The Tome of Bill Compendium Vol. 1 (Books 1-4) (11 page)

“I'll live,” I answered, inwardly amused by the irony.

“Good,” Ed replied, recomposing himself quickly. He stood there, thinking for a second, and then shook his head in an apparent attempt to clear it. “We can discuss how you became flammable later. We're already late for the conference bridge.”

“What conference bridge?”

“You didn't read Jim's email, did you?”

“It was the weekend,” I lamely countered.

“And hence why I exist: to save your dumb ass. Come on.” He turned and walked out. Gotta love Ed. Shit just doesn't faze him. I can't honestly say that if our positions were reversed I could turn from
holy crap my roommate is on fire
to
oh, dear, we're late for a meeting
on a dime. But, then again, a great humanitarian he is not.

I followed him to his office/bedroom. Sitting down, I became acutely aware of my just woken (
and still smoldering
) state.

“Skype?” I nervously asked.

“Fortunately not. Just a call, no video,” he put the phone on speaker and began to dial. Thank god for small favors. I was definitely not looking my best (
even aside from the few wisps of smoke still coming off me
), and, since Sheila, my aforementioned unrequited love, was my boss’s admin, hers would be the first face to see us during any teleconference. Instead, I got to hear her melodious voice picking up on the conference bridge and connecting us with Jim's office. It wasn’t as nice as seeing her, but it was a good enough fix to start my day.

We spent the next hour or so listening to our boss have a near panic attack. The higher-ups had reprioritized several projects (
as the higher-ups in companies tend to do
) and, since they were now giving us new orders to jump, we had to figure out the “how high” part. Jim, as usual, treated all of this like the end of the world, and had to be reassured by us several times. Our boss sometimes tends to forget that we make games, not cures for cancer. Keeping things in perspective is not his strong suit.

Once he was done giving us our marching orders, we promised him that we'd both leap into things feet first the second we were off the call, and then hung up. Ed and I stared at each other from across his desk for a few seconds before he asked, “Coffee?”

“Definitely. Just...”

“Keep the shades down? Yeah, I kinda figured.”

We went out to our kitchen where Ed threw a fresh filter into the coffee maker and set things brewing. I ran to brush my teeth and throw on a fresh pair of clothes (
the ones I had been given went straight into the trash...no amount of detergent washes out dead guy stink
). By the time I came back, he was sipping his coffee and had one waiting for me in my
Dr. Who
mug (
the Tardis appears when you put a hot drink in it
). I took a couple of slurps and then said, “Much better. I feel human again.”

“Do you?” he asked, nonplussed.

“Yeah, about that. Kind of a funny thing...”

“So... you're a vampire now?” he just blurted out.

“Well, let's not jump to...”

“You burst into flames when I opened your shades.”

“I can explain that.”

“Your hand is already healed.”

I looked down as he said that. Hey, he was right. Despite that, I gave a noncommittal shrug in return. “Vitamins can do wonders for the immune...”

“And the refrigerator is full of blood.”

“Noticed that, eh?”

“Kinda hard to miss,” he said in that same bored tone. “So, that means you're either a vampire, or a psycho, and, to quote George Clooney, ‘Psychos do not burst into flames when sunlight hits them.’ Thus, you must be a vampire.”

“So...” Damn, this was going a
lot
differently than I imagined it would.

Without warning, he leaned across the table and stared me directly in the eye. “Do you want to confess, or should I just call the cops?”

“WHAT?” I blurted as hot coffee spit from between my lips.

“Tom. He's missing and the fridge is full of blood. It doesn't take a genius to figure out...”

“Dude, I didn't touch him, I swear I don't know where he is. He wasn't home last night. You can't think...” I stopped when I noticed that Ed was now wearing a shit-eating grin. “Asshole!”

“Sorry, couldn't resist. Tom stayed over at his parents’. He was heading straight to the office from there.”

“Dick!”

“So says the guy cooling off blood clots next to my diet Pepsi.”

“I'm surprised you're not freaking.”

“I don't freak,” he said bluntly.

