911 Vampire by Caleb James

Author:Caleb James [James, Caleb]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: paranormal
ISBN: 978-1-64405-937-1
Publisher: Dreamspinner Press
Published: 2022-03-22T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

Trevor Falls

I WANTED someone to blame. I’d stayed at the socially distant table for two at Carlito’s, the food long gone and the beers replaced with bourbon. Hi, my name’s Trevor, and I’m an alcoholic. Which was not funny. Too many uncles and aunts in my family had walked that path, were on that path, and my grandpa Sean died four years ago from multiple organ failure—at least that was the party line. The organ that gave up the ghost was his liver, his final years spent in a nursing home, where he pled with family to sneak pints of Jameson’s. Which we did. I needed to watch my booze intake… and watch it I did, one drink after the next.

Shannon’s accusations, spoken and implied, played in a loop. Father Calvin piped in with my litany of sins. He was right; I had born false witness. Maybe I wasn’t 100 percent aware of it, but do ignorance and stupidity count?

Waitress Patty kept the drinks coming; she knew I wasn’t going to drive. “We’re up to last call,” she said. It was just me and a few other couples and solo drinkers, all COVID banned from the inside bar and spaced at tables in this tent like satellites in orbit around the good planet alcohol.

“Sure,” I slurred. “What’s one more?”

“You want a coffee with that?”

“Hell no.” Last call in Massachusetts is 1:30 a.m., which left half an hour before they had to shut the doors and kick me out. “You know what, Patty?”

“What, Trevor?” she asked with the amused tone one takes with three-year-olds and drunks.

“Let’s skip the drink and get me a check.”

“You got it.” And she punched a few buttons on her tablet, told me the damage, took my card, inserted it, and asked, “You want the paper receipt or emailed?”

“Emailed. I’ll leave the tip in cash.”

“Thanks. Hope the rest of your night goes better.”

“Me too, and tomorrow is a workday, and I’m fucked.”

“It’s Sunday.”

“Yeah, but not for me.” I got up and launched out of orbit and in the general direction of the front door. My feet kind of followed a straight line, but once outside, I got to pee…. I looked back at the front door of Carlito’s, but the thought of going back in, having someone check my temperature… too much hassle.

I relieved myself in a hedge off the parking lot and aimed for home. The tune from “It’s a Small World” cued up. Most Saturday nights would end with Shannon at my side, either headed left toward her third-story walkup in a building owned by her aunt, or right and back to my place… in the basement of my parents’ house.

“What the fuck have I done?”

My toe caught on a break in the sidewalk and I fell hard. I landed on the palm of my hand. “Shit.” I scanned for injuries. You didn’t hit your head… did you? I felt dazed on top of drunk. I rotated my hand in both directions and wiggled all five fingers.

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