Albert
Life has become very simple for Mary Hendricks. She occupies the main floor of a two story house that was home to a family of five not so long ago. She spends most of her time on the couch in the living room with the TV running in the background. Albert, a large, black German Shepherd, lies on the floor alongside her.
This is all she wants and most of what she needs in her 87th year. A caregiver comes once each week to check on her well being, bathe her and handle a few household chores. The local IGA supermarket delivers groceries on Thursdays. Her son, John, comes by after work on Thursdays to check on her and handle small but essential tasks like putting away the groceries, putting out the garbage and managing her finances.
Mary does like to get up early in the morning and sit on the porch swing to take in the fresh air and the sights and sounds of the neighborhood waking up. Albert fits himself on the swing beside her. His chin rests on her lap. Her hand strokes the soft luxuriant fur on his head and neck.
When she has had enough, she lifts her frail, arthritis-ravaged body and shuffles over to open the front door. Albert walks into the house and waits for Mary to lead the way into the kitchen. She feeds him a can of dog food while her oatmeal is warming in the microwave. After breakfast, they settle in the living room. She watches the TV in between naps.
Mary rises from the couch when the evening news comes on because she finds it depressing. She heats a bowl of chicken noodle soup and eats it in the kitchen while listening to a classical music station on Sirius radio. After dinner she shambles into the bathroom to clean her teeth and stare in dismay at the ancient woman who looks out from the mirror. Some go to fat as they age. She is the opposite. Malnourished. Skeletal. A thin head of grey hair. But her blue eyes are still bright and intelligent.
She goes to the front door and lets Albert out for the night before returning to the couch for “Wheel of Fortune” and “Jeopardy”.
Albert is a mystery. He is not Mary’s pet. He came up on the porch and made himself comfortable on the swing next to her one morning. He sat at the door, and whined and scratched until she let him out that evening. When he did not come back right away, she locked the door, assuming that she would never see him again. But he returned to her side the following morning and every morning thereafter.
No one knows exactly when he first showed up or how the living arrangements evolved. Mary’s son, John, discovered the dog when he came by for his weekly visit. He argued against allowing it to stay in the house. Mary wouldn’t listen. So Albert became a sticking point in their relationship. John never says its name and he would be happy to have it hauled off to the pound. But Mary likes having Albert around so he stays and dog food is included in the weekly grocery list.
Albert is not stupid. He slips down into the cellar whenever John shows up.
Shelley Hayden, the caregiver, almost ran out of the house the first time she spotted Albert. She doesn’t like dogs in the first place. Coming face to face with an animal as big she was terrified her. But she didn’t cave in. She swallowed hard. Then she said as calmly as possible, “You will have to do something with that dog.”
Mary sat up with a start. Her feet landed on Albert’s back. He rose to his full height and moved to the edge of the couch where he sat looking around expectantly. Mary regarded Albert for several seconds before replying, “Albert is very gentle. He won’t hurt you.”
“I am not comfortable with it in here. I won’t be able to do my job unless you do something with it.”
Mary didn’t know what she could do, if anything. Albert solved the problem. He sauntered into the kitchen as if responding to a command.
Shelley stood motionless trying to decide how to proceed. The dog was no longer in the room and she had a job to do. She could have walked out and filed a complaint. But she cared about her clients. She wanted to stay and take care of Mary. The dog did not seem threatening. Shelley made her way carefully over to the couch and began her examination. She asked Mary about her week while she checked blood pressure and other vitals.
After she had given Mary her bath and put on fresh clothes, Shelley looked over at the kitchen. She steeled herself and walked gingerly to the door. Albert lay on the floor in the middle of the room. He seemed to take up the entire kitchen. Shelley cleared her throat, “Ahem.”
Albert rose and ambled back to his post alongside Mary. He brushed up against Shelley as he went through the doorway. She was forced backward. Sensations flooded her mind and body. He was big, powerful, intimidating. His fur was soft. His body was supple and pleasant against her legs.
On Nurse Hayden’s next visit, Albert retreated to the kitchen as soon as she entered the house. When she moved to the kitchen, he walked back to the couch. She put her hand on his broad head and let it slide down his back as he passed her.
