As Liz studied Gavner’s scarred face and dark rimmed eyes, she found herself recalling their first encounter twenty-six years ago. She’d been a young woman, a mere twenty-three years old, while Gavner (though she didn’t know it at the time) was more than eighty.

She ran into him in St Matthew’s hospital, where she’d started a few months earlier. She was on the late shift, working from midnight through to the early hours of the morning. It was a quiet time, most of the patients asleep, no visitors, the corridors deserted. Liz liked it. She’d always been a bit of a loner, and she enjoyed doing her rounds alone, no distractions, with only herself for company.

She’d just checked on an elderly patient, and was coming out of his room, when she heard harsh breathing in the hallway. Glancing up, she saw a burly man propped against a wall, staring at her with dark, unfriendly eyes.

"Who are you?” she snapped, clutching her clipboard close to her chest, as though it would protect her if the stranger attacked. “What are you doing here?”

"I need … blood,” the man gasped, then slid down the wall to a sitting position.

Liz thought about calling security, but then the man groaned feebly and her nursing instincts took over. Rushing to him, she saw that he was bleeding from a wound in his stomach. His face was white and creased with pain. She faltered at the sight of his scarred features and blood-specked jumper – she knew intuitively that not all the blood was his – but only momentarily. Seconds later she was kneeling over him, examining his wound, looking for a compress to staunch the flow of blood.

“Hold this in place,” she said, pressing a large wad of napkins over the hole in the man’s stomach. “I’ll go get a doctor.”

“No!” the man hissed, grabbing her before she could leave. “No … doctors!”

“I have to!” she snapped, trying to wrench free. “You’ll die otherwise.”

“No,” he insisted stubbornly, and something in his voice made her pause. “All I need is … blood. Get me blood. I’ll take care … of the rest.”

Liz started to object, but as she stared into his eyes, her mouth closed and she said nothing. “Blood,” the man whispered softly, widening his eyes, piercing her with his gaze. “Bring me blood. Don’t tell anyone. No doctors.”

“OK,” Liz sighed, rising. As she walked to fetch the blood, she realized the man had somehow, in some way, hypnotised her. She thought she could break free of his spell if she tried hard — but she didn’t bother. As menacing as he looked, she sensed no harm in the stranger, and believed the best thing would be to do as he asked and give him some blood.

When she returned with two plastic bags filled with a sloshing red liquid, the man tore them from her hands, ripped them open and drank from them like a wild animal, greedily gulping the blood down, moaning with pleasure. Finished, he rested his head against the wall a while, then bent over and dribbled spit around the wound in his stomach. Rubbing the spit in, he spat on the wound again, then again. As Liz watched incredulously, the blood stopped flowing and the wound scabbed over.

“How are you doing that?” she gasped.

“My spit has remarkable … healing powers,” the man wheezed, leaning his head against the wall again, smiling painfully.

“What happened to you?” Liz asked.

“Had a run-in … with a group of men … who didn’t like my face,” the man chuckled, then raised a rough, bloody hand. “Gavner Purl,” he said.

“Liz Carr,” Liz replied, taking his hand and shaking it. “I’m a nurse,” she added unnecessarily.

The man grinned broadly. “I’m a vampire — pleased to … meetcha!”

***

An Affair of the Night