Bewildered: From 'Bridget's Days'

(Welcome back to Bridget's world. For thos of you who are unfamiliar with her, Bridget is an Irish tavern girl who became a vampire in the mid 16th Century.

Authors make changes to the basic vampire mythos as they like. My changes? The most important one, is that vampires continue to be the person they were in life; soul and all. Although they must drink blood, they are still free-willed, capable of good or evil. They are extremely rare and not very interested in creating more vampires. Bridget considers herself to be a good person, slaying rarely and generally only in circumstances when her duty demands it. (She has worked for, among others, Allen Pinkerton, the Union Secret Service, Army Intelligence, the OSS and the CIA). Some of the other changes I have made will appear throughout this story.)

I was walking through a graveyard, the moonlight casting deep shadows over the tombstones. I can just hear someone mumbling, "Big deal! You're a vampire. You're supposed to be hanging around in graveyards."

Well, NOT! Graveyards are spooky. Mausoleums are cold and drafty in the winter and hot and stifling in the summer. They're all granite and black iron and there's no comfortable place to sleep. Besides, they're full of dead people. Vampires drink blood, you know. The only people I know of that can get blood from a dead person all work for the IRS.

Anyway, here I was. Why? I didn't know. I was pretty sure I was somewhere in California, the name of the town had slipped my mind, and this was one big-assed graveyard for so small a place. What was happening?

I saw two people, teenagers it seemed, wending their way through the graves. One was a really cute blonde, with a cheerleader look about her. The other was a young male, about her age, who alternated from looking all around him with a worried expression to staring at her with what appeared to be some pretty intense unresolved desire. I also saw he was very careful to hide that when she looked his way.

I started towards them, assuming that they were probably just here to do a little making out and had picked the graveyard to add a little thrill to the session. Then I caught sight of another group. Four males were sneaking through the shadows, coming up behind the two teenagers. The moonlight glinted off fangs and their faces changed in a way I had never seen before. But they were definitely vampires, of a kind I had never seen before. Even as I opened my mouth to shout a warning, the foursome rushed the boy and girl.

I ran forward to try to aid them, wishing I had a weapon of some kind. But I couldn't have hidden a toothpick in the outfit I was wearing. It was a nice outfit, an attractive blouse with a bra that lifted and flattered my not very large breasts combined with a skirt that was cut at my knees but with a generous slit up the side. It wasn't made for weapon concealment though. And why was I wearing very cute, but extremely impractical high heeled sandals? And why was I standing here contemplating my clothing when two humans were being menaced by a quartet of rough vampires?

Before I could reach the fight, it was over. The blonde girl stabbed one of the vampires with a stake I hadn't even seen her holding. Then she quickly gave a round house spin kick to the second foe's belly, doubling him over and dropping him to his knees. In an astounding feat of agility, she used the bent over vampire to launch herself completely over the heads of the other two. Landing on her feet behind them, she dispatched them with two thrusts of her stake.

Meanwhile, the dark haired boy had, rather clumsily in my opinion, produced a stake of his own and eliminated the last vampire. I arrived just as the shower of dust was settling to the ground.

I was so astounded by the way the blonde teenager had dispatched four vampires almost by herself that when her male companion shouted "There's another!" and pointed in my direction, I actually turned and looked behind me. It took a moment to realize that he was talking about me. I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender, trying to placate them. Although I could tell from their poor fighting that I had been older than all four of the other vampires together by the time I reached my first century, I still didn't want to fight anyone, much less someone as capable as the blonde girl.

The young man suddenly pushed a cross into my face. I was about to sigh and point out that, like almost all vampires, crosses don't affect me, when I found myself hissing and shrinking back. Hissing? Bridget O'Brien HISSING? Not in all my 400 plus years had I hissed. As he stepped towards me, I involuntarily took off running, with him and the blonde in hot pursuit.

What the HECK? I'm not afraid of crosses. In fact, I wear one of my own around my neck, given to me for my First Communion by my parents back in Ireland when I was still human. It had been taken from me twice over the centuries, and a good deal of pain, effort and other people's spilled blood had been needed for me to get it back. I reached into that low cut, tight blouse that I was wearing for some unknown reason and came up empty handed. It wasn't there.

