Stake and Wine

“I hate this,” Drake sighed. Between his tattered blue blazer and wrinkly slacks, he had hoped, at minimum, he would be able to tie his tie in a somewhat orderly fashion. But, like his rumpled red hair, his tie was committed to its mission to be as uncooperative as possible. 

“Then don’t wear it,” Brady replied, flatly, his attention otherwise consumed by whatever was happening on his phone. He lay splayed on Drake’s couch, just as he had a thousand nights before. “It makes you look too uptight anyway.” 

“It’s not the tie!” Drake replied with a huff, “It’s dating! Blind dating to beat it all.” 

“You don’t think she’s actually blind, do you?” 

“Maybe I should just try a rabbit like Lacey.” 

“I don’t think that’s legal,” Brady said, still consumed by the glowing screen held too closely to his face, “Not in the U.S. at least. Besides, you would need ten rabbits as long as it’s been for you.” 

“Wait, does my tie really make me look too uptight?” Drake asked, undoing the uneven knot he had just secured. When he didn’t hear some smart-ass reply, he looked over at Brady for the first time in minutes. “What are you doing over there anyway?” 

“I’m trying to make plans with a 6’4’’ deeply closeted football player,” Brady said mater-of-factually. After another moment, Brady popped up from the couch declaring, victoriously, “Anddd touchdown! Let’s have a look at you then.” 

Brady waltzed over to Drake, giving him a scan from top to bottom. “Yeah, lose the tie,” Brady decided, grabbing Drake’s tie, pulling it from his collar, and tossing it on the floor behind him. Brady gave his hand an exaggerated lick before plopping it on Drake’s head, working his cowlicks into a makeshift comb over. 

“Jesus Christ!” Drake swore, pulling away from Brady, “You’re an animal man! I wish I had a mirror I could see myself with in this godforsaken apartment.” 

“Trust me,” Brady laughed, “You don’t. Besides, that’s what you have me for! I do have to leave in ten though.” 

Drake walked over to the couch and plopped himself down, cradling his head in his hands. “I can’t do this,” he said, finally, “This is going to go exactly like it always does.” 

Brady walked over and sat beside him, placing his hand on Drake’s back. “You don’t have any other options man. You either hunt. Or you die. Just try to be anyone else but yourself. You’ll be fine.” 

Drake looked at Brady intently for a moment, before the two burst out laughing. 

Now it was Drake’s turn to pop up from the couch, declaring, “Okay! I can do this. It’s going to be fine. I’m going to be fine. I’m going now.” 

Drake walked over to a box of small orange pots with sprouting green fronds hanging from his window seal. He picked up a small canister of water and drizzled the plants before adding, “Just make sure you lock up before you leave. Okay?” 

“Sorry, I actually already put an ad on Facebook saying your apartment would be unlocked for the next few hours,” Brady retorted. Drake ignored him, making his way to the door. 

Brady called out from behind, “See you later alligator!” 

Drake arrived at the restaurant a good 30 minutes before their reservation. He told himself he was gentlemanly, ensuring he was always where he needed to be as promptly as possible. But, in actuality, it was his nervousness punctuated by the evenings plans that caused him to arrive so early, fully aware that his date would not be there until some time later. 

He checked his phone, debating whether he should text her and let her know that he had already arrived. Deciding that it would be best not to reveal the extent of his lunacy so early on, he decided he would wait a few minutes before sending his arrival text. He re-read their messages. 

“I will be the girl with brown braided hair in the light blue dress,” she had told him. 

“And I will be the red head in the blue blazer,” he had told her. 

At that moment, a blue text bubble appeared on his screen. 

“How’s it going?” Brady asked. 

“She’s not even here yet,” Drake replied, thinking to himself, Brady has probably been sacked a few times by now. 

He chuckled to himself and considered sending his brother the crude joke. But he received a message that caught him by surprise. “You’re going to be fine. Just have a good time.” 

Drake smiled at his brother’s message for a moment, before replying, “See you later alligator.” The bubbles of a pending message danced on the screen but disappeared after a moment. Drake pocketed his phone, taking in his surroundings. 

He was standing outside the restaurant, illuminated by fake lanterns designed to give the green veneer an “authentic look.” Small droplets of water began to pelt him from above. He debated whether he should wait inside. In that moment, he hated himself for showing up early. He knew in his heart of hearts that his date would not be here this early, so why was he? 

“Drake?” a high-pitched voice asked. 

His eyes darted over to a girl with brown braided hair wearing a light blue dress, a large brown leather bag strewn over her shoulder. She was petite with rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes that matched her dress. Though she was everything he had imagined and more, he replied dumbly, “Me?” 

“Oh, sorry,” the girl apologized, blushing, “I thought you were someone else.” 

“No no,” he stuttered in return, “I mean, I am Drake. Are you Emily?” 

“Oh! Yes! I am,” she responded, “It’s nice to finally meet you. I hope you haven’t been waiting long.” 

“Not long at all,” he replied, with a grin. He held the door to the restaurant open for her. “Let’s go in before the rain picks up.” 

