Vampire and His Pleasant Companions: Volume 1 - Part 7

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The room was cold, and the wind outside howled. Al put on a coat over his shirt, added a scarf and gloves, and headed out for some shopping. Akira had said, "Isn't it a bit too early for a scarf and gloves? It's only mid-November," but when Al responded with, "I’m very cold," Akira didn’t argue further. However, once Al was outside, he felt a bit embarrassed to realize he was the only one dressed for winter.

When he returned from the supermarket just before closing, he noticed Nukariya’s shoes at the entrance. As he opened the door, the savory smell of beef confirmed his suspicions.

"Good evening, Al," Nukariya greeted him with a smile from the back of the room.

"Good evening, Nukariya. No work today?" Al asked as he began stuffing the groceries into the fridge.

"I just stopped by after work. Did you go shopping at this hour, Al?"

"I... tonight, tomorrow food bought," Al replied.

"Can you cook, Al?"

"Studying," Al said.

Impressed, Nukariya nodded and then turned to Akira, who was sitting on the sofa. "His Japanese is getting pretty good. He can communicate well and seems to understand almost everything. And he's only been here for about a month. That’s amazing."

As he spoke, Nukariya added, "But... don’t you look a bit pale, Al?"

Al tensed up at the comment.

"No... not bad," he quickly denied, shaking his head.

"Come to think of it, you said you were cooking, but can you eat normal food, Al?" Nukariya asked, stroking his chin.

"He doesn’t eat it. I’m the one who gets to eat the weird stuff he makes," Akira grumbled bitterly. "Like chocolate-flavored miso soup or sashimi with ketchup and mustard..."

Nukariya winced at the thought, while Al pouted and glared at Akira. " I make delicious, pretty."

"Just because it looks good doesn’t mean it tastes good! You should try eating it yourself!" Akira shot back.

"I ate. Good taste," Al insisted.

"Liar!" Akira yelled, kicking the table in front of the sofa. "This is why I hate the coarse tastebuds of Americans. In the end, you people can survive on hamburgers, potato chips, and soda!"

"Prejudice, prejudice!" Al pointed at Akira. "Americans love vegetables, fish!"

Ignoring Al, Akira continued talking to Nukariya. "Want to hear what’s on the menu tonight? I’ll tell you. Cheese omelet, fried chicken, and French fries! It’s going to give me heartburn and is packed with cholesterol. I swear he’s cursing me to an early death."

"No, no! Akira, full of nutrition," Al protested.

"Your idea of nutrition is just high-calorie food. Nutrition means a balanced diet of meat, vegetables, and fish," Akira retorted.

Al puffed up his cheeks in frustration. No matter how hard he tried to cook for Akira every night, Akira never appreciated it. On the contrary, he hated it. As soon as Al turned into a human after sunset, he would start cooking right away, wanting to have dinner ready for Akira when he got home from work. That’s why he always ended up going shopping late at night, after Akira had eaten.

Even though Al tried to plan menus that would be nutritious and high in calories, thinking Akira was too skinny, all his efforts were criticized. The chocolate miso soup, which Al thought tasted like pumpkin soup, had been spat out immediately, with Akira furiously calling it "blasphemy"—a word Al had never heard before. The only things Akira ate without complaint were plain rice, grilled fish with no seasoning, and fried eggs.

Al had been given a book titled Super Easy! Delicious Dishes You Can Make in 10 Minutes with the instruction, "At least try making these!" But the book was full of kanji, and Al couldn’t read it. While he was getting better at speaking and listening, reading was still a struggle. He could manage with just hiragana, but as soon as katakana and kanji were mixed in, his eyes would glaze over.

Suddenly, the room began to spin, and Al was hit with a wave of dizziness. Feeling unsteady, he gripped the edge of the sink to support himself and waited for the dizziness to pass. He had been getting lightheaded more often recently, and he knew why—he was low on blood. Nukariya’s comment about his pale face wasn’t wrong, and he had also lost a bit of weight.

After drinking Akira’s blood until he nearly passed out from anemia, Al had felt a surge of power throughout his body. But that strength was gradually waning. Although he was trying to compensate by eating liver, it wasn’t enough. Being active during his human hours, running errands and cleaning, quickly drained his energy. He knew this, which was why, back when he lived in the boathouse, he would sleep while in human form and only move around as a bat. But now, he couldn’t help but stay active during his human hours, wanting to do things for Akira. Akira would also buy steaks twice a week, but even that wasn’t enough.

