Last Drink Before Sunrise

Thriller Stories | Nov 12, 2014 | 8 min read
36 Votes, average: 3 out of 5
Thriller Stories

Last Drink Before Sunrise

Alfred Boniczk was an eccentric old man from Poland, living his final years in squander, shacked up in a rundown efficiency in South St. Petersburg, Florida. He had few possessions to speak of: a brown, hard shell suitcase full of rags, an old turntable with a modest collection of vinyl records, and a faded photograph of a young woman he once knew. He kept to himself mostly, running his errands: going to the post office, eating breakfast at a local diner, and quietly reading his paper at the laundromat, even when there was no laundry to do.

Yet Alfred had other odd rituals, that he only performed at dusk. He was often seen, muttering some kind of gibberish, while sprinkling a handful of poppy seeds across his doorway. Then he would set a plate of freshly crushed garlic out on his window ledge, flip the needle onto one of his cherished records and stare at the photo on his table, over a glass of scotch.

I suppose the girl in the picture is of considerable relevance. It is often said that if you wish to see into the heart of a man, one needs to look no farther than... into the eyes of the woman he loves. Try not to think of her as some orange faded image on a photograph. Instead... picture long amber locks sailing a mist on a late October's breeze. Green eyes peering deep into your soul, and not at all repelled. Picture the sun though the curtains, moving towards your hand. Imagine the ocean waves racing in to greet you. Listen to them thunder and roar. Pretend that the autumn leaves fall only at your feet. This is how he loved her... a feeling a greatness once bestowed upon him, and a wistful smile graced him.

Yet, of course there was a certain rival for her affections. Felix Fedak lived in a stone manor upon the hill, that overlooked the village below.

He was wealthy... very wealthy. But he had a preference for gray skies, and long cast shadows across fields of rye. His mannerisms were of a refined gentleman... a pure aristocrat indeed. There was also no doubt that she loved him, she lusted after darkness and his persona obliged. The great abyss that laid just beyond the woods... waiting for her.

He had seduced her with the promise of immortality. He left her in an oblong box at the chapel.
Alfred, conflicted with his love for her and jealousy for Felix, sought her out; and while she slept, drove a stake into her heart. Whether it was heartbreak, or fear of Felix's wrath was of little relevance. He fled... for years and years he fled. Hiding in the shadows, only brave in the sun, he wandered from town to town, country to country; eventually emigrating to America when his fortunes ran low.

It was always the same... a feeling of dread would descend upon him, rational or irrational, it did not matter. When he felt Felix was nearby, he would gather his things and steal off into the night. A vampire never lets go of whom he begrudges.

For years this habit continued, often ending with the old man falling asleep at the table, until one night, there was a knock at his door...

Alfred struggled to lift his head off the table. He struggled even harder to open his eyes, but the knocking at the door would not cease.

"Who's there he groaned," as he staggered for the door.

"Maintenance!" A muffled voice from behind the door replied.

Alfred peered through the peephole at his nocturnal visitor. He saw a man waiting patently. He did not recognize the man, although in all honesty, he paid little attention to the staff and other tenants. Outside his door was a younger man, about mid-thirties, Alfred mused. He was tall, clean shaven and had wavy black hair. He clearly did not look like someone who would do any harm, yet he didn't look like the type to be lugging a toolbox either. Yet... there it was. A big, brown, metal box, which he carried by his side.

"What do you want?"

"There's a leak downstairs, I think it's coming from your apartment!"

Alfred was reluctant, to say the least, but what choice did he have? He unlocked the door and invited him in. The handyman wore a queer expression as he sniffed the air in his lofty room.

"Is that garlic?"

Alfred did not answer.

The handyman showed himself to the kitchen, where he found several wreaths of garlic hanging from the cupboards .

"That's enough to choke a vampire?" He joked nervously.

"I cook with garlic a lot," Alfred then explained.

The man set down his tools opened one of the cabinets under the sink and crawled inside. Alfred decided to go back to nursing his scotch, and his old vinyl records. He selected a volume by Wagner, one of his favorites.

"Found the leak!" The handyman announced, "It was your cold water tap line."

Alfred seemed disinterested until the man then asked, "Is that Bach?"

"Wagner!" He fired back.

"Oh Wagner... My grandpa from the old country loved Wagner, and Beethoven... and Bach!"

Alarmed Alfred asked, "And where was that?"

"Romania..."

Alfred breath a sigh of relief, but remained cautious. After all vampires are clever. He raced his thoughts to recall Felix's face. Nothing... nothing about this man in his kitchen remotely resembled Felix. Even still... a common blue collar? That would be beneath him.