The following week, Shelley came over to the couch to tell Mary she was leaving and to pet Albert. The week after that, Albert stopped and sat in Shelley’s path on his way to the kitchen. She paused to pet him. He offered his paw. She hesitated but reached out to shake it. From that moment forward, they were friends.
The morning of the third Thursday in October was a pleasant sixtyish. There was a slight breeze. Dawn was just breaking when Albert settled next to Mary on the swing. They sat with his head on her lap and her right arm resting on his shoulder.
The attack started with tingling sensations followed by an electric shock running down her arm. Her hand clutched fur and skin on the nape of his neck. Her breathing became noisy, ragged as she struggled to get air into her lungs. Her head and shoulders rolled about unsteadily. She blacked out.
Mary snapped back to consciousness. She was on her hands and knees on the porch. He was at the front door. “Oh, Albert,” she cried in a miserable, helpless tone. “No one is in there.”
When Mary next gained consciousness, she was lying in a hospital bed strapped to a bank of monitors and hooked up to several bags of fluids. John stepped to her side. “Good. You’re awake,” he said cheerily. “That was quite a scare.”
“How did I get here?”
“Someone saw you fall and called for help.”
“I didn’t fall. I was sitting on the swing with Albert.”
“You were lying on the front porch,” John insisted. “The dog was nowhere in sight.”
“I was sitting on the swing with Albert.” Mary looked at her son accusingly. “What happened to him?”
“I have no idea.” His tone was angry. He scowled. Then he whined, “No one said anything about a dog.”
Mary looked puzzled. John patted her hand. “The doctors said that you are going to be fine. You just need some rest.” He gave her an encouraging smile. “They would like you to stay with Ann and me when you are released. You shouldn’t be living alone.”
Mary glared at him. “I have been living alone and taking care of myself for a long time.”
“I know, Mom,” John reassured her. “But you need some help.” He emphasized ‘some.’ He added as an afterthought, “You’re not getting any younger.”
“I’ll think about it,” Mary demurred. She laid back and closed her eyes.
John forced air out through his pursed lips. “Okay. I’ve got to get back to the office. I’ll come by for a longer visit after work.”
John showed up at seven with his wife, Ann, in tow. They stayed for a tense two hour visit. There was nothing to talk about except living arrangements. Mary was not ready to go along with her son’s plans. Ann was a good trooper. She insisted that they would love to have “mom” move in with them. It would be no trouble. Besides she and John would feel much better knowing they would be nearby to provide any help Mary needed.
Mary was polite. She did not argue but she made it clear that she had no intention of moving out of her home. She had been there sixty years and she intended to stay there until the end.
At 9:30, she was watching an “I Love Lucy” rerun. A young man popped in, “Hi, Mary. How are you feeling?”
She studied him. Tall, medium build, an attractive face with a good head of black hair and sideburns running down to a short beard and mustache. He didn’t get out in the sun enough. His name tag read Dunayevsky. “And who are you?”
“I’m Al.” He beamed. “I called for the ambulance that brought you here.”
“Oh.”
“I’m on a break so I decided to stop by and see how you are doing.”
“What are you on a break from? If I may ask.”
“I’m a technician in the morgue.”
Mary eyed him suspiciously. There was something odd about the man. ”I don’t remember seeing you before,” she challenged. “How did you happen to be the one who came to my rescue?”
“I was with you when it happened.”
“I was alone,” she objected.
“I was with you, Mary,” he insisted. “I’m your friend Albert.”
She stared in wide-eyed disbelief. Then she managed to sputter, “Albert is a dog. A big, black German Shepherd.”
He nodded. “I am Albert.”
“I don’t know what you are up to,” she snapped. “But I want you to leave right this minute.”
He raised his hands and shook his head. “I’m not up to anything.”
He waited to see her reaction. “I have been visiting you for the last six months. Your caretaker, Shelley Hayden, has accepted me. Your son, John, would ship me off to the pound if he thought he could get away with it.”
Her mouth dropped open. “How can you be Albert?”