The restaurant was far fancier than Drake was used to, and he wondered if Emily was more accustomed to these types of outings. A harpist played a soothing melody that wafted through the room. The waiters and waitresses wore well-pressed black dress attire. Every table was adorned with white linen and the cutlery glistened in the warm lighting like pieces of treasure on display. 

The service matched the ambiance, as the host immediately took them to their seats and provided them with a pair of matching menus. “This is my favorite place,” Emily told Drake as he perused the menu of overpriced delicacies, “Their garlic bread is to die for.” 

“I’m actually allergic to garlic,” Drake told her with a slight grimace. 

“Oh,” Emily replied, her tone dropping some, “Well I’m sure they have a lot of good food.” 

“Yeah, maybe just the salad then.” 

“So, what kind of music are you into?” Emily asked. 

“I know this sounds weird,” Drake started, “But I’m honestly not that into music.” 

“Oh,” Emily replied, “That’s okay. What are you into?” 

“Do you like superheroes at all?” Drake tried. 

“No, not really,” Emily said, “If I’m being honest.” 

The pair sat in silence. Drake’s mind raced for something else, anything else, they could potentially talk about. The thought crept into his mind. Don’t mention it, he thought to himself, Anything else but that. 

But, despite his better judgment, the words fumbled out of his mouth. “I’m into carrots.” 

“Sorry. What was that?” Emily asked, though Drake was nearly certain she had heard him correctly the first time. 

Please don’t make me say it again, Drake thought, before saying, “Carrots. I am, uh, into carrots.” 

“What do you mean . . . into carrots?” Emily asked. 

“I mean . . . I grow carrots,” Drake added, “In a little box outside my window. Chantenay, Nantes, Yellow Carrots, even Danvers. I grow all kinds.” 

“Oh! That’s very cool actually,” Emily said, her eyes alive for the first time since she saw Drake, “and I bet your eyesight is amazing too!” 

Drake stared back at her blankly. 

“Y’know, because carrots are good for vision,” Emily explained. 

“Right. Right,” Drake affirmed, with a nod. 

“So . . .” Emily started, “How did you get into carrots?” 

“Well, it was my mom really,” Drake continued, “During the potato famine our family, like the rest of Ireland, was starving of course. My mother met a man while traveling who promised her that in exchange for her children’s souls, he would give her a bushel of magic carrots.” 

“Wait, your mom was around during the potato famine?” Emily asked. 

“Sorry. Sorry. My great-great-grandmother,” Drake clarified, “Not my mom. Sorry.” 

“So, what did the magic carrots do?” Emily asked. 

“They didn’t do anything,” he replied, “They were just normal fuckin’ carrots.” 

“But what were they supposed to do?” she pressed on. 

“They were supposed to bring her great fortune,” he told her, his brows furrowing, “Which I guess they did. She started a pretty successful carrot business.” 

“Are part of some great carrot empire then?” Emily asked with a giggle. 

Drake laughed a little then, “No. Her kids helped with the carrots for a while, but she left them once she really started making money. Or, um, so I’m told.” 

“That’s terrible,” Emily said, more serious, before adding with a chuckle, “But maybe they were magic. Do you think your great-grandparents actually lost their soul to the carrot man?”

“No,” Drake laughed a little more, “I think they just got a weird hobby.”  

The waitress came by, leaving a large bowl of salad in the center of the table. Drake grabbed his fork to scoop a helping onto his plate, before dropping the fork with a loud, “Yelp!” 

“Are you okay?” Emily asked with a gasp. 

“I’m fine!” Drake tried to assure her through gritted teeth, “It’s just hot. It probably just came out of the dish washer or something.” 

“Our silverware is all made of sterling silver!” the waitress insisted, “We wouldn’t dare put them through a dishwasher!” 

Emily reached over and felt of Drake’s fork. “It feels fine to me.” 

“It’s fine!” Drake assured, “I can just eat with my hands for a bit.” 

Trying to prove his point, he shoved a too large fistful of greens and croutons into his mouth. 

The rest of their evening was filled with the same mix of gaffs and laughs. But, to Drake at least, the high points were undetectable in the ever-present glow of his weird idiosyncrasies. When the wine had been drunk and the waitress had been tipped an ungodly sum, Drake and Emily found themselves in front of the green veneer, the rain now replaced by a dampening fog. 

“I know you didn’t have a good time,” Drake told her, honestly, “But thank you for tonight.” 

“I had a good time,” she tried reassuring.  

“You don’t have to do that.” 

“I mean it.” 

“I want you to know that I know it’s not anything to do with you.” 

“Drake,” she started, placing her hand on his shoulder, and staring at him with her hypnotic blue eyes, “I really had a good time.” 

She leaned in, placing a delicate kiss on his lips. “You had a good time.” 

“I did,” Emily told him again with a giggle, “You know, the night doesn’t have to end yet.” 

“Oh?” Drake asked, genuinely confused. 

“I mean, I’m not going to fuck you,” she teased, “but we can go somewhere else, if you want.”

“Where?” he asked her. 

“Everywhere,” she replied. 

