The appointment had been made earlier in the evening. A bit of a last minute addition to the trainer's schedule for the night, but a welcome one. Drogan Yates had been helping wayward vampires with their crossovers and teaching key hunting and survival techniques for the better part of 40 years now. And he has gotten VERY good at his job. His dedication and patience is well known throughout the agency. That might be why he was assigned to assist this latest client at such short notice. The people back at the branch office figured that he'd be a bit of a 'challenge' for any one else to handle. But they didn't bother to tell him why.
Drogan sat at his desk for a quiet fifteen minutes or so before his assistant knocked lightly at his door. "Jerry Leinfeld is here for his appointment, sir. Should I tell him you're ready?"
"Certainly. Send him in." Drogan replied. The man that stepped into his office looked to be in his late teens, early twenties, with red hair and a giant, goofy, grin. A bit on the skinny side, with a typical, college dorm, slacker, appearance. Slightly faded t-shirt, stretched at the collar, and a pair of faded black jeans. He seemed like the 'stoner' type, but Drogan made it a point to keep his judgements to a minimum. He stood up from his desk with a professional smile and offered his hand. "Mr. Leinfeld. Very pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm Drogan Yates, and I'll be your counselor this evening. Please...have a seat."
"Thanks, man." The guy said, and sat down in front of him.
"So, I understand from your paperwork, here, that you are looking for some donor training this evening. Is that correct?"
"And you have no definitive 'sire' listed here. Is that right?"
"NOPE! I found myself a Noc Dealer, and did the deed! Cost me 600 dollars, but...whatever! That's cheap for immortality, right?"
"Indeed it is." Looking at the papers again, "Ok, well, let me give you an idea of what we're all about here at this facility. We are basically an outreach program for new arrivals into this lifestyle, such as yourself. Our goal is to offer guidance and support for all of those born into darkness without a definitive sire to teach them the ropes and instruct them on how to become one with the vampire experience." Drogan told him. "Here is a pamphlet with a bit more information on our efforts and our background. We are actually an extension of the services provided by 'The Long Dark Foundation', you may have heard of them. If not, all of their contact information is on the back. We have many programs here for vampires to grow and evolve and become independent, and they are all taught by a very experienced and highly qualified staff of agents that have been through many of the same struggles that you will soon be facing yourself in the weeks to come. We teach everything from 'Introduction To Personal Extras', to 'Habitat Building and Sunproofing', to 'Advanced Vampire Cultures And Traditions'. As well as electives, such as 'Scripture Interpretation' and 'Financing A Lifestyle'. It is preferable that we set you up with a seasoned sire or life companion, but if that option is unavailable to you, for whatever reason, we have a team of nighttime counselors here that are willing to assist you with any questions or concerns that you may have in the years to come. Ok? But we can get into all of that later, once the necessities have been taken care of."
Jerry gave him a blank stare. "Dude...you are totally blowing my mind right now." There was a silence between the two of them, and then Jerry asked his trainer, "'Donor Training', is that the...that's, like, me biting people on the neck and sucking them dry, right? Because I'm thirsty as hell. I NEED some of that shit. I got the 'ditz' something awful, man."
"Well, you are definitely in the right place, then. Let me start off by asking you exactly what you know, so far, about feeding in darkness."
Jerry twisted his mouth slightly, his eyes gazing up at the ceiling. "I dunno. I just kinda...jump on 'em when they least expect it and do the deed, right? Hehehe! Do my business? Kinda reminds me of prom! You know what I'm talking about, right, dawg?" He chuckled.
"Hehehe, well...there's a little more to it than that, I can assure you. Especially for your first few times. There's donor selection, scanning your target's blood supply for toxins and illnesses, accidental crossovers, discretion, searching for opportune moments to strike, slag disposal...it sounds like it's a lot to learn, but you'll catch on pretty quickly with some practice." Drogan reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a booklet. "Here, take this handbook with you. DON'T lose it. And study up a bit on what you need to learn to build and perfect your personal technique. Alright?"
