No More Vampires

 No More Vampires

Jessica hadn’t had any problems with her first two husbands. George’s death was a fluke and had left her sitting pretty until that real estate deal collapsed. Harrison, she had liked Harrison except that he kept her on a short leash with a shorter allowance. It took a while, but the combination of switching his coffee to decaf and spiking it with Benedril had a wonderful effect. The fact that he had untreated sleep apnea also contributed to the accident. He fell asleep at the wheel on the way to the office and ran into the overpass. "

Here's that ad again Phil, this must be the fifth time I've seen it this month," she said reading from the paper. "Tired of watching your loved ones grow old and die? Tired of having to move from place to place? Want to feel the sun on your face again? Looking for volunteers to test potential cure for vampirism. Call for an appointment. It gives a phone number."

“What are you reading Jess?” He knew perfectly well what it was.

“It’s the Dark Times, I know you don’t like me to read it but there are some good articles in here sometimes.”

"It must be some one's idea of a joke. Everyone knows that there is no cure for being a vampire, other than a wooden stake through the heart, sun light, or being decapitated. I don't want to volunteer for any of those options," said Phil.”

She just looked at him over her newspaper and said, "I guess you don't love me

enough to want to grow old and die with me."

"I love you enough to not turn you into a vampire, so you wouldn't have to grow old and die," he said.

"Well, there is that," she replied.

"If I thought there was the slightest chance of getting rid of this curse, I would call right now. I need to go out for a while. I probably won't see you till tomorrow." He kissed her on the cheek and said "Good night."

"Good night Phil, I love you!" she said and then he was gone.

All night the thought that there might be a cure fluttered around the back of his

mind. He wasn't a very good vampire anyway, not at least to the tabloid standards. He had never killed anyone; he would just drink enough, heal the wound and make them forget. He never hung out with other vampires; they tended to scare him. It was about fifty years ago that he had become a vampire, and not because he wanted to, but being immortal did have its perks. He had amassed a tidy fortune, mostly by reading his victims thoughts and using the information to his advantage. Phil was a New Yorker through and through. He loved the city and could never see himself living any where else. He tended to go for stockbrokers and do a little insider trading without the risk. Of course he had signed most of this over to his wife because as she had said "Phil, we can't get insurance on you; you would never pass the physical. A will is no good either, because if you ever were killed, there would be no body and I would have to wait seven years to have you declared legally dead." Jessica was not good at wait for things.

The next evening Jessica once again pointed out the ad. Phil grabbed it from

her and went to the phone. He dialed the number, and on the forth ring a woman

answered.

"Hello.”

"Hello, I am calling about the ad in the Times, the one where you are looking

for volunteers."

"Oh," said the woman at the other end. Then Phil heard some muffled

conversation on the other end as if she had covered the receiver. Then she said, "If you are calling about the cure for vampirism I will have to ask you a few questions first."

"O.K."

"First, how long have you been a vampire?"

Phil thought for a moment just to make sure, "about fifty years."

"Can you trace your vampiric line?"

He thought for a second and then said, "Do you mean do I know who made me a vampire, and who made them a vampire and so on?"

"Exactly."

"I have no idea; I never wanted to be a vampire to begin with.”

"Well, then I guess we won’t get any history to work from. Would you like to schedule an appointment? I have an opening tomorrow night at eleven, if that will do."

Phil was not sure he wanted to go through with this, but he said "Sure eleven is fine," and he wrote down the address on the edge of the newspaper then tore it off and stuffed it into his pocket.

"What name should I put down for the appointment?"

"Phil Stevenson.”

"Oh just one other thing," she said "Please eat before you come, it makes the orderlies less nervous, goodbye," and she hung up.

Phil stared at the phone for a couple of seconds before he hung up, as if he had not heard her correctly. Then he looked up at Jessica.

"Well, I have made an appointment, but I don't think there is a cure."

"You never know, medical science moves forward by leaps and bounds. Just

think, if you do get cured we could move to Miami and start a new life."

Phil had never liked Miami, but he wouldn't tell Jessica that, besides it would never come to that. Phil said "If they can cure me, you can take me to Miami and let me bake in the sun."

"Oh, it would be great Phil!" she said. "I could have friends again, I mean we could. I could stop making up all of these stories about what you do for a living and everything." Phil apologized once more for taking her away from her friends; he had lost track of how many times he had said sorry. What fool said, "Love is never having to say you're sorry?" Phil couldn't remember.

The next evening about ten thirty, Phil pulled the paper out of his pocket and headed for the address. It was in the warehouse district, but that didn't bother him. He assumed the rent was cheaper and it also made the clients less conspicuous. As he approached the door he saw a small sign with the name VIRUS, LLC and just above the door was a surveillance camera. To the right of the door was an intercom that had a sign reading "Please press the button and state your name." He pressed the button and said "Phil Stevenson, I have an eleven o'clock appointment."

He heard the door buzz and a voice say "Please follow the hall to the first door on your left."

Phil went in and looked around. It was nothing special just cheap paneled walls and a drop ceiling. He walked into the office and to his surprise it was a pretty regulation doctor's office waiting room. Several padded chairs, a magazine rack with the requisite two-year-old magazines and a receptionist behind a sliding glass window.

He was the only one there and he went over to the window. He said "Phil Stevenson, I have an appointment."

The girl behind the counter didn't even look up as she said, "Please sign in and someone will be with you as soon as they can. Is this your first time here?"

"Yes."

She handed him a clipboard and a pen.

"Fill out the front page and sign it, read and sign pages two, three, and four."

Then she closed the window and went back to the paper back book she was reading.

