Bridget's Days Ch. 01

I studied the woman in front of me. White hair. Wrinkles. Posture somewhat stooped. Glasses with what seemed like half a dozen different lenses in them. The only thing that seemed to be the same anymore were the eyes. They were still green, still alive and interested. The rest of her... when did she get so old?

I sighed and turned away from the mirror. I settled back into my chair, looking out of the back of the house though the open French doors. It was green and beautiful. Spring was here and I drank in the sounds and the smells and the sights of it.

"Grandmother!" a laughing voice broke my thoughts. "You know you're not supposed to have the doors open. Its too cool for you." The smiling woman closed the doors and mock-shook her finger at my nose. "The doctor says you have to be careful of drafts."

"That old quack is a draft himself," I grumbled. "I know what he said, but damn, I mean darn, it Lori, that felt so good. I never have liked being cooped up."

"I know," my youngest grandchild said softly, as she took my hand in hers and squeezed it. "You've been a ball of energy since I can recall." She knelt and smiled. My heart melted. Her smile and her eyes were just like her grandfather's, warm and full of light and love. "I swear I don't know how we kept up with you rather than the other way around."

She rose. "Speaking of keeping up, I'll be a bit late this afternoon. The kids have a birthday party to attend."

"Oh good. I hope they have a wonderful time." Lisa's twins, Mary and Daniel were thought by some in the family to be little hellions. I had noticed the ones that seemed to think that the most were the ones who's bottoms I had laid a switch over more than once when THEY were little. To me, they were the same angels as my other great grandchildren.

"Would you like a book to read or the TV on?"

"Just put the remote here Lisa. As for a book, hmmm, I don't know."

"Well, how about your book then? Do you feel like writing?" Lisa crossed to the bookcase and pulled out a large leather bound volume. She brought it to me.

"That sounds good, honey." I checked to make sure the box of pens was tucked in the pocket of the recliner. "Even if I don't write anything new maybe it will give me some thoughts for later."

Lisa sat on the arm of the chair and leaned against me. "I've always loved your book. The stories you've told us out of it over the years have always been wonderful. And there are so many of them." She laughed as she touched the cover. "At this rate you'll need a second volume."

"Well, you never know Lisa."

"So many stories," Lori mussed. "How long have you been writing these, Grandmother?"

"Oh my, dear. Since your mother was young. I used to tell them to her and your aunt and your uncles. I really started writing them down when your Uncle Sean was born. He was a surprise to your grandfather and me. The scamp came along 10 years after your mother was born and we had thought she would be our last."

"Well, they're amazing. How you come up with them I don't know." Lisa stood, kissed me on the forehead and went to the kitchen. I heard her rummaging around in there and called out.

"They're on top of the refrigerator Lori." A strangled giggle answered her.

"How did you know what I was looking for and more important, where they would be?"

"You're leaving, sweetie. You always forget where you put your keys and when you came home today you had groceries. You always start by putting away the milk." I affected an English accent. "Elementary."

"You are something else. I'll be back in a few hours." The door closed.

I leaned back in the chair and fingered the book in my lap. How I came up with them indeed. I thought for a moment. Lori was 27. Therefore it would be 8 more years before she was let in on the family secret. Then she would be shown the secret cache of my diaries, the hidden souvenirs of my life, the bank accounts that held the trust funds. Well, you have to wait until you're sure someone can accept the truth, that your grandmother isn't 87. I stopped to do the math. Let's see, I was born in 1552, died in 1573, came back to life in 2020 and now it was 2091. So I would be 539 in May.

I guess you have to count the years I was a vampire, even though I wasn't technically "alive" then. The only aging that had taken place was during my two periods as a mortal. Maybe the other 447 years didn't count. I certainly don't have trouble lying about my age. I've been doing it for centuries after all.

I tugged the chain from around my neck. Along with the locket that held a tiny picture of Mike, it supported the key to the lock that securely fastened the covers of my book. After all, it wouldn't do to have anyone read what was actually in there if they weren't already in on the family secret. When I related the stories in here I pretended they were about ancestors of ours. I certainly didn't go on about vampires and sex. They would learn at the proper age the real story behind the book.