“You kinda did when I burst into flames earlier.”

“You caught me by surprise. Next time, I'll just whip out the marshmallows.”

“Touching. So, what now?”

“What now? Obviously we get back to work before Jim calls again and has an aneurysm this time.”

“Good point. But still, we get back to things just like
that
?” I asked, not quite ready to believe it had been that easy.

“For now, at least. Once Tom gets home, we can sit down and talk about this. At least that way I won't have to listen to your story twice.”

“You're not afraid I might try to...” I put on my best euro-trash vampire accent. “...suck your blood?”

“It's not my
blood
I'm worried you'll try to suck,” he smirked. I gave him a withering glare in return. “Seriously, though, I’m not. You could have done so last night while I was asleep, and you didn't. That kind of says all I need to know about it. And, besides, it's daylight now. I'm not particularly scared of someone I just need to open the blinds to defeat.”

“What about Tom? Think he'll freak?”

“Are you kidding? We'll both need to be wearing raincoats for the ensuing nerdgasm he'll probably have.” With that, he got up and went back to his desk. He probably had a good point. The three of us were a lot alike. What didn't faze one of us probably wouldn't faze any of us. If Ed and my positions had been reversed, I'd probably be taking it fairly well, too.

On the other hand, I'd probably also excuse myself during lunchtime to go out and stock up on some holy water...just in case. But, hey, maybe I'm just paranoid.

The day passed fairly quickly since we both had full plates of work to throw ourselves into. It turned out to be fairly productive, too, as I discovered that I was able to type quite a bit faster now. The whole being a blood-sucking walking corpse thing was going to take some adjusting to, but I wasn't going to complain much if one of the side effects of my newfound abilities was going to help me get a nice bonus at year’s end. Anyway, aside from some work related questions for Ed, I stayed in my respective “office,” with maybe the exception of a quick break at lunch time to grab a liter of blood (
and some Cheez-its. What? I was just trying to find out if I could still eat regular food
).

We knocked off around six p.m. One of the key skills of being a developer was knowing when enough is enough. One would want to put in enough effort to be a valued asset (
always good to be one of those during any layoffs
), but not so much that you'd be a sucker doing work above and beyond what you're being paid for. Since the sun was now low enough that I wouldn't run the risk of turning into a tater-tot the second I stepped outside, I accompanied Ed to pick up some Chinese food for dinner, and then we came back to wait for Tom.

I had noticed earlier that, while I was still capable of eating solid food (
thank god
), it didn't quite seem to satisfy me the way it used to. The taste was fine, but it was like eating a giant salad (
for me, anyway
) in that it seemed to be missing something. While we ate, I mentioned this to Ed in passing.

“Well, it's not surprising,” he said in between mouthfuls.

“No?”

“Not really. Think about it. Your digestive tract is probably all rewired. It’s kind of like this: I used to date this Goth chick who always kept some cow blood in her fridge to freak out her friends. Anyway, she was telling me one day after sex (
thanks for the extra info, Ed
), that she tried drinking it a few times. I guess she was trying to walk the walk or some shit. A sip or two was okay, but anything more than that and she'd wind up puking her guts up. The same would have probably happened to you a few days ago. But now you can safely guzzle it down. In fact, I'd bet that whatever it is that you feel you're missing from
that
,” he motioned toward my lo mein, “you probably get from the blood. Am I right?”

“Yeah. That could be it,” I considered. “Like a Snickers, it satisfies.”

“Thanks for forever ruining Snickers for me. Anyway, I'm no nutritionist, but my guess would be that you're probably now getting your daily needs from the blood. As for the rest, it's the nutritional equivalent of eating cardboard.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Okay. I guess that makes sense.”

“Yep. So I'd imagine that
feast
before you would probably pack a better punch if you poured some blood on it.”

There was definitely some logic to that, enough to make it worth a try. I got up, went to the fridge, and pulled out a pint as Ed watched me. I poured it onto my food and then nuked the concoction for a minute. Sitting back down, I was about to dig in when a bit of self-consciousness hit me.

