Vampire and His Pleasant Companions: Volume 5 - Part 3

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Before noon, he was rudely awakened by the jolt of falling onto the floor.

Gary, Pat’s younger brother, was crouched over, peering under the low table while holding up Al’s clothes. When he noticed Al flailing upside down, he said, [Ah, pardon me,] then gently scooped him up and laid him belly-down on the edge of the sofa.

[I didn’t realize you were sleeping inside the clothes. Sorry. But if you nap around here, Beth might eat you.]

Beth was Pat’s half-wild black cat who only came into the living room at mealtimes. Considering the time of day, it really was dangerous.

Al responded with a “Gyak Gyak (I’ll be careful),” and Gary smiled in his usual suit-and-tie attire.

If Pat was the behind-the-scenes embalmer, then Gary was the face of the funeral home—always dressed neatly to greet clients.

Whenever Al stayed over in a room, he made sure to lock the door.

But one day he forgot. Gary, who came in to air out the room, discovered him in bat form and, without hesitation, tossed him out the window.

Pat later explained, [That’s just a bat I feed sometimes,] and he was officially deemed a familiar neighborhood bat.

Now, when he flew near the public-facing part of the home, he still got shooed away with a [shoo, shoo!] but when staying in the private quarters, he wasn’t mistreated.

In fact, he and Gary had begun quietly forming a bond.

[Were you partying with someone this morning, Biggy?]

For some reason, Gary called him “Biggy.”

Apparently, that was the name of a cat they’d had before Beth.

Al had protested many times—”Gyak Gyak (No, I’m Al!)”—but it seemed Gary thought he was responding to the name, so it stuck.

Pat didn’t bother correcting him. It probably didn’t matter to her.

As Gary folded Al’s clothes, he suddenly tilted his head.

[Hm?] He unfolded the shirt, turned it inside out… and then beamed with a wide grin.

Clenching his right fist, he whispered, “Yes.”

Then he bounded over to the opposite sofa and began shaking Pat awake.

[Sis, sis, wake up!]

Pat rolled over with a grunt and threw a punch, which Gary dodged with the agility of a cat. Perfect timing.

[Shut up!]

Pat glared with devilish fury in her eyes.

[Both bodies have been embalmed. That means it’s your job now. We finished at dawn, so let me sleep a little, will you?]

[Sis, you were dating Al, weren’t you!]

Al was startled by Gary’s excited voice.

Dating? Where had that come from all of a sudden…?

Tilting his head in confusion, he realized Gary was holding his clothes.

Still sprawled out on the sofa, Pat pressed a hand to her forehead and squinted at him, clearly annoyed.

[As if,] she muttered.

[You don’t have to be embarrassed. Al’s a great guy. He’s not violent, he’s patient, and he doesn’t do drugs.]

Apparently, Gary had quite a few thoughts about Pat’s past boyfriends.

[I said you’re wrong!]

Pat shouted, and Gary, triumphant, raised Al’s clothes like a trophy.

[Then how do you explain this?]

He clearly thought Al had stripped out of them after making love.

Pat, exasperated, muttered:

[Ah, that. He likes running around naked. It’s a hobby.]

A lie, of course. But said with such ease.

[Ehhhh?!]

Gary’s mouth dropped open.

Al, listening in, wanted to shout "Wait a second!" but as a bat, all he could manage was a sharp "Gyaaah!"

[...Na–naked...?]

Gary’s expression stiffened as if a thin layer of ice had frozen over his face.

[He says running around outside naked feels amazing. Like returning to nature, merging with the primal world,] Pat said something that sounded oddly convincing, even though it was completely made up.

[That might’ve flown in ancient times, but running around naked in modern-day L.A.? The cops would arrest him for sure.]

[So long as he doesn’t get caught, what’s the problem? He’s just running. The only one embarrassed is him—nobody else is being harmed.]

Still holding Al’s discarded clothes, Gary let out a heavy sigh.

