The Book of Sarah

The dogs chased Bob into Rittenhouse Square Park, where they treed him, just like a raccoon. Now I know that the easiest, most obvious solution is the best solution. No need for any magic here. I simply took out my cell phone (untraceable, of course) and called animal control. A small truck pulled right into the park exactly four minutes later. The dogs ran off as soon as they saw it. The truck took off after them. Bob climbed down from the tree. Fortunately there weren't too many people in the park at that hour, just two seventies era stoner dudes and they weren't about to refocus  and help anybody. I said - Bob, what happened? Are you all right? Can you climb down? He said - Wait. give me a second. Let me get down first. Then he managed to inch his way down from his perch with all the grace of a shrill, middle school girl in gym class. Some vampire he is. But he was nervous. He was really worked up, so maybe that was it. We retreated to a sheltered bench behind some bushes and sat down. Then he began to talk. He started babbling. It  poured right out ..........'When they executed me, they gave my family a body. It didn't look too much like me. But they chalked that up to my recent intimate experience with a few million, jillion volts from Old Sparky.'.......... He looked me right in the eyes, a rarity for him and continued..........'I remember. I remember who I am. I know my name. And I know who I killed.'.......... I nodded, taking it all in...........' Wanna know how I did that? Wanna know how it came to me after all these years? I'll tell you. There's this mole kid. He's got this patched together computer thing rigged up in a crumbling alcove, tapped into juice and everything. I see him tap-tapping away, while the rest of the tribe was off bein' jiggy with each other or tryin' out new and exciting ways to cook rat. I don't know what they were doing. But I know this kid. We talk sometimes. You know, when we play Yahtzee or like Barbie's Dream Date (they're kinda short on good board games down there). He knows about me, so I ask him. I say - I wanna know my name. What's my name? The kid says - Sure, when did you die? When did you disappear? With you it was the same thing, right?' So I told him. I said - Can you see who got zapped in Rockview State Penitentiary (instantly my stock went up in the kid's eyes) in say like nineteen sixty seven? He don't answer. He don't lok up. He just starts tapping and he says - Four people, but you are not black, right?'.......... I say - Yeah? The kid says - Then you must be the white guy. You must be Lyle, Lyle Talbot.......... A picture comes up. The kid says - Is that you?..... I look. Jeez, it was me. I nod.......... The kid says - Bingo, we got it......... So, I'm Lyle Talbot. Age at death forty years, six months and one day. That was on May seventeenth, nineteen sixty seven. So, can you imagine? That means I was born like November the sixteenth, nineteen twenty six.... I say - Noooo!..... He says - Yep, today's my birthday....... I say - Happy birthday. who'd you kill?.......... He gulps a little and says - I killed a nursey school full of babies, toddlers actually... and the five women who were there takin' care of 'em. A bomb. I did it with a bomb........... I didn't know what to say, but he just went on.......... The Sunnydale Bomber. I'm The Sunnydale Bomber. It was big. I was in all the papers. Phil Donahue interviewed me on death row. He was just startin' out then, you know? So, I figured I'd give him a break. He was a real nice guy too. None of this prima donna crap you gotta deal with today........... I said - No, not like today.......... But he just goes on and says - I had a wife. Still got her actually. The mole kid says she's still alive. So what can she be, eighty two, eighty three?.......... I said - Oh, really? Where is she?.......... He says - Here, right here. She's living in Philadelphia.......... I said - Gee, what's her name?.......... He says - Barbra, Barbra Muller. She don't go by Talbot anymore.......... Then he just stares off into the air, but do you want to know who Barbra Muller is? She's the godmother, the 'moral' compass to a group of skin head neo-nazis.  They do a story on her and the brood every once in a while, usually during sweeps when they want to run up the ratings. Lyle Talbot..... Barbra Muller..... Can you omagine? So the two of us walked back to Baylah's Place. I bought him a nice spiced candle. We found two seats in the back and just sat there. The piano man was starting in on Send In the Clowns.