Ah, but perhaps Alfred underestimated him... he was, of course, a man of culture. It showed in his posture, and by the lack of wrinkles in his elbows. He was neat, organized, polite, and at quite knowledgeable of Classical Music. It had been many years since he had been graced by the company of a compatriot. The sorrowful veil of solitude, swaying like timothy hay before a setting sun, was in fact obvious.

"All finished!" The handy man replied.

Alfred set out another shot for his guest.

"How about a drink before you go?" He asked.

The handyman looked around as if someone was watching.

"Well I really should be going."

"Nonsense!" Alfred replied, "No one knows if it took you fifteen minutes or fifteen hours to complete your repairs. I won't tell a soul."

With a subtle nod, the man conceded, and sat across from him at the table.
Alfred poured him a drink.

They smoked a cigarette or two, and discussed politics. Then on to religion, literature, poetry, and of course music. But it was love that pulled down the veil of discourse between the two kindred souls.

The handy man glared at the photograph, more intensely after each shot. Alfred knew it bothered him, but tried to reason his fears... after all, how many pointless moves were due to simple paranoia?

Finally, the handyman slammed his last shot against the table. He looked at Alfred and said, "Time is time, and done is done... and now our time has reached its end."

Alfred nodded in compliance, as the handyman stood up.

To Alfred's dismay, the man reached into his pocket, then poured out, onto the table, a handful of the poppy seeds that Alfred had laid outside the door.

"Two thousand, five hundred, and sixty-eight..." he muttered, "I counted them all."

Speechless, Alfred looked upon him with confusion and horror.

"Know your enemy Alfred... vampires are shape-shifters. I've learned to appreciate the scent of garlic, and have always been... a very fast counter."

Only then did Alfred recognize the face of Felix. Staring down at him as if the barrel of a rifle.

Felix now embodied the persona of the vampire, snatched the photograph from the table.

"It seems to be a great injustice for the murderer to have a picture."

"She was dead when I found her," Alfred replied.

"Dead to you, maybe... Alive to me!"

Felix tightened his fist.

Alfred, with no other option, conceded, "Indeed... what's done is done. Your horror is the only face, that I have ever truly known... and before I fall into my demise, can I suggest... one final drink?"

Felix scoffed at the notion, "Dare you attempt to deceive me till dawn?"

"Dawn is hours away... come... I've been harboring a bottle of brandy for a special occasion... I guess that my funeral is such that occasion."

Felix gleamed with satisfaction, as Alfred revealed a dark bottle of brandy.

"How do you like your Brandy?" Alfred asked.

"Neat," Felix replied.

"Are we barbarians, all of a sudden? This is a very fine bottle of brandy indeed... to just guzzle it, like a couple of drunken sailors would be a disgrace to our creed."

"How do you suggest then?" Felix inquired.

"On the rocks! A gentleman would suggest no less."

Felix nodded in agreement. Alfred staggered towards the freezer, dumping in a couple of cubes per glass, then returned to the table, to pour bandy into each glass.

Felix snatched the photo from the table, and studied it intently. "Seems unfair for the murder to have a picture..."

Alfred ignored the statement, and handed Felix a glass.

"To Love!" Alfred toasted.

"To Romance!" Felix replied.

They downed their drinks together... and slammed their shots down as kings. Was that a gag from Felix that Alfred detected? He tried his best to cover it, but then coughed into his hand.

Alfred kept his cool and asked, "Perhaps you didn't let the ice chill the brandy enough?"

But Felix only leaned to on side coughing profusely. He soon fell over into a fetal position, onto the floor. "What did you do?" He demanded.

Alfred pretended to think... then confessed, "The ice... oh, the ice!"

"How reckless of me... you see, I can't stand city water, and the only bottled water I had was from a jug of blessed water... HOLY WATER, that I brought with me from the motherland. Oh I so wished you could appreciate the qualities of pure, blessed water."

Felix gasping uncontrollably, grabbed his throat and fell to the floor.

"Well I guess you won't be sucking the life out of me tonight," Alfred noted with glee, "it's a pity I suppose.. all these years seeking revenge, and this is how it ends."

Forcing his words, Felix fired back, "Oh, Alfred! I've already had my revenge... Day after day, year after year... watching you run from your own shadow. Living like a hermit, always on the run... Indeed, Alfred, I sucked the life from you everyday." Felix expired, turning into ash upon a stained carpet.

Alfred sat down by the window and watched the sunrise. It was true what Felix said. Alfred was in fact long-dead inside, and Felix's visit tonight was to be, but a mere act of mercy. He downed his last drink, and commented to himself, "My! How the years have dwindled by..."

Eventually, you learn to love the things that hurt you... because you cannot define your life without them.
By Richard Schnelzer
Published: 10/30/2014

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