Fickle Things
Mister Hayfield looks down at Jerry and smiles, a toothy, sharp smile, and laughs.
“I like you, Jerry. You’ve always been kind and respectful to me over the years, until now, that is. But I’m going to cut you some slack, give you a chance to redeem yourself.”
“I-I-I-I know what you’re up to. I overheard you on the phone. You’re going to massacre everyone and try to take over the world, turn everyone into undead vampires like you are. B-B-But I’m not letting you bite me, old man, s-s-so you might as well kill me!”
He laughs again. “Why would I kill you, Jerry? What is that going to solve? Besides, don’t you think killing is a little below my style?”
“What about Mister Chambers and Carolyn?”
“They are not dead, Jerry. They’ve taken up the struggle. They’ve joined with me for the grander fight,” he says, sitting down in a leather chair, hooking one leg over the other, and leaning back into it as if it were his mother’s bosom. “Is that what you think I do, Jerry? Do you think I kill people?”
“Isn’t that what your kind does? Don’t you suck the very blood from a living person with the intent to feed and then kill?”
“How many people in this street have died or disappeared since you’ve been alive, Jerry? And so that you understand the question correctly, when I say died, I mean they’ve been murdered and have not passed to the other side by natural causes.”
Jerry sits there, trying to think of anyone he knows who suddenly disappeared or died mysteriously. Finally, after longer than he anticipated, his eyes light up.
“Mister Jenkins, he went missing two years ago, really mysteriously. Did you eat him?”
He laughs. “Kristopher Jenkins went to Vegas, got married to a money-hungry stripper named Fiona Cat, and never came home. Don’t you remember the public outcry in support of Margaret and their three children he left behind? Surely you can do better.”
“Oh,” Jerry says, racking his brain again, trying to think of anyone else. His shoulders drop, and he lets out a sigh of disappointment.
“See, if I were this killer you believe me to be, would there not be missing people, strange deaths, and all that silly stuff happening?”
“I guess so, but you drink blood, right?”
“Yes, Jerry, I drink blood, that is true. But there is a whole network of vessels who we pay for the privilege to drink from. We are not like the vampires you see in your movies and comic books. We are civilised, respectful, and understanding people. Your kind, humans, you are the ones that do not understand, that are violent and untrustworthy.”
“So why are you building an army?”
He laughs. “An army is not the word I used, now, was it?”
“Okay, but you said you were slowly building your numbers for the day when you would rise up and take this world. What did you mean by that if you aren’t going to go all bloodthirsty on us?”
“The end of days, Jerry, when man is done, and the world needs to be inherited. I am just building the numbers, so we are ready to take over without violence, without hate, but with a plan, with know-how, and without a single drop of blood.”
“S-S-Sounds too good to be true.”
“Doesn’t it? Why don’t you join me and see for yourself? It’s not every day you have the chance to make a change. Why not join me? Be all you can,” he says, extending his hand. “After all, what’s the worst that can happen?”
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