[post] mortem Chapter Two: ...Too Young to Die

[ashleyleigh]

 

"So, can you take him?" Max asked.

"Of course I'll take him," his friend, Phil, replied. "What's wrong with him?"

"What would be wrong with him?"

"You never bring me anyone well adjusted Max," Phil said.

With a pout he added, "And not one who knows how to speak French either."

Phil, his name was really Philippe but no one seemed to pronounce it correctly, was French. He'd lost his accent long ago, but not the pride in his home country. Pride was a good word to describe Phil in general. Everything from the way he stood to the way he did his hair, the clothes he wore, and how he decorated his house were all well thought. He tried to play it off as if perfection just followed him wherever he went, but truthfully he worked very hard on his image. So long he forgot why he even bothered some time ago. It's not like he spent much of his time around other people anymore. Max was his only close friend and the vampires he took in never stayed for long. Long being a relative term of course. A long time to Phil, given that he had all eternity if he played his cards right, meant something very different than a long time to say, Max.

"Maybe he speaks French," Max said. "I don't know anything about him. Don't even know his name."

"He hasn't said anything?"

"After he asked me for help, he went silent," Max replied with a shrug. "Maybe he'll talk to you."

"Perhaps," Phil said. "We'll have to wait and see."

"If you find out anything, let me know," Max said. "I better get going."

As he started to leave, Phil said, "Do you have to go? I made some food."

"I really need to get some sleep," Max said, but he'd already agreed to stay before the full sentence came out of his mouth.

Meanwhile, Chuck tried to scrub himself clean in the shower. Even though all the blood washed away, he couldn't wash out all the jumbled thoughts in his head. None of it made any sense. How did he go from falling down the stairs in his house after a few too many shots of tequila to busting out of a coffin Kill Bill style and biting joggers on the neck? Had he been buried alive or something?

He put his hand to his chest, sure his heart would be beating rapidly, but he felt nothing. He looked down and realized his chest wasn't moving up and down. He hit himself in the chest over and over as if that would jump start things, but it didn't work.

And then he remembered something that man said, Max or something, as he pulled Chuck into his car. He kept saying the word vampire. He didn't mean Chuck did he? He couldn't have.

Now in full panic mode, Chuck got out of the shower. He turned to the mirror to get a good look at himself, but there was nothing to see. He had no reflection.

A loud thud sent Max and Phil running to the the bathroom where they found Chuck unconscious on the floor.

"He probably saw he has no reflection," Phil said with a knowing nod. "Happens all the time."

Max looked down at Chuck, getting a good look at him for the first time.

"Does he look familiar to you?" he asked.

"No, not really," Phil answered. "He looks young though. Maybe even younger than I was when I was turned."

"Don't you dare tell that story."

"I don't see why I shouldn't," he said. "It's a very good story. In fact, I've punched it up lately. There's an entire part you've never heard before."

"You mean a part you made up?"

"It's my life," Phil said. "I'm allowed to embellish."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Max said. "You sure you've never seen him before?"

"I'm sure Max."

But Max didn't need Phil's help. He just kept looking at Chuck and suddenly it all clicked.

"It's the books," he said. "Those mystery novels you read. James Cloudy or something."

"It's James St. Cloud," Phil said. "But what does that..."

And then Phil recognized Chuck. He'd seen his face on the back of those books so many times.

"That's Charles Henderson," he said. "He died last week. Can't believe I didn't recognize him."

"How'd he die?" Max asked.

"Nasty fall down the stairs."

Max went silent, and for an instant, just an instant, a concerned look flashed across his face.

He cleared his throat and said, "Well,..uh...as soon as I get into the office in the morning I'll look up all the files on him and see if I can figure this out."

 

He left without saying another word.

"Hey! How am I going to get him off the floor!" Phil yelled.

But Max didn't answer.

Phil shrugged and walked away, leaving Chuck there.

_____________________________________________________

Early the next morning, Delia was arriving at work when her cell phone rang. Curiously the call came from her own law firm.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Chastain, his is Aaron Michaels. I'm calling pertaining to the will of one Charles Henderson."

"What? What do you mean?"

"He listed you as a beneficiary," Mr. Michaels said. "You didn't know?"

"We talked about it, but that was years ago," Delia answered.

"Well, you're in it," he said. "Can you come to the reading today?"

"Today?"

"Yes, it was his mother's request to as she said, 'Get it over with'."
 

With a sigh Delia said, "That sounds like her."

"So can you come? It's at six."

"Sure. I'll be there."

"I'm in office 412. Just tell my secretary Magda who you are and she'll let you right in."

And then he hung up.

This was so not how she wanted to start her day.
 