I'd been fortunate. Well, that was the understatement of the last half-millennium. I'd been extraordinarily blessed, particularly since I had been given back my life in that graveyard in Ireland, almost exactly where I had lost it. I flipped the pages. I hadn't written that story down. I hadn't needed to. For 65 years it had remained fresh in my mind. I closed my eyes, remembering the astonishment of the sun warming my face even before I discovered that my withered heart was beating again.

(Ireland 2020)

I don't know what that young man thought when I bounced back onto my feet, hugged him so hard I felt him gasp for breath and then kissed him right on the mouth. Who cared? Not me as I scooped up my pocketbook. I had laid it down next to where I had fully expected it to be found next to the pile of ashes that would be left when the morning sun bathed my undead body. I plucked the keys to my rental car from it, suppressing a wild whoop to match my unbelieving smile as I scampered to open the driver's door.

I stopped, my eyes fixed on the doors of the small chapel I had arranged to have constructed some 200 years ago. Raising my gaze to the cross on top, I whispered "Thank you."

For just a moment I thought I heard that old man's voice reply "You're welcome. I asked, it was given. Now, get your ass in gear woman. You've got someone to go to." With that I did indeed give out a startlingly loud yell of happiness, cranked the engine and took off down the grassy track.

I had never driven a car in daylight. It was going to take some getting used to. There was so much to see. All the colors, the people, places and things shooting by as I attempted to take it all in and still not scare too many other drivers as I wobbled back and forth across the road. Twice on the way to the Dublin Airport the police stopped me on suspicion of drunk driving. Fortunately, to borrow an old chestnut that fit very well, I was only intoxicated by life. After the second time though, I tried to sober down. That would be a fine how-do-you-do, have a car accident now and kill myself when I had finally been given a second chance at life.

I bounced up and down the entire time I was waiting for the plane. I would have done the same during the cross-Atlantic flight except they kept making me sit down. Finally the head stewardess asked me what in the world was going on. Well, I didn't think I could explain everything so I settled for telling her I was in a hurry to get back to someone I loved. She looked just a bit wistful. Even in my euphoria I noticed that she had a soft hand and a very attractive rear end, which she made a point of pressing against me more than once. Just a month ago I would have already been locked in one of the washrooms with her but things were different now. Besides, I had joined the mile-high club before WWII.

I finally got to Dulles International. I jumped in the waiting rental car and then hesitated. While every fiber in me urged me to go south as fast as the car and my CIA credentials would allow me, at the same time I wanted to appraise Robert of what had happened.

I temporized. Sitting in the rental parking lot I called his 24 hour number.

"What is it Bridget?" His groggy voice answered. Of course. It was 10 in the morning and he had probably been asleep for only an hour or two. I could almost see him shake the sleep from himself. "Is everything alright? Where are you calling from?"

"I'm back in D.C." I waffled. I wasn't sure how to spring my new condition on him. I knew I didn't want to do it on the phone. "I need to come see you, right now if possible."

Now he was really awake. "Of course, Bridget. I'm at home. You know where I live. But how will you get here?"

I didn't answer that question. I simply said, "I'll be there in an hour."

I parked the car in the complex garage and rode the elevator to the 14th floor. There were only four huge apartments on this level and I went to Robert's and knocked on the door. He must have been waiting because he opened the door immediately and shooed me in.

The black windows of reinforced glass were of course all closed. I almost made for one of the ones that led to the living room balcony. Now that I had the sun, I was jealous of losing even an hour of it.

"Now," Robert interrupted my thoughts. "What in the world couldn't wait?" Before I could answer he continued, "And what happened to you? Did you get too close to the stove or something. Your skin looks a bit pink."

"Probably sunburn," I replied without thinking. "Well, you know, there wasn't sunblock the last time I could stand in the daylight. So I think I can be forgiven for letting myself get a little cooked."

Robert snorted, "Sure, and I'm the last of the Stuart's and rightful heir to the British throne." Now that's serious with Robert. He may have been in the US for a century or so but he still reveres the Royal Family.

I walked to him and took his hand. His eyes widened, I'm sure from the warmth of my hand. Without giving him time to take it in, I lifted his fingers to my throat. He gasped as I pressed them to my pulse.

