Introduction
An excessive rise in blood sugar or glucose is known as "Diabetes Mellitus". The primary form of sugar in blood is blood glucose, which also serves as the body's primary energy source. In addition to being produced in the muscles and liver, glucose is obtained via diet. All of the body's cells receive glucose from the blood to utilize as fuel.
The hormone known as insulin, which transports glucose to every cell in the body, is released into the circulation by the pancreas, an organ situated between the stomach and the spine. When the pancreas produces insufficient insulin or insulin that is not functioning properly, glucose remains in the bloodstream instead of entering cells. Diabetes can be brought on by excessive blood glucose levels. Diabetes can affect people of any age or gender. Diabetes occurs in three basic types: Type 1, Type 2, and Gestational Diabetes.
Type 1 diabetes:
Although it can occur in adults as well, type 1 diabetes, often known as juvenile diabetes, primarily affects young people. Due to an immune system attack and subsequent destruction of the insulin-producing cells (pancreatic beta cells), type 1 diabetes results in insufficient or nonexistent insulin production. You won't get diabetes if you eat too much sugar, despite popular belief. The immune system of a person with Type 1 diabetes attacks the beta cells in their body, which produce insulin, which is how the disease began. Monogenic diabetes is the term for a subset of rare types of diabetes caused by mutations or alterations in a single gene. The two primary types of monogenic diabetes are Maturity-Onset Diabetes of the Young (MODY) and Neonatal Diabetes Mellitus (NDM).
Before the age of six months, diabetes is more likely to be non-diabetic diabetes mellitus (NDM) than autoimmune Type 1 Diabetes Mellitus (T1DM). MODY refers to a class of hereditary autosomal-dominant conditions characterized by early-onset, usually moderate hyperglycemia (high blood sugar). Rather than insulin resistance, it is the consequence of beta-cell malfunction. MODY is associated with mutations in a minimum of eight genes. There is an older group with the slower onset disease in addition to the typical young individuals with acute onset T1DM. They may appear to have Type 2 Diabetes Mellitus (T2DM) in middle age, but tests for the anti-glutamic acid decarboxylase (GAD) antibody show indications of autoimmunity. Eventually, they develop an insulin-dependent lifestyle. This condition is known as Adult Latent Autoimmune Diabetes (LADA).
Complications of diabetes
Complications from diabetes have been shown to significantly raise health care expenditures for both treating and managing the disease as well as increasing morbidity and mortality. Diabetic patients who have out-of-range diabetes treatment and higher long-term blood glucose levels are more likely to experience microvascular and macrovascular problems.
Blood glucose levels that are too high over time can lead to a number of problems, including:

• Diseases of the eyes caused by alterations in fluid levels, tissue edema, and injury to the blood vessels in the eyes
• Foot issues brought on by nerve damage and decreased blood flow to your foot
• Gum disease and other dental issues, as harmful bacteria are encouraged to proliferate in your mouth by a high blood sugar level in your saliva. Food particles and bacteria interact to create plaque, a soft, sticky film. Eating foods high in sugar or carbohydrate can also cause plaque. Certain kinds of plaque lead to foul breath and gum disease. Cavities and tooth decay are caused by other types.
• Damage to your blood vessels and the nerves that regulate your heart and blood vessels can result in heart disease and stroke.
• Renal disease brought on by harm to the kidneys' blood arteries. Diabetes frequently results in elevated blood pressure. That could also be bad for your kidneys.
• Damage to the nerves and the tiny blood arteries that supply your nerves with oxygen and nutrients might result in nerve issues (diabetic neuropathy).
• Nerve injury and decreased blood supply to the genitalia and bladder can lead to sexual and urinary issues.
• Disorders of the skin, some of which are brought on by modifications to the small blood vessels and poor circulation. It is also more common for people with diabetes to get infections, particularly skin infections.

Additionally, acute hyperglycemia emergencies can be brought on by high blood glucose levels. These emergencies consist of:

• The most common cause of ketoacidosis, a potentially fatal condition marked by hyperglycemia and elevated blood acid (ketone) levels, is type 1 diabetes.
• Hyperosmolarity is a condition that causes the body to lose water from its organs. It is marked by prolonged hyperglycemia without ketoacidosis and severe dehydration.

Management of diabetes
Type 1 diabetes is a complicated illness that needs to be managed on a daily basis with effort and preparation. Here are some tips to help you effectively manage your Type 1 diabetes:
Check your blood sugar frequently: Using a continuous glucose monitor (CGM) or a glucometer to check your blood sugar is essential for managing diabetes and avoiding complications. If nothing else, make an effort to monitor your blood sugar levels before bed and after meals. Treating high blood sugar as soon as feasible is crucial.
Regularly take your insulin and other medications: Pay attention to the directions provided by your healthcare practitioner when taking your insulin and any additional drugs, if any.
See your endocrinologist frequently: To ensure that your Type 1 diabetes treatment plan is effective, it's critical to see your endocrinologist frequently. Don't be hesitant to pose targeted queries to them.
See your eye doctor and all of your other providers on a regular basis. Complications from type 1 diabetes can affect many parts of your body, but particularly your eyes. It's crucial to visit your ophthalmologist (eye doctor) at least once a year so they can examine your eyes.
Plan ahead for a sick day: Consult your endocrinologist about self-care and managing your diabetes during illness. Diabetes-related ketoacidosis (DKA) can be brought on by illness, so it's critical to be prepared by knowing what to do if you become ill in advance.
Stay educated: Never be reluctant to inquire about Type 1 diabetes with your healthcare physician. Your chances of leading a healthy life and avoiding problems from Type 1 diabetes increase with your level of knowledge about the disease and how to manage it.
Find a community: Making online or in-person connections with other Type 1 diabetics can make you feel less isolated while managing your condition.
Ensure your emotional well-being: Compared to people without diabetes, people with diabetes have a two to three times higher risk of depression and a 20% higher chance of receiving an anxiety diagnosis. Having a chronic illness that needs ongoing care can be very demanding. In the event that you exhibit symptoms of depression, it is imperative that you consult a mental health expert.
Conclusion
Four daily actions can help blood glucose levels remain within the desired range:
I. Stick to a balanced diet.

1. Engage in physical activity.

III. Regulate the dosage of insulin.
IV. Monitor diabetes.
At first, these tasks could seem overwhelming. Make minor adjustments until completing these actions becomes a regular part of your day.
To prevent hypoglycemia, learn to balance your insulin dosage with each meal and physical activity. Establish a goal range for your blood sugar and raise your HbA1c (keep it between 6% and 7%). Take part in running events and diabetic camps to network with other Type 1 diabetics and gain insight from their experiences. Stay positive, do yoga, and meditate. People can resume their normal lives and no longer have to fear diabetic consequences once they have learnt how to manage their diabetes.

