Mr. Vampire Who Lives in My Neighbourhood

18

"Seriously? A vampire with anemia?" Florence couldn't help but scoff as she helped him onto the couch. "Tilt your head down and keep it that way until the dizziness passes."

"I haven't had a drop of decent blood all month," Farrell lamented from the couch, resembling a deflated plush toy. "Not a single drop."

"You haven't fed? That's pretty lame."

He sat up, his demeanor turning grave as if accused of a great dishonor. "Madam, it's not about being lame. It's that modern lifestyles are so reckless. Fast food, drugs, smoking, coffee, indiscriminate medication, promiscuous sexual behaviors, not to mention pollution – all these contaminate the blood."

"And your point is?"

"My point?" His face darkened with despair. "Do you have any idea how awful that blood tastes? Bitter and downright disgusting."

"There must be healthy people around. Not everyone leads a risky lifestyle. Some are quite health-conscious."

"But finding the right one is tricky. Too thin or too obese doesn't work, nor does anyone with low blood sugar or high cholesterol. And attractiveness matters too; unappealing blood is just unpalatable. And the beautiful ones tend to lead... complicated lives. Last month, I encountered a woman who'd had multiple terminations, and I was sick for days. If I weren't so desperate, I wouldn't venture out in broad daylight."

Florence listened, both amused and astonished by his finickiness. "You're quite the connoisseur."

"It's not pickiness, it's about maintaining a standard," he insisted.

A vampire with taste – she'd heard it all now. But seeing his pallor, she couldn't help feeling a twinge of sympathy for him.

"Ah! Stay put, don't get up," she cautioned as he attempted to rise.

"I can't bear it any longer. Could you kindly fetch me some tomato juice from the fridge? I'm too weak."

"Tomato juice? I thought you'd prefer blood."

"In the absence of blood, I'll settle for tomato juice. It's hardly ideal, but it'll have to do."

Such a pitiful vampire...

She sternly instructed him to stay put before heading to her apartment next door. Returning shortly, she carried a glass filled with a rich red liquid.

"Here, drink this," she offered, extending the glass to him.

"What's this?"

"Blood from the bank, screened and safe. I used some yesterday; this is what's left. And no, I didn't spike it this time."

Farrell looked from the glass to her, incredulous and touched by her gesture.

"Why are you staring? Take it or I'll toss it."

"Of course, I'll have it," he said, his grasp lingering on her hand a moment too long, causing her to snatch it back, cheeks flaming despite knowing his game.

He sipped with an elegance that belied his condition, transforming before her eyes. His complexion brightened, his hair regained its luster, and his lips flushed with color. He was the picture of vitality, disarmingly handsome.

"Another, please?" His compelling gaze met hers.

"This isn't a bar, you know," she retorted, fighting a smile.

"I could really use more," he pleaded, his usual bravado replaced by a disarming vulnerability.

"Nice try, but that's all there is," she said, unmoved.

"Sigh, such rarity indeed..." he lamented, savoring every last drop, a sight that was both exasperating and endearing.

If she didn't know better, she'd be fooled by his radiant facade. Only Farrell could oscillate between devilish charm and angelic innocence so effortlessly – perhaps a vampire's true nature.

"Now that you're refreshed, let's get to the heart of the matter. You claim you've never killed anyone, is that true?"

"Absolutely. I drink blood; I have no reason to kill."

"Why then is the FBI after you?"

"Are you referring to Wade White?" he asked casually, still fixated on the last drop of blood in his glass.

"You know him?"

"Yes, he's much like you," he remarked, dipping a finger into the glass.

"Like me? What do you mean?"