Work Text:
Excerpts from the notebook of Private Detective Oliver Beebo:
People
Abolish - Not a butler? Here to pay respects to his parents. Keeps to himself.
Apo - A woman on involuntary service from the military. Could use an anti-eye-contact hat.
Avid - A person adamant about the existence of vampires. Very frightened. Smells like soap.
Cleo - An intimidating farmer. Takes charge easily.
Drift - A fellow detective! Very cheerful, very green to the business.
Legs - A (non Haunted House related) doctor. On Mad At Me Island?
Martyn - A rich guy’s son? Doesn’t have any fancy snacks though :(
Owen - A lumberjack with a coincidental name. Seems sad. My gaydar isn’t the best, but…?
Pearl - A woman looking for a new home. Seems polite!
Pyro - A college student here for his thesis. Scruffy. Friendly!
Ren - A man on a journey to find this place. Cursed?
Sausage - A writer. Making his own notes. Oh no, I hope he doesn’t ask about mine…
Scott - A noble here to see how the rest of us live. Keeping an eye on him.
Shelby - An enthusiast of the supernatural (yikes). Very excitable.
Dear Journal,
You’re never going to believe it. The House did what Haunted Houses do and fucked with my life yet again. My therapist is going to have a field day with this mess.
It seems the latest House that Ángel and I were looking into sends you to some sort of alternate world? I’ve only been here a day, and already I’m noticing many differences.
I’ve been sent to a formerly abandoned town called Oakhurst. I think it’s somewhere in the past, based on my new neighbors’ clothes and general knowledge, but they talk strangely.
I’ll be frank. They have a YouTuber and/or Twitch user accent (I would know. If Ángel says “Chat, clip that” when he’s not streaming one more time, he’s sleeping in the cat bed that Mozilla never uses).
(If I get back to him)
No, I can’t think like that. I have a strange certainty that no time is passing back home. I don’t really want to trust weird House senses, but I can’t stand the thought of Ángel waiting for me, not to mention my friends. And Mozilla. Ángel would teach my baby boy crime if I left them alone too long.
Back on topic. The townsfolk have a variety of accents, but when I asked them where they were from, they only answered unfamiliar towns or “The Capital” (and I doubt they mean Santiago), never a country. I believe this world has an alternate history entirely. I can only hope I don’t come off as too out of place…
None of them seem to have any connection to each other, and it is exceedingly odd that fourteen strangers (I’m excluding myself. The House brought me here) arrived at the same time with no unifying purpose. The strange beacon in the middle of town also worries me. It caused some kind of effect when the townsfolk crouched around it. It felt pleasant, but I don’t trust it.
The presence of the supernatural here in Oakhurst is already undeniable, as much as most of my neighbors refuse to believe that fact. I’m not sure about vampires per se, but I have to be prepared for anything. Perhaps the House’s purpose is sending people to a vampire town.
If anyone here’s a vampire, that Scott fellow…
No, I shouldn't assume. Not all rich people are bloodsuckers (Though Ángel would probably want to drink my blood if he was a vampire). I’m hopeful that the rich folk here are more of the Marigold variety and less of the Eugene variety.
I’ll keep an eye out. It seems I’ll be here for some time. I have to investigate what exactly drew everyone here. There’s something going on, and I’m going to find out what. This is quite the puzzle!
At least my neighbors are mostly nice. It’s not the last time I’ve been contained with a bunch of strangers in a strange location. No one has hunted me for sport yet, though they don’t have good snacks either, so Oakhurst and the House of Vera are currently tied in my House experience rating.
Not all of them seem to like me. The doctor in particular rolled his eyes at me after I voiced an understanding of the supernatural. It’s not like I enjoy knowing as much as I do! Very much an involuntary amount of experience!
Regardless, I’ve connected with a few of them, such as Pearl, Apo, and Pyro (Adult friendships! Lucky me!).
Drift especially seems like a potential friend. She’s a fellow detective, though admits to not being as experienced as myself. She took more lighthearted cases up until recently, and she evidently didn’t handle her first serious case well. I’d love to give her some advice!