Jackie West glanced between the bars and boards on his windows, seeing the sky redden. He set about taking inventory of everything in the one-room cabin. Fresh light bulbs: check. Radio: check. Animal traps under the windows: check. Medical supplies: check. Guns: check. He emphasized the last with a satisfying pull on the slide of his shotgun, checking the chambers of his revolver, then sat in the chair facing the door and per his new routine, he waited.
He began to ponder what had happened for it to come to this. He thought back to the first Eclipse, three months before. It had been a regular day in the small town of Red Leaf, AL. “Town” might have been too generous; it was little more than a small collection of houses, shops, and a tiny police station connected by a crumbling road running through it. One would need to go well out of their way to get here.
Jackie had gone into town to purchase more hunting supplies for the oncoming winter and exchanged small talk with the kindly store clerk, Roger Orson. The clerk had asked Jackie if he’d heard the news about the eclipse that was set to occur. Jackie hadn’t, so Roger advised that he stay inside when it began to get dark; according to the papers, it was set to be a rather long eclipse, lasting at least five hours.
The Shades had appeared soon after the Eclipse came. It had cast an odd dark-red glow over the town. Jackie had gotten back to his cabin a mile and a half away from the town proper, only to find Red Leaf beset by a host of living shadows. Before long, screams erupted from the homes, followed by ghastly, inhuman screeches, the sound of vehicles being destroyed, and ghoulish laughter. His poor townsfolk had been claimed by the Eclipse.
Jackie’s focus snapped back to the present when the radio began to buzz with static. Soon enough, a chorus of distorted, fiendish words began. Whether he was a paragon of willpower or a shameless coward, he couldn’t say, but all he knew was that he never opened up for the creatures.
Five hours, he instructed himself as always. You just need to wait five hours and you’re home free until next time. He kept his eyes trained on the door. There were only a couple of other boarded windows in the cabin, so they didn’t concern him as much as the Shades deciding to barge in head-on, which he knew they could if they wanted. All of a sudden, he heard it. The crackling of leaves underfoot, the sound of objects dragging across the ground, heavy breathing from distorted throats. His grip on the shotgun tightened. Once again, the Shades had come for him.
Looking around, Jackie noted, not for the first time, that the sturdiness of his cabin was matched only by its restrictiveness. He could—and had—held out for a long time in this cabin. However, for all of its safety, he felt as if at any moment, it could squeeze him to death like a boa constrictor. The one-room nature of the structure could only offer so much peace of mind, as it gave him fewer places to check but also fewer places to escape if need be.
As if summoned by this thought, he heard the first of them at his door. The creature began its usual performance of wheezing, snarling, and chittering in a distorted voice. The radio quickly did its duty and broadcast the beast’s message.
“Jackie?” called the twisted, two-toned voice of Roger. “Jackie, open up, bud. I think it’s starting to clear up out here.” Even with the windows boarded, Jackie knew it was lying. He could see rays of the reddened sun slashing through the cracks, rays he dared not enter. He just stuck to watching the door as the radio continued to speak for the beasts. They all spoke with the voices of his neighbors, his friends, just as they always did, except they used a horrific parody of their voices. They always coaxed, begged, screamed, and threatened with the same goal: making him leave the house.
Then another voice chimed in, and as soon as he heard it, he knew that tonight was going to be different.
“Mr. West?” asked the timid, tearful voice of Ken Edwards, once an outgoing, happy-go-lucky young boy who never failed to say hello to Jackie when he came into town. “Can you please let me come in, Mr. West? I don’t like it out here. It’s scary, and something’s wrong with Mama and Daddy.”
The radio’s sadistic interpretation made his heart sink. Each time, there had been some kind of tell, a distortion to the voices that gave off the impression of it belonging to a Shade. But Ken’s voice, though filled with static, sounded as normal as ever.
“Mr. West?” the voice called again, sounding more desperate. “Mr. West, please.” He trailed off in a series of sobs, then continued through them, “Everyone out here’s gotten real mean. Mama and Daddy started fighting, and she hurt Daddy with a knife, then he hurt her with an axe. He kept hitting her over and over again. He grabbed me and…” Fresh terror took the boy’s voice as he began screaming, “Please, let me in! I see him! It’s Daddy, but it’s not! Why won’t you open the door?! Please, Mr. West! He’s gonna hurt me! He—”
The voice was cut off by the sound of a blade striking flesh, followed by choking and failed attempts at screaming in agony as the axe hit the boy again and again. Jackie listened to all of this, feeling bitter tears running down his cheeks. By now, he was feeling sorely tempted to go out there and shoot as many of those bastards as he could, but he remained steadfast. It was an illusion. Then the boy’s voice came back over the radio, only now it was a malicious, croaking cackle.
“You knew about it, Jackie! You knew about the Sun, and you didn’t even warn anybody! Just so you know, it took a lot longer for the boy to die than this. You should have seen the look on his face, Jackie. It was exquisite.”
Growling, Jackie began reaching for the radio, keeping his eyes on the barricaded door.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the voice sang tauntingly. Curious, Jackie looked at the radio, only to find that he was not reaching for the device but now his hand was reaching into the steel jaws of one of the bear traps he had set up. He tumbled out of his chair to pull his hand away from the steel teeth as they just barely missed his hand. The shock of what had just happened seemed to paralyze him as he realized his chair was in a different position than he had initially set it. Then he heard the wild, raucous cackles over the radio and outside as the beasts mocked his mistake. Jackie tried to ignore them, but he was still quite shaken up as he stood the chair back up to face the door.
All of a sudden, the radio fell silent. Then he heard something strike the door hard enough to shake it. He jumped back in shock, then took aim with the shotgun. It shook again and again. Jackie slowly backed up before it burst open. There they were: three deformed, mutilated figures with long, crimson strings attached to their bodies that pulsed like veins and seemed to stretch to the sky. The one on the right carried a pickaxe, the one on the left held a claw hammer, and the middle one held a hatchet. They all grinned madly at him, though even now he wasn’t sure if they were grinning because of the curse or because of how disfigured their faces were at this point. Outside, the moon gazed down on Red Leaf, having taken on the shape of a lidless scarlet eye with a colossal, black pupil. It glowered at Jackie, causing horrific images to flash through his mind. He was nearly taken off his guard as the intruders began their assault.
The middle Shade charged at Jackie in an attempt to swing the hatchet, only for Jackie to blow its leg off with a blast from his shotgun. Blood sprayed everywhere, coating the foyer in a grisly shower of vermillion. It showed no pain, just continued to try and stand on the remaining leg, whereupon Jackie pulled back the slide, ejecting the shell, and shot it in the head. The veins it was covered in seemed to absorb its corpse with a horrid slurping sound.
The other two attempted to do the same as their fallen compatriot, Jackie just barely dodging the pickaxe swinging for him as it lodged itself in the wall. He capitalized on this by pumping the shotgun again and firing at the Shade’s head. Then the monster with the hammer rushed at him, receiving the same treatment. Their ocular puppeteer in the sky slurped them back up.
That was when Jackie heard the chainsaw.
He whirled about in horror as the sound of the tool at one of the rear windows, then he saw the tool cut through the boards. Swiveling his head from his door to the window, he tried to keep himself calm despite knowing that at any moment, he could receive another ambush at the door. He was just hoping that the Shade’s entry through the window would have the results he was hoping for.
Once the boards were cut open, the Shade, a hulking brute of a man, stepped through. Before it could charge at him with the saw, it was halted by one of the bear traps which had bitten into its ankle. Without hesitation, it began to saw away at the leg, but Jackie stopped it with a shot in the chest, then the head.
More Shades began appearing, all bearing makeshift weapons and pierced with the same veins as their predecessors and all receiving the same treatment from his weapon. Now they were getting more aggressive. After killing at least ten more, he aimed for another swinging a large plank of wood, only to hear it click. The Shade swung the plank into Jackie’s left shin. He cried out in pain, but frantically dodged as it tried to bring it down for a finishing strike. Jackie grabbed the hatchet one of the first three had been carrying, then slashed at the veins. An enraged roar sounded from the sky, though whether it was because of control over its puppet being severed or from pain, Jackie couldn’t tell. Either way, it seemed to shake the confidence of the being somewhat, as the Shades suddenly ceased their siege of the cabin.
Jackie stared out at them, confused. He still kept his distance from the red beams of moonlight. Then something new happened. A figure descended from the sky. The Shades all parted, then knelt before it. From a distance, it looked like a man. As it approached, however, Jackie could see the sheer inhumanity of the thing. It too had veins sticking out of it, but unlike the Shades, it only had one vein attached to the moon. Furthermore, all of the veins seemed to run from it into the Shades. The multitude of eyes that coated its sexless, nude figure all resembled the moon, and they all turned their gaze on Jackie before the images raced through his mind again. Then it began addressing him.
Return to us what is ours, thief, it spoke into his mind with soft yet vicious authority. Give to us, the Sanguine Eye, what you have taken, and we shall yet allow you to retain your will. We will let you take the place of this Shade as our Seer. There is no greater honor or pleasure to be found. All you need to do is give us our rightful property.
For an appalling moment, Jackie thought the offer over. Then that moment passed as he saw the moon beginning to move out of the eclipse. It was getting desperate. It was running out of time, so it had resorted to bargaining with him. He responded by removing his revolver, aiming at the Seer and firing at one of the eyes on its torso. It burst open with a cascade of blood and other fluids.
The Seer clutched at the remains of the optical organ in pain, letting out a howl of agony, followed by fury. It pointed a finger at Jackie, then all of the Shades leaped to their feet and charged at the cabin. Jackie began counting the seconds. Just as the Shades entered the cabin and one was about to bring a lead pipe down on his head, the red light from the moon vanished, along with the Shades and their Seer. Sunlight bathed the town of Red Leaf, and Jackie sighed as he lay down, then groaned as he remembered the blow to his leg.
Once he had bandaged his leg, which was thankfully not broken, Jackie headed into the cellar, seated himself at his desk, and took the book out. The design of the hateful, scarlet eye on the cover watched him, judged him. He flipped to the pages with diagrams of an eclipse and hoped the bizarre trance would come over him again, illuminating some means of reversing things. He knew he was responsible for all of this. If he had just left that damn book alone, he wouldn’t have been possessed by the knowledge of what to say to call down the Sanguine Eclipse, as the book referred to it. This was his penance: staying in Red Leaf, surviving the attacks by his former neighbors. The force behind this book, the Sanguine Eye, made no attempt to leave town. Whatever it wanted, it would be incomplete without him. Without the one who summoned the Shades, the “collection” was incomplete. What’s more, it was getting desperate, and he thought he knew why. The book spoke of an event that had always occurred within a year of the Eclipse: the Azure Sun. Evidently, it was the equal and opposite reaction to the Sanguine Eclipse, a force that would cleanse the world of its doings. As long as he drew breath, he was going to make sure the Shades and their master stayed confined to Red Leaf. If he could no longer defend the cabin before the Azure Sun, he would burn it down with him and the book inside. He owed his neighbors that much.