"This is free, right?" Jerry asked.
"Yes, Mr. Leinfeld. It's free."
"Well...then, can I have like ten of 'em?" Drogan gave him a weird look.
"Uhh...why would you need ten of them?"
"I lose stuff, like....REALLY easily. You know?" Jerry said, flipping through the booklet pages with his thumb.
"I don't think you understand, Mr. Leinfeld...you cannot lose this booklet. It would be considered a very bad thing if you were to lose this booklet."
"Yeah, I get it. Vampire secrets. Gotchya. But you know...just in case."
"NO 'just in case'! Ok? You CANNOT lose this book, Mr Leinfeld!"
"I won't. But, you know...just in case." He went through the book until he got to a few pages with pictures on them. "Yeah, baby! Ready to start KILLING some people! Whooo! Can't wait!"
Drogan attempted to mask the awkward pause in the conversation as he noted the slightly...unorthodox behavior of his newest client. "Well...uh...I'll tell you what, I can give you this ONE book, and if you lose it...which, hopefully, you won't..."
"I won't. But...just in case..."
"Riiiiight...." Mr. Yates told him. "IF you lose it...you can come back for another one later. Ok? But, Mr. Leinfeld, I can't stress enough how important it is that you take special care of these texts. This is highly sensitive material. We can't allow this data to get into the wrong..."
"Wrong hands! Totally! Guard the books. Gotchya. Fuck yeah, man! Secrets! I get it! You know it, dude." Jerry grinned. "Ready to BITE somebody now! Drink some blood! YEAH!"
Attempting to remain professional, Drogan continued. "Okaaay...well, it's a good thing that you're enthusiastic about your first experience. Soooo...let's go over a few details. I'll ask a few questions, we'll get your contract together, and then we'll go out into the field and get you some nourishment. Ok?"
"There we go, baby! Some nourishment. That sounds all creepy and shit. Nourishment, meaning big old gulps of the soupy red stuff! Got it! Let's do this! I'm pumped! I'm ready!" Jerry said, clapping his hands together and wiggling in his seat. Drogan began to see why Mr. Leinfeld was considered a 'challenge' by his colleagues. In fact, it crossed his mind that this might be a joke at first. But he never lost his demeanor.
"Now...feeding can be a very delicate process, but it's one that you can only learn by actually doing it for yourself. So, I'm going to give you the basics tonight, take you out, and we'll see how you do."
"Let me ask you something, man. What's a Scavenger? I heard that being mentioned before. That's like...a vamp that eats another vamp, right?"
"Yes, that's correct." Drogan answered. "But believe me, you really don't want to get mixed up with the likes of them. It's primarily frowned upon in most civilized parts of the vampire culture. The further you stay away from something like that, the better."
"Oh yeah, sure. I dig that. I just never knew there was such a thing. That's all."
"Not to worry, Mr. Leinfeld. I'll get you all set with as much donor experience as I can this evening, and we'll make sure that you can make much more comfortable life choices in darkness. Ok?" He said, and turned a few pages in his client's paperwork. "Alright then. I'm...um...I'm looking at your application here..."
"Application. Fuck yeah!"
"You put your human name down on the form, but I just wanted to make sure that you wanted to keep it the same as before. As many vampires do change their names quite often. It's called a 'Re-Mod'. Some do it symbolically, to separate themselves from their humanity once and for all. And some do it simply to avoid having the same name of someone who is supposedly 'missing' or 'deceased' in daylight from showing up on legal documents or being spoken aloud after their disappearance. So, if you're originally from anywhere in the local metropolitan area and would like to use an alternate name, it's best that we take care of that now. If that's alright with..."
"How 'bout DR. DESTRUCTO??? Like...like, RAWR! You know? Bad ass!" Jerry asked.
Drogan chuckled at first, but his client was evidently being serious. "Well...Mr. Leinfeld, that's a FINE name and all...but...I think you fail to see the point of a..."