[Al’s a good guy, but I just can’t wrap my head around this naked running thing. Sis, you should talk some sense into him. If he gets caught and arrested, it’d be tragic.]

[Quit your whining. I’m going to bed upstairs.]

Pat, seemingly fed up with her little brother’s nagging, left the living room.

Gary looked down at Al on the sofa.

[Why are there never any normal guys around my sister, huh, Biggy?]

"Gya gya!" ("That’s just a matter of personal taste...") Al chirped back.

Gary gave a lonely little smile.

[Sometimes I feel like you, who can’t even talk, understand me better than most people do.]

Al wanted to say, Maybe that’s true, but he couldn’t, not in this form. Gary gently lifted Al into his palm and patted his back.

[Good bat. Good little bat.]

Moved by their unspoken connection, Gary opened a window, and Al took off into the air.

He would’ve liked to bring his bike home, but it would be left back at Rose Funeral—nothing to be done about it now. Tonight’s commute would be by bus.

As a bat, flying low drew too much attention and risked becoming a target for bratty kids with rocks, so Al flew high, gliding over the city.

The sun blazed down, the air was dry, the ocean glittered, and the breeze carried the scent of salt. Roads stretched in every direction, crisscrossing the city, flanked by tall palm trees.

Compared to his hometown in Nebraska, L.A. was overwhelmingly urban. But once you got out of the upscale neighborhoods, there was a surprising simplicity and calmness to the streets. Maybe it was the warm weather, but the people felt relaxed too. Life was comfortable here.

And yet...

He still missed Japan—the sticky, humid air, the cramped puzzle-box cityscape, and the tiny rabbit-hutch room he used to live in.

When he finally arrived home on the outskirts of town, he slipped into his room through a crack in the second-floor window.

Landing facedown on his pillow, he let out a long "Gyuuuuh" of a yawn.

It was quiet downstairs—Kyiv must have gone out. Warm sunlight streamed through the window. Exhausted, Al’s eyelids grew heavy.

[Who are you living here with?!]

A woman’s shrill voice rang from outside, snapping Al awake.

The angle of the sun was low. The room had gone dark—probably evening, but since he was still a bat, that meant the sun hadn’t quite set yet.

[You’ve got it all wrong, Sheryl. This is just a friend’s place—I’m only crashing here for a while.]

That was Kyiv’s voice.

Peeking down into the yard through the window crack, Al saw the city’s infamous playboy and a stunning woman arguing on the porch.

Slim but curvy in all the right places—exactly Kyiv’s type.

[If they’re just an acquaintance, then there's no reason to hide where you live. You must be hiding something.]

Even though he should’ve used memory manipulation to avoid trouble in advance, this was unusual.

[Please, don’t be angry, Sheryl.]

Kyiv's fingers stretched gently toward the woman. Al assumed he was about to use memory manipulation, but instead, the woman shouted, [Don’t touch me!] and ran off.

Kyiv watched the sexy woman's retreating figure, gave a small shrug as if to say "oh well," and stepped back inside.

Al, still in bat form, fluttered down into the living room to find Kyiv changing his shoes. His jacket was different from earlier too. …He’d just gotten home, and now it looked like he was heading out for another date. Probably with someone other than the woman he had just argued with.

Kyiv went through girls like they were snacks—either because he had a huge appetite or because he was lonely...

[Ah, Al. You’re already up?]

Kyiv gently patted Al’s head, which was lying belly-down on the back of the sofa.

[By the way, I ran into Gary in front of the florist earlier. Is it true that your hobby is nude jogging now?]

Al gave a soft chirp, "Gyah gyah……(That’s, um…)"

[I couldn’t help laughing. Usually he just gives a nod when we pass in town, but this time he came rushing over and warned me again and again to make sure you don’t get arrested.]

