Sucking in San Francisco

  Jessica McBrayer

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form whatsoever, without prior permission by the author. No part of this book may be reproduced, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, or introduced into any information storage system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without express written permission of the author. If you pirate this work I will come after you.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used facetiously. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or to events or locations, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Jessica McBrayer

  ISBN 13: 978-0-9847008-6-8

  Published by Mess of Geckos Publishing

  810 Seaview Drive, El Cerrito, CA 94530

  For the real Hannah

  Who lived larger than life

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  1 . LILITH

  2 . LILITH

  3 . AIDAN

  4 . LILITH

  5 . AIDAN

  6 . LILITH

  7 . AIDAN

  8 . LILITH

  9 . LILITH

  10 . LILITH

  11 . LILITH

  12 . LILITH

  13 . LILITH

  14 . AIDAN

  15 . LILITH

  16 . AIDAN

  17 . LILITH

  18 . AIDAN

  19 . LILITH

  20 . AIDAN

  21 . LILITH

  22 . LILITH

  23 . AIDAN

  24 . LILITH

  25 . AIDAN

  26 . LILITH

  27 . AIDAN

  28 . LILITH

  29 . LILITH

  30 . AIDAN

  31 . LILITH

  32 . LILITH

  33 . LILITH

  34 . AIDAN

  35 . LILITH

  36 . AIDAN

  37 . LILITH

  38 . AIDAN

  39 . LILITH

  40 . LILITH

  Sneak Peek

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This book is actually the first book I wrote. I had fun with it as I bounced ideas around with my family and critique group. Without them this book would not be what it is. Especially Marik Berghs, who designed the cover, helped edit and format the book and Reina Williams, who edited, read and re-read the book. Thank you ladies.

  When I first wrote this book I named Lily’s place of work San Francisco Suicide Prevention without knowing that there was an actual organization named that. Not only is there an organization, it has a fifty-year history of helping people. They reach out to people by phone, email and live chat. They are phenomenal.

  I chose a suicide hotline for two reasons. First because it was ironic for a vampire to be working at one, second because I wanted to bring this topic out in the open and have people think about it. Some of Lily’s calls are quirky. Please don’t think that is typical. In the second book of this series I show the harder edge of the hotline. Suicide is a tough subject and one that should be talked about in the open, not behind closed doors. In no way, do I intend to deprecate the seriousness of this subject. I want to also dedicate this book to all the volunteers that diligently listen to calls, read emails, and chat with people that are close to taking a step over that dark edge.

  jessica.mcbrayer@gmail.com

  @jessimcbrayer

  www.jessicamcbrayer@wordpress.com

  1 . LILITH

  “Suicide Prevention, this is Lilith, how can I help you?”

  “Hi. Is this where I call to get drugs for anxiety?” a slightly blurred voice asks.

  “No ma’am. This is the number you call if you’re having thoughts about harming yourself.”

  I try to keep my voice professional as I stare at my featureless grey carpeted cubicle and Formica desk.

  “Oh. Oh, I am. I really need the meds, you know, like Xanax? It’s free, right?”

  “No ma’am. We can’t help you with that. I can offer you free counseling. Would you like to talk to one of our counselors tomorrow?”

  “No, I just want the freaking drugs.”

  Click.

  Well, so much for caller number one. I hate when we get callers like that. I can’t do anything for them. I know they have problems, just not ones I can help with. We have to keep a complete account of every phone call. I’d rather stick bamboo shoots under my fingernails than do the paper work. As I fill out my log I see my supervisor stalking me… great.

  “Lilith, oh Lily…”

  “Yes, Meredith?” I say, head down, rolling my eyes.

  “Did you fill out your insurance forms yet? You know that if you don’t you can’t get your medical.”

  “Ummm, I don’t need medical.” I really don’t need medical.

  “Lily, what is this on your desk?” Her voice rises. “You know we can’t have anything personal on our desks. You’re going to have to remove all this stuff.” She sniffs. Her short, chubby self, quivering with outrage.

  “It’s only cleaning supplies, Meredith, some handi-wipes and Lysol. I don’t see how this is personal.”

  “If you get cleaning supplies then Dan gets pictures of his kids. Remove them.”

  I see Dan covertly slide his pictures off his desk out the corner of my eye. At least someone escapes the wrath of Meredith.

  She walks away.

  Just love her. With all my unbeating heart. I put my supplies in my bag for easy access. It will give me something to tweet about. She doesn’t follow me on Twitter so I can rant. If I didn’t love and feel so strongly about what I do, I’d use those cleaning supplies on her.

  The grey painted walls, a school locker grey, not a warm grey or a lovely taupe, do nothing for the beautiful Victorian building where I work. Almost like they try to make it as depressing as possible.

  Being among the cubicles, sometimes it’s hard to concentrate on my calls, even with my superior hearing, with all the other calls going on around me. But this is where I come three nights a week to do something that makes me feel good about myself.

  The lines are busy tonight. I finish my notes and my line blinks again.

  “Suicide Prevention, this is Lilith, how may I help you?”