She’s attached herself to the self proclaimed vampire expert, Avid, and as soon as I showed the barest hint of a knowledge on the supernatural, he latched onto me as well.
I’m hoping his fear of the supernatural doesn’t come from real experience… No one should have to suffer through something like that.
Just look at me. Here I am, in the maw of another House.
…I’m going to get out of here. Find the Heart, break it, and get back home.
And when I return, I’m sure Ángel will buy me some damn good ice cream.
-
---
-
Something feels… wrong.
Okay, maybe something has always felt a little wrong in Oakhurst.
Oliver Beebo ended up in this place due to a House, after all, things were bound to feel off. Not to mention whatever effect the beacons had on everyone here. He was still investigating that.
He’s been here for about a month now.
Oliver misses his cat. His friends, his Ángel. But if he’s going to get out of here alive, he has to stay on his toes.
Which brings him back to the feeling of wrongness. Oliver glances around the forest warily. He does not yet regret his decision to venture out alone. He was due for a wander. There’s so much to explore here, so many unknowns. A Beebo is allowed an adventure!
…Vivi might be a bad influence on him. As well as, more recently, Pearl.
Luckily, or maybe unluckily, the wrongness makes itself known before Oliver has to search for it.
“Greetings, Detective.”
Oliver would like to pretend he doesn’t flinch, but he can’t in good conscience hide the yelp that leaves his mouth with the sudden appearance of Owen.
Ah, Owen. Similar to Owen Ferreira in first name alone. This Owen was mysterious and uninviting, as well as a vampire.
Oliver is investigating him the same as anyone else here in Oakhurst. It’s good to know more about the people in your company, and Owen certainly painted himself as a threatening presence.
Glancing around, Oliver can’t find him. “Owen? Where are you?”
“Did you not hear? One of the many advantages of vampirism is the ability to hide yourself from view,” Owen explains from somewhere in front of Oliver.
Oliver huffs. Invisibility. Why not, at this point? It’s a better method of hiding than the power outage that Eugene favored, because this time Oliver can still see, but it sets him on edge.
At least he doesn’t have to avoid eye contact when he can’t see Owen.
Owen continues, “Do you think it’s wise to be on your own out here? There are frightful things among these trees.”
“I wouldn’t call you a frightful thing,” Oliver responds.
Owen’s voice is suddenly right next to Oliver’s ear. “I could easily drain you, Detective. That doesn’t frighten you?”
Oliver hopes Owen’s vampire senses can’t hear his rapid heartbeat. “I’ve faced worse. Things and people that wanted me dead.” And temporarily succeeded in killing him, but that’s none of Owen’s business. “You’re not special just because you’re a person capable of harm.”
“You think so little of me? That I’m only capable and not guilty of harm?” Owen’s on the move.
“Okay, yeah, I heard your speech,” Oliver relents. “But you don’t have to keep hurting people, Owen.” Get a hobby or something. Theatre, maybe. Owen seems like the type.
“Do you realize what I am?” Owen is now visible as he crosses into Oliver’s line of sight. He’s circling Oliver like a vulture. So dramatic, just like Eugene.
Oliver tries to push aside the comparison. Making assumptions was dangerous. You make an ass out of you and… mptions. Yep.
Besides, as Ángel would say, no one deserved to be compared to Eugene Coli of all people.
Oliver tries turning to keep up with the twisting Owen, but Owen seems determined to remain out of focus, so Oliver stops. He’s getting dizzy.
Oliver replies, “Yeah, you’re a guy, Owen. A guy who needs blood to live, but you don’t have to do all this to get it. You can try asking nicely.”
Owen’s voice is measured. “Would you let me, Detective? Would you put your life in my hands?”
“Weird way to ask, but yes, I’d let you have my blood under different circumstances,” Oliver answers.
Owen sounds unimpressed. “There’s that caveat. So predictable.”