Kyiv must have had a meeting to get to, because he headed out in a hurry. Al flew up onto the remote control sitting on the table, tapped a button with his little claws, and turned on the TV. A promotional video for the movie Great Hotel, produced by Richard, came on. It was an adaptation of a famous novelist’s long-term work, with plans already confirmed for three installments. The first part had been released a week ago and was getting great reviews. Richard was now busy shuttling back and forth between Florida and L.A. for the second part of the shoot.

In fact, Richard had offered Al a role in the second film. Al had initially declined, explaining that he could only appear at night, but Richard replied, [I’ll work around your schedule.] With colored contacts and a hair dye job, no one—either in America or Japan—would recognize him. Above all, when he was still human, Al had dreamed of one day appearing in a Hollywood movie. Getting a direct offer from Richard Carlisle felt like something out of a dream—but still, he couldn’t get himself to say yes.

He knew the reason: the possibility of returning to Japan. If he were to accept the role and shooting began, he’d have to stay in America until it was finished, even if an opportunity to return home came up. But honestly, there was no clear path back to Japan at the moment. So maybe he should just accept Richard’s offer… but what if he did get to go home? His feelings kept wavering, and he couldn’t decide.

The sun must have set, because while watching TV, Al returned to his human form. He quickly got dressed and prepared to head to his part-time job. Tonight, he had to take the bus to Rose Funeral. Buses ran less frequently at night, and if he missed one, he’d be late. A taxi would be too expensive, given his current wages. He wished he had a car, but if something happened and he got stopped by the police, it would be a mess. Unlike Kyiv, who could manipulate minds with 100% accuracy, Al only succeeded once every five tries. Putting everything on the line like Russian roulette was too risky.

Just as he picked up his wallet, the doorbell buzzed long and steady. Who could it be? Only a few people even knew he lived here. The image of Kyiv’s lady friend from earlier that evening popped into his head. If it was some romantic drama, that would be a headache. Cautiously, he peered through the door scope.

Despite the late hour, someone stood on the front porch wearing a black hat and a black coat. Judging from the build, probably a man… but his face was hard to see as he was looking downward. From beneath the brim of the hat, Al could make out pale, white-blond hair tinged with gray.

[Dick?]

He called out. The figure in the black hat gave a small nod. Al hurried to unlock the door.

[What are you doing here all of a sudden? Oh yeah, Martha did say you were coming back from Florida today.]

But the man didn’t respond. Instead, he lightly raised the brim of his hat with a gloved hand.

That face was—

[Eh, Stan?]

[Correct.]

It was Stan, the live-in housekeeper at Richard’s place. He narrowed his eyes and gave Al a friendly smile.

[There’s something I wanted to talk to you about. Mind if I come in?]

[Ah, but…]

The bus was coming soon. Noticing Al’s hesitation, Stan quickly added, [I won’t stay long, I promise,] and stepped into the room.

For someone as considerate as Stan, it was surprisingly assertive. Al began to explain:

[Actually, I’m just about to head out for work. I take the bus, but since they don’t come often at night, I need to hurry or I’ll be late…]

Stan turned around.

[I’ll give you a ride.]

That would give him some breathing room.

[In that case, I guess it’s okay if it’s just for a little bit.]

With both hands in his coat pockets, Stan narrowed his eyes.

[Actually, I overheard something about Akira. I thought I should let you know.]

Hope swelled in Al’s mind like spun sugar. Maybe Akira was coming to take him back. Maybe he had realized that leaving him behind had been a mistake... As Al clasped his hands together and waited for the next words, Stan glanced around the first-floor living room, as if teasing him.

[Your roommate isn’t here?]

[No, he’s out on a date. I don’t think he’ll be back until late tonight.]

Stan’s eyes, perhaps thanks to colored contacts, were the exact same pale blue as Richard’s. Why go this far to look like him? Noticing Al’s stare, he asked, [Are you curious about this outfit?]

[Yeah.]

