What You Wish For

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The following is my interpretation of what would happen if a vampire became human for the love of a mortal woman.

Peggy opened the window causing her sheer negligee to whip around her body from the storm outside.  It clung to her like a satiny lover framing every curve and valley.  Flashes of lightning, like the bulbs of a thousand paparazzi illuminated her willowy figure with dazzling white light.  Her black hair flew out behind her fluttering in soft satiny tendrils.  A pert smile wrinkled her full lips.

Come to me, my love, she thought out into the night.  Come to me, be one with me—I call you to be free to enter my dwelling.

The low cry of a mournful wolf echoed softly across the city streets.  Peggy wondered how many people heard the sound and dismissed it as a stray dog.  The streets of the metropolis were empty due to the deluge of rain pouring down from the heavens.  Peggy imagined the cloudburst was caused by the angels up above crying at her choice.

The twenty-two year old blonde untangled herself from the soft clutches of the drapes.  Moving into the bedroom she sat down demurely and glanced briefly at the syringe lying on the nightstand.

His salvation lies within that sleek plastic tube.  Only the faintest pricking of the needle will harm my beloved and bring him back to the days of sunshine.

She had worked long and hard over the serum.  Ignoring all her other tasks at the hemoglobin lab to find a cure for the man who held her heart.

I cannot leave him in tortured misery, bound to the darkness for all eternity because of one fateful trip into the woods to search for his lost cousin.  Ah the irony of it all.  He sought to find a relative but lost his immortal soul.

But that was all about to change.  Peggy stared harder at the amber liquid with its clear bubbles lying in wait in the syringe.  Weeks and weeks of study, testing and preparation had gone into restoring Jean-Paul’s humanity.  She heard the delicate sound of someone entering her room.

He was here!

She turned to gaze at his luscious form, so manly and perfect.  The softness of his eyes bore into hers and she noted the wrinkles of sorrow etched around them.

“You called me, my lady?” he asked.

“I did,” she answered.

“I thought you would never summon me again.  I have so longed for you Peggy—hunger unlike my need for food has burned in my belly until this night.”

She smiled at his poetic reference for extracting a promise from him not to visit until she had perfected her serum.  She too had suffered.  The lack of seeing his china-white face, the crush of his powerful arms and the heady sent of his masculinity gave her a greater understanding of what a drug addict must suffer.  Her bouts of weeping, crying and cursing paralleled those of someone craving something so horribly she would kill for it.  But her will had prevailed.  Too many nights she yanked herself back from the yawning void of the window’s ledge to fall upon her bed to sob uncontrollably.  And each morning she took that unfulfilled need and transformed it into the energy she needed to complete her private work.

“Is it ready?” Jean-Paul inquired.

“Yes it is,” she murmured.  “Are you ready?”

“If I wish to keep you as my one and only I must suffer this.  Only by taking a leap of faith can we be together as man and wife.  Yes, I am ready, dear Peggy.”

She nearly wept at his statement.

“Sit down upon my bed and try to relax Jean-Paul,” she instructed him.

“It would probably be the paragon of folly to ask if you’ve tested this,” he remarked.

“Actually I have but that’s a story for another time.”

“Mortal time.  What a concept for me to once more grasp.  I have lived for two centuries untouched by the hand of Time watching loved ones wither and die.  Are you sure my years won’t come rushing back and leave me a pile of dust upon your sheets?”

“I said I’ve tested it—please trust me Jean-Paul.”

He sat upon her mattress.  A spark flashed in her mind much like the outside lightning.

“Take off your shirt please,” she asked.

“As you wish mon cherie.”

His use of French only made the moment sweeter.  Long gone was his original accent from the farming community where he was born.  Too many years in America had robbed him of the deliciously tainted inflection in his voice.  She gasped when he removed his black tee shirt.  The almost opaque pallor of his skin displayed the shrunken veins below his flesh.  Jean-Paul’s taut, quivering abdominal muscles rippling with every movement.  His shoulders rolled with strength making his pectorals dance in smooth motions.  She bit her lip to keep from succumbing to those delightful visions.  Turning away she picked up the solid reality of his salvation.

“I hate needles,” he muttered, “almost as much as I do the harsh rays of the sun.”

“But this small thing will allow you to enjoy sunrises with me,” she softly replied.

“Then I will endure it—if only to greet the dawn, gloriously naked in your supple arms.”