And so, they did go everywhere. They walked almost every cobblestone path of that foggy town that night. They swung on swings at the local park. They got ice cream at the only parlor in town open until the wee hours of the morning. Eventually, they stood on the shore and skipped rocks along the city harbor. 

All throughout the night, they talked. They told one another as many stories as one dared tell someone on a first date, and even a few stories that most would dare not tell. As the stars began to dim and the black sky began to soften into a deep violet, they knew their evening was coming fast to an end. All throughout the night, Drake tried to keep the nagging thought from his mind for as long as physically possible. 

They were sitting on the harbor’s edge when he finally said, “I have to leave before the sun comes up.” 

“You have a curfew?” Emily asked, giving him a light shove on the shoulder. 

“Something like that,” he laughed in response, before becoming more serious, “I wish this didn’t have to end.” 

“We could go out again sometime, y’know?” Emily teased. 

“I wish that were true,” Drake said, strangely somber. 

“Still not convinced I had a good time?” Emily questioned. 

Drake flashed her a melancholy grin. “It’s not that.” 

“What is it then?” Emily asked, a slightly annoyed tone to her voice, “You don’t like me?” 

Drake stood now, turning away from Emily. “No, god no,” Drake began, “It’s not that at all.” 

Emily stood now too. “Then what is it?” 

“I have to eat you now,” Drake said, turning to her, his face lowered. 

“Well, that’s very presumptuous of you,” Emily laughed, “I do appreciate the offer you know.” 

“It’s not a joke,” he told her. 

She looked at him for a long moment, an expression on her face that asked the question before it came out of her mouth. “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“I’m a vampire,” he told her, flatly. 

“Ah,” she laughed, “Are you more Edward Cullen or Nosferatu?” 

“I guess more Nosferatu,” he replied, with a chortle. 

“Prove it.” 

“No.” 

“Come on. Don’t be shy. If you’re a vampire, prove it.” 

“Fine.” 

He took a couple steps away from Emily. He closed his eyes, meditating, allowing his rational mind to slip away and the dormant, primitive part of his mind to take over. The longer he meditated, the more he felt a cool fall over his body, his skin turning paler. He felt the coldness collecting in his face, around his darkening eyes and elongating fangs. He opened his mouth to show Emily his fangs, and an involuntary “Hiss!” erupted out of him. 

Emily squealed, reeling from Drake, and falling backwards in the process. Drake’s concentration broke, his appearance returning to its resting state. “Sorry! Sorry!” he apologized profusely, before stepping towards her cautiously and extending a helping hand. 

She stared at him for a moment before taking his hand and rising to her feet. “No no,” she continued, “It’s my fault. I asked to see it. Definitely a vampire I suppose.” 

“Right,” he said, thinking to himself that she was taking this far better than he had anticipated. 

“And the carrot story?” she asked, “All true?” 

“My mother figured it was worth it to avoid starvation.” 

“So, this was all so you could . . . drink my blood?” she asked. 

“More or less, yes,” he told her. 

“And so, this wasn’t a real date?” she pressed on. 

“No no, it was,” he assured her, “I really had a great time. I just . . . also have to drink your blood.” 

“You could . . . not drink my blood,” she offered. 

“I either hunt or I die,” he said, looking down at his feet, a tone of disappointment hung heavy on his voice. 

“Are there no other options?” she asked.

This wasn’t his first time being on the other end of this conversation. Every person he had ever fed on tried to hunt for a way, anyway, out of this inevitable conclusion. But, this was his first conversation with Emily. After a long pause, he finally concluded, “There may be another option.” 

“Oh?”

“Look, I know we just met, but I could turn you.” 

“Turn me?” she asked, raising a quizzical eyebrow, “Like, into a vampire?” 

“Yes,” he offered, stumbling over his words, “That w-way I get to feed, and you get to live. Maybe w-we could even go on that second date.” 

“And if I say no?” 

“I-I don’t know.” 

She stared at him for a long moment, before stepping towards him, looking deeply into his eyes. “What if there was a third option?” 

“A third option?” he asked. She placed a long soft kiss on his lips then. As he opened his eyes, he looked at her for a second, trying to discern her meaning. 

He felt it before he saw it. It was as if all of the air exited his body at once, through his nose, through his mouth, and through its new escape hatch. He let out an audible “Gasp!” He looked down and saw the long silver rod protruding through her brown leather bag straight into his chest cavity. His thick brown blood was leaking out, staining his tattered blue blazer. 

He collapsed to the ground, and she leaned down over him. She watched him, intently, a million emotions flowing over his face. She grabbed the glistening stake and shoved it further still into his chest, puncturing his heart. She watched him for a moment, studying him, before placing a final soft kiss on his forehead. “You really should have just stayed home tonight, Drake.” 

She stood then, taking a few steps away from him. He watched as the first few rays of sunlight began to peak over the horizon. In those final moments, he was glad he didn’t stay home. He was glad that he had his night with Emily. It had been so long since he had seen the sun. He heard the buzz of her phone and saw her answer it through blurry eyes. 

“Yes, the target has been neutralized,” she told the person on the other end in a much more official sounding voice. 

The last thing Drake heard before his body erupted into a sea of dust was Emily ending her phone call with, “After while crocodile.”