"Dr. Destructo! Running the streets at night! Biting the shit out of the innocent! I LOVE it! Fuck yeah! How can I tell if that name is taken already or not? Is there, like...a vampire copyright thing, or a registry, or what?"
"You...you see...you're a vampire, Mr. Leinfeld. Not a comic book super villain. Vampires usually pick a name that's a bit more...personal. Sometimes the names can be a little exotic, but..."
"How about FANGOR then??? The fuckin' monster from the shadows! FANGOR, dude!!! Fuck yeah!"
Drogan lowered his head and let out a sigh. "Why don't...why don't we just stick with 'Jerry' for now? Ok? And uhhh if you think of something else a bit later on...then...you know, we can adjust your records."
"Yeah. I heard you the first time."
"FANGOR! Fuck yeah!"
"OK, so...why don't we move along here...?"
"Moving along! Got ya! Fangor is ready." He said. "You got any booze? I'm really thirsty, you've got no idea."
"We've got bottled water if you think it would help, Mr. Leinfeld."
"Nah, screw the water. I take my Scotch straight up. No ice or nothing."
Mr. Yates just tried to keep himself calm. "It's best for us to stay sober and keep our minds clear when we're taking on such a serious issue, Mr. Leinfeld. Alcohol isn't a good idea."
"Ohhh, right. I got it. Yeah, screw the liquor. I get it. Fangor can't be belching and shit when he's jumping some old lady. That's so fucking sloppy and wrong." He said, then he smiled. "Hey! You're good, man! I like you. See? You're thinking."
"Sighhhh..." Closing his client's folder, he asked, "Do you have any other questions before we go out into the field and get you situated?"
"Nope! We already covered the liquor issue, so I think I'm good."
"Alright then. Why don't you follow me out to the car, and we'll see what we can find." Drogan said, and grabbed his keys to help his client get his first meal out of the way. He was a little hesitant to give him the crash course, as he did with most vampires, but when he thought about it, he realized that the LAST thing the world needed was a vampire like Jerry Leinfeld getting lost in a bloodlust. It was best to get him fed first and better trained on ethics and technique at a later date. Because training him could take...a while.
The two vamps set out into the city streets, heading towards areas that were known for being rich in possible donors. Areas where video surveillance and police activity was minimized, where dark alleys and shortcuts were considered 'safe' by local residents, and where parks and parking lots were emptied out by a local curfew. These were the places to find people wandering by themselves. Strays. Those who could be snatched into darkness and never heard from again. Experienced vampires knew these spots well. And The Long Dark Foundation had even marked off a few areas to be training spots for their programs. Almost like a Driver's Ed course. They'd thought of everything.
Drogan Yates had to pretty much block out most of Jerry's conversation while he was driving. It seemed to get worse and worse as they went along. He just wanted to make this lesson as quick and as painless as possible so he could get it over with and make it home before dawn.
Mr. Leinfeld didn't make himself easy to ignore. "So where are we going? Can we feed on rich people? Fucking HATE rich people! Not just people with a full bank account, but people who are sooooo rich and then just shit on the rest of society! Yeah, FUCK those people! Buying a boat is more important than somebody being able to feed their family? Where do THEY hang out? I wanna eat the FUCK out of those people! Selfish assholes! I wonder if they taste better than the rest of us. Would their money matter then? Probably not. They're probably all bitter and shit. I should probably start small. I mean...not like with a midget or some shit, but maybe a handicapped kid, or maybe a retard. Wait, I shouldn't say that word. Right? What word do we use for that now?" Oh my GOD, Drogan just wanted this dimwitted man-child to shut the hell up before he broke the ignorance barrier and ended up undoing all of creation with a single idiotic comment. "How about that one?" He said, pointing out of the car window.
"We haven't arrived at the spot yet, Mr. Leinfeld."
"Yeah, but...that one looked like he needed a good killing."
