CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT

TWENTY EIGHT
After my long day at the theater with the
detectives, I arrived home wondering how Patti fared
with the physician, and found Millie tottering on the
sidewalk.

“We have to talk,” she said, with a force that
belied her years and frailty.
“Sure. Let’s go inside, Millie.”
I tried to ease what seemed an obvious and
growing tension between us, as I helped her up the
stairs to the front door.
“You didn’t spend the entire fifty grand
already, did you?”
“Don’t try and make a joke of this, Gus. A sense
of humor was never your greatest attribute.”
“Okay then,” I said.
She steadied herself with a hand on the iron
railing.
“Stay right here for a moment.”
I turned the key in the lock and punched in the
security code once in the vestibule of my home. Then
I escorted Millie through the heavy doors and led her
right through to a chair in the living room.
“Can I get you a drink?”
“No thank you.”
“As you wish. So, what is it I can do for you?”
The tensions of the day were still with me and I knew that restraint and self-control were essential in dealing with this ancient biddy who had once shared a bed with me.
“I want what you have,” she replied.
I chuckled and gestured with both hands open as I spread my arms as though to encompass the trappings of my home life.
“You mean this house? My money? What? What is it exactly that you want? Whatever I can do to help, you know that I will.”
In truth, I wanted to be rid of her, for good, without delay. However, killing someone in my home is against my own rules. Breaching these rules while a murder investigation swirls around me would be plain stupid. That was what I told myself in the moment.
“I want to be immortal. I know that’s what you are. None of it made sense until the murder of your young director, the Asian fellow.”
“I don’t mean to be rude but you are not making any sense, Millie.”
“You killed him. Does that make sense? You killed him and you drank his blood. You’re a vampire. I finally figured it out. It’s the only possible answer. It’s . . .”
I cut her off with a last attempt at controlling the situation.
“Millie, you’re beginning to scare me. Please stop. Let me get you a whisky and a cigarette, please. You need to calm yourself.”
She pushed herself to her feet in an effort to project some power that she did not have. I let her talk while trying to figure out what my smartest next move would be.
“You think I don’t know that you would put me in a trance whenever you were supposed to be making love to me? You think I don’t know that you never consummated the act? I could never figure out why, though, until now. But I’ve done some reading recently. Well, let me tell you something, Angus Windham, and maybe you will stop this charade of being your own grandson. I may be old but I’m not stupid. So don’t patronize me. I still have my wits about me and trying to convince me otherwise is beneath you. You’re better than that. You always were. Try and see beyond this wrinkled skin to the girl you loved. I was a virgin when I married you, Gus. I’m still a virgin. I don’t know why. Maybe you put some kind of spell or curse on me. Plenty of men wanted me. The money you gave me attracted them if nothing else did. But that’s not important. What’s important is that I’m still a virgin. That means you can do it. You can make me a vampire like you. You can give me the gift of immortality.”
I was on the point of asking her what trash pulp novel she read to get the idea that virginity was a prerequisite to vampire immortality when her demeanor underwent a complete change.
“Oh dear,” she said. “A bathroom. Right away, please.”
I would have laughed if she had not seemed so pathetic and small. I was tired of my own masquerade. There was no way that I could give Millie what she wanted. The vampire state of being had no beginning. Maybe it has no end, though that remains to be seen. One thing is certain – the vampire existence cannot be shared in any way approximating the expectations engendered by popular culture. I sighed.
“Hold your water, dear,” I said, crossing the room and scooping her up with a speed that some would call unholy. Then, with the same unnatural swiftness, we were in the hall and I took the stairs at one leap. There were two powder rooms on the first floor. However, I required a bathtub. Millie shivered with excitement and breathed the word “Yes” at this display of uncanny speed.
I shoved aside the plastic shower curtain and stepped into the tub.
“Please. Let me use the toilet first,” she whimpered.
I ignored her and deployed my fangs and quickly sank them into her neck, knowing that any and all bodily functions in a human being would cease as soon as I began to feed.
Over the millennia I have come to feed with my fangs less and less often. Ripping out the throat and sucking the carotid artery or jugular vein, or both, like straws in a milkshake, gets the job done much quicker. However, Millie was a special case. Plus there was the problem of blood traces in my home. There is always some spillage when ripping out a throat.
We shared the moments of sad reflection on the loneliness of her life while I sucked. When it flashed through her mind that she was going to die, I stopped feeding and sealed the fang wounds with some spittle. I think it was then that she pissed herself. It didn’t matter. In fact, upon brief consideration, I decided that her incontinence would add to the verisimilitude of my new plan.
Millie was in a state quite similar to a coma. I examined her for any blood anywhere on her clothing. Fortunately there was none. Perfect. I searched the white porcelain of my bathtub for any traces of red. Nothing. I grunted my approval.
It had become obvious to me that Millie was going to have to die soon after her reappearance in my world, after all those decades. The blood feeding was a bonus that I had tried to deny myself but which was quite pleasant in retrospect.
While I had planned to avoid it in an attempt to convince myself that it is possible for me to experience those human emotions sometimes called ‘noble’, now that I was done, it was impossible for me not to be pleased. It saved me having to hunt tonight. It was like a take out meal of fast food. I deny myself the quick and immediate as part of my effort to cover up my activities.
I hope I am not becoming sloppy. I don’t think so but will pay greater attention. Her virgin blood did not strike me as noticeably different in taste from any other, if she was telling the truth about that.
I went through Millie’s purse and was surprised to find that she had not yet deposited my check. That meant that any connection to me was tenuous, at best. I tore it up. Then I watched some television to pass the time.
At four a.m. I was as certain as is possible in an urban setting that the completion of my task could be carried out without witness or incident. I retrieved the comatose blood sack from the tub and went up to the roof.
It was not much of a flight at all. I dumped her and her purse in the East River. She was still breathing, which meant that the actual cause of death would be listed as drowning. Elder suicide is becoming more and more common in these days of economic turmoil. In Millie’s case, the motive to take her own life would be clear. She was one more Bernie Madoff victim.