_____________________________________________________

 

 

 

At the police station, Max had just arrived to look over Chuck's file when Ray bounded over and sat down next to him. Ray was like that lost puppy who followed kids home when it came to Max. Whenever they crossed paths at work, there he was, chatting away whether Max wanted to listen or not. Max wasn't sure why Ray liked him so much. Max never dared ask because Ray was harmless, and honestly he didn't care.
 

"What are you doing here?" Ray asked, beaming. "I feel like I never see you during the day."

"Just looking through some case files," Max answered. "Or I'm trying to."

"I'm not going to take up too much of your time," Ray said. "I just wanted to invite you over my place tonight to watch the game."

"I don't know about that."

"Oh, come on! It'll be fun."

"You do know it's a Tuesday don't you?" Max asked. "I have to work."

"The Freak Shift doesn't start until midnight."

Max hated that people called the late night shift that. Not that wasn't accurate, but it just felt unsavory.

With a sigh he asked, "What time should I be there?"

"Seven," Ray said. "See you there."

Max said, "I can't promise you anything," but Ray wasn't listening.

Ray never listened to anything Max said. He was annoying like that, but Max also found him refreshing. He probably would go to that party. He liked baseball and there would beer. Max had a feeling he would need a few alcoholic beverages later.
 

He quickly pulled up the file on Chuck's death. Just as Phil said, he died after a fall down a fight of stairs in his home. His brother found him the next day and he was declared dead by paramedics on the scene. A quick look at the autopsy photos also revealed nothing suspicious. Not a single bite mark or injury that couldn't be explained away by the fall. So how the hell was he walking around undead and fancy free at Phil's house?

He immediately picked up the phone and called the morgue.
 

"It's Detective Lee. Is Roman there?"

The woman on the other end answered, "He's working the night shift tonight."

"Of course he is," Max said. "Just tell him I called about the Henderson case."

He was really going to need that beer.
 

_____________________________________________________

 

 

 

Meanwhile, Phil stood in his kitchen busying himself preparing a drink when Chuck shuffled into the room.

"Knew you'd wake up eventually," Phil said. "How are you feeling?"

But Chuck didn't answer. He just stood there, looking.

"Still not talking I see," Phil said. "No problem. I can talk enough for the both of us. Sit."

But Chuck wouldn't sit.

"Fine, I'll just talk," Phil said. "I'm Phil and this is my house. Some people call it a halfway house, but I don't like to call it that. Think of this place as a sanctuary. You can stay as long as you want."

When Chuck didn't respond again, not even a grunt, Phil continued, "I've had this house for about twenty years, and it's very important to me. As long as you're here you can consider it your house as well, but if I find blood on my sofa...well...let's not think about that."

He then finally realized why Chuck ignored him. He wasn't looking at Phil; he was looking right past him to his drink on the kitchen counter.

"I'm not usually up this early, so I needed a little pick me up," Phil said. "A+, little lamb, and some pepper. My favorite. Want me to make you one? You have to be starving."
 

Chuck visibly recoiled.

Phil shrugged and said, "I'm going to have to give you the complete rundown aren't I?"

He cleared his throat as he thought of how to approach this. Over the years he'd prepared many different versions of the introduction to vampirism speech. He usually tailored the speech to fit the person, but Chuck was difficult to read. All Phil knew about him he'd read on the back of his books, and half of that was probably lies. He sure didn't look like he loved to rock climb.
 

With no ideas, he sighed and said, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

It took a moment but Chuck finally said, "I died."

"That's a start," Phil said. "And?"

"I died," he repeated with a shrug.

"You have nothing else to share?" Phil asked. "Beautiful, irresistible even, woman with really long teeth maybe?"
 

Chuck just looked at him as if to say, "Are you kidding?"

"Man then?"

Again, the same look.

Tired of skirting around the issue with no response, Phil said, perhaps a bit too loudly, "Vampire, Chuck. Do you remember a vampire?"

Down on the ground he went again.
 

"Guess I'll try again later," Phil said with a shrug.
 

_____________________________________________________

Meanwhile, Delia stood in one of the restrooms in her law office trying to get herself together. She took deep breaths as memories of what she just heard swirled through her brain.
 

"Entire estate."

Those two words, as uttered by Chuck's lawyer, replayed in her head over and over again. He'd given her everything. She held all the copyrights for his published work, would receive all his royalties, and anyone who ever wanted to make a film adaption of his books would have to go through her.

The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. How dare he saddle her with all this responsibility? Their break up was a mess of lies, seemingly endless fights, betrayal, and canceled wedding plans. She never did get the deposit back for that damn ice sculpture.

