Fat Vampire: A Never Coming of Age Story

he said. 'Aren’t you?'

Doug didn’t answer. Jay looked him in the face for maybe the first time in an hour, and turned pale.

'We should…' he said, 'we should find you somewhere to sit down. And get something to eat.'

Doug nodded.

'What about a milkshake?' Jay asked when they found an empty table near the snack bar. 'Or, like, a smoothie?'

'That sounds…like the worst thing in the world,' said Doug. 'Seriously, if I…if I’d had an appetite for anything these past weeks, I’d have eaten it. I’d eat my own hand if it sounded good. I don’t want anything anymore.'

'You look a little better.'

'It helps to sit down. Away from everyone else.'

Jay flinched as someone at a far table shouted '‘UP QAGH!' and thumped his chest.

Doug and Jay turned to watch the largest of four Klingons pound the tabletop with his world-shattering fist, bouncing half-eaten French bread pizzas off paper plates made translucent by grease.

'Sooo,' said Doug, 'why so many Klingons, do you think? I mean, there have been Star Trek comics and all, but they’re not popular or anything.'

'I think they just have the outfits all ready from the last Trekkie con,' said Jay. 'So they’re coming here and they think, why not show colors?'

'My party wants your ketchup,' said a very short Klingon who was suddenly at Jay’s flinching shoulder.

'Oh,' said Jay. 'Sure, you…We’re not using it.'

The short Klingon held the ketchup bottle aloft and turned to address his table.

'Qettlhup!'

'QETTLHUP!' the others answered in chorus.

The Klingon departed.

'I gotta go,' said Doug. 'Can we go? I just want to lie down for a while. I thought here at the con I could take my mind off it, but—'

Jay’s face fell, and Doug’s gut twisted again. He understood how Jay felt — he didn’t want to have to leave either. This was where they belonged. These were their people. The San Diego Comic-Con was a mystical city that only appeared for a few days each year, like Brigadoon.

'There’s still three more days,' said Jay, brightening a little. 'I’ve heard it’s best to buy old comics on Sunday. Maybe we can figure something out for you tonight. Find you some blood.'

'Gah!' moaned Doug. 'That’s the frustrating part! It’s everywhere! It’s all I can smell! People full of it! And do you know how many characters I’ve seen today with blood in their names? There’s Bloodstorm, Bloodaxe, Bloodlust, Blood-hawk, Baron Blood, Baroness Blood, Bloodhound, the Blood Brothers… Even the superhero on that kid’s bag over there looks like a big drop of blood with a cape.'

Jay looked. Doug looked again. It was a big drop of blood with a cape. It said 'Type O Hero!' on the side above the Red Cross logo. Jay jumped out of his seat.

'Excuse me,' he said to the kid. 'What’s that bag about?'

'It’s full of free comics. If you give blood outside.'

'Outside?'

'At the bloodmobile.'

Bloodmobile, thought Doug. He could drive that around all day.

4 Quick, Robin…To the bloodmobile!

IT WAS IMPOSSIBLE to miss — a long white-and-red school bus parked on the broad sidewalk where the line had been that morning. It must have pulled up after the convention started.

'What are we going to do?' said Jay.

'We’re both going to — ow — we’re going to say we want to donate,' said Doug from under his poncho. 'You’ll go first, and I’ll scope out the bus, try to figure out where they keep the blood. Then you create a diversion, and I make off with a jar or two.'

'They put it in jars?'

Doug adjusted his hood. 'I don’t know. A jar or a tube or — It doesn’t matter.'

They stopped next to the bus, near the open donor entrance. There was no line here. In the shade, Doug could manage to lift his chin a little and see Jay’s troubled face.

'What kind of diversion?' said Jay. 'What should I do?'

'I thought of the creating-a-diversion part,' Doug said. 'Can’t you at least come up with your own diversion?'

Jay thought about it a moment with a Charlie Brown look on his face.

'I could…freak out,' he said. 'I could pretend I don’t like needles.'

'There you go. Perfect. And can you still throw up at will like you could in sixth grade? That would be good.'

They stepped up and into the bus. A woman in Muppet-print scrubs came to meet them.

'Will you be donating today?' she said, then frowned. 'Are you both eighteen?'

'Oh, sure.'

'Uh-huh.'

'Can I see some ID?'

'WE DON’T HAVE ID,' said Jay, loudly. '’CAUSE WE’RE CANADIAN. WE DON’T USE ID…THERE. AND THAT’S WHY WE LOOK SO YOUNG. ’CAUSE WE’RE CANADIAN.'

Doug stiffened. Jay sounded crazy. Doug tried to look extra sane to even things out. The woman raised an eyebrow.

'And you’re not maybe just trying to donate to get the free bag of comics?'

'Oh, no, of course not,' said Doug. 'Free comics? No, you don’t even have to give us those. We just want to help out.'

The woman’s face softened. 'Well, all right, I guess. Who’s first?'

'He is,' said Doug.

'You can have a seat by the donor beds while I ask your friend some questions and check his vitals,' she said to Doug, then led Jay toward a private room the size of a closet.

'What part of Canada you from, honey?'

'THE LEFT PART,' said Jay.

Doug sat down in a plastic chair. There were two thin beds in the bloodmobile, and one of them was occupied. The boy had a needle and blood-filled tube snaking out of his arm and into a plastic bag attached to the bed. He was attended by another woman in scrubs and gloves.

'Whoop, you done already,' she told him. 'You fast.'

'I’ve been drinking a lot of water,' the boy said.

Inside the private room, Doug could hear Jay having his blood pressure checked and his temperature taken. Then the woman in Muppet scrubs launched into a questionnaire. 'How do you feel today?'

'…Okay.'

'Have you had a tattoo in the last twelve months?'

'No.'

'Have you spent a total of three months or more in the United Kingdom since 1985?'

'No.'

'Have you ever had sexual contact with another man, even once?'

'W-what? No.'

'Have you ever paid for sex or accepted money or drugs for sex, even once?'