"Why don't we just wait until we get there, ok?"
"Ooh!!! What about that one over there?"
"No. I'll let you know when we get there, Mr. Leinfeld..."
"Dude, you can call me 'Fangor' if you want to. I don't mind. We're cool now."
Drogan closed his eyes. "I'm not calling you Fangor."
"Go on. You can do it. It's my name now, man. Fangor!"
"FANGOR!!! Fuck yeah! Monster from the fucking shadows! Rawr!!!"
The car accelerated as Drogan rushed to the designated donor area and hopped out of the car so fast that he almost forgot to take the keys with him.
"Ok, here we are." He said, looking down the street at the 4 to 6 city blocks that were laid out for safe hunting. He guided Jerry away from the car, and the two of them began to walk. "You remember what I told you about selecting a donor, correct? You'll get better at this as time goes on, but for now, you want to scan for things like excessive alcohol consumption, narcotics, or inhibiting stimulants that would prevent you from making a hasty escape if necessary. It's very important that you detect these things ahead of time."
"Man, that sounds like one hell of a party to me. If I find any of that shit in some guy's system, I'm following him back to the party and dancing my ass off."
Drogan ignored the last comment. "Once the blood scan is complete, you want to fine tune it to look for other factors, such as high cholesterol, sickle cell, HIV, or any blood defects that could affect your heart. Remember, this is going to be a part of your blood supply for the next four to six weeks. If it starts doing damage to your heart, you'll have to bleed yourself out and start all over again. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
"Sure, man. It's whatever." He replied. "I should have taken that watered down Scotch man. Ahem. I'm thirsty as shit."
At that moment, Drogan saw a man in a sleeveless shirt, sporting a few tattoos, walking down the street and then heading into one of the dark alleys. Normally, he would let the client choose his own donor and get a feel for picking one out, but as the thirst was obviously taking a hold of him faster than expected, he figured he'd make an educated suggestion. Besides, the sooner he was rid of Mr. Leinfeld, the sooner he could get back to the office and pass him off to some other poor sucker in the agency.
"That could be him! That could be the one." He told him.
"Who? Where?" Jerry said. "The guy that went down the alley? Yeah. Ok. Alright. Fuck yeah! He looks like a total asshole! I'm on it!"
"Right. Asshole. Whatever." Drogan told him, getting his client hyped up. "Now, you remember what I told you on the ride over here, right? You take him down, pull the head to the side, sink your fangs into the main artery. Don't swallow! You don't want a belly full of human blood. You'll be sick for days while it tries to redistribute itself into your system. Just bite him in the neck and let the fangs do their job. Alright?"
"Hehehehe, you said 'don't swallow'! That shit's hilarious..."
"I need you to FOCUS, Mr. Leinfeld."
"FANGOR!!! Fuck yeah!" Jerry straightened himself up and got ready. "Focus. Right. I'm focused. Gotchya. Alright! Alright, let's DO THIS!!!" He shouted, and Drogan was quick to quiet him down before he woke up the whole neighborhood. "Oops! Yeah, sorry. I'm just getting lit up on my aggro shit!. That's all. Alright...here I go. I'm going." He headed off to the alley, and Drogan followed not far behind him, hoping that this night would finally be coming to a close. Thank God.
He peered around the corner as Jerry began walking behind the other man down the dark alley. Surprisingly, he seemed to have absorbed a few of the key elements of the approach. Close, but not too close. Gaining a few steps at a time, decreasing the distance between him and his donor without really alerting him to his intentions. Jerry's fangs dropped down from his gums, and he kept his head down slightly to keep the crimson glow from being too visible. Good. Good technique. Not bad. He might just make it as a vampire after all.
Drogan watched closely so he could grade him on his skills and give helpful advice for future endeavors. But then...something went wrong.
Suddenly, just as he was getting close enough to be noticed, the man looked over his shoulder, and Jerry ran at him with his fangs down and his arms spread! "FANGOR, mother fucker!!!" He shouted, and jumped at the man, putting his hands on his shoulders.