I have generalized anxiety disorder and depression very bad, I don’t get outta bed anymore. I have a slow motility issue in my stomach possibly from not ever getting enough calories and nutrients and being dehydrated all the time and not getting enough low fiber.
Will it give me cavities I do have pain in three tooth’s but it isn’t constant and I do eat a lot of candy maybe like four twizzlers and a lot of chocolate raisins I also eat added sugars like the crackers after dinner I just get hungry and idk what else to eat bc healthy foods aren’t really something I can eat unless it’s low fiber and idek what low fiber foods are. I’m a very tiny girl and I’m 22 and 88 lbs I’m lucky to be alive rn. but man my body feels awful…

Prologue
The moon hung swollen and ominous in the night sky, casting an eerie crimson glow over the sleepy town of Willowbrook. Deputy Sarah Harding stood at the edge of the woods, her heart pounding as she stared at the mangled remains splayed out before her. Even after three years on the force, she had never seen anything like this. The body – if you could still call it that – had been ripped to shreds, flesh and bone scattered amidst the fallen leaves. Sarah swallowed back bile, forcing herself to look closer. Claw marks, far too large to be from any natural predator, had shredded the victim's chest cavity. And the head...the head was nowhere to be found.
Sarah's radio crackled to life, startling her. "Harding, what's your status? Over." She recognized the gruff voice of Sheriff Ethan Blackwood.
"It's a massacre, sir," Sarah reported, struggling to keep her voice steady. "You need to see this for yourself. Something's not right here. Over."
There was a long pause before Ethan responded, his tone grim. "On my way. Secure the scene and stand by. Do not, I repeat, do not pursue any leads until I get there. Stay alert. Over and out."
Sarah clicked off her radio and drew her gun, a sense of dread settling deep in her gut. An unnatural stillness had fallen over the woods. No insects chirping, no leaves rustling – just a thick, oppressive silence. Sarah had lived in Willowbrook her whole life and knew these forests like the back of her hand...but tonight, everything felt different. Sinister. As if something ancient and evil had awakened.
A twig snapped behind her, and Sarah whirled around, her heart leaping into her throat. She scanned the treeline, her gun at the ready, but saw nothing. Just shadows and silence.
Then, a low growl rumbled from the darkness, so deep that Sarah felt it vibrating in her chest. She took a step back, her finger tightening on the trigger. "Who's there?" she called, hating the tremor in her voice. "Show yourself!"
For a long moment, nothing happened. Sarah's breath misted in the chilly air as she waited, every muscle coiled tight. Then, a pair of glowing yellow eyes appeared in the shadows, feral and hungry. They seemed to burn with an otherworldly malevolence, sending icy tendrils of fear down Sarah's spine.
She blinked, and the eyes vanished. The growling faded into the night, leaving only an unsettling quiet in its wake. Sarah stood frozen, her heart hammering against her ribs. Every instinct screamed at her to run, to flee whatever lurked in those woods...but she had a job to do.
Swallowing hard, Sarah turned back to the grisly remains, forcing down her rising panic. She had to focus, had to secure the scene until Ethan arrived. But as she began to cordon off the area with shaking hands, she couldn't shake the feeling that something was out there. Watching. Waiting.

I tested positive for covid a week ago, and while the majority of my symptoms vanished over time, I woke up today (though I can still feel that I am sick, but right now its mostly on the level of a weak cold) noticing that my mind just was not functioning properly. What separates the brain fog I'm experiencing now from any confusion or brain fog or tiredness I've had in the past is my mind's visualization skills. I've never once experienced my visualization skills be this reduced. Imagery is far less visually vivid and I can only focus on a far smaller part. Sounds are also less intensive in my mind. Because of how novel this experience is I am assuming its related to covid brain fog specifically. While I should note that I also some 3 days ago started taking fluoxetine and guanfacine again, I can't remember it ever affecting me like this. Only just yesterday were my visualization skills in pristine condition.
So, does brain fog go away quickly for most people? Or does it tend to last? As I understand It is thought to be the result of infection in the brain, which does not sound to me like something that just passes easily on its own. And most mentions of covid brain fog I've seen have been about it long term. In the event that this does tend to be a sign of coming long covid, is there anything I should do or take now early to better my chances?
I'm aware this reads as a bit hypochondric, and I'm honestly not sure which subreddit was appropriate to post this in, but I posted it here because I'm assuming that most of you have more knowledge regarding this than others.
If this matters, my symptoms started out a few days like a strange upper throat and nasal cavity infection, progressed to something more like a fever (though fortunately coughing was relatively infrequent) with significant congestion, eventually my smell (and subsequently aromatic flavours) diminished significantly in intensity, perhaps to something around 5%-20%. But that passed over the course of 3 days. And today, I don't have many symptoms at all beyond just having that sick feeling in my body. And a really strange mild headache, and a constant mild pressure in my head, and general loss of focus and brain fog symptoms alongside the novel notably reduced abilities of my "mind's eye".

