“Jesus Christ”, I said. “We have to get you to the hospital. That bite must have got infected or something.”
“Dad”, said Frankie.
I touched his brow. “You’re freezing. Do you feel OK? Infections normally run hot.” “Dad”, said Frankie again.
“What did the crack head who bit you look like? He might have had Hepatitis or something. Perhaps if we can track him down, we can find out what he has and get the righ--”
“DAD!”, shouted Frankie finally losing patience.
“WHAT!”, I shouted back.
“I’ve not got hepatitis.”
“Well, you look as pale as paper, and your eyes are bloodshot, and you're as cold as ice, so you sure as shit have something!”
Frankie put down the mug of soup I’d been trying to force down him for the last 20 minutes. It was no longer hot anyway. “Yeah. You got that right.” He took my hand and laid it on his freezing chest.
I caught his eye. “Oh God”, I said. “Is it that bad. Are you about to tell me you’re dying or something?”
He shook his head sadly. “No. Unfortunately not.”
I looked blank and tried to pull my hand away, but Frankie held it in place.
Suddenly it hit me.
“What the hell? Why is your…..” I leant forward and put my ear to his chest. “I can’t hear a heartbeat. Why can’t I hear a heartbeat?” I sat back and started to ask Doctor Google what his diagnosis was. “Some sort of arrhythmia?”, I asked out loud.
“Yeah, I read all that too. But it's not arrhythmia. It’s not there. And I’m not breathing either.”
I looked at him like he was crazy. “You just breathed then. I saw you”.
“Only when I need to talk. I still need air for that. But if I don’t talk….”, he tailed off and shut his mouth.
After a minute or two I finally found my voice again. I stood up and started to pace the kitchen. “Is this some sort of windup? You got a youtube channel where you prank your dumbass Dad?”
Frankie took a breath to answer. “No. I wish.”
“So, what then? Am I actually sitting in a padded cell somewhere unable to deal with the death of my son and imagining everything?”
Frankie shook his head. “No. I think I’m a vampire.”
I snorted. “Fuck off, Frankie! Don’t take the piss. I’ll play along with whatever this is, but don’t push it. If I’m not crazy, then maybe you are. You telling me you're having a breakdown?"
“I’m telling you I think I’m dead!”, Frankie shouted.
I opened my mouth to argue back, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. “To be continued”, I said as I headed to the hall to answer it. Frankie did not bother to reply.
I reached the door and shook my head to try and clear it before I faced a stranger. Reaching for the handle I took a deep breath and counted to 5, like my wife used to tell me to do, then pulled it open.
“Help you?”, I asked the tall woman on the other side of the door.
“I do hope so, yes.”, she said extending me a hand. “I am looking for Frank Parling.” “That’s me”, I answered. “Who are you?”
The woman appraised me with a quizzical gaze. I felt like I was back at school. She pulled a small notepad from the pocket of the expensive-looking trench coat she was wearing and checked something. “My name is Gemma Whistler. Ah. Perhaps Frank Parling Junior?”
“You are after Frankie? He’s not feeling well I’m afraid, uh, Gemma.”
She smiled a smile that completely bypassed her storm-grey eyes. “I bet. Is he at home? He took me on a date last night and we really hit it off. I just want to check he’s OK.”
“He took you on a date?”, I asked.
“Yes.”
I considered asking further questions but decided that I’d fucked up enough on that front for one day. “So, you saw that crackhead that attacked him, did you?”
“Such a terrible thing”, said Gemma. “It looked very painful.”
She stepped into the hall, and I moved backwards to maintain my distance. “Do you mind if I come in?”, she asked as she did exactly that.
“Um, no, I guess that’s fine”, I mumbled. “But Frankie really isn’t up for receiving guests, I’m sorry. It’ll be a wasted trip, I’m afraid.”
“OK, well can I ask to use your bathroom before I go?”, she asked.
“Up the stairs. First door on the left”, I replied gesturing upwards. “Knock yourself out”.
She smiled that flat smile again and strode past me. She moved like a dancer. Or a boxer. Or maybe both. I walked to the kitchen as quick as I could without running.
“Dad, I’ve never seen that person in my life”, said Frankie.
“I thought you were dead”, I said bitterly.
“I’m serious!”, he said. “What is she doing in our house?”
“I am here to put you to rest”, said Gemma from behind me.
I spun around and found myself face to face with the business end of a crossbow.
“Now, I know you have just changed, and so have not yet murdered any poor soul. So, I will be merciful in the manner of your final passing”, she said, gesturing me to move away from her with a flick of the crossbow. “But you will. You will kill, and you will get a taste for it, and that I cannot allow.”
“OK”, said Frankie.
“WHAT?!” I exclaimed.
“Just let my Dad go safe.”
“You’ll do no such thing!”, I shouted. More at Frankie than anyone.
“Dad”, he said. “I feel like I’m dying. All the time. It's so painful and its…..wrong. Somehow. Just go.”
Gemma Whistler pointed her bow at Frankie. “A brave choice. I’m sorry this has happened t—”
As her attention shifted I grabbed the metal kettle from the kitchen side and hurled it at the woman. It hit her in the head with a dull thock and the light went out in her grey eyes. She crumpled to my lino floor and as she did so the crossbow fired a bolt deep into Frankie's shoulder. It sounded like meat being chopped.
“Fuck”, I said. “Are you OK?”
He looked bemused by the bolt sticking out of him. “Um. Yeah? I think so.”
I grabbed his hand. “OK, well we’ll figure that out later. Let’s get the hell out of here.”