[There was a surprise party at the studio to celebrate the success of the new movie. It was supposed to be the day before yesterday, but since he wasn’t in L.A., they pushed it to today. This getup was just part of the show. Pretty convincing, right?]

As he talked, Stan suddenly stepped forward with force. It was so abrupt that Al didn’t have time to dodge. There was a heavy thud, followed by a dull pain radiating through his stomach.

[Eh?]

A familiar sensation. No way... As Al looked down, a searing pain like a hot poker twisted in his abdomen, and he groaned, [Ughhh!]

[S-Stan...]

His abdomen grew wet and sticky, and the strength drained from his knees. Al crumpled to the floor, and in his vision appeared a knife soaked in blood—its handle firmly gripped in Stan’s hand.

[Wh-why...]

His lips trembled as he spoke. This was wrong. Even when he’d been shredded by a serial killer’s knife, he hadn’t felt this way... this terrible, full-body collapse. Something was really wrong.

Stan let out a soft sigh.

[Sorry, Al. I don’t have anything against you personally.]

He stepped closer to Al, who had fallen to the floor, and kicked his shoulder. Al tumbled backward, and the shock sent another wave of stabbing pain through his wounded gut. ...He couldn’t even scream. The pain was too intense, stealing his breath away.

[If I leave you like this, you’ll die eventually. But I want your 'certain death.']

The man straddled him. In a calm murmur, he raised the knife high.

In a reflex, Al crossed his hands over his heart.

[Ugh...]

The knife pierced through the backs of Al’s hands. Stan clicked his tongue, pulled the knife free, and roughly knocked aside Al’s injured arms.

[Stop, stop—my heart, not there...]

He was terrified. That knife was terrifying. It really felt like he was going to die. So not the heart—please not the heart. If he died...

[Please, stop...]

But his plea was in vain. Stan thrust the knife forcefully toward Al’s left chest.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

After Stan left, Al mustered the last of his strength and managed to pull the knife out—but after that, he couldn’t move a single finger. The knife, soaked in blood, had a handle with a familiar pattern. He recognized it from Richard’s house—an antique piece of silverwork… Silver… A dull pain pulsed through his chest, and he shut his eyes tightly.

Even after being stabbed in the heart with a silver table knife, he hadn’t turned to ash. Thank god... Maybe it was because he was only a half-vampire. But the blood—so much blood. From his stomach, his chest, gushing out like a broken pump...

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

I don't want to die.

Tears spilled from his eyes. If he died, he would never see Akira again. Never, ever again.

His phone was in his jacket, but he couldn’t reach it. His body, his arms, wouldn’t move. Just a few dozen centimeters away, yet unreachable. If I could contact Kyiv… maybe he’d come back…

Then, from inside his jacket, a ringtone buzzed. Who…? Was it Kyiv? Anyone would do—someone, please help. His will was strong, but his body felt as lifeless as if it had already died. The ringtone rang on and on. Ah, it was Pat. She was probably calling to scold him for being late to work. If only he could move just a little, if only he could lift his hand, if only he could tell Pat to help, if only he could ask her to give him blood—his body might be able to repair itself. But… he couldn’t do a thing.

Hope and despair spun around and around in his head. The ringtone went on endlessly. As he listened to it, Al’s consciousness sank deep into a dark place.

[.........Al...a...Al...Al!]

He heard his name being called and wanted to open his eyes. But his eyelids wouldn't budge, as if they’d been glued shut. Only the voices echoed in his ears.

[Hey, what the hell is going on here!]

Kyiv’s voice—more frantic than I’d ever heard it.

[Of all things, a silver knife?! Who did this?!]

His voice grew louder and softer like a broken speaker. When Al tried to open his mouth to speak, something warm and thick gushed out. Drowning in his own blood, he desperately moved his lips.

[I… want to see Akira]

Tears streamed down his face.

[If I have to die… I want to die… by Akira’s side]

[Al…]

Wailing sirens drew closer. Kyiv’s footsteps hurried about the room, then returned to Al’s side, where he clicked his tongue.