Back when Gaddis was around, Al could drink fresh animal blood directly, which provided just enough nourishment to keep him from suffering, as long as he didn’t exert himself too much. Even if he were offered the same situation now, he wouldn’t want to go back to it. Despite being constantly hungry and not being able to eat enough, this was the most stable and human-like life he had lived since becoming a vampire.

The dizziness subsided as Al remained still. He shook his head slightly and felt steady again. He could move.

Akira’s phone rang, probably from work. The only people who called Akira were his workplace and Nukariya, and Nukariya was here.

"Now? Again?!" Akira’s voice was tense. After a few sharp exchanges—"But..." "No, I can’t..."—he finally sighed and said, "Fine, I got it."

"Al, I have to go out now."

"Now?" Al asked, surprised. It was already past 9 PM. Akira pulled a black coat out of the closet.

"Go to bed. Make sure you turn off all the lights, and don’t forget to lock the door this time. I mean it. Nukariya, sorry about this, but..."

"Don’t worry about me. I just stopped by to check on Al. Is it an emergency?"

"Completely," Akira sighed, placing his hands on his hips. "They want me to prep a body for an international flight first thing in the morning."

"A foreigner?"

"Yeah. They’re sending the body back to Rwanda... and at this hour, I won’t even have an assistant."

Al didn’t miss the word "assistant." Akira used it often, so Al had learned it. It was the Japanese word for someone who helps with work.

"I help! I help, Akira!" Al exclaimed.

Akira turned around with a surprised expression, then furrowed his brow as if he were about to complain about a meal.

"This isn’t a job an amateur can help with."

"You said, I do," Al insisted.

"I said it’s not a job for an amateur! You’ll just get in the way."

"Not in the way! Never in the way," Al pleaded, turning his desperate gaze toward Nukariya. Al felt that Nukariya would understand how he felt. Nukariya, however, only looked back at him with a troubled expression.

"Al, Akira’s job is specialized. I think it would be hard for you to help," Nukariya said, moving toward the entrance and deliberately standing in front of the door as if to block the way.

“I go! I help," Al insisted.

Akira shouted, "Don’t be ridiculous!" and lunged at Al, but Nukariya quickly intervened.

"Al, don’t get in Akira’s way. He’s in a hurry for work."

"I help. I go," Al repeated, unmoved by Nukariya’s attempt to persuade him. He knew this might be his only chance. He didn’t just want to cook meals or clean; he wanted to help Akira with something more significant. He wanted to be seen as useful.

Nukariya sighed as he watched the standoff between the two.

"Akira, can’t you take Al along, even if it’s just to help with some light cleaning?" Nukariya suggested, clearly siding with Al.

"You’ve got to be kidding me. I’ve told you repeatedly, this isn’t a game," Akira replied, annoyed.

Nukariya narrowed his eyes slightly. "I don’t think Al is saying he wants to help as a joke. I think he genuinely wants to do something. Maybe just let him see you at work. If he realizes he can’t help, he’ll give up."

"I’m not against the idea of him wanting to help. But why now, when it’s urgent?" Akira snapped back.

"The timing is bad, but maybe he figured he could only do it while he’s in human form since he’s limited as a bat," Nukariya reasoned.

Stepping back from Al, Akira and Nukariya began whispering to each other. Their voices were too low for Al to make out what they were saying. After a moment of silence, Nukariya approached Al.

"Akira has agreed to take you with him."

Al’s heart raced with excitement. "I do my best!"

Without a word, Akira pushed past Al and opened the front door. Nukariya glanced at Al and said, "Make sure you keep up," prompting Al to hurry after him. It was Al’s first time riding in Akira’s car. As soon as Al got into the passenger seat, Akira started the car with a jerk, and Al hurried to close the door.

"...Seatbelt," Akira muttered harshly as he made a sharp turn.

"What?" Al asked, confused.

"I said, put on your seatbelt! If the police catch us, I’ll be the one who gets fined!"

Al fumbled with the buckle. Back in America, he never wore a seatbelt in the car. He found them uncomfortable and thought they looked uncool.

Al knew that Akira was only taking him along because Nukariya had convinced him. It was painfully clear that this wasn’t what Akira wanted. But Al was determined to help. He wasn’t just going to watch; he was sure there was something he could do.

