Learning Curve

An hour before sundown. How typical that I should sleep for so long, only to awaken with the habit of rising early. At least my home is secure against sunlight, or I would have to lie in bed for that extra time until it was safe.

A glance at the big picture indicates that 25 years is not a long time. The very planet has been around a lot longer than that. But humanity and its ingenuity seem quite capable of speeding things along in a quarter century.

Take this "Internet." Data scattered electronically all over the globe, and all one needs is the savvy to milk it to find one's desires. However, care must be taken at every keystroke. It's not called the "misinformation highway" for nothing.

My first call was to Eddie using a fascinating little device called a "cell phone." I can only guess that it gets its name from its size. It's practically microscopic! And so many functions packed into it! Aside from its capacity to make a phone call, it also seems to be able to make movies, take pictures, store and play music, and play video games! Thankfully, Eddie left simple instructions on how to call him, rather than leave it to me to leaf through the sizable manual until I found the information I needed.

The first order of business from him was an explanation of some changes. One of our brethren took our secrets and dragged them into the public light, which had a reverse effect. In 1991, using the nom de plume of Mark Rein-Hagen, Jean-Paul du Lac released a game called Vampire: The Masquerade. The initial reaction from our kind, as I understand it, was one of panic; some of our greatest secrets were now available at any book store. Instead of taking it seriously, however, it was seen by mortals as merely a game and a great source of fiction. Oh, some have taken it as far as to engage in something called "live-action role-playing." Overall, the brethren's first reaction was much ado about nothing.

In turn, our society adapted certain aspects of this "game." Princes, Princesses, Barons, Governors, and Dukes were established around the globe. The other thing that seeped into our ways was a reference to the character sheet used in the game. It affected our way of speaking about others. Some examples:

1. "Careful. He's got all his dots in his arms and none in his head." This refers to someone who prefers to talk with his fists.
2. "Too many skills, not enough dots." It's our way of describing a witless wonder.
3. "I'll need more dice." More of something is needed. Be it time, resources, money, equipment...Usually its exact context is understood only by those directly involved in that particular conversation.

After these bits of information, Eddie told me exactly what happened after Sean attacked me. "If there were any dots in his head at the start, he erased them," Eddie said. "He double-clamped your jugular (meaning that he was feeding on me using all four canines, instead of just the upper set, as is normal). I didn't know that, so when I tried to pull him off you, a good chunk of your neck went with him. I was so freaked out that he'd started feeding on one of us that I didn't notice. Only thing going through my head was to remove his. None of it was pretty. My swing with the machete was wild, and kind of cut diagonally, from his right ear to his left shoulder. Only when I saw what was left of his jaw still trying to chew on nothing did I see bits of your neck stuck in his teeth. Then I really freaked, because one look at you and I could see you weren't closing."

Closing. It's a natural function of a brethren's body to seal a wound almost instantly. There are two primary reasons why closing would not occur. Either the wound is so severe that it requires extra time, or the body is so weak that it hasn't the strength to accomplish the deed. In my case, it might well have been both. You see, neither Eddie nor I could estimate how long Sean was feeding on me. No one stops to check the time under uncontrolled circumstances. Suffice to say, less than another minute and I would not be writing this.

"Anyway, I decorated the loon's body just enough to identify him as a cop-killer," Eddie continued, "which meant five-oh wasn't gonna be working too hard to find the 'vigilantes' that took care of justice for them.

"But then there was the joy of getting you back to your place and getting you to bed. First order of business was to get you some juice. I knew the younger the better, with 'nerd blood' being as close to a virgin as we were gonna get at that late hour. So I rubber-stamped (Eddie's way of saying he knocked someone out without really hurting them) some geek near the University of Redlands - the one in Burbank - and got him to you. Gave you just enough so that I wasn't completely dragging you every step of the way, and then we were headed back to your place."

It occurs to me that our kind tends to be a vicious lot. Feeding off one another may be taboo, but that doesn't mean an associate won't hesitate to put a live grenade in your mouth when you're at your weakest. But Eddie...For all his scheming and scamming, he's a stand up guy when he considers you a friend.

Eddie went on. "I knew you were still in real bad shape. I didn't know it was 25 years worth of bad shape, but bad shape nonetheless. You were gonna need someone to look after your affairs while you recovered, and I kinda figured I was responsible for getting you into this mess. So I asked you where you kept your 'care package' was, and, boy, I think you were all too happy to tell me. If you had a sister for sale, I could've bought her for a quarter!"

You need to understand...A "care package" is both a curse and a blessing. It's paperwork you sign that allows a third party to handle all of your affairs should you become incapacitated. It's a blessing if you have an Eddie of your own, because you know he'll do right by you. It's a curse if you make the mistake of signing control over to some self-involved idiot who'll drag you out into the sun the first chance he gets, then make off with everything thing you own.

My call with Eddie was rapidly coming to a close. "I'll be by in a few days," he said, "so we can go over some papers and you can see exactly what I did while you napped. By the way, your property taxes are insane. You were good on the financial front, but I took the liberty of re-investing some of the extra so you'd wake up and not have to worry about earning your next dollar right away. I had Cheryl handle the legalities of all that, including the taxes on earned interest.

"Speaking of Cheryl, it was either me or her that kept an eye on you. Every night, man, for twenty-five years. One of us would always check on you.

"In the downstairs storage, you'll find some grade A juice stored away. No bitching allowed that it's cold. I've been swapping it out whenever the date said it expired, cause I knew you'd need some 'get-up-and-go' right away when you decided to drag your lazy ass out of bed.

"Upstairs, you'll find the place spotless. Had a cleaning crew come in once every four months the dust the place down. Since regular people-types don't know where your real bed is, there was nothing to worry about. You'll also find that I added some furniture and something called a 'personal computer.' Man, I can't wait for you to find out what that baby can do."

We said our good-byes and he hung up, leaving me to imagine why he could possibly be so excited over a computer. I mean, really...What's so impressive about a Commodore 64?