Drogan covered his face with his hand in shame...
"What the fuck are you doing, crack head???" The man said, leaning back as Jerry tried his best to bite him in the neck. The man didn't hesitate, and before Jerry had a chance to react, the man balled up his fist and smashed him right in the mouth! Stunned, Jerry reeled backwards, and the man seriously began going to TOWN on him! His fists slamming into him hard, kneeing him in the stomach, giving him a head butt that nearly broke his nose, and knocking him back against the dumpster so hard that he squealed in pain. Drogan cringed as the man literally beat Jerry down to the concrete in the most embarrassing way possible.
All while Jerry was still attempting to shout out, "Fangor...monster from the...AHH! Fuck! Fuck you! I'm...I'm...OWWW!!! What the fuck???"
The man made sure that Jerry was down, and gave him a harsh kick in the ribs for good measure. "Son of a BITCH!" He said. Then he walked out of the alley without even looking back at the freakin' VAMPIRE that he just beat into the dirt...and went on about his business.
Sighhhh...Drogan stepped out from around the corner, and slowly approached the freshly beaten vampire, helping him back up to his feet. "Ummm...what happened there?"
"What do you MEAN, what happened??? I got my ASS kicked!!! That's what fucking happened!!!" Jerry wailed, still holding his hand over his mouth as his lip was bleeding. "He must have been, like...a fucking MMA fighter or something! What the hell, dude???"
"You do realize that, as a vampire, you're a lot stronger than he is, right?" Drogan asked.
"Well, nobody fucking told HIM that! Look at me, man! I'm fucked up! I've got all TYPES pf blood leaking right now! I'm FANGOR! The monster from the shadows! I've got a rep to uphold, bro! This random guy can't just punch me in the fucking mouth and leave! What the hell was his problem? I just KNEW he was gonna be an asshole!"
"Yeah, well...he's sort of...fighting for his life, Mr. Leinfeld...soooo...he, like most donors, is bound to put up a bit of a struggle. That happens." Drogan told him.
"Fuck that guy! I should go back and get my homies and crack that dude's skull open!"
"Yes, but...you can't go back, because you're a vampire now."
"Yeah, but if I wasn't, I'd go back and get my homies and crack that dude's skull open!"
"But...you can't, Mr. Leinfeld."
"Yeah, but if I COULD..."
"But you can't."
"Yeah, but if I COULD..." He repeated.
"OK!!! Fine. Your...homies aside...perhaps we can work on your 'take down' technique a little more at a later date. Ok?"
"How's he just gonna punch 'Fangor', monster from the shadows, in the goddamn mouth like that? He can't do that! Doesn't make any kind of fuckin' sense! My fucking NOSE is bleeding, dude!" He pouted.
Drogan gave him a handkerchief to wipe some of the blood off of his face as they walked together to the end of the alley. "We have classes that can teach you some basic fighting applications in situations like this, Mr. Leinfeld, if you're at all interested."
"I don't need no fighting applications! I'm gonna find that guy and beat the shit out of him! I swear! Asshole! If I could get my homies from my daylight life to come out here, we'd go to work on that jackass!"
"Yes, but...you can't do that, Mr. Leinfeld."
"Yeah, but if I could..."
"But...you CAN'T!" I said.
"I know...but...if I COULD..."
Not wanting to get into THAT trap again, Drogan suggested that Jerry find a donor that was a little less 'tough' for him to handle. And after another 20 minutes of wandering through the city blocks, they came across a young lady, very short in stature, who was texting on a street corner and holding her purse. Drogan thought that maybe she'd be a little easier for Jerry to get a hold of. So, once again, he sent his client forward. Telling him, "This time, Mr. Leinfeld...it might be wise to not shout out, 'Fangor, mother fucker' at the moment of engagement. Ok? Just...just a tip."
"But, how else is she gonna know who I am, dude?"