Again his words plucked at her heart’s strings.

Peggy wrapped a blood pressure cuff around his left bicep and began pumping air into it.  No matter how much she did so it continued to read zero but the veins in the crook of his arm began to bulge.

“Look away,” she suggested.

Jean-Paul turned from her actions and only drew in a single hiss when she tenderly administered the injection.  Tears fell on the back of her hand and his forearm as she pushed the plunger down to its limit.  She withdrew the needle and placed a small square of gauze upon the barely leaking wound.

“It is done,” she announced.

“Now what should I expect?” he queried.

“I’m afraid you’re in for a rough night.”

His grin was tight and controlled but she saw the naked fear in his face.  Peggy caught her lower lip in her white teeth and tried to concentrate on that pain rather than his terror.

The first convulsion struck without warning.

Jean-Paul’s body leapt off the bed, only the back of his head and his heels remained on the sheets.  His eyes, crimson and wide bulged from their sockets.  She could see the blood red tissue of his wide open jaws just past the gleaming ivory fangs he possessed.  Peggy threw herself upon him forcing him back to the mattress.  It took all her strength.

“Mon dieu!” he raggedly exclaimed.

“I’m so sorry,” she blubbered.

Another wracking series of jerking convulsions ripped through his body making his neck stand out in cords and his limbs to lock up and imitate the texture of steel.  Jean-Paul’s breath whooshed out past his stretched lips in hitching, powerful gasps.  Tears of sorrow slid down Peggy’s cheeks.  He sank back to the bed with a hissing cry that degenerated into a throaty gurgle.

“I think… the cure is worse… than the disease,” he husked out painfully.

“I know!” she cried.  “I wish it wouldn’t be so harsh but there is no other way for the serum to restore your blood back to normal.”

“You did… what you could… I suffer this for… us!”

“Jean-Paul I love you!”

“And I love you.”

His soft smile was quickly stolen away by another uncontrollable seizure which shook the bed, rattled the lamp and made her tears flow even more freely.


The night had been long and tiring.  Peggy’s body was weary as if she had been wrestling a bear for too many hours.  She felt rather than saw the first faint rays of the dawn.  Her blonde hair was matted with sweat turning it into an almost brunette mass of tangled tresses. Her limbs felt like deadened weights as she looked over her shoulder and out the window.  Pink fingers began creeping over the sill and stretching towards her feet.  She hung half-on and half-off the bed, her torso across Jean-Paul’s still form.  Reaching out she touched the damp locks hanging into his closed eyes.  His aristocratic features were softened by his brief descent into slumber.  The rise and fall of his chest lifted her up slightly.  She peered into the crook of his arm to see the white gauze dotted with drops of red.

So far, so good, she thought, but now for the acid test.

She pushed herself off the silent man, staggering to her feet.  Wiping her forehead with an equally damp arm she frowned at her efforts.

“Jean-Paul,” she called out.

He didn’t answer.


Still he didn’t respond.

Oh Christ have I killed him?  I swore he was breathing a minute ago.

“Yes, my love?” he rasped out.

Her heart soared up the elevator of her throat and burst like pure joy into her brain.

“Can you stand up?” she asked.

“I think so… with some help perhaps,” he admitted.

She rushed over and grasped his wrists.  With the last remaining strength she possessed she hauled him to his feet.  On nerveless feet he stumbled against her nearly spilling both of them to the floor.

“Easy I have you,” she lied.

“My poor Peggy,” Jean-Paul groaned.  “You’ve suffered as much as I have.”

“Come, my dear and greet your first dawn in over two hundred years.”

Nervously the two of them walked towards the once-deadly daggers of sunlight cutting across the carpet.  He stopped just short of the tips, the ancient fear that vampires held for the natural illumination stopping his progress.

“Trust me,” she whispered into his ear.

He turned to her and smiled and her heart soared higher.

His left foot passed into the light and nothing happened.  Peggy looked into his face and saw wonderment, excitement and disbelief rippling his features.  Jean-Paul met her gaze and chuckled lowly.  He then looked down and put his other foot into the dreaded light.

Nothing happened.

Tugging on her with a renewed power coursing into his arms the two-hundred and twenty-five year old vampire held them both brazenly in the open maw of the window.  She watched him close his eyes and she could tell he was experiencing the sunlight upon his face.