I had only known two vampires who could be repelled by a cross. I had also known one Arab vampire who could be driven off by someone holding up a copy of the Koran. But by and large holy artifacts have no effect. I often attend Mass, and receive Communion and dip Holy Water and cross myself when entering or leaving the church. I had a very uneasy feeling that I had better not try that around these parts.

I had discussed the issue with Sigmund Freud back before World War One. I had also talked to Jung, who went off into an endless discussion of archetypes, the collective unconscious and the Anima and Animus until I was so bored that I nearly ate him. To simply sum it up, those vampires feared the cross, or whatever, because they believed that they were supposed to fear them.

So why was I completely repelled by it? And four vampires together. I had never heard of such a thing. By and large we are very solitary creatures, concealing ourselves among a lot of humans. I had never seen such malevolence displayed as those four vampires did. It was as if they weren't even human anymore, something that I and most of the other immortals I have known still consider ourselves.

And those faces. I shuddered even as I came across a paved sidewalk and sprinted up it towards the building ahead. I was just barely holding my own. The young man had fallen back but the blonde girl was dead on my ass. Another vagrant thought, if it wasn't for the circumstances I wouldn't mind having her on my ass. She was cute.

Ahead of me were two double metal doors. Oh great, they looked like the opened outward. If they were locked, well, I'd never get a chance to make another choice. I grabbed the right side handle and yanked as hard as I could.

Luck was with me this time, double in fact. The door not only opened, but my blonde pursuer crashed into it, stunning her long enough for me to get inside and pull the door closed behind me. I took off down the hallway I was in, speeding past doors with labels like "Freshman English, Miss Jones" and rows and rows of lockers.

I came to a foyer and spotted some kind of trophy case, the back of which was mirrored. I hesitated, surrendered to the urge and looked. I had a terrible feeling that my face was as angular and misshaped as those of the vampires I had seen.

Well, this is fine how-do-you-do. No reflection in the mirror. Damn it, I cast a reflection! That's an old wives tale about vampires not being seen in a mirror.

I scolded myself. Think Bridget. Why am I running around this school instead of heading for my car. I mean my van. Now there's another strange thing. I know that I have driven a well fitted out panel van with shutters to cover the few windows should I be caught by daylight. So why was I seeing a Mustang convertible in my mind? AS IF. Vampires don't drive convertibles.

A door opened to my right. Good news and bad news. The good news was it was to the outside. The better news was that the guy standing there was the very epitome of tall, dark and handsome. And brooding too, a perfect match for some fantasies I used to have. Used to have? Something was trying to tickle my memory. I wasn't having those anymore, Why?

Oh yeah, the bad news. The bad news was that he had a sword that looked like it was just made for chopping Bridget up into little pieces. I spun away from him and looked left. Here came Blondie.

"There she is!" yelled the young woman.

"I see her," came another female voice from yet another hallway. Oh myyyyyyy. This one was, well, dark haired, great figure and in black leather. I'd love to get to know her if I wasn't... what was that whispering deep in my mind that I really wasn't interested in other females anymore? Maybe it was the even bigger stake that she had and the look in her eyes that indicated dusting me would be the high point of her night.

Three ways blocked. One hallway left open. Feet don't fail me now. Speaking of feet...

I paused and admired my feet as though I hadn't seen them in a long time. Pretty sandals showing my cute little pink toes with their coral nail polish. The a boot scraped on the floor, bringing me back to reality. Then I was running like crazy, while I tried to understand why my mind kept wandering off while I was running for my life, so to speak. "Away with the faires", as my Irish mother used to say.

I hit the door marked "Library, Quiet PLEASE" at the end of the corridor. My luck had obviously returned to normal, which means "bad". A red-headed girl and an older distinguished looking man were glaring at me. The glare wasn't bad, the Latin they were reading aloud in from the crumbling book in front of them raised the hackles on the back of my neck even farther than they already were.

I would have backed away from them, but that would have been towards the trio pounding up the hallway after me. I looked for another exit. I spotted a door and headed for it as the pursuers burst into the room.