Rubbing his eyes with another sigh, Drogan said, "Um...well...for ONE, she's not supposed to know who you are...because you're actually, physically, ATTACKING her. The LAST thing you'd want is for her to know who you are. And TWO...even if you did reveal your identity...um...it wouldn't really matter, because your hope...in fact, your goal...is to KILL her. That's sort of the whole reason that we're out here. We don't want her to survive and tell people who you are, because...that would be bad. Alright? Dead is good. Alive is bad."
Light bulb. "Ahhhh. Ok, I got it. Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking. I got excited. You're totally right, dude. See? You're thinking. Those last five counselors I went to, they didn't 'get' me like youget me. I'm digging this whole vibe we've got going on here, you and me. Ok. No shouting my name. I'm like...I'm like Batman, dude. Nobody knows. Got it."
"Yes, Mr. Leinfeld. Go. Go be Batman. Just...sighhh...good luck."
"Thanks!" He chirped with a goofy smile, and trotted off to try it out again. Drogan just prayed that he would get this one right. How hard can this be? Seriously.
He watched from the shadows, and the approach was good. Fangs down. Glowing eyes hidden. He kept his word and kept himself quiet this time. Everything was going to plan. Then...the pounce. Good! Very good! The lady struggled a bit, but Jerry seemed to have a decent handle on the situation. Then, she broke free of his grip. She was fast on her feet. She began to jerk back and forth...and she spun right around him. Next thing he knew, he had received two blows from her purse, and the woman slipped right out of her jacket while Jerry was holding on to it. She took off running and screaming as loud as she could as Jerry ran after her. But that woman kicked it into second gear, and she was seriously hauling ass across the park to get away from him. She began zig zagging back and forth, completely jooking right out of Jerry's reach. She was cutting corners so fast, that Jerry fell flat on his face trying to keep up with her. Drogan put his hand over his eyes again. He couldn't watch this. He was humiliated beyond belief at this point.
The woman was screaming the entire time, but she still had enough breath to fake him out. Finally, Jerry fell to his knees with exhaustion, and the woman kept running down the street, purse in hand, until she was completely out of sight.
Again...Drogan slowly walked up to his client, finding him on his hands and knees, nearly about to throw up from breathing so hard. Jerry managed to wheeze out, "I got your coat, bitch! 'Huff huff' I got...'huff huff'....I got your coat..." He rolled over onto his back, and just stared at the sky for a moment. "'Huff Huff' I'm keeping her fucking coat, dude! She ain't getting this coat back! That bitch!"
Drogan stood over him for a moment...not saying a word. Knowing that he would probably have to spend even more time with this man. Finally, he said, "Well...at least you didn't tell her who you were. Soooo....that's a good thing, I suppose." Again, he helped Jerry to his feet, and dusted him off. "Mr. Leinfeld...this isn't going too well for you..."
"Aww, come on, man! You can't put this on me! That bitch was like...she's like one of those, 'whatchamacallits'...like a fuckin' female cheetah, or a...or a fuckin' gazelle or something! She wasn't human! I think she was one of us, bro! Seriously!"
"No, Mr. Leinfeld...I'm pretty sure that she wasn't."
"No! No, really! Think about it! She must have been using her super powers to evade me or something. Did you see her? I think she was a fucking vampire, dude! Right? I mean, like...am I right?"
Rolling his eyes, Drogan kept his voice calm, and said, "You know...maybe this was a mistake, coming out here like this. You know, some vampires aren't really cut out for every aspect of living in darkness..."
But Jerry spoke up, "No! No no no...don't do it, man! Don't give me that speech. I've heard that speech before. My high school principal gave me that talk my third week into my freshman year, man. Don't do it. Look, I can DO this shit, just give me another chance! Ok? I can do it. I swear!"
Looking at his watch and figuring that it wasn't too much longer until dawn, what could it hurt. "Sighhh...I suppose the third time's the charm, right?"