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

As the last orange light of day drained from the sky, the living dead in Club Vlad rose. Max the skeleton and Jessie the…not skeleton…sewed up the gaping Y-shaped incision on Dom’s chest under Merrick’s direct supervision. Dom sat there, feeling nothing, thinking nothing. He’d woken with a headache and a feeling of cold, and even now, he could feel the dull throb above his left eye. It felt like someone was tearing his brain apart with a fork. He had told Merrick, and Merrick had nodded sadly. “Is my brain rotting?”
“Most likely,” Merrick had said.
There was a certain peace in the idea of losing his cursed humanity. As Merrick had said, he would feel no pain, know no quandaries. He would live only for the night and for his master. On the other hand, watching someone like Matt sit and stare into the distance, drool coursing down his chin and nothing happening behind his dead eyes, scared Dom. He didn’t want to be a braindead idiot. He didn’t care about keeping his emotions, he just wanted to function.
Like Merrick.
There wasn’t much he could do, however. He was dead and that was the end of it.
Once Dom was patched up and dressed in a pair of jeans and a hoodie, Merrick called his children before him. “I have done my best to love and protect all of you,” he began. “Jessie, you were miserable with your grandmother, were you not?”
“Yes,” Jessie said tonelessly.
“You were depressed, bipolar, and cut yourself. Now you’re happy.”
“Yes,” she replied again.
“Joe, you were a two bit nobody staring down a ten year stretch in jail.”
“Yes.” Thin yellow liquid dripped from his nose.
“But now you are free.”
“Yes.”
“You appreciate what I’ve done for you.”
“Yes.”
Merrick flashed then, slamming his fist onto the arm of his wheelchair. “Then why do you keep fucking up? The police were here earlier. They have messages between you and Jessie. I told both of you to delete those. Then I find out that you bit someone and turned them despite my orders. We have an endless supply of blood here but you still went off on your own. How many are there?”
“Just one,” Joe said.
“Are you being honest with me?”
“Yes.”
Merrick sagged back in his chair, looking somehow older. “Joe, take Matt and go to her. Bring her back here before she causes any more problems. God alone knows how many people she’s changed. Too many vampires without a father will bring heat on us, and you know what happens in that case? We get pieces of wood shoved in our chests.”
Turning to Dom, Merrick said, “I have a job for you and Jessie. We’re nearly out of embalming fluid. You haven’t had your first dose and the rest of us are starting to get ripe as well. I have a contact at a funeral home. He texted earlier that the order he placed on my behalf has come in. I want you to pick it up and to pay him.”
Dom had never been picked for anything in his whole life. No one had ever wanted him on their team and no one had ever placed their trust in him the way Merrick was now. He was honored, proud, and would do anything to not let Merrick down.
“That cop who came here might be a problem,” Merrick went on. “We may have to deal with him, but we’ll leave that for another night. In any case, I want this place cleaned from top to bottom. If the police come, I want them to see nothing out of the ordinary.”
Now that everyone had their marching orders, they dispersed. Merrick handed Dom an evelope stuffed with cash, and Dom slipped it into the pocket of his hoodie. The other team - Joe and Matt - left, while the remaining vampires began tidying up.
A fleet of vehicles waited in the parking lot behind Club Vlad. Dom and Jessie took a black pedo van with no back windows. They drove in silence, the radio off. Dom did not want to hear music, nor did he wish to speak to Jessie. Their kinship was one of blood and circumstance, not one of words and emotions. He had no questions for her and wished to answer none of his own. The only thoughts he had were of the mission ahead and of the growing pain in his skull. He thought of the staring stupid Matt, of the decayed Max, and a shiver went down his spine.
What was left of his humanity recoiled at the idea of becoming like them.
The pain grew hotter, more intense. He forced it away and focused on driving.
The funeral home was on North Allen Street, next to a restaurant called Pepperjack’s. A tall, white house with dark shutters and a sign out front, it looked like a quiet, peaceful place. “Pull around back,” Jessie said.
Dom pulled the van around back and parked under a balcony, killing the headlights. They got out and went to the back door, Jessie in the lead. He assumed that she had done this before and that the seller would recognize her. She knocked, and a few moments later, the door opened. A youngish man with a shaved head appeared, wearing an apron and gloves. He saw them and tensed a little. Dom could smell, rather than sense, his fear, and his throat panged with thirst. “Come on,” the man said quickly. He stepped aside and allowed them to enter. Dom noticed that he walked behind them, wary of putting his back to them. “Do you have the money?”
“Do you have our order?” Jessie countered.
“Yes,” the man said, “I’m really risking my neck for this. They don’t just give embalming fluid away, you know. They keep track of it and if they realize I’m over ordering, someone from the state’s going to come down here and check.”
He led them into an embalming room. Three boxes sat on a table. Dom gave the man his money, and he and Jessie carried the boxes outside, loading them into the van. The whole time they were there, the man was edgy, like he was afraid they were going to attack him. Dom would be a liar if he said that the hot smell of the man’s blood didn’t excite him. Perhaps once his brain rotted away, he wouldn’t be able to control himself, but for now, he could.
A lightning bolt of pain shot through his head and he nearly dropped the last box onto the ground.
Once the man was paid, Dom and Jessie drove back to Club Vlad. In fifteen minutes, they were drinking side by side from two passed out partygoers, their reward for a job well done.
Meanwhile, across the city, Joe and Matt weren’t doing as well. They were standing outside of Heather’s apartment. Joe, slightly annoyed (anger being another emotion vampires could feel, along with fear) pounded on the door. He knew she was in there; he could smell the putrid odor of decay. “Let us in,” he said. “We won’t hurt you.”
Joe could barely remember changing her. He didn’t mean to, it just…happened. Like an unwanted pregnancy. You can bite someone as much as you want and drink as much as you want, but if you take too much at once and they die, you get the vampire equivalent of a baby. Joe liked the hunt. It was exciting. Having his meals brought to him Club Vlad didn’t arouse the same level of excitement. It was like shooting an animal tied to a tree. Or hiring a prostitute instead of wooing someone. No real satisfaction to it.
That was probably his greatest downfall. He had lured Jessie the same way, though Merrick was indeed interested in rescuing her from her grandmother. People you have saved obey just as well as people with no brains.
He felt fluid on his upper lip and sniffed. “Come on, let us in,” he said.
No response.
He looked at Matt and nodded to the door. Together, they rammed their shoulders against it. It shook in its frame. They were both dead and weak, but modern American architecture is even weaker, and the door eventually slammed open. The apartment beyond was dark, messy, and reeked of death. They searched high and low, and eventually found Heather huddled in a corner, trying to hide. She was naked save for a pair of panties, her body bloated and beginning to turn black. Her skin hung from her frame and her eyes were filled with blood and fear. It was a wonder no one had called the police yet. The smell was overpowering. “We’re here to help,” he said. “You have to come with us.”
She shook her head and trembled. Maybe she remembered that he was the one who did this to her. Maybe her memories had rotted away. Those were usually the first to go. Then your emotions, then your personality. Finally, your capacity for higher reasoning. “I’m sorry I did this to you,” he said. That was a lie. He was not remorseful. Nor was he proud, for that matter. It just happened. Like rain. “But I want to help you. We can fix you.”
No amount of coaxing or conjoling could induce her to move. Joe weighed his options. He doubted anyone would call the cops even if they heard the door coming down - people who lived in places like this rarely called the cops, which helped Joe and his cause immensely. Even so, there was the possibility. Every minute they spent here was a minute that something could go wrong, and Joe had a lot to lose.
So, too, did Merrick.
Giving up, Joe took out his cellphone and called Merrick. “She refuses to come,” he said simply.
The line was quiet for a moment, then Merrick’s voice came back. Cold. Calculating. “Then do what you must.”
That was the go ahead.
Hanging up, Joe looked around the apartment and found a wooden chair in the kitchen. He lifted it over his head and slammed it on the counter, shattering it into a million pieces. He selected the longest, sharpest, and sturdiest looking one. He went back into the room and directed Matt to hold her down. She fought, kicked, and spat, but she was weaker than even they were. They had been embalmed. She hadn’t.
Matt pinned her hands above her head and Joe straddled her. Animal terror filled her eyes and she whipped her head from side to side. Joe lifted the makeshift stake with both hands, and brought it down as hard as he could, driving it deep into her heart. Her eyes bulged from their sockets and a high, otherworldly scream ripped from her throat. She bucked, thrashed, and kicked her feet. Her resistance began to ebb away until she was twitching…until she was still.
Heather from OKCupid was dead.
Truly dead.
Joe couldn’t help wondering what it was like.
Pulling the stake out, he tossed it aside and got to his feet, Matt doing likewise. A soul petrifying scream might be cause for even the tightest of lips to start talking. “Let’s go,” he said. And together, he and Matt fled, leaving the poor, dead body of Heather behind.
***
As it turned out, one of Heather’s neighbors did call the cops. At 10;13pm, Vanessa Rodregiez arrived with two patrolmen and found the front door of Apartment 237 knocked down. Guns drawn, they entered, Vanessa at the head. The first thing she noticed was the smell. It jammed itself into her nostrils, shoved its tongue down her throat, and violated her - all without even buying her dinner first.
Vanessa hadn’t been at this as long as her buddy Bruce had, but she knew a dead, rotting body when she smelled one. They searched the premises, and sure enough, they found a vic in the bedroom, lying in the gap between the bed and the wall; it looked like the former had been moved, perhaps in a struggle. Vanessa knelt down to check the vic’s pulse, but stopped.
There was no need.
The vic - who looked like a female but could have been an overweight male - hadn’t had a pulse in a very long time.
Examining the body, Vanessa found a wound in the chest, just above the heart. Black, stinking goo leaked from it, and Vanessa gagged. She fisted her hand to her mouth, retched, and then ran for the kitchen sink. Her partner for the night, Jim Walsh, stared down at the stiff before him, and his face turned a sickly shade of green. He avoided puking because he didn’t nose fuck the wound like Vanessa had, but he wasted no time in getting out there, dry heaving in the hallway where the air was somewhat fresh.
After leaving her lunch in the sink, Vanessa radioed back to headquarters, and before long, the place was crawling with cops. The assistant medical examiner - who had taken over after Ed Harris quit the previous night - knelt over the body and studied it. A solidly built black man with a mustache, his name was Leon and he knew death just as well as his old boss, so when he said the vic had been dead nearly two weeks, Vanessa accepted it.
That begged the question: Who broke in and screamed just now? A relative? The caller clearly heard screaming and peeked out her door to see two males fleeing on foot. Maybe they found the vic and freaked out? Or maybe they were the killers returning to the scene of the crime. After all, the vic had clearly been murdered.
In fact, they found a likely murder weapon. A long sliver of wood soaked in black goo. Blood turns black after a while, but there was something different about this stuff. “What is it?” Vanessa asked Leon.
“I’m not sure,” Leon said and pulled off a pair of Latex gloves he’d donned to examine the vic, “could be blood or…”
“Or what?” Vanessa asked.
“Or something,” Leon said. “Give me a few hours.”
And a few hours it was. Just before 1am, Leon called Vanessa at her desk. “I think you should come down here,” he said.
Fifteen minutes later, Vanessa stood over Leon as he pulled the vic’s chest open with a pair of tweezers. “That’s the heart,” he said, “whoever stabbed her scored a direct hit, but this…this is what concerns me.”
He prodded a furry lump with the tip of his scalpel.
“What is it?” Vanessa asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, “it looks like mold.”
That word - mold - triggered a memory in her brain. “Ed said something about mold last night. He found it in -”
“The Mason boy,” Leon finished.
“Yeah. The one who got up and ran off.”
Leon turned away from Vanessa and looked at the dead woman - for it was a woman. Vanessa got the impression that he didn’t want her to see his expression. “I’ve known Ed ten years. I know something happened last night, but a stiff getting up and walking off? I thought he was confused. Now…I don’t know. That makes two bodies in 24 hours. And get this. The chest wound? It was done post-mortem. I can’t find a cause of death anywhere. Except maybe blood loss but it’s hard to tell at this point. And speaking of blood…”
“What?” Vanessa asked quickly.
“When I opened her stomach up, a whole shit load of blood spilled out. And a lot of it was a lot fresher than she is.”
Vanessa furrowed her brow in confusion. “You mean…?”
“It’s not hers,” Leon said. “I can’t be 100 percent sure until I run tests, but I’d put money on it.”
Vanessa’s head spun with information both new and old. You know that full, heavy feeling you get when a poo is brewing in your guts? That’s kind of what Vanessa was feeling, only in her head instead of her stomach.
Leon was just as mystified by the whole thing as she was and stayed up late to run a few preliminary tests. By sunrise, he had confirmed that the blood inside of Heather’s stomach was not hers. In fact, it had come from at least three different sources. “Is it human?” Vanessa asked over the phone.
“Yes,” Leon said, sounding troubled, “it’s human.”
In the cobalt hour before sunrise, Vanessa sat at her desk and tried to piece this whole thing together. They had:

1. A corpse that (allegedly) woke up and dipped out
2. A dead girl who’d been stabbed in the heart with a piece of wood after somehow ingesting the blood of three different people.
3. Some missing kids
4. Oh, and both bodies - the girl’s and the runaway corpses’ - had the same weird fungus in their heart cavities.

All of this - even the missing kids, Vanessa felt - was related. She just didn’t know how. The only answer that half way fit was that both of those bodies were vampires. Like…what’s a vampire but a dead body that gets up and walks around at night? And how do you kill a vampire? Why, you drive a piece of wood through its heart.
The idea that vampires were real was dumb, but the more she turned it over in her mind, the more she became convinced that it was at least an option. A lot of things people thought were fantastic and made up turned out to be real, so why not vampires too?
Shortly after 8, Bruce came in. He was just sitting down when Vanessa came in and slapped her report on the desk. “Buckle up, bitch,” she said, “things just got weirder.”
He stared up at her with one of those grumpy - but cute -expressions he was so good at putting on. As he read, however, his brow knitted. “Jesus,” he muttered to himself. He pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a weary sigh.
“I have a theory - kind of,” Vanessa said, “but I don’t want to say it.”
“You might as well,” Bruce said. “It can’t be more kooky than reality these days.”
“Okay,” Vanessa started, “what if - and I’m just thinking out loud here - what if there are vampires in Albany?”
She expected Bruce to give her a dirty look, but he chewed it over, actually taking it seriously. “And those missing boys are victims?” he asked finally.
“Yeah,” Vanessa said. “That girl’s been dead two weeks. Maybe she bit Dominick Mason and he came back for revenge after realizing he was cursed to be a goddamn shit sucking vampire forever.”
Bruce nodded. “Yeah, but who turned her?”
“I don’t know,” Vanessa said, “I don’t know.”
***
Before dawn painted the eastern sky, Merrick Garvis sat in his chamber like a withered king, a mess of IVs hooked into his arms and neck. The vault was silent save for the soft noise of the machines as they filtered out the old embalming fluid and replaced it with new embalming fluid. Embalming fluid always made him spacy, like a drug. The others had gone first, and even now lay near comatose around him like addicts in an opium den.
As far as he knew, Merrick was the oldest vampire in the world, perhaps, even, the oldest vampire to ever live. Though he was not fully honest with Dom, he was not lying when he said that vampires rotted like any other dead thing. Conditions considered, you had a few weeks tops if left untreated. There may be living vampires in remote corners of Egypt or the northern most reaches of Russia, where the climate preserved dead things, but unless you made it to one of those places, you were pretty well fucked.
Merrick was not a proud man, nor was he concerned with saving face - the dead have no need for that. He was being truthful when he said that he feared death. What’s more, he feared being helpless. Deep down, vampires are people, and people don’t exactly have the greatest track record with caring for their infirm. He read once that the first sign of a civilization was a broken leg that had healed, as it showed that someone stayed with and cared for a fellow human long enough for them to get well again. In Merrick’s opinion, that was true…and thus there was no civilization. Merrick was fifty-one when he died in the year 1982. In his lifetime, he had seen The Great Depression, World War II, and a million small acts of cruelty and selfishness in between. He’d seen beggars starving in the streets, abused children shuffled out of sight and out of mind, and disdain for the poor and the weak.
The living were awful, and the living dead were no different. Once their humanity rotted away, they cared only about filling their stomachs. They were like ticks - they would drink until their bellies literally ruptured…and then keep on drinking.
That left him in a precarious position. He was old, his body was weak. He couldn’t stand unassisted and if left to fend for himself, he would decay into a pile of bones within days. He would be cursed to lay in one spot for all eternity, aware and hungry, little more than a ghost tethered to a black and still beating heart.
He refused to let that happen to him. Thus, he had created a family, a clan of vampires loyal to him and to him alone. He did this through acts of simple kindness and understanding…but also through deception. He knew, for instance, how to preserve the brain. He’d figured out how to do it early on - you pickle it. Like a fetus preserved in a jar. He sawed off the top of his own head and filled it with a special solution that kept his brain - and his intelligence - intact. It slowly drained out through the nose and ears in a thin, yellow liquid, but it worked well enough. He couldn’t save everything, however, and had lost vital things in the process, such as most of his human memories, his sense of humor, and some motor functions. He shared this secret with only Joe, and a few others before, because he needed a strong captain. He kept the others in the dark because vampires - like people - are easier to control when they don’t think for themselves.
Right about now, however, Merrick was beginning to regret sharing the formula with even Joe. Joe had brought him nothing but grief. Joe, you see, could think for himself. He could make decisions. He could go behind Merrick’s back. Joe had something called free will, and free will is a worse affliction than vampirism. Free will is messy, free will is dangerous.
Free will could very well turn Merrick into a pile of bones.
That was, of course, if they weren’t discovered first. Joe had made several mistakes lately, not least of which was the turning of Heather. Sitting there in the predawn hour, attended by Tony, his gay bartender and human familiar, Merrick decided to have Joe killed. There are only two ways to kill a vampire: The stake and the flame. The latter seemed somehow appropriate in this case. After Joe, there would be no more captains, only him, one father with absolute power. That was how it had to be. One man, one vision. Democracies didn’t work. That was especially clear today. Everyone was so divided and nothing ever got done. If the humans had one strong leader, they might go in the wrong direction, but at least they would go somewhere. Instead, they stagnated.
Merrick didn’t particularly look forward to killing Joe, but it had to be done. To protect the family. To protect him.
And Merrick would do anything…anything at all…to protect himself.
***
Vampires.
Bruce kept coming back to that single wor, hoping each time that he would chuckle at the absurdity of it.
But he never did.
Did that mean he believed it? Not necessarily, but damn it, he considered it a possibility, and that alone was enough to make him feel like a fucking clown. All the evidence he had pointed to vampires, but then again, it might point to other things as well. Like aliens.
But let’s say the whole vampire thing was real. Who, like Vanessa asked, was patient zero? Who started this whole mess?
A name came to mind.
Merrick Garvis.
He had not had time to check into Garvis the previous day, but by God, he was going to do it now. He ran his name and social through the system and everything seemed to check out. Merrick Garvis was born on June 31, 1963 in -
Wait a minute. Weren’t there only 30 days in June?
Bruce checked, and there were, indeed, only 30 days in the month of June. Hm. Bruce did a little digging and found something out. Before 1987, social security numbers weren’t issued at birth. You had to sign up, using other forms of ID. Merrick Garvis applied for his in April 1984 and the date of birth on his state issued driver’s license was June 31. Bruce spent an hour on the phone with the DMV and learned that they had never issued a license to a Merrick Garvis. He then spoke to the Social Security Administration, and after much wrangling and frustration, he managed to get a photocopy of the license Garvis used to get his social security number. It was dated 1983.
The face staring back at him was almost exactly the same face he’d seen at Club Vlad, except maybe a touch less stiff and waxy. Though not as rough looking, there was no way in hell Garvis was 20 in that picture. It had to be a fake,
Bruce thought back to the events of the previous two days. Missing bodies, staked corpses, hearts that still beat after death.
Vampires didn’t seem like such a crazy explanation.
And if anyone was a fucking vampire around here, it was Merrick Garvis.