The Book of Sarah

I went out. It's me. It's Sarah. Tomas went out too. He'll be all right. He says he's going to wander around on South Street. The crowds should keep him safe. Annie, or The Shaky Hand Man, or The Enemy or the WWF or  even the God damned Republican National Committee should leave him alone around there. But I won't be out on the street for long. I'm going to Baylah's, her piano bar. It's warm. It's cozy, like a small, velvet jewel box tucked away on a cute, little corner of Sansom Street.. I can really go for some heartfelt Broadway melodies tonight. A little Cole Porter. A little George Gershwin . Her piano player is really good. He sings nice too. She picked him up off the sidewalk outside an aids clinic. Seems his money and his luck ran out at about the same time. He was pulling into that final tunnel. He was squinting into the light and everything. But that's exactly the kind of challenge we like. Baylah just scooped him up and carried him back to her place. Then, after giving him a tiny sip of a freshly made 'Bloody Baylah' (as opposed to a Bloody Mary) he was one rejuvenated Michael Feinstein wannabe. Well, he does sound exactly like him. Doesn't have the patter down quite right yet, but that''ll come. He'll get it. I'm going in right now. I love this place. It's perfect, like an urban boite right out of the holodeck of the U.S.S. Enterprise. The dark burgundy watered silk walls, the bronze sconces, the matching velvet banquettes, the warm, little table lamps, plush rugs where there should be rugs, gleaming hardwoods where there should be hardwoods, the mirror-like, ebony Steinway and an ever-so-slightly cramped feeling.... Shhh, listen. He's singing 'There's a Place For Us' from West Side Story. I like that song. Most nobile vampires like it too. I catch his eye. He winks. I go to the little bar and take my place next to Baylah and The Pow Wow Woman. Actually, her name is Edith. Some of the regulars call her Edie, but she likes Edith. I order my favorite, a small, specially spiced votive candle in a crystal shot glass. It's very subtle, perfect for the highly developed olifactory capabilities of a vampire. The mortal patrons never even notice.  Gus, the bouncer, smiles and waves. I still don't know what she needs a bouncer for. Baylah is more than able to handle most any situation herself. I suppose it's because she doesn't want to make a scene. And he does look nice in that 1930's tux and all. The table girls look nice too... little bell hop outfits, only with hot pants and high heels. Baylah's got taste. They already listed this place in the 'Ten Best Lounges' column in Philadelphia Magazine. She's got a table full of assistant D.A.'s sitting in one corner and a high-priced decorator giving a hard sell to her new-to-the-city, wide-eyed clients in the other. Shhh... He's going into 'And the Way You Look Tonight'. I love this song. But Edith nudges me and points. I look out one of the small partially draped windows. There's Bob hurrying down the strreet. And two big, menacing,  rottweilers are  padding along right behind.. So much for an evening of sophisticated music and stylish repartee.