"Third time! Right! Fuck yeah! Third time, man! I got this! Ok?" He said, eager to give it one more try.
Drogan took another chance, and for the next thirty minutes, they wandered the area, looking for someone who wouldn't be able to outrun, outfox, or just plain beat the living shit out of his newest client. He passed up many potentials along the way, and finally found someone that might be a little more Jerry's speed. The man was about 350 pounds, easy...certainly in no shape to outrun a vampire, and with no muscle tone to suggest that he'd be able to take down the mighty, ummm...'Fangor'. So Drogan gave Jerry another pep talk, reminded him of ALL the basics, and told him EXACTLY what he needed to do in order to get through this. Jerry nodded and nodded and got himself all worked up and ready. He even did some stretches to limber up first. Drogan pleaded with him to be careful and get this right. He gave him the answer he expected.
"Yeah. I got it! Fuck yeah!"
And off he went. Drogan wondered if he should even watch this. Again, he made the approach, targeted his donor, hid his glowing eyes...but before he could get close enough, the overweight man caught site of him and noticed something strange about him. Jerry attempted to speed up, but the man saw his fangs as he got closer. Terrified, he took off running in the other direction. Now this time...Drogan had no doubts about Jerry being able to catch him, and he was already gaining on him when Drogan noticed that they were heading for the street.
Drogan saw what was going on, but hardly had a chance to shout out a warning. "No, no no no WAIT!!! Mr. Lein...."
But it was too late. The large man wasn't looking where he was going, charged out into the street, and was suddenly creamed by the 269 bus as it came speeding by! The impact was downright epic! The front of the bus was dented, the windows cracked, and the man was splattered all over the street, heavy splashes of blood covering Jerry from head to toe as he stood there in shock.
The bus came to a screeching halt, and the driver and all of the passengers came out to see the extremely gory mess. Drogan was quick to grab Jerry by the arm and pull him away from the scene of the accident. He was still standing there, completely stupefied by what had happened. "Mr. Leinfeld? Mr. Leinfeld, we have to go now. Right now! Come on. Let's go...come on..." He had to drag him away, and sneak back to the car where Drogan put down some towels from the trunk in the front seat. They drove out of the designated hunting area, and found a dark parking lot not far from the lake to sit and lay low for a little while. There was a long silence between them, and finally, Drogan said, "You know...I think I might be able to suggest another counselor who might be better suited to...uhh...handle your 'special' needs. I think...I think that would be best."
Jerry licked some of the excess blood off of his lips. "I'm not sure what happened. I don't...I didn't even see that coming." He licked his lips again. Then his chin. Then his fingers.
"It's ok, Mr. Leinfeld. Like I said, this stuff isn't an easy transition for everybody. It takes...time and patience....guidance..."
Jerry licked his palm...and then licked the back of his hand...then further up his sleeve. His breathing changed slightly. It got heavier. He devoloped an instant craving for the taste.
"You know what, Mr. Yates...um...Drogan...can I call you Drogan?"
"Yes, I suppose you can." He said.
"I'm thinking...maybe I might try out that other thing we talked about in your office. You know...just once. Just to see if I like it."
"What other thing might that be?" Drogan asked.
"You know...the whole...'scavenger' thing. Because...I think I'm totally seeing the possibilities in something like that right about now."
Drogan said, "I told you before, Mr. Leinfeld...that's really not the best of decisions for you to make. There are a series of complications that come with the Scavenger lifestyle. You'd have to hunt your own kind, and you'd have to be very secretive about something like that because...." He stopped talking. He looked over at his client, who was hungrily reaching his tongue out to clean off as much of his own face as he could. His fangs were down, his eyes glowing a deadly shade of blood red...and he was staring at Drogan Yates with the most demonic grin on his face.
Drogan looked out of the front windshield, and saw nothing but an empty parking lot all around. Just the two of them in that car....and total darkness.
Well, what do you know? It looks Jerry Leinfeld might have learned a little something after all......