Mr. Vampire Who Lives in My Neighbourhood

2

As the conversation unfolds, the man tries to maintain his composure despite breaking out in cold sweat. "This is serious, we need to alert the police—or better yet, get the media involved. No, that's not enough, we should reach out to a senator. I know someone who can help—"

Florence casually dismisses the need for such drastic measures. "No need to go to all that trouble. A simple report at the police station will suffice."

"Really?" he asks, bewildered.

"I get these kinds of letters all the time. It's nothing unusual," Florence responds nonchalantly.

"Regularly?" he asks, shocked.

"At least ten a month," she states matter-of-factly.

"Ten?" He feels a chill run down his spine.

"Compared to assassination attempts, this is minor," she genuinely believes.

"Assassination?" The man is visibly sweating now.

"Yeah, I'm used to it."

The man is petrified.

"Watch out!" Florence reacts swiftly, pulling the man to the ground as shots are fired in their direction.

Luckily, a patrolling officer nearby quickly apprehends the shooter.

Dusting off her clothes, Florence stands up and reassures her boyfriend, "Don't worry, this is actually the first time something like this has happened. Usually, it's just threatening letters with no follow-through. This was an exception—huh?"

Turning around, she finds her boyfriend on the ground, frothing at the mouth, awaiting urgent medical attention.

The date was devoid of romance, filled instead with violence. The stark contrast between the man's palpable fear and Florence's calm demeanor frightened yet another boyfriend away, marking the end of another brief relationship.

Her dedication to her work and professional ethos have scared off suitor after suitor, despite her renowned beauty. Even colleagues within her field, accustomed to gruesome sights after years in forensics or law enforcement, find her unflappable nature daunting.

While others shudder in the stillness of the night, surrounded by the deceased, Florence is unbothered, engrossed in her studies of their unique conditions, even as others might flee in horror.

This pattern of scaring away men continues, and as she reaches thirty-two, her beauty remains undiminished, but her suitors have dwindled. Even her colleagues feel the need to intervene.

"Florence, not to overstep, but maybe you should consider going on a date once in a while. It can't be all about work," suggests David, her assistant, as she conducts an autopsy without looking up.

"This isn't just work for me," Florence replies earnestly, without missing a beat. "It's my passion."

David rolls his eyes and shakes his head. "No wonder men are terrified of you. A normal woman wouldn't say that. If I hadn't known you for so long, I'd take your fascination with autopsies quite literally."

"Is there a difference?" she inquires.

"Huge," David exclaims, his frustration apparent. As a fellow forensic pathologist and Florence's right-hand man, he admires her professionalism but can't help but worry about her personal life.

Yet, here they are again, another relationship ended. In the morgue, both clad in protective gear, the scene is grim. David can't fathom her unwavering focus, her fearless nature that even he, a man, can't match.

"I get that seeking justice for the voiceless is your mission, but occasionally, living a normal life wouldn't hurt. Don't spend every weekend here," he laments, his own weekends sacrificed.

"What does 'normal' even mean?" she challenges.

"Simple. Don't talk about autopsies on dates. Don't discuss the dead. And maybe, just maybe, sugarcoat your words a bit. Like when you said 'this is my passion.' That gave even me the chills, let alone someone outside our field."

"I refuse to lie or pretend. Any man who wants to be with me must accept my profession. If not, it's better to end things early and save us both the time," Florence declares, her straightforwardness shining through.

Her elegance and youthful appearance belie her boldness and rationality, traits that might intimidate most men. Her honesty, borne from her work with law enforcement, often makes for unsettling date conversations.

She knows her straightforwardness isn't for everyone, but changing isn't an option.

Though David means well, he doesn't understand that breakups don't devastate her. Perhaps she's waiting for someone who truly gets her, someone supportive and accepting. Her experiences have taught her that only a man of great understanding and breadth of heart could be her match.

Many male forensic pathologists have families. If women can accept their blood-soaked careers, why can't men accept hers?

It all points to a simple truth: most men are less generous in spirit than women. Take David, for instance. He may have harbored feelings for her, but the idea of marrying a female forensic pathologist was too much.

A relationship with a narrow-minded man can never bring happiness. If marriage means confinement, then the essence of true love is lost. Love should offer vast skies of happiness, not strip away joy and identity. If the right person doesn't come along, Florence would rather remain alone, content in the company of the deceased. After all, she has always found solace among the dead.