oc, you gotta cure me."
"Miss Hewlett, there's a new, somewhat experimental drug, which
will permanently suppress your symptoms after one course of
treatment."
"So, no more total factor sunscreen?"
"Or blood pudding. Your minor vampire heritage will be a distant
memory."
"Count me in." After getting the prescription made up at the
chemist, I dropped into my local shops for a few groceries. But
the shopping took longer than I'd anticipated, and I was due at
the pub to meet some friends in half an hour.
Back home, I immediately took two midnight-black capsules from
the bottle and prepared a glass of white wine to wash them down
with. Had the doctor mentioned avoiding alcohol? I didn't
recall. Probably not, and it was only a small drop of a decent
vintage. I mean, find me a teetotal, non-smoking doctor.
What to wear for tonight? They were old friends, so the urban
denim look would be okay. I found myself rushing around in a bit
of a flap. No need to worry, I told myself. I circled the front
room, trying to locate my keys, feeling dizzy. I circled the
lightshade in a spin. My, but the fading bulb really needed
changing. The combination of tablets and wine obviously wasn't
so good. In the suddenly dark room, my high-pitched squeaks told
my ears of the open window. I flew out into the night.
I
headed a few houses down the street to my ex's. Thoughts tried
to make themselves known, but only found space to stay for a few
brief seconds in my bat brain. The whole wheeling around the
eaves nonsense soon became old, let alone that my stomach began
to feel queasy - even in human form, I'm not the world's best
flier. I perched on the frame of an open window.
Those echoes sounded familiar - small, round. My favourite
earrings, which Paul never returned. With a swoop, I'd grabbed
them in my mouth, soared out and headed home. Wow, hope my
lipstick hadn't smudged. Damn, why couldn't I fly straight,
instead of all the twisting and turning?
In my front room once more, tired from my unexpected exertion, I
flopped onto the sofa and slept.
Ouch, I'd been lying on earrings and my arms ached like crazy.
Why were my clothes in a heap? Then last night's bat activities
came back to me, in fragments of memory. On the plus side, I'd
learnt not to take those tablets with alcohol again. On the
minus side, I hoped my friends weren't too put out by my
no-show. The phone rang.
"Connie?"
"Hi Paul, what's new?"
"Where are the earrings?"
"A professional tennis player with ruby lobes, that must be a
punishable offence."
"Ha ha, like you don't go on about them whenever we bump into
each other. Look, I've got to go for a practice session. We'll
talk later. Ciao."
Talk about what? How he kept his hands on my baubles way too
long? A natural cheapskate, he'd rarely bought much for me.
After all, wasn't I to buy for?
Hold on a minute Connie, there's a bigger picture. With two
tablets and a sip of wine, I became a fully-fledged night being.
The most I'd ever done before was to occasionally dream of bats.
What a breakthrough. I could do so much good, go where the
neighbourhood watch could only dream of going. Starting with
that nasty piece of work who lived at number 56. All those petty
thefts since he'd moved in, but we never had any solid evidence.
All of which would change tonight.
That evening, two more tablets slipped down with a pleasant gulp
of wine. Minutes later I flew up the street, my moral compass
pointing towards my first case. Make it a success, my dear, and
this might just become a full-time occupation.
With no convenient openings to his first floor flat, I perched
outside the window of his front room. His curtains were open - a
rather insipid floral motif, beige on a cream background. Jack
watched TV intently, a tin of beer in hand. Soon, so very soon,
he'd make a move, and when he did, I'd try to remember enough
details to put him away for a good long stretch. His head lolled
forward and he nodded off to sleep. It started to rain. Sod this
for a game of soldiers, I was off home to a warm bath and an
early night. Then the door of the front room burst open.
Jack never stood a chance. The young lad with the water pistol
caught him full in the head. He gave chase to his son and I
turned my wings homeward.
Who was that leaving my house, with dark clothing and a dark
baseball cap pulled down low? I flapped along behind him,
keeping a reasonable distance and height. Baseball cap guy took
the alley at the side of number 89, which gave me a clear view
of the CD player he carried. My CD player. I'd covered it with
those cheap transfers on a particularly dull afternoon. With sly
glances left and right, he let himself in at the backdoor. Sorry
Jack, I'd been wrong. Here's where the real sneak thief lived.
As before, all the windows were closed. In the morning, I'd
return in human guise to case the joint for clues. PI Hewlett
never gave up on an important lead, whether as a foxy lady or a
crafty bat. For once in my life, the minor vampire heritage felt
good.
In my little black dress with the plunging neckline and the red
heels that promised to give no mercy, I rang his doorbell. The
hall light flicked on and the frosted glass darkened.
"Who is it?" What a gruff voice, obviously owned by a villain.
"It's Connie Hewlett from number 8."
"Yeah?" Actually, I hadn't really thought this through. Why did
I knock on his door?
"I'd... like to borrow a cup of coffee." My, how convincing.
"Like, a cup of powder or an actual cup of coffee?"
"Either's fine." Did I ever sound stupid. I didn't require bat
senses to hear the chains being drawn back and the key turning
in the lock. Once inside, a quick snoop around should be
sufficient. After all, enough stuff had gone walkies to fill
this house. The door opened. A bleary-eyed young man slouched
before me, wearing an unironed white shirt, his short red hair
tussled.
"Wait here and I'll bring it to you. Milk?"
"Er, a dash."
"Sugar?"
"One spoon, please." The door closed. So far, so pathetic. I
didn't really have time to go peering through his windows, so I
waited for inspiration to strike. It didn't.
"Here you are," he announced, handing me a steaming green mug.
The door closed, the key turned, chains rattled and the hall
light went off. Oh well, at least I had my coffee.
Hang on, that design on the cup. A yellow parrot. Where had I
seen it before? In the supermarket, probably, so it wouldn't
serve as the clinching evidence in his trial. Tomorrow I'd
return the cup and play it by ear. Actually, no. I'd scurry home
right now, pick up the earrings, shove them through his
letterbox and call the police. Finally, I had a plan.
The police hauled him away at dawn. Their thorough search of his
house led to my fellow residents getting most of their stolen
goods back, while he became acquainted with a prison cell.
Funny, how the mug was one of the few items that he genuinely
owned. If I'd planted the earrings on him, then so what? What do
you expect from a vampire bat? Get real. Case closed.