“I’m a vampire. I can take whatever shape I wish.”
“Get out. Leave now,” Mary shouted. She twisted around to retrieve her call button. But the man was gone when she turned back to threaten him with it.
A nurse came in the room at one in the morning to deliver her medications. Mary had difficulty getting back to sleep. She sat propped up thinking about her friend Albert and the mysterious morgue technician, Al Dunayevsky. When she dozed off, she began dreaming. A large black form leapt onto the bed and snuggled next to her. She felt its soft luxuriant coat and smiled. But when she opened her eyes, she found herself staring into the fiery eyes of a monster. Its gaping jaws were spread wide showing a mouthful of dagger-like teeth. Just as it lunged to rip out her throat, she jumped. Her reaction shocked her back to wakefulness.
Mary sat trembling in the dark, empty room. The terror slowly ebbed. The sense that a visitor – a dreaded visitor – was on his way grew stronger.
Al strode into the room with unexpected power and authority. He approached the bed and stood next to her. “Don’t be afraid, Mary,” he said in a soft, warm voice. “You are going to be okay. I promise.”
She shook her head. “I just had a terrible nightmare.”
Al took her hands and kissed them. “We need to talk.”
“Can’t it wait until morning,” she pleaded. “You could take me outside and sit with me in the sunshine.”
“You don’t have that long,” he said ominously.
“I’m going to die?”
“Yes.”
“They said I was going to be okay,” she objected.
“They are wrong.” He paused and added, “It’s not the first time.”
She studied his eyes but said nothing. He continued, “I’m here to offer you a chance to live.”
“You just said I am about to die.”
“I can save you.”
“How?”
He pulled a vial from one of his pockets. “I have enough of my blood here to rejuvenate you.”
She lay back and closed her eyes. After a moment, she said, “I don’t know. I don’t have much of a life.” She opened her eyes and looked up at him. She swallowed. “Maybe I should just get it over with.”
He smiled at her. She reproached him. “You should have let me die this morning.”
“I wanted you to have a chance to say goodbye to your son,” Al explained.
“That hasn’t gone very well,” Mary complained. “Besides, if I die now, I still won’t get a chance to say my final goodbye.”
“I can fix that.”
Mary smiled. He really was a sweet man, a good friend. “For now. But I will have to deal with it down the road.”
“Not for a very long time,” Al countered in a soft voice.
“How long have you been alive?”
“I am not sure,” he said. He studied the ceiling recalling his life and trying to put it into words. “I was born in Armenia. Events brought me west. Eventually I settled in England. I came to this continent in 1587 with the first English settlers.” He paused to kiss her hand and give her an encouraging smile. “We set up a colony on Roanoke Island but couldn’t sustain it. I lived with the natives for a while before going north where the British were having more success.” He grinned. “I have been around for a long time.”
“Doesn’t it get boring?”
“Sometimes.”
The conversation died. Neither of them spoke for a long time. Mary lay with her eyes closed. When she spoke again her words were almost inaudible. “I read once,” she began. Her voice was thick with the emotions that roiled inside but her face was set like a death mask. “Indian warriors would tell themselves, ‘Today is a good day to die.’”
“As you wish.” He pulled her head to his for a kiss. He laid it back on the pillow and brushed his hands across her forehead. He pulled her eyelids shut. His hand slid down to her chest. She felt the pressure building. Something was standing on her chest. It walked toward her throat. She felt the twin thrill of fear and excitement. As it reached the top of her hospital gown, a claw pricked her chest. Then another. It placed a foot on the right side of her neck. Its claw dug in and squeezed as if the thing was steadying itself. She felt incredible joy. It was like she was 14 again getting ready for her first time. Her body stiffened. Her back arched. Something wet brushed against the left side of her neck. She shuddered. Teeth sank into her throat piercing her jugular. Her body began to shake violently. Blood spurted from the severed artery.
Alarms went off at a nearby nurses’ station. No one noticed. The nurses were all occupied with other patients elsewhere on the floor.
A large bat flew out of Mary’s room and flitted toward the stairwell at the end of the hall.