I should have known that wasn't going to work. The crack under the door showed a steadily increasing light, as in daylight. I knew I hadn't been running around here that long, so it must be the spell my two newest acquaintances were chanting. Then the door began to tremble and I watched the knob turn slowly of its own accord.

I turned to face the whole gang of them. The first boy had shown up too I saw. He was too busy staring at the dark-haired girl's butt to be an immediate concern though. Nice to know that wherever I was, teenaged male hormones still ran rampart. But that wasn't doing me any good as the others drew closer to me, forcing me back towards the shinning doorway.

I checked myself to see if just by chance I had a pocket with something useful, like my CIA credentials. Or my papers identifying me as a reporter for "Rolling Stone". Or my membership card in the Young Republicans. Crap. Hey, I did find a set of keys on clip attached to my waistband. Gee, it DID have a Ford Mustang tab hanging from it. Much good that did. I could not think of a thing to say, which would astound anyone who had known me for two minutes over the last nearly five hundred years. I fell back, away from the sword and the stakes. Somehow I knew I was no match for any one of them, much less all of them together.

The light was burning my back. Any second now the door would spring open and I would be toast. Then I heard a voice calling my name from far away. I strove to locate it. It was somehow pulling me away, away from the closing circle, away from the stakes, away from the burning daylight...

"Bridget!"

I started. Opening my eyes, I found my husband Mike was looming over me, a mixture of concern and laughter on his face. I was slumped into my usual recliner in the den.

"What is it, Mike?" I tried to bounce up from where I was stretched out, only to groan and lay back like the beached whale I felt I resembled. A sudden thought popped into my mind and I touched the fine chain around my neck, reassuring myself that my silver cross was still there.

Mike settled on the arm of the chair. He leaned over and kissed me, then held my head against his chest.

"I came home from work and you were twitching and moaning. You about scared me to death."

I plunged into a description of what apparently had been a very strange dream. Mike tried to smother a smile but was unable to hold it in for very long. By the time I reached the climax he had burst out laughing.

I glared at him. "You may think its funny but I don't know what caused it and that worries me."

Mike managed to calm down. "You don't know what caused it? Look around, Honey."

I surveyed the room. The half-melted bowl of ice cream, Black Walnut with cherries and whipped cream on top. The jar of Kosher Dill pickles. A spilled bag of sour cream and onion potato chips and a tub of ranch dip. Empty yogurt containers and half a pizza with anchovies.

"Oh," I cleverly remarked.

"AND this," Mike pointed at the TV, and clicked the "Mute" button, turning the sound back on. "How long have you been watching this?"

I blushed. "Since you went on duty."

"Well, no wonder. Come on, let's get you to bed." He grunted as he helped me out of the chair and we headed for the bedroom. "I'll clean this up later."

I brushed my teeth, washed my face, struggled into the voluminous t-shirt I was sleeping in these days and waddled to the bed. Mike had turned down the covers and was stretched out on the bed, wearing only his boxer shorts. I crawled onto the bed and snuggled up to him. I sighed.

"What, sweetheart?"

"I wish I could see my feet again. Are they still down there?"

"Yes darling, they're still there and still cute. You won't be pregnant forever. It just seems like it. By the way, are you sure you don't want to call the Guinness Book of World Records? I haven't checked but I don't think any other woman 468 years old has given birth for the first time. Or any time."

I poked him. "Probably not." For a moment I grew serious. "I don't know of any other vampire who has become mortal again. But something Robert Dale, the FBI liason guy, once said makes me wonder, and worry a bit. Worry that all this will be the dream, that I'll wake up and still be a vampire, and without you."

Mike's arms enfolded me. "Just remember. For whatever reason this gift was given to you, to me, you are no longer a vampire. You're human, you're my wife and you're going to be a mother. And for heaven's sake, if you're going to eat like the pregnant woman you are, DON'T watch any more 'Buffy the Vampire Slayer' marathons!"

(The End)

("Buffy the Vampire Slayer" and all the characters from it belong to Joss Whedon. No infringement is intended. Thank you Marian for correcting the story without rolling your eyes even once at all my typos. Any errors are solely and completely my responsibility.)