21F
Weight: Unsure, within 150-160 range.
Height: approx. 69in.
Medications: Adderall XR 30mg
Past medical history/context: - Childhood diagnosis of chronic UTI’s (ages 4-10, tapered off but restarted around 15, stopped for a final time at 18. Have not had issues since) -suspected endo, was never diagnosed. My mother was diagnosed with it when she was young and it only corrected itself after her first childbirth. -History of irregular, very heavy and painful periods that have gotten worse over time. -premature labor at 36w gestation due to ICP, emergency c-section with mild complications (uterine atony and mild blood loss). -painful ovulation with severe stabbing pains only ever on right lower abdominal cavity (right iliac fossa)
I’ve been struggling with very intense periods since the very first one I had. They usually vary in length, some have been up to 2 weeks long with consistent heavy bleeding and severe cramping (no clotting), others will be as short as 5 days with the same intensity of symptoms. I have had painful ovulation for just as long. I get a very sharp pulling sensation only on my right ovary consistently, which sometimes rivals my menstrual cramps in terms of pain level and frequency. It’s common for me to be unable to walk or fully stand/sit up due to the severity of these issues. Applying pressure to affected location on right side or stretching causes pain to increase. Episodes of these symptoms occur often throughout my whole menstrual cycle- but is more severe during ovulation and menstruation.
I’ve tried just about everything that doctors and friends have recommended over the years to help with the pain but nothing usually works. To be quite honest, I’ve been quite neglectful with seeking care for this issue. I get yearly checkups with a gynecologist every year and have since I was 11. The first gyno I had brushed most of these concerns off, even when my mother stepped in to advocate for me. She wrote me a script for 800mg of ibuprofen, Xulane patches, and then told me it should get better with age and that we could revisit the conversation after my body adjusted to the birth control. It never did and I eventually changed providers, but the next one also told me roundabout the same thing. I never pushed it further and prayed that it would get better like I was told. I got pregnant, had my son and hoped that this would cause the pain and symptoms to clear up, but my periods/ovulation just became even more irregular and painful as time went on. I’m now almost 21 months post c-section and finally taking the leap to see a specialist to get this addressed and be given the medical care I need.
Point is, can a physician weigh in and share some insight on a similar experience they have or any thoughts/hypothesis, etc.? Any specific recommended tests, scans, blood work, etc. I maybe should bring up with my new gyno? Any input is appreciated.

The super quick background is I have painful neuropathy up and down the left side of my body and suspected to be Sjogren's or sarcoidosis and a combination of LDN and supplements were keeping it at bay from April '23 to Feb '24. This happened about 9 months ago, while my pain was 99% controlled (those were the days).
I needed to have a cavity filled on my left side and figured that it had a decent chance of waking up my trigeminal nerve which is one of the most active when not controlled (injecting lidocaine would be the trigger). As feared, it did wake up my trigeminal nerve (and it required extra lidocaine to get me numb) but it didn't stop there - my entire left side of my body woke up and it took 2+ weeks for it to calm back down. Since it did calm back down, I had it noted down to talk to my neurologist about it the next time I needed to go in but then he left his practice and I was dropped.
What in the world would cause such coordinated action that irritating a nerve in my face could trigger such widespread pain? As always, I feel like a medical mystery wrapped in an enigma.

I, a 45 yo female, had my bottom two impacted wisdom teeth removed in the mid '90's around the time of my braces treatment. I don't remember much about it other than waking up during the surgery, to loud radio music, the surgeon and nurses talking and laughing, and a couple of cuss words amongst their conversation. Then I blacked back out. I also remember having an allergic reaction to either the pain med or the antibiotic, but since I was taking both, I don't know which one caused the reaction.
When I had the first surgery, there was no reddit, no widely used internet. I had no one to advise me, other than my surgeon and orthodontists' offices, which I of course didn't spam them with my fears, I just followed their post-surgery instructions to the letter. There were no other young adults around me having their wisdom teeth removed. My parents and other family had had theirs out two decades earlier. I was seemingly all alone and freaking out about whether I was healing normally.
Fast forward to 6 days ago, I had my upper wisdom teeth extracted. They'd erupted long back with the lower ones, and were fully grown in. In fact, they'd been in so long, that with no lower teeth underneath them, there was no opposing force to keep them from moving slowly down further and further. My dentist told me they may stop moving downward, or they may eventually start to touch my bottom jaw bone, and when that happens, I'd definitely need to have them removed. He recommended it 12 years ago when I first started seeing him, because he said all they do is catch bacteria and start to decay. But I held firm that as long as they weren't causing problems, I didn't want to go through another surgery. I was able enjoy to not worrying about dry socket for 25 years since they erupted. Until this year when they both developed small cavities.
Now, here I was, this week terrified of getting dry socket. Everything was a breeze up until day 3 when my pain gradually got worse, and I just about freaked out. I started re-reading my current post-op instructions, reading every dental website I could find, and I came into this sub. I was convinced my blood clots just didn't form at all (because nothing had fallen out). All of my fears were being laid out by other people every hour of the day. I got plenty of answers and personal experiences to help me relax and realize that if I'd developed dry socket, I would KNOW IT.
I found out that days 3 and 4, or for some people 4 and 5, are the worst for pain, and that it can take up to 48 hours for anaesthesia to be processed fully out of the body. No wonder days 1 and 2 were such a breeze. I was very worried that at my "advanced age" (although 45 isn't old!), I might have a more difficult healing period.
So far, so good. I'm on day 6 and seeing the swelling in the sockets finally reduced to where I can see in the holes, and I can see the last remnants of the blood clots in both of them now. I'm taking my ibuprofen 3x a day. Sleeping well. Eating mashed potatoes, apple sauce, strawberry shakes, yogurt. So far, my healing is right on schedule.
Just want to let everyone know I think it's really great that we have so much information online to refer to, to find comfort, see pictures, to get our questions answered. Take the positive stories that you read here to heart. Yes, it's scary. Try to relax, follow your instructions, and consult your surgeon or dentist with any problems for the answers that fit you specifically, because they really are the ones you need to be ACTUALLY listening to. But geez it is so amazing to have this sub!! Best of luck to all of those going through this now and in the future. Happy healing!
There's a great informational website called Animated-Teeth that I read over and over all weekend long.