Even though he tried hard with the housework, Akira never seemed truly pleased. Al had been racking his brain, wondering how he could do more to make Akira happy. If he could help with Akira’s important work, maybe Akira would start to trust him.

After about fifteen minutes of driving, Akira pulled the car into a building surrounded by white concrete walls. He parked in the lot at the back and quickly walked away by himself. Al followed closely, looking around as he did. The building was large and white, with a stark, linear design that made it look almost like a factory.

At a narrow door, Akira entered a code on a keypad mounted on the wall. There was a clicking sound as the lock disengaged, and Akira pushed the door open. Fearing that he would be locked out, Al quickly slipped inside, accidentally bumping into Akira’s back.

"Watch where you’re going!" Akira snapped.

Inside, the building resembled a hospital. The walls were cream-colored, and the floors were a pale green. The corridor was boxy, devoid of any plants or decorations. The lights were only on every other fixture, making the place dim overall. The far end of the hallway was brighter, where light spilled out from a room.

"Matsumura-san, do you have the paperwork?" Akira asked, peeking into the lit room.

"Oh, Takatsuka-kun, you’re early," said a slender woman in a suit as she handed Akira some papers. Her short hair and crisp demeanor suggested she was in her thirties, and she gave off the impression of being very capable.

"Sorry for calling you in suddenly. Last time, you took care of an emergency, so I contacted Koyanagi-kun first this time, but it seems his wife is sick in bed. And with two kids to take care of..." she explained.

Akira silently reviewed the documents, ignoring the woman’s comments. Al worried that Akira’s silence came off as rude, but the woman didn’t seem bothered. Instead, she kept glancing at Al.

"Everything’s in order. This might be done within three hours," Akira said.

"Thanks," the woman replied, then looked over at Al. "Takatsuka-kun, who’s that behind you?"

"He’s here to observe," Akira answered.

"Observation is fine, but at this hour? Is he an aspiring embalmer?"

"Something like that," Akira replied, apparently too tired to explain further. When the woman met Al’s gaze, he smiled and greeted her with a "Hello."

"Hello. Your Japanese is very good," she said with a charming smile.

"Me… not good. Still… study," Al replied.

"How long have you been in Japan?" she asked.

Al was about to answer that it had been a month, but he hesitated, trying to remember how to say it in Japanese. Just then, Akira hurried him along, saying, "Come on, let’s go." Al quickly bowed to the woman and rushed after Akira.

Akira led them into a locker room and tossed a bundle of clothing at Al. "Put this on."

As Al fumbled with the ties on the protective gown, unsure how to fasten them, Akira quickly suited up, layering what looked like a raincoat over his scrubs for full protection. Not waiting for Al, Akira headed out of the locker room. Al hurried after him, still struggling with the gown and holding a disposable cap in his hand.

"Hey," Akira called, stopping in front of an iron door at the end of the corridor.

"Let me make this clear: once we're in the procedure room, don't talk to me. Absolutely not," Akira said in a stern voice. Al nodded firmly, understanding the seriousness. As Akira approached the iron door, it opened automatically with a soft whirr. The room beyond was sparse, with shelves lining the walls. Walking through the center of the room, they encountered another heavy iron door that also opened automatically.

The embalming room was much more spacious than Al had imagined, roughly the size of a high school classroom. The walls and floor were tiled, and four stainless steel tables, resembling kitchen prep stations, were arranged with wide spaces between them. One of the tables had a large cloth draped over it. Akira put on a rubber apron, boots, and gloves, while Al was instructed to stand back.

Akira removed the cloth, revealing the body of a tall, emaciated Black man. Although Al had seen dead bodies before, the sight still made his heart race, even if the person was a stranger.

Akira removed the man’s clothing and sprayed the body with a solution. Then he carefully inspected the body from head to toe. From what Al could see, there were no significant injuries, so he assumed the man had likely died from an illness. Akira then applied what seemed like detergent and began scrubbing the body thoroughly, his movements rhythmic and controlled, not forceful. After rinsing the soapy residue off the body, he cleaned the eyes, ears, and mouth, stuffing them with cotton. Al had insisted on coming here to help, but as he watched Akira’s efficient movements, he realized there was no opportunity for him to assist.

Akira then began stitching the mouth shut with a needle. Suddenly, a faint scent of blood hit Al’s nose. Though it was a minor wound and a subtle smell, it struck his empty stomach like a punch, and he couldn’t help but swallow his saliva.