"Sunburn." I repeated.

Robert swayed and almost fell. "How?" he croaked.

I pulled him to the nearest couch and gave a summary of the events in Ireland. He regained his composure quickly. No one and nothing fazed Robert for long, at least in the 200 odd years I had known him.

"Wow, the doctors are going to have a field day with you Bridget. Its not often they get to examine a vampire brought back to life." Since then I have often wondered what Robert wasn't telling me. "Not often?" I didn't know it had ever happened.

Right then I didn't care. "Robert, I know they will and I know its part of my contract with the Agency to get poked and prodded every so often." I caught up his hand again. "But not now, not yet."

Robert smiled and touched my face. "But first you have to go South for a bit don't you?" He shook himself. "Don't worry, I'll take care of it all. I've got a lot of things to get going anyway. You're going to need a permanent identity now. After all, you're not going to be moving around every 20 or 25 years anymore. I need to get you a birth certificate and oh, speaking of that," he dashed for the room he kept as an office and emerged with a pad and pen, "Do you want to still be 'Bridget O'Brien'?"

"Robert!" Laughter bubbled up from me and I stopped his babbling with a quick kiss. I looked at him. My oldest friend. We had shared much since we had met, not the least of which was each other's beds throughout the years. It was just like him to leap with enthusiasm into helping me again. "Robert," I repeated. "That will all have to wait."

"Yes, of course," he replied, rather sheepishly. "You go on. I'll start drawing up the list of things I need to do and get cracking on them this evening." He set the pad and pen down and took me in his arms and hugged me. Then he kissed me, almost like a sister, albeit on the lips.

"Go on," he ordered. I did, closing the door behind me and pondering. Had I seen a trace of a tear in the corner of his eye?

When I got to Jackson County I didn't stop and call anyone. I didn't stop at the Sheriff's Department, nor at the precinct where I knew Mikie worked. Instead, I drove straight to his apartment building. I sat in my car for minute after minute, debating just how I was going to tell him what had happened. Would it change things? Was he in love with ME, with Bridget the person, or was it just fascination with the mysterious other-worldly creature that I had been?

Still thinking that, I got out of the car and walked towards the front door. I didn't see either his squad car or his Ford Mustang. Without pausing I giggled. Well, at least now I could enjoy the fact it was a convertible.

I started to sit down on the step when I realized the door was slightly ajar. I froze. Mikie would never do that. I examined the door for signs of forced entry and didn't find any. I tried to remind myself that I was just as vulnerable as any other human now but I pushed on the door anyway. It silently opened and I stepped inside, moving quickly to the side to avoid being silhouetted in the doorway.

My eyes adjusted. It was dark in the apartment. I did see flickering light on one wall, apparently reflected from down the hallway. I peeked around the corner. The light was coming from the bedroom, the door there also just barely cracked. I tiptoed down the hallway, holding my breath. Even in the moment I marveled at having to actually breathe now.

I strained my ears. Nothing. Or was that breathing? Maybe that was mine. I wasn't used to having to hold my breath damnit, it was something else I had to grow accustomed to.

I shrugged. Ex-vampire or not, I had practiced martial arts since my visit to China in the mid 1600's. I managed to remember to take a deep breath to get oxygen into my lungs, threw open the door and sprang into the room.

I covered my mouth, smothering a cry. The flickering light came from candles. Dozens of them, all shapes and sizes, all over the room. They threw a beautiful illumination over the bed, shimmering off the pale silk sheets, reflecting from the silvery champagne bucket. And most of all, they lit the firm, muscular body of the man in front of me, his eyes shinning and his arms open.

I know I cried. But this time the tears were for nothing but happiness and relief and thanksgiving. I threw myself into Mike's arms, my face lifted to his and my mouth urgently seeking his.

When I could break the kiss that seemed to go on for hours, I pulled back just enough to look at him. "DAMN that Robert," I snuffled. "He set me up again."

Mike drew me to the bed. He sat on the edge, with me snuggled in his lap and my head on his chest. He tipped my head up and brushed the remaining tears from the corners of my eyes with a gentle thumb. "Shhhhh, don't cry Bridget. There will be happiness and sadness ahead of us, but tonight there is only you and I and the first night of the rest of our lives."

