Chapter 2: Chapter 2: Afterlife Bureaucracy

Eddie, after introductions were made, sat opposite Clara in the living room of Hana’s home. He was a tall man of impressive bulk, dark-skinned with amber eyes. His hair had been buzzed away by the barber, a half-sleeve of tattoos on each arm. With her sharp eyes, the new girl quickly saw lists of names in various fonts with differing decorations. He’d taken off his shirt to reveal the vest underneath and was currently busying himself stitching a wound in his shoulder. Bite marks, by the look of them. He wore the thick work boots and blue trousers of a police officer. Pausing in his work to look at Clara, an ingratiating smile split his features.

“I remember ‘em all. This line of work you get used to tragedy.” Eddie explained before he nipped the thread with his teeth. As he tied it off, Clara attempted to get a count of how many names sat on his arms. His forearms were bare, so she counted approximately twelve or fourteen.

“Policing?” She asked with a cocked head. With nothing better to do, the household’s patient had to wait her turn as the newest additions received Hana and Mary’s care.

“Naw, I’m not police. They just let me hang around the precinct ‘case anything interesting comes up.” He shrugged with a tilt of his head. The wink that came with these gestures served to confuse Clara further. Eddie arched an eyebrow at her ignorance before pouring himself a whiskey or bourbon. “I’m the guy they call when an animal attacks some poor guy out walkin’ the bayou. When a husband bites his wife or reverse. When there’s a serial killer on the loose that don’t respect the laws of physics.” He explained before taking a sip of his beverage, gritting his teeth briefly at the taste. Not a favourite then. “There’re a hundred twenty guys just like me all over Louisiana. Damn near a thousand in New York. We find guys and gals like you an’ deliver ‘em to people like Hana. Sometimes they’re feral. Gotta put ‘em down.” Eddie’s shoulders slumped with a look of sadness on his features.

After having time to process, to recover, Clara’s mind was no longer addled. She could put the pieces together, see where they were headed. She looked Eddie over with an incredulous eye before pouring herself a glass of alcohol. She was going to need it if dealing with crazies.

“Well, I’ll be going home come sunup. I don’t know where that is but based on the accent, someone in Britain’s missing me.” Clara grinned sardonically as she toasted the man sat across from her. He gave her an understanding look. One that the Brit was familiar with. That placating, condescending look the nurses had given her as a child. Like she was overconfident about her own body.

“You ain’t gonna enjoy the sun much now. Mary sent me a picture. You’re definitely an owl.” Eddie chuckled as he thumbed through his phone. Once he’d found the appropriate picture, he handed her the device with a studied neutrality. As if he knew a volatile reaction was coming.

Clara accepted the phone with a roll of her eyes. She looked to the picture before her gut clenched. What she saw looked like her, vaguely. It could even pass for human in the dark. It had a gaunt expression, mouth hanging open. No, not hanging open. The lips had drawn back, as if rotting. Beneath them, the cartilage of her throat was bare to the world. The ragged parchment around it was peeling away. Its eyes were the worst part. Perfectly white, even against the pale skin. They stared with a hungry intensity that Clara was sure she’d not felt in that moment.

“I look like a zombie.” The woman gasped, eyes disbelieving as she took it in. She wanted to cry doctoring, a trick of the light. But as she lifted a hand to her throat, she knew in her heart of hearts that this was no mere trickery. She swallowed hard, blue eyes travelling upward to see an understanding Eddie holding out his hand for his phone. Clara at once wanted to throw it from her and cling to it as proof she wasn’t mad. All she could manage was to meekly return the device.

“’fraid it’s a bit worse than zombie, Cherie.” He rumbled, sitting next to her with a comforting hand on her back. “We don’ know how but some sick bastard made you a vampire. An’ you’ve gone and been left to fend for yourself. Damn lucky we found you before you got the habits that make a gal feral.” He continued before pouring her another drink, should she need it. She instantaneously guzzled the entire thing, hoping against hope that she could still get drunk. She’d need a lot of numbness if any of this was to be believed. But the evidence was there, and it had to be looked at with valour. Someone had said that to her, she didn’t remember who.

“What’s feral? The terrible blood-hungry beast within takes me over and I can never be saved?” Clara asked in a wavering, taunting voice that threatened to become a hysterical sobbing. She desperately fought her emotions as the fragile eggshell of her understanding began to crack and quake under the strain.

“It’d be less sad if that was true.” Eddie said darkly. He appeared to weigh up the options briefly before looking toward the kitchen where Hana and a young man talked. “It ain’t like the movies. You set your own relationship with feedin’. Some’s happy with a little a day. Others need a binge on the weekends. An’ some go on a power trip. Get it in their heads they’re in charge.” He explained before taking a long sip directly from the bottle. He ran his fingers over his tattoos, frowning. “You’d be surprised how many people’ll act like animals if you let ‘em.”