“I never thought this possible,” he murmured.  “I can’t believe the sheer beauty of a simple dawn.  So long have I dwelt in darkness I have long forgotten this feeling, these sights and this warmth.”

He turned to her.

“I owe this all to you, dear Peggy,” he whispered.

“I did it for both of us.  To save ourselves from the fear of your losing control one night and even the pain you’d suffer at watching me grow old and die.  I did this for us!” she exclaimed.

He kissed her.  Jean-Paul’s mouth was wet and soft.  She immediately noted he was no longer pale and cold.  The heat of his kiss, a natural warmth of his lips assaulted her own.  She threw herself into his arms covering his mouth with hot, frantic kisses.  Peggy felt herself being lifted up into his arms.

“We will live and love until Death do us part,” he promised.

“For as long as we both shall live,” she vowed.


Peggy slumped against the wall of the foyer, her arms filled with two bags of heavy groceries.  Inside the house she could hear the television’s blaring noise and the smell of dinner.  She shut the door with her hip and wandered into the living room.

There he is in all his glory, she sighed.

Jean-Paul sat in his underwear, tank top and slippers watching some moronic reality show.  The aroma of his futile toiling in the kitchen prompted her to wrinkle up her nose.

Another failed attempt it smells like.

She stood there hoping he would notice her heavily laden arms.  But it was as if he hadn’t heard her enter.

He has no job skills, no identity in this modern age and has forgotten how to cook after two hundred years of drinking blood.  What was I thinking when I cured him?

“I’m home,” she announced.

“Oh there you are!” he said standing up abruptly.

“Did you have a nice day?”

“I tided up the bathroom and ran the vacuum cleaner while you were at work.”

“And the laundry?”

“I’ll start that after dinner.”

“Is that what I smell?”

“Yes—what do you think?”

I think a cow threw up on a hot stove but that’s not what he wants to hear.

He ran around and took the bundles out of her arms, kissed her passionately and took the groceries away.  The warmth of his lips did nothing for her mood.

Before I healed him his stamina was incredible—now it’s only typical.  The desire I felt for him—so powerful it would make me feel like a drug addict is nowhere to be found.  I took Superman and turned him into Clark Kent.   Just another bumbling buffoon who can’t care for himself let alone me.

“Did you get that promotion you were hoping for, mon cherie?

Her mind changed mon cherie to money sharing.

“No I didn’t,” she remarked.

“That is a shame we were so counting on the additional funds.”
Tell me about it! She snarled inwardly.  My salary was enough for one but not for two.  Especially another mouth to feed that can’t go out and find a job since he’s pretty much an illegal alien.  I work and work and all he does is play house-husband.  Talk about role-reversal I feel like the man in this relationship!

“Well there is always next time,” he said, affecting that irritating tone of “age-old wisdom” of his.  Frankly it got on her nerves.

“Yeah next time,” she replied.

“I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of calling my old house in France to see if I could get a birth certificate—faked of course so I could go out and find work,” Jean-Paul announced.  “However I was informed by a very rude man it would cost almost half of your income to do so.  Tomorrow I shall try again.”

The fury of this parasite supping at the sweat of her brow began to alter her vision into a hot red. No job meant no income and Peggy could no longer exist with poetic words, mundane sex and burnt meals.  She longed for the hot, passionate nights and long intellectual conversation.  Now all that was left was a handsome stud, no a white elephant she couldn’t afford!

He does so little when I’m gone and when I get home I’m treated to dinner prepared by a child.  All his idle charm and even now there’s not much to talk about in bed!  That’s it I’ve had enough… a year of this is more than I can bear.  I now see all that sensuality and poise is merely a lure to get a vampire’s fangs into your neck.  It was all an illusion.  None one really can expect this unearthly romantic vision to be reality.  By God if I’m going to be married to someone at least I now know they have to be real—not some televised, supernatural fantasy with no basis in real life!

She picked up the baseball bat behind the door to the kitchen and put it behind her back.  Enough was enough and it was time to act.  Peggy strolled into the room to find Jean-Paul hunched over something dying a greasy death in a sauce pan.

“What’s that out the window?” she asked.

“Where?” he said, turning to look.

She whipped the bat over her head and grinned.

The beauty of it is no one could identify his corpse even if they find it—which they won’t since Daddy’s got that cabin out by the lake!

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