"Come here," Akira finally called out. But as Al approached, the scent of blood grew stronger, making it difficult for him. It was as if a perfectly cooked steak had been placed right in front of him, causing saliva to flood his mouth.

Akira, now wearing a mask and protective goggles, watched him intently. "Are you really serious about helping?"

The seriousness of Akira's voice snapped Al’s thoughts back from the grip of his growing hunger.

"Yes," Al replied.

"Then put on the gloves over there and massage the arm. The skin is delicate, so be gentle. If you find any cuts, tell me right away."

"Okay," Al said, putting on the gloves and starting to massage the thin, dark arm. Up close, he noticed that the arm was covered in wrinkles—it belonged to a very old man. After just two or three firm squeezes, Akira shouted, "Hey!" startling Al and making him flinch.

"Weren’t you listening? If you apply too much pressure, you’ll damage the skin!"

"S-Sorry!" Al apologized, realizing that he had been too eager to help and had used too much force. He refocused, massaging gently, and as he continued, the once cold and stiff arm began to feel slightly more pliable, as if it was relaxing under his touch—a strange illusion considering it was a corpse.

While Al was absorbed in the massage, Akira retrieved several bottles, presumably of chemicals, and began preparing a mixture.

"That’s enough with the massage. Step back," Akira ordered.

"But I… I can do more’," Al protested.

"I’ll call you when I need you. For now, stand back," Akira insisted.

Al reluctantly moved away from the stainless steel table. As soon as he did, a wave of dizziness hit him. He braced himself against the wall, trying to steady himself. Leaning against the cool tiles made it a bit easier to cope, but sweat beaded on his forehead. He told himself to endure. If he fainted now, he’d surely be kicked out, becoming a hindrance rather than a help.

Suddenly, his heart thudded loudly in his chest. The scent of blood intensified as he saw Akira make an incision near the collarbone of the corpse. A thin trickle of blood ran down the dark skin. Akira’s hands moved with precision, swift and mechanical.

Akira inserted a tool resembling scissors with a comb at the end into the small cut and widened the wound. He then inserted a hooked metal rod and scalpel into the open wound, probing deeper. After a moment, he found something white—it was likely a blood vessel. Akira carefully severed a bit of the surrounding tissue and tied off the vessel with a string before searching for another vessel, which he also tied off, leaving the ends hanging outside the wound. Embalming involves using human blood vessels to pump in preservatives, and Akira took only a few moments to find the necessary vessels.

After completing these tasks, Akira approached a cylindrical machine at the head of the table and switched it on. He returned to the body and made an incision in one of the tied-off blood vessels, inserting a thin pair of forceps to extract a gelatinous blood clot. He then cut into the other blood vessel and inserted a device connected to a tube from the machine. The machine began to hum, and the tube on the stainless steel table started to writhe like a living creature. The blood exchange process had begun, and with it, the room filled with the overwhelming scent of blood. A slow trickle of old blood seeped from the small wounds.

"Al," Akira’s sharp voice snapped Al back to reality, and he realized he was standing right next to Akira. He hadn’t even been aware he had moved, and the realization terrified him.

"You’re in the way. Go back," Akira scolded. Al had come to help, yet he had only become a hindrance. Part of his mind understood this, but the other part was driven by a relentless desire for blood. He wanted to taste that blood, to drink it, just as he had with Akira’s incredibly delicious blood.

"Al!" Akira’s shout finally brought his reason back into control. Al staggered backward, his legs wobbling. A severe wave of dizziness hit him, and he couldn’t stay upright. He instinctively tried to grab onto something, but there was nothing to hold on to. His knees buckled, and before he knew it, he was on his back, hitting his head hard on the stainless steel table behind him. He lost consciousness.

When Al woke up, he was lying on a sofa. The ceiling was low, and there were bookshelves and a desk along the wall. This wasn’t the procedure room; it looked more like a break room.

Akira was sitting in a chair across from him, watching him closely. When he noticed that Al had woken up, he asked, "How are you feeling?" Al realized that Akira was no longer wearing the rubber gloves, protective goggles, or apron.

"I want… to help… with the job…" Al mumbled weakly.

"We're on a break right now. There’s no reconstruction needed, and it’s not an autopsied body, so it shouldn’t take more than two more hours," Akira replied.

Al glanced at the clock in the room. It was past 11 PM.

"You were only out for about fifteen minutes."

