Are you taking part in #FlashFictionFebruary2019?
It’s never too late to start. Even one story for the month is one more than you had previously!
Today’s Story Title: Triplicate
Today’s Story Is #5 of 28
Today’s Genre: Urban Fantasy
Today’s Word Count: 1,130
So! What’s your current story?
How many have you written so far? How many do you have planned? Tell me all about it!
“Number 1320182512?” The clipboard wielding woman looked up from the paperwork and scanned the waiting room. “Walters, Elizabeth? Number 1320182515?”
Lizzie looked up from her phone and frowned. “Yes, I’m here.”
“We’re ready for you, Miss Walters,” the woman said. Her blue scrubs swished as she turned to tap her keycard to the lock. “Come this way, please.”
Lizzie pocketed her phone and stood. “How long will this take?” she asked as she walked past into the beige hallway.
There was an endless stretch of doors on either side with numbers on each.
“Room 97, please,” the woman said.
Another tap of the keycard to the lock outside the door had the door swinging open.
“Have a seat. Thompson will be right with you.” The woman didn’t touch her but motioned for Lizzie to enter the room with the clipboard and yanked the door shut behind her.
Lizzie looked around the tiny room. There was a half wall topped with a thick window on the far side. It had a shelf, like a table, sticking out from it. The window looked like glass but was twice as thick as any bank teller’s window.
There was no light on that side of the room; it oddly dark despite the light the overhead was putting off. There was a chair in front of the window on her side of the divide, and a small pass through slit along the bottom. Other than the overhead light, which was humming so damn loud it was obnoxious, there was nothing in the room.
A door she hadn’t noticed on the other side of the banker glass opened without warning.
“1320182512?” There was light bright enough to obscure the person’s facial features shining from behind them.
“That’s not my phone number,” Lizzie answered. “I’m Lizzie.”
The person sighed at her answer. “Walters, Elizabeth?” The person tried again, still backlit into obscurity.
“Yeah. You’re Thompson?” Lizzie asked. She sat down in the chair, watched as the door swung shut behind the figure.
The stranger approached the divide. A wave of their hand had a strange ball of yellowish light winking into existence just in front of them. They carried a small folder. A copy of Lizzie’s driver’s license photo stared up from where it was paper clipped to the front of the folder.
The person was humanoid. Blue skinned, black eyed, and wearing a very nice plum colored paint suit. No hair on their head, eyebrows looked more like bony black protrusions than actual hair. They sat down and set the folder on the small table coming out from the divider on their side.
Lizzie arched a brow but said nothing.
“Do you intend to stand all day, Lizzie?” Thompson asked. “Or do I offend?”
“No, Mister or Misses Thompson,” Lizzie eases into the chair. “Just a little weirded out.”
“Just Thompson. As you’re just Lizzie,” Thompson replied.
“Thompson. Nice to meet you,” Lizzie replied. “So why am I here?”
Thompson opened the file folder with unnaturally long blue hand; six fingers on each hand, Lizzie noticed after a beat.
Their black eyes skimmed the contents of the folder quickly. They read over one page, the next. Halfway down the third page, they frowned. Thompson’s eyebrows wrinkled together to crease nearly their entire face. It was much like a dried apple had turned blue grown black eyes.
“In short, the Christmas party you attended, you also expired at after being attacked by what you might call a vampire,” Thompson said.
“A vampire.” Lizzie rubbed at her temple. She didn’t have a headache, but it seemed the right thing to do. “I was attacked by a freaking vampire?”
“Yes, and you are now what you might call a vampire as well,” Thompson told her.
“What would you call it?” Lizzie asked.
“My mother tongue does not travel well in human mouths,” Thompson said.
They smiled, wide enough to stretch across their entire face. Far too many sharp, bone white teeth glinted in their smile. Their gums were the reddish black of half congealed blood and when Thompson licked their lips and chuckled a bit, a blue-black tongue was visible.
“I, uh. I see. So, then,” Lizzie What would you call the thing that, uh, killed me?”
“An asshole that should have gotten staked and set out in the morning sun and not probation, personally,” Thompson said. “Unofficially speaking.”
“Unofficially, of course,” Lizzie agreed with a dazed nod.
“But, with just a few hours of paperwork and we can have you set up with blood delivery. We can also, if you prefer to get you introduced to a support network of donors. Or you may get your final affairs in order and chose to be terminated,” Thompson pulled three packets of varying thickness from the folder.
“Uh, life, please? I don’t want to die. Again,” Lizzie nearly squeaked out the final word.
“Noted,” Thompson said as they did just that. “I am certain you will have many, many questions. Most will be answered by your welcome packet.”
“A vampire…welcome packet?” Lizzie echoed.
“Now then: Blood bag or donor?” Thompson asked.
“My choice is feed off people or the Capri Sun from hell?” Lizzie asked. “Ew. And questionable. Why do I get a choice? Don’t vampires just feed off people?”
Thompson blinked once, not answering. They clasped their hands together over one of the packets and waited.
“Which has less paperwork to fill out? That’s the route I want,” Lizzie said with a sigh.
“Blood bag it is,” Thompson scribbled another note, lifted a page and tilted their head in thought. “You’re lucky we have a few bags of AB-neg on hand. Your own blood type will taste best to you and be the most compatible to your body and recuperation should you be injured.”
“Good… to know?”
“It is.” Thompson slid the medium sized stack through the small slit to her.
“Fill this out to the best of your ability. And then twice more,” Thompson dropped a pen into the drawer on their side of the barrier, along with two more sets of the paperwork.
“Why not just, you know, photocopy the damn things rather than have me write everything three times?” Lizzie looked over the stack of over a dozen pages. There was print on both sides.
“Magical paperwork doesn’t photocopy, I’m afraid,” Thompson didn’t sound the least bit apologetic.
“Of course not,” Lizzie groused. “Can I get a drink or something? I’m parched.”
“One Capri Sun from hell, coming up,” Thompson stood from their chair. The ball of light followed them to the door.
“Filling this out in triplicate is stupid,” Lizzie muttered.
“Better than being buried alive, or rather, undead, in your case,” Thompson said as they tapped a hand to the reader.
“True. Very true.”