“Is this going to gross you out?” I asked.

“Probably. But, then again, is it really any weirder than some of the shit Anthony Bourdain eats on his show?”

“Good point,” I took a bite.

“Well?” he asked expectantly.

“Best Chinese food I've ever eaten.”

“That's probably not saying much.”

“Wanna bite?” I held out a forkful toward him with a grin. “You know you want to.”

He sighed disgustedly in response. “Pass. By the way, please tell me that's animal blood.”

“You know, I'm not entirely sure. Kinda forgot to ask on the way out.”

“That's comforting,” he said, oozing sarcasm.

I was about to open my mouth to say more when the front door clicked open and my other roommate, Tom, walked in. He was an inch or so taller than me, of slightly thinner build, and had dirty blond hair - close cropped to disguise the fact that it was already starting to thin on top. His suit was disheveled from a full day at work, and he was carrying both his laptop bag and suitcase.

Okay, this was it. I had one non-freaking roommate. Just one more and I'd have a complete set. However, he started talking excitedly before either of us could speak.

“Hey guys,” he said, tossing his sports jacket onto a nearby chair. “What a weekend. I scored like a mofo. You won't...”

“Scored?” I interrupted. “How
is
your sister, by the way?” Sorry, couldn't help myself.

He casually flipped me the finger, continuing as if I hadn't spoken. “Mom wanted me to stay an extra day to drive her around, because Dad had some shit to do. I hate being her chauffeur, but this time it was worth it.”

Ed chimed in, “Dude, we have to talk.”

“Yeah, in a second. So she wanted to go to this flea market - fucking things. Normally you couldn't pay me to root around in someone else's shit, but...”

“Tom, it's kind of important,” I interrupted.

“Not as important as this,” he said, blowing off both our entreaties. “I found this stoner selling a bunch of crap and you wouldn't believe what he had.” He reached into his suitcase and pulled out a wad of bubble wrap, which he immediately started to unravel.

“Tom...”

“Check it out, bitches,” he proclaimed, holding up his prize, a small but easily identifiable toy. “Optimus fucking Prime! Is this cool or what?”

Ed and I both gave each other a glance. We'd seen this before.

“That's great. Really, it is. But I have something important to tell you. I'm a vam...”

He cut me off again, “Are you two always going to be retards? Don't you get it? I paid
ten
bucks for this. TEN BUCKS! First generation, mint out of the box with all accessories. The sucker didn't have any idea what it's worth.” I could almost see the manic glee in his eye as he continued, unabated. “Christ, in a couple of years I'll be able to send my kids to college with this thing...no, fuck that...I'll be able to send
myself
to live on some island where the drinks and the pussy flow freely.”

I stood up and walked over to him, knowing that if I didn't stop him now, we'd be listening to this psycho obsessive crap all night.

“Tom...”

“Sorry, Bill. You're my bro and all, but Prime here is the new priority. I just gotta let you know,” he said, only half kidding. “If this place catches fire, I save him first, myself second, and then maybe you guys, if there's time.”

“Okay, enough of this shit,” I grabbed the action figure from his hands. “We have something that we need to talk...ab-OUCH! FUCK!” I yelled as there was a searing flash, and suddenly, for the second time that day, my hand was in flames. I dropped the toy and started waving my arm around in pain.

Tom responded with a panicked, “Don't fucking break it...” and then just as quickly stopped as what happened finally started to sink in.

Speaking of sinks, I immediately raced to ours to douse my hand.

For also the second time that day, Ed was nearly speechless. “What the hell just happened?” he asked numbly.

“You tell me,” mumbled Tom, absentmindedly retrieving his toy, and cradling it like a mother would a small child.

“Goddamnit that hurt!” was the best I could offer as way of explanation.

* * *

A few minutes later, we were all seated around the table. After making sure I was all right, Tom went and locked his action figure (
complete with real Kung-Fu death grip, apparently
) in his room. I had wrapped a wet dishrag around my hand and taken a seat opposite him.