[Jerome_the_Vampire:_Renfield]

by Mimi Jones-Taylor

            Snare hat bass hat snare hat bass hat snare hat bass hat snare hat bass hat…
            You’re pounding your life away on the drum kit. You’ve been doing quite well. You’ve been taking your prescribed medicine, and you’ve been following all the instructions. You slam the last beat, and just before the lights go off, you catch a glimpse of her. In fact, she’s so close, you can smell her. Security is just pulling her over the rail. And she looked right at you. You motion for a water boy and you give him the thumbs up sign and nod towards the beefcakes at the front of the pit. Everyone has their own sign, but the guys like you a helluvalot more than they like Jeordie (that selfish prick). You have to make sure you get to them before he even sees them. God knows what you could catch if he got to them first.
            “Good night, Cleveland!”
            Your head is going to be a hole if you have to keep playing that fucking song. Still, you smile and throw your sticks into the audience. Hell, they ate up the Trent does Tom Jones routine; of course they go ape shit over the Van Halen exit. So fucking predictable; it’s a wonder that you can keep your faces straight during the whole show.
            You stroll backstage, and find a beef man dressed in yellow. You ask him if they got the message. He nods, and points twice down the hall. They already have her waiting in the sick room. Perfect.
            “Dude, wanna go grab a beer?”
            Oh it’s that crazy fucker Aaron again. You know, if he had boobs, he’d be kinda cute, but he also smells funny. Can you risk standing near someone who smells like rotting brie.
            “Sorry, dude. Gotta go take my meds.”
            “Dude, you’re worse than the T-man. Who the fuck am I supposed to hang with now?”
            “Sorry, dude. Do you want me to die?”
            “No.”
            Aw, isn’t that cute. He looks like a lost puppy. Your mouth begins to water.
            “Dude, how long you gonna be? Ten, twenty minutes? I can wait for you.”
            The desperation in his voice is almost adorable. Aaron looks so vulnerable right now. Still, that ammonia note and funky cheese smell hit your sinuses. But you could do something to change that.
            “Tell you what,” you say, “Why don’t you hang out with me, and as soon as the meds kick in, we’ll go for a beer. Cool?”
            Aaron’s eyes perk up like a kid’s at Christmas.
            “Cool, dude! Where are we going?”
            “Just back here.”
            You lead him down the corridor to the room with the rusted door. You take one last long look down the hallway. Nobody’s even missed you guys yet. You nod towards Aaron as you open the door.
            She’s waiting inside, sitting up on the sagging cot that acts as the makeshift sick bed. The scent of wasted deodorant hangs in the room like bats sleeping in a belfry.
            “Hi,” she says seductively. You glance back at Aaron. He’s smiling, but has a quizzical look. Soon. Soon he will understand, too.
            “Hey,” you say. “How are you feeling? I saw the way Security dragged you out of the pit.”
            “Oh, um, yeah,” she answers. “That kinda sucked. But my ribs were poking into my lungs, so it was probably a good thing that they got me outta there.”
            You give a knowing glance to Aaron. He cocks his head and smiles back. Could this moment be any more perfect?
            “Dude.”
            That cute little voice takes you out of your reverie.
            “I thought you had to take your medicine.”
            “I do,” you say. “I am.”
            The sweaty skank screams as you throw Aaron’s skinny body against the wall. His head hits the bricks with the thud of a sledgehammer dropped from a broken wrist. His eyes cross to look at you; the light brings out the purple tones in his hair. You hear her feet slam against the floor as she bolts from the bed.
            “What are you doing?” she cries from right behind your ear. Using the pent-up strength in your arm, you fling her like a rag doll back towards the bed. Aaron’s breathing is becoming stilted, and drool is leaking from the corner of his mouth.
            “Dude, what is this?”
            “I’m taking my medicine,” you answer. “And I’m going to share it with you.”
            “What?”
            “Listen,” you say, “this medicine will give you strength beyond your wildest dreams. You’ll be able to take the T-man and chuck him halfway across the stage. Plus, and this is the best part, you will be able to smell the best pussy from half a mile away. And you’ll be able to tell if they’ve even been near Jeordie.”
            “Dude?”
            “Come on, man, what do you say?”
            You’ve definitely piqued his interest.
            “Ah, what the fuck, dude…I’ll try anything once.”
            Your eyes light up with glee.
            “So how do I take this? Smoking? Drinking? Snorting? What?”
            You lower Aaron from the wall. The light strikes the pale crease inside his elbow.
            “Close your eyes,” you say softly. “And don’t move.”
            Aaron is as complacent as a four-year-old girl. You roll up his sleeve, and sniff out the right spot.
            “No peeking,” you say, as you sink your teeth into the bit of bulbous flesh above the elbow line. Wow, he tastes better than he looks. And definitely better than he smells. His blood is almost syrupy, like grenadine mixed with metal filings. When you’ve had enough, or rather, when you stop yourself from having more, (because you could literally eat him all up, that little minx) you quickly open the wound that was left on your arm, and hold Aaron’s nose. As his instincts open his mouth, you drop three drops of your blood onto his tongue, and hold his jaw closed. He widens his eyes as he swallows. He’ll be the perfect minion.
            “Dude, is that it?”
            You smile, and nod.
            “And now,” you say as you both face the passed-out fangirl on the rusted cot, “It’s time to take our medicine.”