The Book of Sarah

It's me, Bob. Those mole kids are nuts. I really do not enjoy playing games with them. They cheat and they're crazy. I guess it comes from living so close to the noise from the rumbling subways your whole life. It's starting to get to me too. I lost that Yahtzee game. I lost big time. And they play for real. Hell, I don't have any money to give them. So I had to kick in extra mouthfuls (yeah, they expect whole mouthfuls!) of my blood. Now one of them's so hype he's bouncing off the walls and driving the rats into a frenzy. And the parents? They are absolutely no help at all. If you ask me, these mole people are a little too weird. They ain't blaming me for the little hype son of a bitch. Seems he's always hype. But what the hell am I supposed to do about the other one? I can't be climbing up to pull her down from the ceiling all the time! She digs her nails (claws?) in too God damned hard. I got my own troubles. And now that prisoner guy starts moaning and banging his head against the cinderblock wall all the time, 'cause he figures I'm going to need a feeding after giving those little brats all that blood and all. I tell him - No. Relax. It ain't my time of the month. But he won't listen. Shit, look at him. He just peed hisself. Can you imagine how crap like that smells to a vampire!? But I think all this racket is starting to wake up my brain and rattle things around a little. I'm remembering stuff. Turns out I was a prisoner in Rockview State Penitentiary. That's where 'Ole Sparky' the first electric chair in the U.S. lives. I'm not proud to tell you this, but I was supposed to be one of his customers. Seems I was on death row. I can't remember what for. Maybe that will come later. Well, actually I was a customer, but a not completely satisfied one, 'cause he did not do too good of a job. I was left all singed and frazzled up all right. But there was still a bit of kick in me. But do you think the management even cared? Hell no. Some guys. I think they must have been guards or something. Turned my twitching body over to a strange fella for some money. He dumped me in the back of a Studebaker I think it was and drove out to an old drafty gray stone barn in the country. I was jibber-jabbin'. I was trying to communicate, but I coulda sang the whole friggin' score of White Christmas to him for all the good it'd do. He did not listen to a single grunt, whistle or fart noise issuing from my drooling mouth. No sir. That strange son of a bitch just threw me down on the cold, dirt floor. Then he walked out and drove away. He didn't even close the barn door. Any kind of varmint coulda crawled in and got me. And back then, I wasn't quite so used to rats as I am now. So it got dark. I still could not coordinate my movements. The best I could come up with was a sort of Saint Vitus Dance on  the floor. Must of looked like Pee Wee Herman. There was this big heavy, trapdoor a little ways off. Somebody forced it open from the other side and it crashes down on the hard-packed dirt with a real solid thud. Then I hear these scary footsteps climbing up a squeaky, creaking wooden ladder. I could not turn my head all the way around, but out of the corner of my wildly gyrating eye, I see this sinister, hulking shadow steppin' out and comin' toward me. He (it?) sees me. He looks down and grins. He just grins. He don't say a thing. Then he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. He trudges back to that trapdoor and we go down. Shit, folks must have heard me scream for miles around. Probably thought it was Big-Foot or the Windago like we called him in our area. But he didn't kill me. No, he did not do that. He transformed me. You know what he made me into. I do not have to tell you. After it was done,  he climbed up into the loft. Right near the edge.. right near this big, industrial wood chipper (which he had already turned on). The noise was deafening, 'specially to my newly minted vampire ears. I peek up. He don't say a word. He don't even look at me. He just stepps off and does a perfect feet-first dive right into the maw of that log shredding giant. He never even made a sound. And it took that thing a good seven seconds to finish him off. I heard they used that load of mulch to dress the apple trees they got growin' over by the courthouse. You ever see those trees? No, of couse you haven't. But if you did, you would know.

The Book of Sarah

It's me, Bob. They think I'm stupid, because I don't say much. But I am not stupid. It's better to keep quiet and listen. You learn more that way and you don't get into trouble. But I am afraid. I don't want to be destroyed. I'm the youngest of the crew and there's a lot I want to experience and see. I think I'm beginning to remember things. I can see lots of grass and fields. There are mountains or high hills that are almost mountains in the distance. So I guess I was born in the country or at least in a little town out in the country. There might have been a farm. I don't know if it was my parents' place or my grandparents' place. Sometimes we went to a Dairy Queen for ice cream and hot dogs. Boy, did I love human food. And now I love humans for food. But I'm not some kind of ghoul or cannibal. I do like Tomas and the others. Everyone I ever had came to me in a vision. I can't remember how I got this way. I don't know who did it, or if I was a volunteer or a draftee. When did it happen? Not sure, but some of the cars I visualize are mid sixties models. One was a dark burgundy, Pontiac G.T.O., a convertible with tan leather seats. A classic. You know the model.  So if I was translated in the mid sixties and if I was about forty two years old at the time, that means I was born some time around nineteen twenty three. That would make me about eighty five in human years and lets see...   approximately five hundred and ninety five years old in dog years. I wonder how old Annie's dogs are? Did she round them up here in town, or do some of them come from somewhere else? And what are they, some kind of vampire animal or monster animal or zombie or what? I'm really scared. I don't want to end before I remember my name. I used to think I was born in Europe. I don't know. I guess it was because of all the uhmp-pah music. Oh...  Oh... No, I see it. I see it. It wasn't Europe. It was in Pennsylvania, somewhere in central Pennsylvania. I see the road sign. I see it. It says State College (where Penn state is... beautiful town... beautiful campus) twenty six miles.  But that's it. I can't see any more. I'm cold. Sure, I know that the cold can't do me any harm. It's just a sensation  But it hurts. It cuts. It makes me feel dead. And I can't even shiver to warm up a little. We don't shiver. We don't have to. The mole people offered me one of their prisoners. I told them it was OK and that I could wait. I guess that made the guy they were gonna feed me happy too. Yeah, he is a bad piece of shit. But even bad pieces of shit probably don't want to die. Especially the very worst pieces.  His name is Howard. I know. I asked him. We shook hands. He said - Pleased to meet you. But that was probably just some kind of social reflex. I don't think he really meant it. It's a shame. I mean the guy looked so scared. He crawled back to his blanket and put his head back through that collar so fast. It probably felt like home-sweet-home to him. Imagine, living a life like that. I gotta do something to take my mind off things. Excuse me, but I think I'm gonna go over and join some mole kids in a game of Yahtzee. Wish me luck.