Phil sat down and began filling in the form, all the usual stuff, but no mention of insurance or payment. The next of kin box worried him for an instant but he got over it, after all what could happen. The next three pages were all in legalese and talked about not holding anyone liable for anything that might happen. Phil skimmed over these pages and signed them all then he handed the clipboard back to the receptionist and sat down to wait.

He didn't have to wait long before a woman dressed in a crisp white lab coat

came in and greeted him. She had his clipboard and glanced down at it as she said, "Welcome, Mr. Stevenson. We are glad you have come to help us with our research. My name is Dr. Seward."

Phil shook her hand and said, "I am really here just to please my wife. I really don't think there is a cure."

"Ah, most people don't really think there are vampires. Please come with me to the examining room. Have a seat on the table and extend both of your hands palms up." Phil hopped up on the table and stuck out both hands.

"We give this test to all of our prospective volunteers," she said and produced two eyedroppers filled with clear fluid and put one drop on each of Phil's palms. Phil immediately grasped his right hand in pain and shot the doctor a withering look. She explained, "I am so sorry, but we have to do this. We get so many cranks that think they are vampires. We use this test to separate the wheat from the chaff so to speak."

"What was in the eye droppers?" Phil asked still holding his hand.

One dropper has tap water and the other has Holy water. The one I dripped in your right hand had the Holy water, so you passed. You are a vampire."

Phil could see the logic in this but it still hurt like hell, but that was the general idea. Dr. Seward took Phil's right hand and dripped something in his palm and the pain went away instantaneously. Phil was amazed and it showed on his face.

"It's a remedy we have been able to synthesize from vampire blood. It heals the wound and deadens the pain." said Dr. Seward smiling. "Now that we have the formalities out of the way, let me give you a tour of the facility so that you know what you are getting yourself into."

Phil was led through a labyrinth of laboratories, walk-in refrigeration units, X-ray machines and more equipment than he had ever seen. They even had their own MRI unit.

"First we want to get a base line MRI and take some blood samples. Do you have a problem with any of that Mr. Stevenson?"

Phil said, "he didn't have a problem, but had a question or two."

"What would you like to know Mr. Stevenson?"

"Well," said Phil "has anyone been cured and if so can I get some references?"

Dr. Seward cleared her throat before answering Phil, "Yes we have cured several individuals but I am sorry that due to patient confidentiality we can't give out their names. It is kind of like being in the witness protection plan." Phil could understand that and had a glimmer of hope that a cure was possible.

"What does the name VIRUS stand for?"

"Oh that," she said, "It just worked out that way. The VIR is Vampires In Recovery and since we have chapters world wide, we get the US on the end. I suppose that the Brits get VIRUK which is almost as bad."

First he had a MRI done, the after that they were going to draw some blood. Phil thought that was ironic, humans sucking blood out of vampires and he chuckled to himself. The room that he was to give blood in had a long stainless steel table with four straps on it. Phil didn't like the looks of this and told the orderly. The orderly explained that due to the great physical strength of vampires it was necessary to strap them down while taking blood from them, there had been several mishaps due to reflex actions.

Phil was not entirely convinced, but got on the table and allowed himself to be strapped down. The orderly extracted four vials of blood and the released the straps.

"I am all done with you," said the orderly "but the doctor might want to see you before you leave."

He found his way back to the waiting room just as Dr. Seward came in.

"Mr. Stevenson, we need a day to evaluate your MRI and process your blood

work. Can you come back the day after tomorrow at the same time?"

"I can be here. What will you know by then?"

"Let's just wait and see."

So Phil left. It was too late to go home and too early to go to his coffin. That was one thing Phil wouldn't miss, sleeping in a coffin. It still gave him the creeps even after nearly fifty years.

The next evening Phil told Jessica all about VIRUS, the MRI and the blood work. When he was done he looked for her reaction. She had a tear forming in the corner of one eye and looked happier than he had seen her in a long while. She deserved some happiness and friends; she was nearly forty and was married to an old man in a young vampire's body. Maybe soon that would all change. Phil was about to leave for the evening when Jessica said, "Phil, I need to tell

you something."

"What? This sounds serious."

"Oh ... I just wanted to say thanks for doing this for me."

"I'm doing this for us. Remember, I get my life back too." He kissed her on the cheek and told her he loved her and left.

When he arrived at VIRUS for his second appointment Dr. Seward greeted him. "Good evening Mr. Stevenson, your MRI looks promising but the lab broke one of your vials of blood and we will need to draw one more." She ushered him back to the examining room to the table with the straps. This time he didn't fear being strapped down. After the orderly had inserted the IV, the doctor came in to take his blood. She attached a vial but injected something instead of drawing blood.

"Mr. Stevenson, I know you can hear me even though you can't respond. You

have been injected with a neuromuscular inhibitor that has essentially paralyzed you.

You were correct when you said there is no cure except sunlight, decapitation or a wooden stake through the heart.”

Phil's mind was racing, he hadn't told her that, only Jessica. What were they doing to him? What were they going to do to him?

"We are a research facility and depend on government grants and donations."

Phil wondered why she was telling him all of this.

"We normally carry out extended experiments with our subjects, and it can become, well, let's just say quite painful. Due to the generosity of one of our patrons, you will not be put through any of those ordeals.”

Phil's mind was working at top speed. Who would want him dead but not to suffer? Then it came to him and he could not believe it.

The doctor went on, "I see in your eyes you have worked it out. Your wife is a very charming lady and very generous. All she asked was when it was all over could she have your dust. She said she wanted to put it in an urn and set it in a sunny window when she moves to Miami."

Phil didn't even feel the stake being driven into his heart . . . and then he felt nothing.

At a bar in Miami Jessica was chatting with a handsome young man. Jessica said, “Hold out both of your hands palms up.”