The Vampire from Hell

Chapter 19 - Awaiting Judgment Day

Chapter 19 - Awaiting Judgment Day

"The usual, Rayea?" 

Max Edwards, the bar owner, often wore faded concert T-shirts with cut-off jeans and gray hiking sandals. Tonight he was in khaki shorts, funny looking shoes, and a long button-up short sleeve shirt that had his name embroidered on the left pocket. His long white hair fell over his shoulders. 

"Yeah, Max. Thank you and keep 'em coming please. I've had a bad day." After re-reading Blick's email again and finally deleting it, I decided to get drunk. It was too much to comprehend. I couldn't deal with it. Writing and drinking. That was my plan. What harm could it do? I'd probably sober up before Death arrived anyway. It looked like he was late already. 

"How could you have a bad day?" Max gathered his long strands into a tight ponytail at the base of his neck. 

"Thanks for letting me sit back here, away from the windows. It's very quiet. I can get some writing done if my friend doesn't show up. You have a new look going on there?" 

Frowning slightly at me because I ignored his inquiry, he changed the subject. "You can write while you drink?" 

"Oh yeah, it takes the edge off actually. I don't get a buzz or anything. It calms me." 

Max laughed at me half-heartedly. "What do you have to be on edge about?" 

"Family drama," I lied. It wouldn't do for me to tell the bar owner my troubles. 

Max patted me on the shoulder. "I know how that is. Bowling helps me with my stress." He glanced in the direction of where his son Jeremy should have been near the front door, keeping an eye on things. "Will your friend be able to find you back here? What does he look like?" 

I caught myself before I said Death. 'Warmed over death' was an Earth saying Lynn had taught me that I loved. Death didn't look like warmed over death though which I was fairly sure meant awful looking. It was quite the opposite. "Like Brad Pitt's twin, but taller. Oh, and he should be wearing an expensive business suit." 

"He'll stick out like a turd in a swimming pool." 

"Don't you mean 'as welcomed as a turd in a swimming pool'?" I asked Max, trying not to burst out laughing again. 

"See? You're catching on," Max replied. 

I laughed out loud, spitting some tequila onto the table. Max had the best way of phrasing things. That was what I liked about him, he always made me smile. His bar was a place where many locals frequented. It wasn't part of the tourist scene even if it was on the main drag of Haight-Ashbury. The Golden Skull reminded me of a biker bar, something out of a Hell's Angels movie or Pee Wee's Big Adventure. 

The Death I knew and dated in Hell would have fit in with his black leather jacket and jeans, even the green Mohawk. Those were the days long ago when I knew him simply as Demetri. The Death I knew now, who worked for the House of G (as the Angel of Death) sporting his Italian suits and canvas dress shoes, would certainly be out of his element in Max's bar. Part of me actually hoped he'd go against J's wishes and wear his leather jacket or drive up on his motorcycle. That would be a way to go out in style, clinging to an attractive man on his bike, riding for a destination unknown. I could still recognize the sound Death's bike made above all other bikes just by the low growl of the exhaust pipes. 

Jeremy, Max's son stepped out of the back supply room. "Do you mean Legends-of-the-Fall Brad or Fight-Club Brad?" Obviously he had been listening to our conversation. 

"Snack time," the voice inside my head mused. 

"Fight-Club Brad," I replied as I carefully eyed him, making a mental note to not let my eyes glow at him because of my insatiable appetite of late. No one in the House of G told me that my bloodlust would reach new levels while being around humans on Earth. I suppose, however, they wouldn't have known that.