Al furrowed his brow, fighting back tears. He had come to help but ended up fainting and needing to be cared for instead. He had caused more trouble than help. If he had known this would happen, he would have eaten a lot more liver at dinner.

"Are you hungry?" Akira asked, noticing Al's discomfort.

Al flinched. "N-No… not hungry."

"Don’t lie. When I picked you up, you were licking the blood off my apron. You were hungry and wanted blood, so you thought you could get some leftover blood by offering to help me, right?"

"N-No, that’s not… true!" Al protested loudly, causing his head to throb painfully, making him cry out, "Ouch!" Akira sighed and clicked his tongue in frustration.

"When I’m done with work, I’ll give you some of my blood… but until then, just lie down and rest."

Akira thought Al had forced his way in just to get blood. He was sure of it. No matter how much Al denied it, Akira wouldn’t believe him.

"I… I don’t need… blood," Al insisted with trembling lips.

"Don’t lie. I can see right through you," Akira said sharply.

"I don’t… need Akira’s blood," Al repeated.

Akira’s eyebrow twitched slightly.

"Akira’s blood… tastes bad," Al added.

Without saying a word, Akira left the room, slamming the door behind him so hard that the air seemed to vibrate. Al could feel the aura of anger radiating from him.

Lying on his side, Al cried. The truth was, Akira’s blood was incredibly delicious—so delicious that Al couldn’t stop once he started drinking it.

He was terrified of what had happened before. What if he couldn’t stop, even if Akira told him to, and he drank until Akira was on the verge of death? He might end up killing him this time. He didn’t want to experience that again, ever. That’s why he didn’t want Akira’s blood, even though the thought was excruciating.

Not only had he been suspected of forcing his way in just to get blood, but he had also collapsed and failed to help at all. It was all so pointless. If only he had stayed home quietly instead of insisting on coming along, he wouldn’t have caused Akira any trouble.

As the clock passed 1 AM, the door to the room opened. Akira stood in the doorway, scowling with his mouth drawn into a tight line.

"Come here," he said.

Was the work finished? Were they going home? Al slowly got up from the sofa. He had been of no help at all; in fact, he had only been a nuisance. If he hadn’t insisted on helping, Akira wouldn’t have had to deal with the extra trouble.

His head throbbed dully. Maybe the blow had cracked his skull. When he touched it, it seemed like he only had a small bump and no bleeding. Even if something was broken inside, it didn’t matter. The bones would heal, and the internal bleeding would eventually stop, given enough time.

Akira led him to the room just outside the procedure room. Inside was a familiar coffin. Hesitantly, Al peeked inside and saw the Black man he had massaged earlier, now lying there as if peacefully asleep. The haggard appearance had disappeared, replaced by a dignified elderly man in a pinstripe suit and a gray tie.

Although Al had already witnessed the effects of embalming with his grandfather’s body, he hadn’t expected the transformation to be so dramatic within just a few hours. The man’s worn appearance was gone, replaced with a well-groomed look. His eyelids were plump, his cheeks firm, and his mouth gently smiling. The elderly man lying in the coffin looked as though he had been touched by magic, thanks to Akira’s skilled hands.

"So beautiful," Al murmured, standing before the coffin.

"Really… beautiful."

"Come here," Akira called, and Al walked over to the corner of the room. When he saw what was there, he gasped.

"After embalming, a lot of waste fluids are produced. This is one of them. Normally, we add sulfuric acid to disinfect it before disposal, but I saved a little by attaching a bottle to the suction tube," Akira explained.

Al stared in disbelief at the red-black liquid collected in a plastic bottle about the size of a small bucket.

"You helped make that man a beautiful body. Just a little, but still. So in return, you can have some of what would have been thrown away. Go pay your respects and thank him."

Al slowly approached the coffin, crossing himself and pressing his hands together in prayer. He silently thanked the man who would ease his suffering. He begged for forgiveness, for a small portion of the man’s final life to be shared with this pitiful vampire.

After his long prayer, Al took the gallon (about 3.8 liters) of blood to the procedure room, used a cut-off piece of tubing as a straw, and drank deeply. The blood, with a faint taste of chemicals, somehow smelled of the southern lands, and tears welled up in his eyes.

The embalmed man was to be transported to the airport in the early morning. After a quick shower, Al and Akira spoke briefly with the woman at the reception desk before heading home. The digital clock in the car showed 2 AM.

On the drive home, Akira muttered to himself, "Is blood really that different in taste depending on the person?"

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