The Book of Sarah

I was unable to communicate with you last night. I just needed quiet. I did not go out. That is very rare. My eyes were open. I knew it was night. I could smell the darkness. But I never ventured out. Sarah stayed with me. Maybe it was selfish of me, but she still needs my help to sublimate and I just did not feel up to it. We can't open the door to this chamber. It is painted over on the other side, so we usually sublimate (well, I do. she holds on for dear life) through the cellar wall into an unknown underground tunnel (a common thing in the older districts of this city) and from there make our way up to our starlit stage. So we stayed there, laying in the shadows of our two hundred and sixty year old hiding place. We talked. Well, I talked. I  needed to escape. The destruction of that young man two nights ago was too much for me. He was exactly the type of soul we try to preserve. It was not right. He did not deserve it. The world is poorer in his absence. Bob is incoherent with fear. He is burrowed in with the mole people. From what we can sense, he lays curled in a fetal position against an oozing, concrete wall. But who is he kidding? The darkness of the depths cannot hide him. The beast riding Annie can hear almost everything. Unless we do something, it is just a matter of time. We have to kill the host. We have to kill the little girl. But none of us has so much as seen her in a vision, not that kind of vision. And it would be the first time any of us had ever done such a thing. How would we be punished for it? I do not want to think about that. This night will be spent in comforting recollections. I will conjure up fleeting glimpses of other times and other places. My memories are true, vivid and detailed, like dead bees trapped in amber. I am deep below the surface of the Mediterranean Sea. I walk among the wreckage of a bronze-age galley. The water presses in with a viscous, silent weight. Everything is lost in  blackness. But not to me. My storybook eyes find strange illumination in the darkness. Vampires can do that. We see heat and we see life. Every surface under the sea is buttered with life. It soaps each shell (both living and dead) and kisses every grain of sand. Bones play hide and seek among the shattered planking. Ghosts progress along the ruined deck. I see them, but they do not notice me. I discover a brooch, such as a nobleman might use to fasten a cloak, or a lady to decorate her hair. I pick it up. The ghosts do not mind. Maybe they have spirit treasures too? Then I walk back toward the shore, gradually ascending up from the depths. My head silently rises above the tiny ripples. I expel the briny fluid from my lungs and start to breathe the cool, night air. Do I truly need it? I think not, but the rhythm of it comforts me. An old woman digs for clams in the moonlight. I approach. She looks up, frightened by my unusual make up and condition. Water drips from my garments. Sea weed crowns my hair. I am a drowned corpse resurrected. She straightens up and stares silently. I smile. I place the cold and precious brooch into her hand. The gemstones twinkle in the starlight.. She slowly examines this rare gift and slips it into her pocket. I walk past. She bends over and resumes foraging. I hear her whisper - thank you. Then I sublimate through the fabric of the air and disappear.

