CHAPTER SIXTY and EPILOGUE

SIXTY
Patti squealed with deranged joy when I told
her what she wanted to hear – that I would make her a
vampire.
“When? Tonight? Can we do it tonight?”
“Yes. There’s no point in delaying, my love.”
“You’ll have to train me once you transform
me, right -- train me as a vampire?”
“Of course. But first you’ll have to disappear. I
want you to write a suicide note.”
This brought her up short.
“Suicide note?”

“It’s the only way. Then we’ll go away together
for awhile. There are all sorts of vampire protocols
you’ll have to learn.
“I’ll have eternity to learn them. Eternity by
your side.”
“It will be glorious, Patti. It’s the only way,
of course. You’re so right. So you’ll write the suicide
note?”
“This is eternal love, isn’t it? This is mating
that’s better than marriage.”
“Something like that, yes.”
A few minutes later I had what I needed,
written in her own hand.
“Now, we can’t do it here. Let’s go up to the
roof and if that’s no good we’ll go elsewhere. You must have the open sky above you during your transformation. That way you come out of it filled with the limitless possibilities that being a vampire presents you.”
“The open sky – that’s so romantic, Gus. It’s all coming true like I imagined it would. Thank you. Let me say it now and let me say it every night forever. Thank you. Thank you for making me a vampire. Thank you for giving me eternal life.”
I swept her up in my arms and walked to the bottom of the stairs. One by one I leapt to the top of each of my three staircases in a single bound until we reached the door to the roof. As I carried her across the threshold, so to speak, I looked around to see if anyone else was on their roof nearby. There was no one. Her fate was sealed.
“Do you want to see my fangs?” I asked.
“Oh yes. Please.”
I drew back my lips and heard the tiny click as my fangs appeared in their proper place.
“They’re beautiful,” she whispered.
Then without another word between us, she angled her head to give me full access to her neck. I sank my fangs into her and began to draw sustenance. I saw so much of Patti’s life as it flashed before her mind’s eye. I felt the fear when she realized that her life was ebbing away. She tried to speak but her throat was paralyzed. I kept feeding. I could hear the scream inside her mind as she realized that everything is betrayal. Then she died in my arms.
I had made no plans for this turn of events and knew that her body, drained completely as it now was, would present serious problems on a variety of levels. I lifted her in my arms and leapt skyward toward the east. Higher and higher I flew. I searched my inner self to determine what, if anything, I was experiencing in the way of emotion. There was nothing.
I was more than a thousand miles out over the Atlantic, miles high in the sky, and I dropped her body. I knew the impact with the water would break every bone in several places, probably rip her carcass open. Sea life would feed on her crushed corpse and within days there would be little left. Even if the fish turned up their gills at this fresh flesh offering, I dumped the body so far out to sea that it would bloat and explode from the gasses of rot, and she would sink before any current could carry her close to shore.
I did a slow turn in the sky and headed back toward land. In my apartment, I took her apartment keys from her pocketbook and went and planted the suicide note there. Then I returned home and eliminated any traces that might suggest foul play at my hands. Her pocketbook went into the river with a brick inside. Patti is history.
Norman is right. There is no agenbite of inwit for a vampire.

EPILOGUE
It is now six weeks since Patti’s mother
reported her missing. The suicide note was discovered
in her apartment. She disappeared without a trace.
Her body was never found, and her credit cards and
cell phone were never used again. It was obvious
that she carried out the dire response to the intense
depression that she had, with my urging, outlined
in her note. I was questioned in passing as part of
the investigation, with Matt Dunleavy present, and
displayed appropriate concern and cooperation.
Somehow it came to light that Patti was never
questioned in regard to Danny Limm’s murder. New
York City police detectives are pretty good at putting
things together even if they sometimes lead nowhere,
or to Queens.
The line I’ve done something terrible in
handwriting her mother identified as Patti’s own
was the clincher. Though there was no direct proof,
Danny’s murder was unofficially considered closed.
None of the cops ever told me that this was the
conclusion they reached. I could see it in their eyes,
though.Some media people tried to tie Patti’s
disappearance to the curse but Ben Cody did my
bidding and put a stop to that sort of speculation. Enough is enough already. We are fortunate that a missing person filing leaves enough room for doubt that reporters can be made to back off. A substantial donation to the Police Widows and Orphans Fund was enough to keep the suicide aspect private – for publicity purposes, of course.
I am still haunting the Belasco about once a week on average. That story really caught on and creates great word of mouth about the show. Earlier this week “Pretty Lady and the Curse East of Broadway” appeared as a supplemental insert in Time Out. You would think it was a cure for cancer the way the blogosphere and entertainment reporters have latched onto it.
Ticket sales for Pretty Lady are through the roof and just keep on climbing. I love it. Danny would have been so proud. We had a memorial service for him in the Belasco on a recent Monday night. It was standing room only.
Ukulele, Baby is still running Off Broadway. Ticket sales have picked up again a bit as people realized that both the director and the producer of Pretty Lady were responsible for this show as well. I still find the term Off Broadway off putting but have yet to get anyone else to sign on for changing it, though Jeff Tuttle did write a blog along similar lines recently. Maybe there is hope yet.
Norman is insisting that he be allowed to invest in my next show. I am reading scripts, searching for something that suits the mood of these times. It is difficult. When I do find something that strikes me as right, the process will begin again. I am also looking for a new assistant. This time, though, a young man will better suit my purpose – I hope.
I told Elaine that she should find someone else to head her foundation when the time comes. She was disappointed but took it in stride. At that point, though I did not say so to her, it was still in my mind to make the move to England.
But I will not be relocating to London – not now, not ever. I discovered something that made me confront Norman.
“So, when were you going to tell me that there are seventeen hours of daylight during the summer in London?”
I discovered the grim truth about Great Britain while I was doing research about relocating and on a whim Googled London Daylight Savings Time. I was trying to find out if the Brits employed this savage custom, too. Finding out that the summer days are excruciating in their length was an eye opener. However, the really weird thing is that Great Britain does have Daylight Savings Time. It is called British Summer Time and works the same as DST here.
Go figure, right? Why a place that has seventeen hours of daylight would bother is beyond me. Do people think that they can fool the sun? What is the point? It is almost as strange as someone wanting to be a vampire.
“I thought you knew all that, mate. It’s nothing to get upset about. The opposite is true, too, you know – the sun comes up at nine a.m. and sets at four thirty in the afternoon during the winter. You’ll adjust.”
“No I won’t. I’m not going to London now. Seventeen hours of daylight? That’s terrible. I’ve thought about it though. You’re welcome to stay here. I’ve gotten used to having you around.”
“Thanks for that, mate. I rather like having some one who understands me to converse with as well. And it’s not like I’m right under your heels in Manhattan, now is it? Not to mention that we may have to pool our strengths if this revenant stuff gets any wilder.”
We were sitting atop the Resorts International Casino in Atlantic City. We have established a pattern of meeting up there every Wednesday night and hunting together.
I have to admit that Norman’s company makes the hunting fun. Also, his views on the vampire existence have allowed me to come to grips with my nature in a healthier way. Remorse, guilt, melancholy, and self-flagellation – we vampires do not do any of that well, so why bother trying. As far as hunting certain types of people in order to excuse myself from being who I am – this too is undergoing some serious reconsideration.
There are some things about humans I will never understand. Perhaps that is the way it should be. Perhaps this lack of understanding is part of the natural order of things.
Now I must go feed.