Blood Brother

"Now, Then," said the psychiatrist, looking up from his note pad, "when did you first discover that you were dead?"

"Not dead," said the pale man in the dark suit. "Undead. If I was dead, I'd be in great shape. That's the trouble, though. I can't die."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not alive."

"I see." The psychiatrist made a rapid notation. "Now, Mr. Smith, I'd like you to tell me the whole story."

The pale man shook his head. "At twenty-five dollars an hour," he said, "are you kidding? I can barely afford to have my cape cleaned once a month."

"I've been meaning to ask you about that. Why do you wear it?"

"You ever hear of a vampire without a cape? It's part of the whole schmear, that's all. I don't know why!"

"Calm yourself."

"Calm myself! I wish I could. I tell you, Doctor, I'm going right straight out of my skull. Look at this!" The man who called himself Smith put out his hands. They were a tremblous blur of white. "And look at my eyes!" (continued on page 116)Blood Brother(continued from page 55) They were ornamented with an intricatered lacework of veins. "Believe me," he said, flinging himself upon the couch, "another few days of this and I'll be ready for the funny farm!"

The psychiatrist picked a mahogany letter opener off his desk and tapped his palm irritably. "Perhaps if you would begin at the beginning, Mr. Smith."

"Well, I met this girl, Dorcas, and she bit me."

"Dorcas … an unusual name …"

"Yeah. She's the one recommended you. Maybe you know her?"

"It's possible. But let's get back to you. She bit you. And then what?"

"That's all. It doesn't take much, you know."

The psychiatrist removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "As I understand it," he said, "you think you're a vampire."

"No," said Smith. "I think I'm a human being, but I am a vampire. That's the hell of it. I can't seem to adjust."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, the hours, for instance. I used to have very regular habits. Work from nine to five, home, a little TV, maybe, into bed by ten, up at six-thirty. Now -- "He shook his head violently from side to side. "You know how it is with vampires."

"Let's pretend I don't," said the psychiatrist, soothingly. "Tell me. How is it?"

"Like I say, the hours. Everything's upside down. You're supposed to sleep during the day and work at night."

"Why?"

"Boy, you've got me. I asked Dorcas, and she said she'd try and find out, but nobody seems to be real sure about it. Of course, Dorcas was always kind of a night owl anyway, so she doesn't mind much, but it drives me nuts. Eight jobs I've had -- eight! -- and lost every one."

"Would you care to explain that?"

"Nothing to explain. I just can't stay awake, that's all. Every night -- I mean every day -- I toss and turn for hours and then when I finally do doze off, boom, it's nightfall and I've got to get out of the coffin."

"The coffin."

"Yeah. That's another sweet wrinkle. The minute you go bat, you're supposed to give up beds and take to a casket. Which is not only sick but also expensive as hell." Smith shook his head angrily. "First you got to buy the damn thing. Do you know the cost of the average casket?"

"Well," began the psychiatrist.

"Astronomical! Completely out of proportion. I'm telling you, it's a racket! For anything even halfway decent you're going to drop five bills, easy. But that's just the initial outlay. Then there's the dirt. Sacking out in a coffin isn't bad enough, no, you've got to line it with soil from the family plot. I ask you, who's got a family plot these days? Have you?"

"No, but--"

"Right. So what do you do? You go out and buy one. Then you bring home a couple pounds of dirt and spread it around in the coffin. Wake up at night and you're covered with it." Smith clicked his tongue exasperatedly. "If you could just wear pajamas -- but no, the rules say the full bit. Ever hear of anything so crazy? You can't even take off your shoes, for cry eye!" He began to pace. "Then there's the blood stains. I must go through twenty white shirts a month. Even at two-fifty a shirt, that's a lot of dough. You're probably thinking. Why isn't he more careful? Well, listen, I try to be. But it isn't like eating a bowl of tomato soup, you know." A shudder, or something like a shudder, passed over the pale man. "That's another thing. The diet. I mean, I always used to like my steaks rare, but this is ridiculous! Blood for breakfast, blood for lunch, blood for dinner. Uch -- just the thought of it makes me queasy to the stomach!" Smith flung himself back onto the couch and closed his eyes. "And the routines I have to go through to get it! What if you had to rob somebody every time you wanted a hamburger -- I mean, just supposing? That's the way it is with me. I tried stocking up on plasma, but that's death warmed over. A few nights of it and you've got to go after the real thing, no matter how many promises you've made to yourself."

"The real thing."

"I don't like to talk about it," said Smith, turning his head to the wall. "I'm actually a very sensitive person. Gentle. Kind. Never could stand violence, not even as a kid. Now …" He sobbed wrackingly, leaped to his feet and resumed pacing. "Do you think I enjoy biting people? Do you think I don't know how disgusting it is? But, I tell you, I can't help it! Every few nights I get this terrible urge … And, because of it, everybody hates me!"

"You feel, then, that you are being persecuted?"

"Damn right," said Smith. "And you know why? I'll tell you why. Because I am being persecuted. That's why. Have you ever heard a nice thing said about a vampire? Ever in your whole life? No. Why? Because people hate us. But I'll tell you something even sillier. They fear us, too!" The pale man laughed a wild, mirthless laugh. "Us," he said. "The most helpless creatures on the face of the Earth! Why, it doesn't take anything to knock us over. If we don't cut our throats trying to shave -- you know the mirror bit: no reflection -- we stand a chance to land flat on our backs because the neighbor downstairs is cooking garlic. Or bring us a little running water, see what happens. We flip our lids. Or silver bullets. Daylight, for crying out loud! If I'm not back in that stupid coffin by dawn, zow, I'm out like a light. Or take these." He smiled for the first time, revealing two large pointed incisors. "What do you imagine happens to us when our choppers start to go? I've had this one on the left filled it must be half a dozen times. The dentist says if I was smart I'd have 'em all yanked out and a nice denture put in. Sure. Can't you just see me trying to rip out somebody's throat with a pair of false teeth? Boy. Or take the bit with the wooden stake. It used to be that was kind of a secret. Now with all these lousy horror-type movies, the whole world is in on the gag. I ask you, Doctor, how are you supposed to be able to sleep when you know that everybody in the block is just itching to find you so they can drive a piece of wood into your heart? Huh? Man, you talk about sick! Those people are in really bad shape!" He shuddered again. "I'll tell you about the jazz with crosses, but frankly, even thinking about it makes me jumpy. You know what? I have to walk three blocks out of my way to avoid the church I used to go to every Sunday! But don't get the idea it's just churches. No; it's anything. Cross your fingers and I'll start sweating. Lay a fork over a knife, and I'll probably jump right out the window. So then what happens? I splatter myself all over the sidewalk, right? But do I die? Oh, hell, no. Doc, listen! You've got to help me! If you don't, I'm going to go off my gourd, I know it!"

The psychiatrist closed his note pad and smiled. "Mr. Smith," he said, "you may be surprised to learn that yours is a relatively simple problem ... with a relatively simple cure."

"Really?"

"Really."

The psychiatrist rose casually from his chair, reached for the mahogany letter opener on his desk, then swiftly plunged it down, burying it to the hilt in Mr. Smith's heart. Seconds later, he was dialing a telephone number. "Is Dorcas there?" he asked, idly scratching the two circular marks on his neck. "Tell her it's her fiancé."