She'd made it perfectly clear in very colorful language she wanted nothing more to do with him, and although in three years her hatred of him subsided greatly, he'd respected her wishes. He did send her birthday and Christmas cards, but she never could bring herself to open them. Their relationship was a chapter of her life she never felt the need to revisit. All the good memories were tainted by those last bad ones.

Did he really think she would want to be burdened with his life, his legacy for the rest of her life? That stupid, selfish...
 

"Son of a bitch!" she screamed.

She pulled herself together and walked back outside to see everyone in the lobby looking at her, including Chuck's brother Jamie.
 

"I was just...um...relieving stress," she said with a shrug.
 

"Hey, he gave me the house he died in," Jamie commented. "Worst will ever."

She cracked a small smile and asked, "Do you need a ride home?"

"Mom high tailed it out of here already, but I have my bike," he replied.

"How about dinner then?"

With a nod he said, "I could eat."
 

_____________________________________________________

About an hour later, the two sat outside in a nearby park. After dinner despite a few sad attempts, they were unable, unwilling, to part ways.

"I guess I better get going," Jamie said with a sigh.

"You say that like we're never going to see each other again," Delia said.
 

"Why would I see you again?" he asked. "I don't have any other relatives left whose deaths will lead us to cross paths."

"I never knew you wanted to see me," she said.

Jamie shrugged and said, "I guess I didn't know realize how much I missed you until I saw you at the funeral."

She nodded, unsure of what to say.

"Hey, don't look like that," he said. "You had every right to cut every Henderson out of your life after how it ended with you and Chuck."

"But you're not Chuck, you're just a kid who got caught in he middle."

"Hey, I'm not a kid! I'm sixteen."
 

"You know what I mean," she said. "If you ever want to talk or hang out or anything, just call."

_____________________________________________________

 

When Delia arrived home, Max stood outside seemingly looking off into space. Every time she saw him, he seemed to be doing something strange or acting strangely. But out of all her brother's friends, she found him the least offensive. He didn't bore her with sports stats or exaggerated on the job stories or hit on her shamelessly while her brother only stood a few feet away. He just talked to her like she was a person, not Ray's hot lawyer sister as she'd heard herself called on numerous occasions to her face.
 

"Planning on going inside anytime soon?" she asked.

"I was, and then I realized that while I do enjoy beer and baseball, I dislike most of your brother's friends more," Max replied.

"My brother doesn't have the best taste in friends," she said. "Present company excluded of course."

"You sure about that?" Max asked with a smirk.

"My brother goes on and on about you," she said. "And sometimes I actually listen to what he says."
 

She then said, "I'll make you a deal. I'll go if you go."

A cell phone call interrupted their conversation.

Max said, "It's work. I have to take this," before answering.
 

Roman the medical examiner asked, "Are you alone?"

"Not really," Max answered.

"Well, just keep on smiling and listen," Roman said. "I did the Henderson autopsy myself. No bite marks, no strange markings, no nothing. He got drunk, fell down the stairs and died."

"That's it?"

"That's it."

"Well, that sure does change things," Max said. "Thanks for your help."
 

_____________________________________________________

Minutes later, Max sped down the road in his trusty black sedan as he spoke to Phil on the phone.

"Please don't freak out," he said. "You're freaking out aren't you?"
 

"You just told me Chuck was turned after he died," Phil said. "Of course I'm freaking out!"

"Phil..."

"Don't 'Phil' me!" he snapped. "Zombie vampires are as unpredictable as they are dumb. One minute they're playing with the lint between their toes, and the next they're ripping your head off. I like my head, Max!"

"I'll be there in a minute okay, just take care of him until then."

"How?"

. "You're a 200 year old vampire! I'm sure you can figure something out."

"I'm a pacifist!"

"You like your head don't you?"

"Fine," Phil said before hanging up the phone.
 

Fangs out, he tip toed down the stairs and into the kitchen, ready to pounce.

"Is that you Phil?" Chuck called out.

Phil quickly hid his fangs and said, "Yeah, it's me. Just...hey, is that my shirt?"
 

"I found it in this chest in the basement," Chuck answered. "You don't mind if I borrow it do you?"

"When did you start talking?" Phil asked.

"Well, I was so hungry so I finally drank some of that...red stuff...you have in your refrigerator," he replied. "It was like...I can't even describe it. I don't know what's in that, but it's amazing! Everything was so cloudy before, and now...well, it's not."

He continued, "Usually I have more of a way with words, but it's been a weird day."
 

"You can say that," Phil agreed.

"So let's say, hypothetically of course, that I'm buying this whole vampire thing," Chuck said. "I don't sparkle do I?'

Phil had to keep himself from fainting.