  “Hello dear, it’s Mrs. Gunderson. How are you tonight?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Gunderson, I’m fine. How are you feeling? How is Sprinkles?”

  “Mr. Sprinkles and I are feeling rather blue. My son was supposed to come and visit today and he canceled at the last minute. He said he had something come up at work. I haven’t seen him in months. It’s always something with him. You’d think he’d want to see his mother.”

  “I’m sorry Mrs. Gunderson. That must have been very disappointing. How is Mr. Sprinkles taking it?” Mr. Sprinkles is code for Mrs. Gunderson. She describes his symptoms and I translate them into hers. She’s a long time caller, lonely and often needing to talk. I want to have a serious conversation with her delinquent son.

  “Well, Mr. Sprinkles isn’t eating and he is having a hard time sleeping. I’m worried about him.”

  “I am too, Mrs. Gunderson. Can you and Mr. Sprinkles come in and talk to one of our doctors?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that…”

  “I think it would help Mr. Sprinkles sleep better and maybe start eating again. I’m so worried about him.”

  “You’re such a sweet girl. I’ll talk to them just for you.”

  I let my shoulders relax. Mrs. Gunderson has been calling for months now and she’s been slowly getting more and more depressed. It took a couple of calls to figur
e out that her cat, Mr. Sprinkles, was really a way for her to talk about herself. I quickly make an appointment for her, before she changes her mind. I make a note to the therapist that she’ll bring her cat and the reason why, along with a brief history of her calls.

  When I’m done, my light is blinking again. No rest for the wicked as they say.

  “Suicide Prevention, this is Lilith, how may I help you?”

  “Lilith, I’ve been trying to kill myself but nothing seems to work.” A lovely voice and his English accent makes me flash to all things British and my fan girl comes out. Although I’m supposed to be helping him, I get a tingle through my nerve endings as I listen to him talk. Wait a second, what did he say?

  “Excuse me?”

  “I’ve tried jumping in front of a BART train, jumping off a building, and electrocution.”

  “You what!?” Wait a second, I gotta be hearing him wrong.

  “Are you having trouble hearing me? I’m on the bridge. My reception is usually good but…”

  “No, no I hear you fine.” I’m just not understanding you.

  “Good, as I was saying…”

  “Wait!” I try to catch up with the conversation. “Why are you trying to kill yourself?”

  “I’m tired, Lilith. I’m just tired.” His voice is heavy with weariness.

  “Maybe you just need to rest? Some peace, not an ending.”

  “I’m weary of the predictability of this life. There’s nothing to hold me here. When you’ve seen as much as I have… it’s painful to see things repeated over and over again.”

  I wonder if he’s a vet? Some of our vets talk this way. I shift in my chair and lean into the desk. “Do you have anyone to share with?” I say. There’s a dull ache in my stomach. I know what he means, but I also know I would not be helping him to admit this.

  Night after night, no one to share my life with. I have friends but no life mate, only an eternity of endless, black nights with no fire. An occasional spark. Vampires don’t call help lines. I do have friends, though, and they carry me through.

  “No, there’s no one. No one at all,” he says.

  “Well, you can start with me, you have me. What’s your name?”

  “You can call me Aidan.”

  “Aidan, what’s got you so tired of life? Are you a veteran? Is it your job?”

  “I’m not a veteran of your wars and I’m between jobs right now and not actively seeking employment,” he says, dryly.

  I sense an opening. I tug my hair, a nervous habit, and go for it.

  “I’ve felt like you. The days running together, so I got a job. What type of work have you done?”

  “Slavery in its basest form.”

  “I hate my boss too, but it couldn’t have been that bad.”

  “Oh, I assure you, dear Lilith, it was shackles and chains all the way.”

  So much for my window of insight.

  “What about friends? Have you never had a friend who’s made a difference in your life?”

  “I’m a loner, Lilith. I like to observe humans, not befriend them.”

  I can empathize. Vampires tend to stick to their own kind. It’s not nice to play with your food.

  “Would you consider observing one of our counselors? It might be amusing.”

  He chuckles.

  “Lilith, I am in the middle of the Golden Gate Bridge with the intent of jumping off. I thought I would call and get your opinion on whether this is a successful method of dying or not. I admit I have found our conversation enjoyable.”

  “But… but we’re suicide prevention! We don’t give advice on how to commit suicide!”

  “So far you have managed to delay me quite satisfactorily.” He sounds upbeat, yet something about his cool detachment convinces me he’s serious.

  His determination sends a shiver across my body. Did I mention he has an English accent? Stop it Lily, what’s wrong with you? Maybe it’s because I can relate so well with him. Focus! I’m getting ready to beg which breaks all our rules.

  “What can I do to change your mind? What can I say, Aidan?”

  “Hmmm… Would you be willing to meet me on the bridge in half an hour to talk? No police officers – I’ll know – and I’ll be gone if you do,” he warns. “Just you, and I make no promises.”

  I’m quiet for a moment. I run my hands through my hair as I think. There’s something about this guy. Am I a super mojo-wielding vampire or what? I know few tricks. I’m not worried about my personal safety, but he’s definitely a mental case. Who keeps trying to kill themselves over and over again and then calls a hotline for advice on how to do it right? I don’t know. I may live to regret this. Well, live is relative. I use my hand sanitizer as I think it over quickly.