I’ve had it easy And I’ve been blessed To only suffer the feeling For those with less And those with more Of the carnage of war That pounds unwelcome at their door That brings down the roof And scars the youth Of tens of thousands Who are used to playing Going to school And maybe just losing their first front tooth And now a hand And now a leg And now a parent And now a friend And now a family And now a future And now the vividness of sense Vanishing with their view And what happens then, I cannot say I only see pictures of their pain This I’ve understood That I have had it good Though I’m trained to think that I’m in need By the vulturous advertiser’s greed And my problems have all been imagined ones Internal battles with my own demons The battles of one’s own existence The persistence of my own resistance To such inevitabilities of life: Universal failures, strivings, strife That distract all us living from our dying But again there are the very many Whose peace must come among with plenty of things not other than agonies Nothing other than tragedies, And not of chance but travesty The contortions of humanity The results of the depravity Of those hearts that are but a cavity And callous to the gravity Of a single person multiplied By the millions more amplified By the screaming of each and all The loudness of unanswered calls The desperate wails that overcome The visions of the tons and tons Of bodies piling in the sun The former loved and loving ones No longer… looking like… Persons For evil ideologues there are calculations: Who can we trick into taking our side? Who can we get to fund our supplies? When can we erase them and begin renovations? What can we gain from this mass starvation? And this is what the killers think That flesh and blood And beings that breathe Have no value guaranteed Not to mention the truths perceived In years and years of life elapsed In the children’s futures and elders’ pasts No different than buildings collapsed And we all can see Though some deny And others turn away their eyes We all can think And know the lies Forget for a second our piece of the pie We all can hear The babies’ cries How many more are going to die? If you have the power it’s time to decide
​
https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/comments/1ct9srh/comment/l4b38a4/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web3x&utm\_name=web3xcss&utm\_term=1&utm\_content=share\_button https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/comments/1ctbv51/comment/l4b475w/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web3x&utm\_name=web3xcss&utm\_term=1&utm\_content=share\_button

I’ve had it easy
And I’ve been blessed
To only suffer the feeling
For those with less
And those with more
Of the carnage of war
That pounds unwelcome at their door
That brings down the roof
And scars the youth
Of tens of thousands
Who are used to playing
Going to school
And maybe just losing their first front tooth
And now a hand
And now a leg
And now a parent
And now a friend
And now a family
And now a future
And now the vividness of sense
Vanishing with their view
And what happens then, I cannot say
I only see pictures of their pain
This I’ve understood
That I have had it good
Though I’m trained to think that I’m in need
By the vulturous advertiser’s greed
And my problems have all been imagined ones
Internal battles with my own demons
The battles of one’s own existence
The persistence of my own resistance
To such inevitabilities of life:
Universal failures, strivings, strife
That distract all us living from our dying
But again there are the very many
Whose peace must come among with plenty
of things not other than agonies
Nothing other than tragedies,
And not of chance but travesty
The contortions of humanity
The results of the depravity
Of those hearts that are but a cavity
And callous to the gravity
Of a single person multiplied
By the millions more amplified
By the screaming of each and all
The loudness of unanswered calls
The desperate wails that overcome
The visions of the tons and tons
Of bodies piling in the sun
The former loved and loving ones
No longer…
looking like…
Persons
For evil ideologues there are calculations:
Who can we trick into taking our side?
Who can we get to fund our supplies?
When can we erase them and begin renovations?
What can we gain from this mass starvation?
And this is what the killers think
That flesh and blood
And beings that breathe
Have no value guaranteed
Not to mention the truths perceived
In years and years of life elapsed
In the children’s futures and elders’ pasts
No different than buildings collapsed
And we all can see
Though some deny
And others turn away their eyes
We all can think
And know the lies
Forget for a second our piece of the pie
We all can hear
The babies’ cries
How many more are going to die?
If you have the power it’s time to decide

I’ve had it easy And I’ve been blessed To only suffer the feeling For those with less And those with more Of the carnage of war That pounds unwelcome at their door That brings down the roof And scars the youth Of tens of thousands Who are used to playing Going to school And maybe just losing their first front tooth And now a hand And now a leg And now a parent And now a friend And now a family And now a future And now the vividness of sense Vanishing with their view And what happens then, I cannot say I only see pictures of their pain This I’ve understood That I have had it good Though I’m trained to think that I’m in need By the vulturous advertiser’s greed And my problems have all been imagined ones Internal battles with my own demons The battles of one’s own existence The persistence of my own resistance To such inevitabilities of life: Universal failures, strivings, strife That distract all us living from our dying But again there are the very many Whose peace must come among with plenty of things not other than agonies Nothing other than tragedies, And not of chance but travesty The contortions of humanity The results of the depravity Of those hearts that are but a cavity And callous to the gravity Of a single person multiplied By the millions more amplified By the screaming of each and all The loudness of unanswered calls The desperate wails that overcome The visions of the tons and tons Of bodies piling in the sun The former loved and loving ones No longer… looking like… Persons For evil ideologues there are calculations: Who can we trick into taking our side? Who can we get to fund our supplies? When can we erase them and begin renovations? What can we gain from this mass starvation? And this is what the killers think That flesh and blood And beings that breathe Have no value guaranteed Not to mention the truths perceived In years and years of life elapsed In the children’s futures and elders’ pasts No different than buildings collapsed And we all can see Though some deny And others turn away their eyes We all can think And know the lies Forget for a second our piece of the pie We all can hear The babies’ cries How many more are going to die? If you have the power it’s time to decide

I’ve had it easy And I’ve been blessed To only suffer the feeling For those with less And those with more Of the carnage of war That pounds unwelcome at their door That brings down the roof And scars the youth Of tens of thousands Who are used to playing Going to school And maybe just losing their first front tooth And now a hand And now a leg And now a parent And now a friend And now a family And now a future And now the vividness of sense Vanishing with their view And what happens then, I cannot say I only see pictures of their pain This I’ve understood That I have had it good Though I’m trained to think that I’m in need By the vulturous advertiser’s greed And my problems have all been imagined ones Internal battles with my own demons The battles of one’s own existence The persistence of my own resistance To such inevitabilities of life: Universal failures, strivings, strife That distract all us living from our dying But again there are the very many Whose peace must come among with plenty of things not other than agonies Nothing other than tragedies, And not of chance but travesty The contortions of humanity The results of the depravity Of those hearts that are but a cavity And callous to the gravity Of a single person multiplied By the millions more amplified By the screaming of each and all The loudness of unanswered calls The desperate wails that overcome The visions of the tons and tons Of bodies piling in the sun The former loved and loving ones No longer… looking like… Persons For evil ideologues there are calculations: Who can we trick into taking our side? Who can we get to fund our supplies? When can we erase them and begin renovations? What can we gain from this mass starvation? And this is what the killers think That flesh and blood And beings that breathe Have no value guaranteed Not to mention the truths perceived In years and years of life elapsed In the children’s futures and elders’ pasts No different than buildings collapsed And we all can see Though some deny And others turn away their eyes We all can think And know the lies Forget for a second our piece of the pie We all can hear The babies’ cries How many more are going to die? If you have the power it’s time to decide