“No. I wouldn’t.” Clara retorted with sudden, vicious anger. An anger that had come from nowhere. It coupled with her sorrow, festering as a profound sense of unfairness. One that she attempted to reason with, to no avail. “If I’m not in charge, who is? Better to know who I should tug my forelock at.” She asked with a curled lip and another guzzle of whiskey. She felt a light buzz, much to her dissatisfaction. Getting blackout was going to be a project then.

“Who else but an entrepreneur? Big man named Edward Cavendish.” Eddie answered with a wry grin as he watched Clara go for her fourth just after she head the name. Familiar to them both, it seemed. “Dude was awakened in 1792, plantation man growin’ tobacco. Diversified when Abe got his ass. Been runnin’ half of Louisiana ever since. On the down low, y’understand.” He amended the official story with aplomb, a gleam in his eye as he recounted the crimes of Cavendish. Clara did not know him exactly, but the name had been burned into her subconscious as a hated one. “Your man Edward’s what we call a tribune. Looks after all Louisiana vampires. But as a Brit, you might end up in their hands.”

“I’m not really interested in becoming part of the symphony of the night.” Clara said, giving him a flat look as she settled into the sofa. Her buzz, rather than improving her mood as she’d hoped, only seemed to deepen the consternation she felt over this entire affair. “All I know is that some dickhead murdered me. Now I want revenge. I want to cook his own balls in front of him.” She snarled with a slight slurring. Perhaps the alcohol took longer to take effect. She couldn’t say she minded.

“Way I see it, you should talk to the boss. Guy knows every low-down thing that goes on in these parts. And you don’t get outlawed on your first night.” Eddie placated with a knowing look. Murder victims were rare but not unheard of, it seemed. Clara could hardly blame them. By some miracle they yet stood upon the world. It was only natural to want to punish those who’d tried to push them off it. And she felt far less charitable in her undeath. She didn’t know exactly how sanctimonious her living self had been but knew that it was a low bar to clear now.

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence as Clara processed the night’s revelations. Eddie pulled a gaming console from the space between the cushions and settled down for a scrap of relaxation before duty called on him again. From his posture, she assumed he wasn’t expecting many more that night. Clara satisfied herself listening in on the conversation happening in the kitchen, which seemed to revolve around some strange version of couples’ therapy. It seemed the happy bride and groom had consummated their marriage not with a traditional round of devil’s tango. Instead, the bride had turned her husband into a vampire. He was a mixture of relieved and annoyed. Annoyed because she had failed to ask his permission, which drew a frown from Clara. His relief came from the fact that she was faithful. Too faithful, it seemed. With a suppressed snort of laughter, she heard the sordid details of how exactly his bride had awakened him. It seemed to be the common parlance for making someone a vampire. A bit obvious for slang, she thought.

Eventually, Hana’s patience or the clock dictated that the pair leave. As they filed through the hallway, the bride noticed a surly young vampire picking at her teeth to find where the fangs came from. What she saw was an opportunity as she made her way over, introducing herself as Madeline. She must have been older than her appearance, a woman in her mid-twenties with dyed blonde hair. Clara could never tell with Americans. Many of them favoured those older-styled names, in her view. The conversation eventually evolved into the offer of a place to stay, after a recounting of her waking up in the bayou. Clara reached for her phone only to realise that she was still in her pyjamas. Then it dawned on her.

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“My phone’s in the fucking swamp.” She sighed in exasperation, pinching the bridge of her nose. Madeline’s husband, Jeff, wrote their address on a scrap of paper along with their number. How kind of them, Clara thought with a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Was she in some absurdly large social club now? Did every vampire have to wear a jacket with a fancy yet tastefully edgy logo?

Regardless of her misgivings, the pair wished Eddie and her a good night before swanning off to snack on some poor homeless person. Clara assumed vampires usually went for homeless people, sex workers or women like her. At least you could pay a call girl for her blood, the Brit reasoned. It was technically what some people were into. Eddie disrupted her rumination by getting up with a groan. It seemed work called him once more as he checked his phone. He bade everyone farewell before slipping out of the door to the pickup that sat in front of the house.

Clara made her way into the kitchen where the other two presumably still were. She looked to her feet to check on their progress, finding them to be purple but less swollen. It seemed Hana hadn’t been lying as she rounded the corner.

“Guys I don’t mean to be rude, but I need to find out who I was before I lose my job.” The mousy-haired woman interjected with her eyes on her hands. What an absurd thing to worry about. But life carried on even in the face of the impossible. And she couldn’t live in the concept of being a vampire. She looked up to see Mary and Hana in a tight embrace, lips locked together. Their hands moved over each other with the sure confidence of lovers, a fact that drew a blush to Clara’s cheeks. “I’ll come back later. A lot later, actually. Where’s a nice pizza place….” The newly minted vampire trailed off as she turned to leave. The image still burned in her mind. Wait. Was she homophobic when she lived?

“Don’ worry about it.” Mary chuckled. Hana licking her top lip clean, having drawn blood during their kiss. Whatever made them happy, Clara assured herself. She was a kind and tolerant person. A kind and tolerant person who’d casually considered murder. That was the drink. It had to be. Perhaps she was a mean drunk. “You’re gonna have to wait though. We’ll look up missing people tomorrow. See if any Emma Watson types have gone missin’.” She smirked toward the clearly flustered woman. Clara turned to her hosts with a wan smile.