[Three patrol cars are already outside. …This is bad.]

He was lifted up. The moment he was moved, searing pain exploded in his chest like he’d been shot with a dozen bullets. No sound came out. His body just twitched like a dying fish.

The shrieking sirens, the orchestra of throbbing pain—everything blended together in his body, ready to erupt at any second.

Then he heard it—rushing water. He was being soaked in warm rain.

[Al, can you hear me? Be a good boy and open your mouth]

Kyiv grabbed his hair and pressed his face into something that smelled strongly of blood. Al sniffed, his nose twitching, and stuck out his tongue. The tip touched something sweet. In the next instant, he opened his mouth wide and bit into the source of the sweetness.

It was completely different from any blood he’d tasted before. So sweet, so thick, so delicious it made his head spin. If human blood was water, this was wine. It made him dizzy just drinking it. Al drank desperately, without stopping.

So focused was he on sucking blood that he didn’t even notice his bloody shirt being ripped off, or that the silver knife had been quietly tucked into his jeans waistband and hidden away.

Then the bathroom door burst open with a bang.

[Is someone in here!?]

A voice he didn’t recognize—but he didn’t care. A presence approached, visible as a shadow behind the shower curtain. And then, without hesitation, the curtain was pulled open. A young Hispanic officer—probably in his mid-twenties—met Al’s eyes and froze in place, his expression stiffening.

[H-hey! Wait a second!]

Kyiv let out an ear-piercingly shrill voice and clung to Al.

[What the hell do you think you’re doing, barging into someone’s house uninvited?]

The officer stammered, [Uh, well…] and stepped back a few paces.

[We received a report that someone had been murdered here…] he mumbled, flustered.

[Must’ve been a prank. It’s just me and him living here.]

Kyiv ran a wet hand through his black hair and furrowed his brows dramatically.

[Still, we—]

[If you think I’m lying, why don’t you ask the neighbors?]

The officer pressed his lips together with a sour look.

[But there’s a large amount of blood in the living room—]

[You mean his nosebleed?]

The officer blinked, looking like a pigeon hit with a peashooter.

[B-but that’s way too much for a nosebleed...]

[He’s got a lot of blood in him. Hey, if you don’t calm down, you’ll start bleeding again.]

Even as Kyiv tried to pull him off, Al wouldn’t let go. The wound from the stabbing was already healed. But he wanted more. He needed more. He wanted to keep savoring this delicious thing forever.

[Geez, I said stop already… ah… don’t bite! It hurts, I said it hurts…!]

Kyiv let out a breathy, nasal whimper, and the officer awkwardly turned his gaze away.

[…Ah, nn… Al, don’t grind your hips against me. What a naughty boy. Do you want him to see us making love? Or does being watched turn you on?]

The officer finally turned his back to them.

[A-a-anyway, I’d like to ask you a few questions. Could you please get dressed and come out of the bathroom?]

[But he won’t let go of me.]

[If everything’s in order, this won’t take long. Please cooperate.]

Still facing away, the officer spoke.

[…Then can you give us ten minutes? Let me finish first and then I’ll come… Ah—stop! No, Al, not there… you can’t…!]

Kyiv’s voice grew so suggestively sultry it could lure a cat in heat, and the officer hurriedly fled the bathroom. The door shut behind him. Kiev leaned in and whispered into Al’s ear.

…Kyiv leaned in and whispered near Al’s ear.

[Al, Al… can you hear me? Could you take a short break from drinking? I need to talk to the police. Your wound’s already healed, right?]

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand the situation. But he couldn’t unclamp his jaw. Even though he understood what Kyiv was saying, his body wouldn’t listen. A powerful instinct that overrode reason and emotion alike.

With a sigh, Kyiv gave Al a hard, unrelenting whack on the head.

[I’m not joking—cut it out already! I’m about to pass out from blood loss over here!]

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