I’ve had it easy
And I’ve been blessed
To only suffer the feeling
For those with less
And those with more
Of the carnage of war
That pounds unwelcome at their door
That brings down the roof
And scars the youth
Of tens of thousands
Who are used to playing
Going to school
And maybe just losing their first front tooth
And now a hand
And now a leg
And now a parent
And now a friend
And now a family
And now a future
And now the vividness of sense
Vanishing with their view
And what happens then, I cannot say
I only see pictures of their pain
This I’ve understood
That I have had it good
Though I’m trained to think that I’m in need
By the vulturous advertiser’s greed
And my problems have all been imagined ones
Internal battles with my own demons
The battles of one’s own existence
The persistence of my own resistance
To such inevitabilities of life:
Universal failures, strivings, strife
That distract all us living from our dying
But again there are the very many
Whose peace must come among with plenty
of things not other than agonies
Nothing other than tragedies,
And not of chance but travesty
The contortions of humanity
The results of the depravity
Of those hearts that are but a cavity
And callous to the gravity
Of a single person multiplied
By the millions more amplified
By the screaming of each and all
The loudness of unanswered calls
The desperate wails that overcome
The visions of the tons and tons
Of bodies piling in the sun
The former loved and loving ones
No longer…
looking like…
Persons
For evil ideologues there are calculations:
Who can we trick into taking our side?
Who can we get to fund our supplies?
When can we erase them and begin renovations?
What can we gain from this mass starvation?
And this is what the killers think
That flesh and blood
And beings that breathe
Have no value guaranteed
Not to mention the truths perceived
In years and years of life elapsed
In the children’s futures and elders’ pasts
No different than buildings collapsed
And we all can see
Though some deny
And others turn away their eyes
We all can think
And know the lies
Forget for a second our piece of the pie
We all can hear
The babies’ cries
How many more are going to die?
If you have the power it’s time to decide

How does it feel and sound?
I'm currently in the early stages of a guitar project and, as a lefty, it's the first kit that pops up when I search for left handed stray bodies on Google, at least ones that aren't absolutely bank draining.
I have owned HBs before but never got a kit. I also have various woodworking tools because I'm doing a bit more than just putting a kit together - I need to take a router or a dremel to the pickup cavities as I want to install a loaded strat pickguard with 3 humbuckers. Additionally, I will also be installing an XY Midi Pad at the base.
Would love to know people's thoughts in any aspect of this - HB kits, modding, drilling, wiring, etc.

The perfect smile you can achieve with transparent teeth braces in Panchkula is thrilling! But did you realize maintaining a clean and sparkling smile is more crucial when you wear braces? This guide will outline simple ways to ensure good oral health throughout the course of your treatment. If you follow these guidelines, you will ensure your teeth remain in good shape and easily achieve the perfect smile you've always wanted.
Understanding the Importance of Oral Health
Let's discuss why oral health is crucial before we keep your smile shining with clear crystal aligners. Like every other part of your body, your mouth contains good and bad bacteria. Regular brushing and flossing help keep the harmful bacteria at bay, which can accumulate and cause gum disease and cavities. These are only good for some and may make it difficult for the aligners you have to accomplish their task of aligning your teeth. Maintaining your oral health is more than just keeping your smile healthy. Research has shown a connection to poor dental health and issues with your body. Therefore, properly caring for your teeth and gums can improve your general health.
Overview of Transparent Teeth Braces
Transparent braces, also known as clear aligners, are a highly sought-after alternative to traditional metal braces. Unlike their metal counterparts, these braces are made of transparent, smooth plastic that fits snugly around your teeth. The trays are nearly invisible and gradually guide your teeth into their ideal positions, allowing your smile to improve over time.
Transparent teeth braces, as opposed to traditional braces made of metal, are all about elegance and ease of removal. That is how they differ:
Visibility Braces of the traditional type are visible with metal brackets and wires. On the contrary, transparent braces are constructed of clear plastic, making them less noticeable and perfect for those seeking a more discrete treatment.
Removable braces, as opposed to Fixed Braces made of steel, are bonded to your teeth during the process. Transparent braces can be removed, allowing you to eat, brush, and floss. That provides greater flexibility and ease of use.
Applications of Pressure: Conventional braces utilize wires and brackets that apply constant pressure to your teeth, progressively shifting them into position. Transparent braces operate differently. They employ a set of custom-made, clear aligners you change every couple of weeks. Each aligner exerts gentle pressure, gently moving your teeth into the position you want them to be in.
Problems with Maintaining Oral Health by wearing braces
Maintaining your teeth's cleanliness can be challenging for braces; transparent aligners are the same. Here's why:
Food traps in braces and clear aligners hold food particles between teeth and beneath the aligner trays. The food particles trapped in the braces can provide a fertile environment for bacteria, which can lead to plaque formation and cavities.
Tight spaces: Flossing and brushing between wires and brackets (in the traditional brackets) and under the aligner tray may be more difficult. It is a lot of work to ensure you reach all the corners and crevices of your gums and teeth.
Brushing habits: A few patients may brush less often or more thoroughly due to difficulty moving braces around. This may also cause plaque build-up.
Essential Oral Hygiene Practices
Keeping your mouth clean is crucial when wearing transparent braces. Here's why:
Trapped Food particles: Transparent braces are a perfect fit for your teeth. They can trap food particles and plaque much more easily than your natural teeth. If the teeth are not kept clean and accumulated, it could cause cavities and gum issues.
Maintaining clear aligners: Like your teeth, clear braces require regular cleaning to avoid becoming smelly or stained.
Adhere to and maintain a proper dental hygiene regimen. This will ensure that your teeth and aligners remain clean and healthy throughout your treatment.
Regular Dental Check-Ups
Regular dental visits are just as important, even if you're using clear aligners. These appointments are a chance for your dentist to monitor your progress and ensure your teeth are moving in the right direction. They can also identify any signs of gum irritation or other issues that may arise from wearing aligners. Think of it as an annual progress report, ensuring your journey to a healthy smile with clear braces is on track.
Maintaining Braces Cleanliness
Maintaining clear aligners and keeping your teeth clean is crucial when aligning your smile. Food particles are easily stuck under the aligners and within your mouth, creating the perfect breeding ground for bacteria. That can cause bad breath, tooth decay, or gum disease. The good thing is that keeping the cleanliness of your mouth is easily achieved by incorporating a few additional steps into your daily routine. Ensure you clean your teeth well after each meal, and daily floss will help remove food particles and plaque. It is also essential to wash the aligners regularly to prevent them from acquiring bacteria and maintain their clarity.
Choosing the Right Orthodontist in Panchkula
Choosing the right orthodontic specialist in Panchkula is the first and most important step towards achieving your perfect smile with transparent aligners. Consider the following factors to make an informed decision:
Experience and qualifications: Search for an orthodontic specialist with experience and certifications in treating patients with clear aligners. They must be accredited and have a demonstrated track record of delivering successful cases.
Technologies and Techniques: Ask about the technology used to design your custom aligners. Are they using the latest 3D scanning to ensure a perfect alignment?
Cost and Convenience: Consider the clinic's location and appointment scheduling options. Treatment with transparent aligners could be a substantial investment, which is why it is essential to discuss the cost and payment plans in advance.
Customer Reviews and Rating Reviews on the internet, as well as talking with former patients, can provide insight into how an orthodontist communicates, bedside manners, and overall experience.
Conclusion
By following the advice in this guide, you can take control of your oral health and work towards your perfect smile with transparent teeth braces in Panchkula. Remember, oral health is not just about a beautiful smile, it's about your overall well-being. With a little effort and the guidance of a skilled orthodontist, you can enjoy a comfortable and healthy journey to your dream smile.