  I blow out a gust of air, which isn’t easy for someone who doesn’t need to breathe.

  “I’ll meet you in the middle of the bridge in half an hour. Wait for me in case my bus is late.”

  He barks a sharp laugh and hangs up.

  2 . LILITH

  “Meredith, I feel like I’m going to hurl.” Meredith panics whenever vomit is involved.

  “Quick Lily, pack up your things and go home. Someone can cover your calls,” she says with a green pallor.

  That was easy. Packing up my things is easy too because of the ‘no personal items’ rule and I quickly melt into the fog-enveloped night.

  Aidan promised to wait for me, I repeat like a mantra. While I wait I wish I had a coffee to warm up. I must be the only vampire I know who is addicted to peppermint mochas. Even if our hearts barely beat we still feel the cold. We have blood running through us. It just runs on the cooler side.

  It’s wet and foggy out and I’m thinking that’s what I get for being environmentally responsible by taking the bus instead of my car. Thank God San Francisco has excellent public transportation because it’s moments like these when I say screw it. Give me a gas guzzler as long as the heater works. I hope the bus hurries. I don’t like leaving someone on the bridge.

  I shuffle my feet and take in my surroundings, cataloging them just in case I have to bolt. A vampire is always cautious that way. Across the street, a homeless man with dreads drags his shopping cart stacked high with plastic bottles and cans for recycling money and a tired looking woman who shifts her balance from one foot to the other waits for the bus at my stop. The building behind us has a beautiful mural painted across it. A huge rainbow for the store Earthsong. Otherwise the street is quiet, just an occasional car passing by.

  You’d think I should have something better to do. But here I am, campaigning to save mankind instead of devouring them. It’s my little moral dilemma. I don’t have it in me to take another life. Did it once and eternity is a long time to live with regret. Vamps don’t have to kill in order to feed. I make up for leeching off the human population with my job and I have to eat but I do my damndest to ease my conscience between feedings.

  While I wait, I keep an eye out for suspicious characters. There have been two vampires staked in the last month. Makes me nervous. They were nasty, ruthless blood suckers. Since I don’t follow the philosophy that humans are food on the hoof, I feel safer being among humans. Still, I don’t want to be collateral damage. Being anywhere near a staking is like a cow hanging out at a butcher’s shop. Just not going to happen if I have anything to do with it. I get anxious about leaving Aidan on the bridge for so long.

  A taxi stops at the street corner and I flag it down. Taking my handi-wipes out, I scour the seat before I sit down and then tell him to take me to the bridge.

  He gives me a funny look but says, “Whatever you want, lady.”

  He’s one to look at me funny. He has a Spanish accent and wears a turban. A bobble head of Obama jiggles on the dash while Liza Minnelli blasts out sultry sounds from the stereo. I guess he figures he has all the bases covered. You never know what you’ll pull out of the hat in this city. I sit back and tap my foot.

  I look out the windows as we drift past all the pai
nted ladies, as the locals call them. The huge Victorians are as colorful as their owners. The Haight has just as many unusual shops as it does elegantly restored homes. Soon we pass the panhandle of Golden Gate Park and slip past it towards the Bridge.

  I keep thinking what on earth am I doing? I must have lost it sometime between when I went on shift tonight and that phone call. My head buzzes with the ramifications of my actions. This is the kind of risk-taking psychiatrists always warn about. Hell’s bells. I’ll just meet him and talk him out of it. If that doesn’t work, I’ll grab him and feed on him. My body gives me little warning signs that I’m due to eat, a gnawing ache in my stomach, ready to hunt, all my senses hyper alert and sensitive. Screw that, I’m past the warning signs, I’m downright thirsty!

  Altruistically speaking, my venom will leave him dazed and then I can take him somewhere safe and let the hospital check him in. I’m pretty confident I’m strong enough to just grab him and pull him to safety. Hopefully I won’t have to resort to biting. He did sound quite yummy though… mmm… FOCUS, Lily! I can’t believe I’m thinking about this. I’ve never even contemplated something like this before. Sure I feed every week, but never would I mix business with pleasure. Naughty girl! See the dilemma. Blood is pleasurable, intoxicating to vampires but deep down I feel like I’m still doing something wrong, even though I know I would die without it. My friends think I’ll outgrow it. I don’t think I will. If anything, my convictions have gotten stronger and more complicated as I age. I see the beauty in life and in the blood. The irony in it. It drives me mad at times.

  The taxi takes fifteen minutes to get to the bridge. I pay him and he gives me a crazy look when I get out. Like it’s not normal to take a stroll on the Golden Gate Bridge at midnight. I have to use my hand sanitizer because I touched the germy door handle, but then I’m off.

  The fog is thick as it wraps its breathy mist around me. I pull my jacket closer as I start out. Despite my mission, I admire the lights strung on the support cables and along the walkway as they shine, muted in the fog. The bridge gently sways on its suspension. It’s eerie and somewhat sad. What a lonely place to end your life. I promise myself I won’t let him do it.