"Oh dear god, I love you Mike."

He kissed me again. Softly at first, then his lips pulled on mine. His tongue slipped inside my mouth and his arms tightened around me. By the time he lifted his lips from mine I was moaning from the power of that kiss. "I love you too Bridget." There was a teasing sparkle in his eyes and he added. "Now then, don't you think you're a little overdressed for this reunion?" I realized he was wearing only a pair of dark blue boxers and they were doing nothing to stifle the swelling I felt against my bottom.

Deliberately I wiggled my ass against him. He laughed and pushed me off his lap. "You've got until I get the champagne open, missy."

I love a challenge. By the time the cork shot from the bottle and he poured two glasses I was standing by him in nothing but my panties. He winked and handed me a glass. "Good job, honey." We touched glasses and drank. He turned and refilled his glass. I shoved at him with both hands.

"Hey, I didn't come here to drink, although this is very good champagne."

"I know," Mike smiled. Then I was caught by his by his free arm and pulled down to the bed. Even as he held the glass up, ensuring he didn't spill a drop he pinned me on my back under him. I possibly could have escaped, but good lord, why would I have wanted to?

I was on my back with him pressed against me resting on his side. He kissed me again, a long deep kiss, full of passion and promise. Then he grinned at me again. Holding the glass over me he carefully tipped it.

"Oh God, Mike," I moaned as the chilled fluid trickled over my breasts. The careful splashes onto my nipples made them harden to diamond hard points. Rising over me, he slowly emptied the contents between my breasts and then down along my stomach. I lifted my hips just enough for to push my panties down my legs as the glass reached my mound and the already soaking hair of my pussy. Then he tossed the glass aside and straddled me. His head lowered and he began to lick the bubbles off my skin.

Slowly he worked down my body. His tongue started on one nipple and danced around and around my breast in circles. He moved to the other, repeating the tongue strokes and then gently sucking my small breast into his mouth. Drinking it clean he switched back to the first one and then plunged his face between my breasts.

Down he went, lapping the fluid from me. I could do nothing but lay there and moan under the ministrations of his mouth and tongue. He slowed to drink from my navel. My stomach muscles quivered and spasmed. Then he was between my legs and his tongue was snaking inside me and his hands caressed my thighs and held me up like a vessel for him to drink from. His tongue seemed to be everywhere, on my puffy lips, between them opening my slit, wiggling inside of me, then finally sliding over my clit.

I could stand no more. My body was on fire from head to toe. I reached down and caught his shoulders. I begged, I pleaded, I demanded. And then he was sliding up my body and I felt his weight on top of me. Now his mouth was locked onto mine and now his shorts were gone. Now he was thrusting inside me and now my legs were around him and now I was screaming and he was screaming with me. And now I was arching to him and now I felt his body tense and now he was flooding me and now I was cumming with him.

(The Present)

My oh my. Maybe I better not write that one down. I touched the book. The adventures in there were not children's fables as I had written them down. When I told parts of them to the younger children I skipped some very graphic descriptions.

It certainly was a good thing that we were both Catholic and that among the many other papers Robert came up for me were Baptismal and confirmation certificates, along with a letter from an Irish priest certifying Mike and I had undergone pre-marriage counseling. How Robert knew... but he did. The Department Chaplain, Father Cunningham, who had married Mike's parents, didn't even blink and within a week we were married. It was a good thing because, nine months and a week after that night, Michael Gibson the Third was born, to the great satisfaction of his parents, aunts, uncles, cousins and paternal grandparents. And Mike and I were off on an adventure that was more wonderful and exciting than any I ever wrote in my book or diaries.

My eyes blurred. Damn glasses. I wiped them off. I couldn't imagine how they got wet. I put them back on and focused on the picture over on the bookcase where Lori had placed it so I could always look at it. Oh Mike, sixty years weren't enough. Modern medicine has advanced so far, but even it couldn't stop the massive heart-attack that took you away from me without even a chance to say goodbye. These last few years have been the longest ones I've ever known. You better be waiting for me, buster.