to laughter as quickly as it had come. “I missed you, my friend. None of the other professors would dare talk to me like that. I have them all cowed!” The old professor shook his head causing his long white locks to shift across his shoulders. “Panty waists the lot of them!”

“Harold, I am afraid I cannot have that drink with you tonight. ”Etienne had stopped walking and turned to face his friend. They had reached the street now. “I have an important engagement.” He extended a long-fingered hand.

“What’s this? You would ditch me already? You’ve only just returned from the grave, my friend.” The old professor tucked his cane under an arm and shook his friend’s hand covering both of their hands with his other. “You will owe me a drink then. This must be a very special young lady for you to disappoint your boss and friend!” he released Etienne’s hand and the Frenchman turned to walk away.

“Bonne nuit, mon ami! We will have that drink another time.” He waved goodbye to his friend.

“I have not been able to reach this Dr. Staus of yours. I still wish to speak to him regarding your illness. He is yet to return my messages.” Harold said an eyebrow raising.

“You know how doctors are, Harold. He will call you when he gets around to it. He’s a very busy man I’m sure.” He shrugged and turned to walk away again.

“What is this mystery lady’s name that has you running off in such a hurry? ” Harold called to Etienne’s retreating back.

“Elizabeth.” He called back over his shoulder a grin spreading across his face as he increased his step to hurry home. Her brilliant blue eyes were vivid in his mind’s eye.

[Etienne]

The tall vampire stood in his bathroom staring down at the water-filled toilet bowl a long-handled toilet cleaning brush in one hand. He reached down and pressed the handle then watched solemnly as the water swirled and vanished. Water filled the tank with a muffled sound. When it was full he flushed the toilet again. He had been cleaning so that Elizabeth would not think him a slob. Cleaning away the last traces of evidence of his humanity seemed so final. What a strange thought that he would not be needing this fixture ever again. The tank filled again and was flushed again. Fascinating.

The dirty towels were gathered and placed in the hamper and the shower and sink scrubbed. Thankfully the landlord had cleaned out the refrigerator when he had thought Etienne dead so he would not have to deal with removing spoiled food. He thought it odd that they had done such a poor job cleaning the restroom. Didn’t they usually hire cleaning agencies after tenants left? Etienne took the broom and dust pan and swept up the apartment once again glad for the ease of cleaning hardwood floors. He should shower. He thought he could still detect the odor of his last victim. The intimacy of the feeding experience sometimes bothered him after the blood lust faded and he was left with the smells of his victims that clung to his skin and clothing. He crinkled his nose at his own smell. Yes. Definitely, a shower was in order before Elizabeth arrived.

A smile stole across his lips thinking of Elizabeth. He would endure the pain and horror of turning again for her. Although they had made no declarations of their feelings they had been spending a lot of time together talking about anything and everything. She was constantly in his thoughts. All this horror story was worth it now that she had come into his life. She had become his bright light of joy in the darkness.

Etienne swept around the inexpensive wicker couches and made an attempt to straighten the rugs. If he could just get that damned balcony door open he could beat the rugs properly. A sigh of resignation escaped him settling into a frown on his unshaven face. He may have to give in and purchase a vacuum cleaner to attack the dirty rugs. A washer and dryer would be wonderful, but there were no hookups in the flat. The last of the cleaning was completed with the straightening of the couch cushions.

“Time to meditate. I can shower after.” He said to the empty flat. He walked into the bedroom taking off his clothes as he went and dropped them in a pile on the floor. “You I shall attend to shortly. You stink, you dirty clothes you!” he waggled a finger maliciously at the pile of clothes then set about lighting three large votive candles around a magic circle inscribed on the floor. Candlelight flickered against his skin revealing countless tattoos of mystical symbols, runes, ancient beasts and intricate knots. The tattoos seemed to move and come alive in the flickering candlelight. Incense lay outside the circle which he lit from a candle and placed in a holder. Sweet smelling smoke drifted around the circle and spread lazily throughout the room. Stepping into the circle he closed his eyes and centered his being taking in slow deep breaths and letting them out slowly. Even though he had no need to breath he found it a familiar aid. He reached out through his being and felt his power. He had grown stronger. More magicks were now available to him. A peaceful feeling came over him and he let it permeate every cell relaxing every muscle one at a time.

Many years ago he had met a Buddhist monk in Paris while studying at university. The monk had tried to teach him meditation. Etienne tried for years to perfect it, but could never quite empty his chaotic mind of all the numerous thoughts that vied for attention. Now it was much easier, like slicing an onion in half and spreading the halves apart to create an empty space on the cutting board. Each individual thought could then be placed in the clear space and examined like peeling the layers from the onion halves and peering at the light shining through each. Every aspect laid bare in exquisite detail. He found it very relaxing and practiced it every night now focusing his concentration and feeling the pulse of his power. An hour passed before he ended the session by pinching the candle flames with his fingers.


Elizabeth would arrive shortly. The familiar smile twisted his lips again as he stretched lazily then picked up the dirty clothes from the floor. “You thought I had forgotten you didn’t you? Hah! Cower in fear you dirty laundry! I am a great and powerful vampire!” he laughed maniacally carrying the soiled clothes to the hamper and slammed them in. A good hot shower was next. The shower door was flung open and in he went turning on the tap. The bathroom filled almost immediately with pleasant steam as he began washing up. “I must not be offensive when my lady love arrives!” Etienne stopped dead still at the sudden realization shampoo stinging his eyes. He was in love with Elizabeth! How could this happen so quickly? They had only spent a short time together, yet the feelings were there and undeniable. Whatever would he do if she did not return those feelings? The thought was sobering, washing away some of his happiness like the shampoo he rinsed from his face. Out of the shower he went toweling dry then back to the bedroom to quickly dress. The tall Frenchman had just finished buttoning his last shirt button when a knock could be heard at the door. “I am coming, ma amour.” he whispered. “