“I don’t even have a phone. It’s weird just being by my lonesome. What if I was nobody, before I went?” The new vampire questioned with wide eyes. The idea of remaining a stranger from herself was unconscionable. Teenage years were awkward enough without having to revisit that particular period of exploration.

“Everyone who has ever died leaves a hole in the shape of the person who once stood there.” Hana asserted with a gentle tone, sipping a glass of water contemplatively. A very therapist answer, Clara thought to herself as she gave the vampire a sceptical look. “Everyone has a family. They pay taxes, make friends, work odd jobs, piss people off or get murdered. Not every name is big. But they do matter.” She retorted in the face of her patient’s cynicism. Sensing an argument on the horizon, Clara made deliberate attempts to talk to Mary. It was only now with her renewed eyes that the vampire saw her strength, her scars. Tenacity made manifest in the physical form. Her entire body was corded with muscle that rivalled Eddie’s and it was only upon being caught staring, blue meeting amber, that she put the two together. Siblings, had to be. The pair didn’t look to be out of their thirties.

“Sorry, I’m not used to being able to see, well, everything.” Clara explained with an awkward chuckle.

“Just wait ‘til you go in a dark room. Hana don’t even need light.” Mary grinned as she continued her cleaning of the table. The last pair had smeared blood over the chequered plastic tablecloth. “’Course don’t forget us humans. Lotta vampires get themselves killed thinkin’ strong is all there is to a fight.” The woman counselled with an obvious sigh from Hana. Mary turned to her lover with the kind of inviting expression that was more challenge than prompt.

“She’s not going to get into fights. Most of us don’t.” The more experienced vampire placated with a dismissive air. Clara thought for a few moments on her claim. She’d been scrappy towards her murderers, but wouldn’t anyone? It was tough to know where you’d go without knowing where you’d been. Which made the reticence of her hosts all the more infuriating.

“I never asked for centuries. It’ll be pretty cool seeing what happens though.” Clara added with enforced politeness that cracked a little, the melancholic buzz tightening its grip on her.  “No more sleeping before sunset.” She concluded with a sad smile, unsure where the words had come from. They felt poignant, important to her somehow.

The reaction to the words was immediate and profound. Both women shared a quick glance before Mary leaned forward with her hands splayed on the shining surface of the table. The room seemed to darken as a sense of persecution began to close in around Clara’s thoughts. These weren’t the looks of understanding people. These were the glares of suspicion. Without thinking, the young vampire took a step back.

“How’d you come by them words, Clara?” The human asked with an intensity that hit her like a lightning bolt. She flapped her arms aimlessly in response, a look of panic overcoming her. When it became clear to all in the room that it had been nothing but happenstance, the comforting atmosphere returned. Though now the weight of some hidden agenda hung ever heavier upon Clara’s shoulders. “Best not say things like that. Some pretty nasty vampires used those words.” Her strong advisor concluded the matter, returning with a pensive expression to her task. Hana, who seemed to be mulling over a great many things, eventually locked eyes with Clara.

“Go upstairs, first door on the left. We have extra clothes.” She eventually ordered with a certain cold air. It appeared that she’d taxed the long-suffering therapist enough. “Maybe choosing an outfit will give us clues.”

Clara did as she was bidden, walking up the stairs with a furtive look over her shoulder. Seeing nobody following with ill intent, she made her way to what appeared to be a spare bedroom. It was equipped for short term stays, with boxes of clothes piled against the walls with a closet holding more. Sitting herself on the bed, she allowed herself a moment of respite. A moment to feel the confusion and sorrow that had been threatening to overwhelm her all this time. Survival had banished them for a time, but her thoughts turned as an inexorable river toward the reality facing her. Vampires were real and she was one. A whole hidden world had swum beneath her feet. Now, plunged into this new reality, her old one was nothing but a murky tangle of shadows. Half-remembered words and voices. The smell of burning snaked its way through her nostrils. She told herself to get a grip, that she was having a wobbly. Whatever the world, dealing with rich, smug men was universal. And this one hadn’t been slapped in centuries.

Resolving to have her breakdown later, gruffly wiping away her tears, she looked through the clothes without a care. Very little of what appeared in the women’s fashion appealed, save the bras for pragmatic purposes. She grabbed a tank top, distressed jeans and belt before rummaging through the closet to find a pair of steel-toed boots. Oh yeah, they’d do just fine. As she changed, she checked herself for tattoos. The police would be looking for distinguishing marks after all. Curiously she found herself devoid of tattoos yet had a strong feeling she’d had some.  

Looking to the full-length mirror that sat in a corner, she nodded to herself. Let this Cavendish hit her with his best shot. People drew power from two places: without or within. If he was like any other politician, he’d be a simpering people pleaser without a principled bone in his body. She prayed he wasn’t the second type.

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