The Book of Sarah

Annie killed one of the workers at the appliance store where Bob hides. I know she did it just to get to Bob. The young man she destroyed was totally innocent. He was twenty one years old for God's Sake. A part-time college student, a volunteer driver for 'meals on wheels'. An all around good kid. And she did not use the dogs or the rats or anything like that this time. She snuck up behind him as he was walking home from work. The neighborhood where Center City blends into South Philadelphia is stitched together with lots of incredibly narrow streets, old cobbled lanes, like what the British call 'mews'. And it's dark too. Very dark. She spoke. She said - Excuse me, mister, can you help me find Bainbridge Street? When he turned to answer, and according to the akoshic records he was about to ask her why a nice, little girl like her was out all alone, she opened her mouth. She opened it extremely wide, wider than a natural human ever could. And a greenish fog issued forth from deep within her. It blanketed the young man and he froze. She reached into a coat pocket and took out a small empty plastic soda bottle filled with gasoline. Now the twenty one year old's mouth was open. He was preparing to speak after all. She stood on tip-toe, lifted the bottle to his lips and poured it in. He had a shocked, surprized look in his eyes. And when she whispered 'swallow', he swallowed. He began to tremble. His brow began to sweat. She reached into another pocket and retrieved one of those little spark wands, the kind daddies use to light gas grills. She reached up on tip-toe once again, slipped it into his mouth and back toward his throat. She looked him in the eyes and pulled the trigger, instantly incinerating him from the inside out. He never had time to so much as say a prayer. And the residents on that street? They see nothing. They say nothing. Just another suspicious bombing. Possibly tied to organized crime. If you lived there and if you heard it, what would you do? Annie just brushed some greasy ashes off her coat and walked away. But according to the akoshic records (a repository of all that was, is, or will be in the universe) she cried. I am the nameless voice. And I know things. The Pow Wow Woman knows. Tomas knows. Sarah knows. Bob knows. And Baylah knows...... Speaking of Baylah, things have been going fairly well for her. She still styles herself a transvestite. It simplifies things. True, she is 'just' a tall, statuesque, West African beauty. But in the piano bar industry a sharp, swank drag queen draws more custom than a two hundred and fifty plus year old, Shang-Hai-ed, Ashanti (I think Ashanti) princess ever would. I suppose the drunks 'round the piano know what to make of a cross dresser. But an actual vampire might tend to disorient them a bit. What can I tell you? Humans can be so self-limiting. And our band of Nobel vampires trembles in their tombs. What are they, but the white blood cells vanguishing disease in the afflicted body that is humanity?

The Book of Sarah

Sarah had a bad night. I was close by, but she did maintain a bit of independence. It happened when she was giving a boost to a poor girl nursing a low fat latte at a coffee bar. You can picture it. The place is crowded. They share a table. They talk. Sarah naturally knew how hard the girl's life was. She's been following her for a while. So she distracts her. I don't know. Maybe she didn't have to distract her. Maybe the girl just got up to go pee or something. That's when she took her chance and dribbled the blood into the 'skinny' latte. The girl comes back, downs the now fortified drink and the rest will eventually be history. No, really, it will. The Pow Wow Woman says she's destined to be the fourth or fifth female president of The United States of America. Only she says by then it'll be The United States and Provinces of North America. Canada will still be Canada. Mexico will still be Mexico. But we'll all be tied together in a kind of European Union fashion. Cuba will be part of it too, so will a little slice of the moon. At least I will be able to speak Spanish on a regular basis again..... Listen to my voice. Listen to the way I sound. At times I am aware of it and at other times I am not. I lose myself in this weirdly exotic culture. I forget my origin. Yes, I speak their 'English'. But I attempt to retain the poetic cadences of Old Granada. The courtly, early Spanish. The artistically flowing Arabic. The fundamentally spiritual Hebrew. I try to distract myself from the difficulty at hand. It must have been hard for her. When Sarah left the coffee bar she encountered a much beloved cousin. Now this comely young woman had always resided in Baltimore. They had not seen each other for years. But there was a time when they were children. There was a time when things were different. Their mothers were sisters, close sisters. And they would all spend summers together in a modest, little tourist colony in the Poconos, trading secrets, exploring the nooks and crannies of the surrounding, lake-front town, floating in the pine scented water. You can imagine. But that was then. Now the cousin recognized her. She looked. She stopped. She did not utter a word. But she knew, or she was almost completely certain that she did. Sarah almost broke down. She almost spoke. Now I have heard that certain vampires can do that. They manage to preserve their human relationships. But I don't know. I had cousins too. Sometimes after almost one thousand years, I still feel only eighteen years old.....Bob is sure that Annie is focusing  on him, like a shark spiraling inward. He never goes out. Not even in a group. Not even with us. Atlantic City? Forget Atlantic City. The only time he was there was when we dropped off the 'familiars.' Bob was a good sport about that. He had four or five nights worth of comps, so he let them use it. After that, I paid. They should be safe down there. Safe and quite comfortable too. I managed to get them reservations at Chef Vola and everything, But Bob, I don't know. He has visions. He has visions of a victim, an exceedingly distasteful person. It is a man, a man who made millions in the African 'blood diamond' trade. He was truly looking forward to the act. To the feeding. To the culling. All of it. But now? I just pray he changes his mind. No one skips their monthly call. It is tied to the phases of the moon. It is a fundamental element of creation. God made things that way. It is natural. It is basic. It is us. I have never known a vampire to put down this burden. I have never known a vampire to put it down and still go on. And Sarah? What did she do? She stared straight ahead and silently walked on.