Mr. Vampire Who Lives in My Neighbourhood

19

"Hey, focus!" she snapped when she caught him savoring the last drops of blood on his fingers, completely lost in his own world.

"Right, right," he said, flashing her a sheepish smile. "Maybe it's because you and Wade have stronger wills than most. Other than you two, I've never failed to hypnotize anyone."

So, that was it. No wonder Agent Wade had managed to chase him from coast to coast without losing his memory. Florence had heard stories about Wade's relentless pursuit of suspects, making him a legend within the bureau.

If Wade ever caught up with Farrell, knowing he was a vampire, the results could be disastrous. She pictured all the traditional vampire deterrents – silver bullets, wooden stakes, sunlight – and shuddered at the thought.

"No, I can't let that happen," she resolved. "Everyone deserves a chance to prove their innocence."

"Farrell, Agent Wade thinks you're a murderer," she said earnestly.

He merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly unconcerned. "It is not me. Do you believe that?"

She hesitated before showing him the crime scene photos she had taken, hoping for some insight.

His reaction was immediate and alarming. The color drained from his face, and he looked genuinely horrified.

"Could it really be you?" she whispered, disbelief and disappointment lacing her voice.

Then, to her utter astonishment, he started to retch violently into a trash can.

"What's going on?" she asked, confused by his reaction.

"These photos are disgusting," he gasped between heaves. "I've never seen anything like it. It's horrifying."

Florence was at a loss. A vampire repulsed by blood and gore? That was unheard of. "You're really something else," she muttered, half annoyed, half amused.

"Look, it's not about losing face. It's about aesthetics," he managed to say before retching again.

"Enough already! I've never seen a vampire as weak as you!"

"Sorry, but your day is my midnight. I'm tired, hungry, and now thoroughly grossed out," he groaned.

The one in front of her was nothing like the fearsome creatures of legend. Instead, he was picky, fussy about aesthetics, and apparently had a weak stomach.

Rubbing her temples, Florence couldn't believe she ever considered him a threat. "Just go back to sleep," she sighed.

"One more Bloody Mary, please?" he pleaded weakly, attempting to charm her.

She slapped his hand away, her patience worn thin. "Back to your coffin, now!"

After ensuring Farrell returned to his rest, Florence headed to work at the forensic lab, immersing herself in the day's challenges and leaving the morning's bizarre events behind.

By the time she returned home, drained from the day's activities, she found a note from Farrell, inviting her over with a flourish that spoke of a bygone era.

With a mix of curiosity and a need to continue their earlier conversation, she accepted the invitation.