Oliver rolls his eyes. “We’re alone in the middle of the woods. That doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence, okay? You’re the one who told Avid you’d kill everyone in town and save him for last.”
“And yet you stood at his side during the meeting.”
“You were trying to isolate him. Don’t act like you didn’t know what you were doing,” Oliver argues. “You have agency, Owen. You choose to keep this hate going.”
Owen suddenly stops in front of Oliver, examining him thoroughly. “Do you have someone to get back to, Detective?”
Oliver blinks at the change in subject. “I… yes, my friends, my cat, my boyfriend…”
The look of contempt on Owen’s face cuts deep. Is he homophobic or something??
“You’re the detective. Here is your information.” Owen stares at Oliver in the space where a mortal would take a deep breath. “The story I told at that meeting was… changed from my real past. I never knew my family. The person that brought me into this unlife… he was the only one to ever show kindness to an outcast like me. And the people that burned him at the stake didn’t even know he was a vampire, they just saw evidence of the occult and thought that was reason enough to take his life into their hands. They killed my person.”
Oliver processes the story. It’s harrowing, that’s for sure.
The fact that Owen had misled them at the meeting doesn’t inspire a lot of trust, but this confession is certainly meaningful.
So it wasn’t hatred that brought on the look of contempt, but grief.
Grief. What Haunted Houses are made of.
Oliver didn’t expect this from Owen, but the vulnerability is… reassuring. It’s good to know why Owen acts the way he does. Comforting, almost, that he has a story under all that hatred. It humanizes him, so to speak.
So Oliver says, “I’m sorry.”
Owen’s glare tightens at the apology. “That is the reason for my massacre, Detective. That is why I hate you all. Humans. What you stand for, what you bring about. I want you all to feel that pain. I spent the next two hundred years waiting for you to rebuild here in order to burn it to the ground once more.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.” Oliver repeats the apology, then takes a moment. “But you realize that your pain is no justification for the way you’ve been acting? It’s not right to treat others like food, like targets.”
Owen almost laughs. “Come now, Detective, it is abundantly clear what I am. I have no urge to act in accordance with your righteousness.”
“…Okay, well that’s stupid.”
A twitch of Owen’s eye.“It’s not about morality. I need people to feel what I’ve felt. To suffer as he suffered. That is my righteousness. That is my purpose.”
Oliver is starting to think his knee-jerk comparison to Eugene is a little more apt. The revenge blown out of proportion…
“Do you realize how you sound?” Oliver asks. “Do you hear the words that come out of your mouth?”
Owen’s face hardens. “Excuse me?”
Oliver taps his fingers against his leg. “You’re not excused. You’re not being fair. To yourself or to others. What happened to you is horrible, and you have my condolences, but go to therapy instead of terrorizing a bunch of people that had nothing to do with your past.”
A crack of confusion. “Therapy..?”
Anachronisms aside, Oliver continues, “This is a very unhealthy way to deal with your problems. You’re that guy who hears hurt people hurt people as a command twice. I’d recommend professional help. A support system. Not, you know, telling people that you’re going to kill everyone they love.”
“I know what I must do,” Owen states. “This is inevitable, Detective.”
Owen is losing Oliver here. “People aren’t a monolith, Owen, and we aren’t stagnant. It’s human… and vampire nature to change.” He thinks about Eugene. “We are forced to change by our mere existence. With the right guidance, we can change for the better.”
Owen stares at Oliver for a while. Oliver thanks his hat for the lessened impact of the eye contact.
“You really believe that.” It’s not a question.
“I do,” Oliver says with certainty. “And I know it’s true for you. You said you stewed in this grief for two hundred years, and it never occurred to you that maybe your person wouldn’t want to see you like this? Wouldn’t he have wanted you to be happy? To be safe?”
Ah, there’s those familiar eyes. The eyes of a killer. Eugene wielded them with careful planning, but Owen’s are dangerously spontaneous. Oh dear.
Oliver’s voice is low. “I believe you’ve volunteered yourself to help me fulfill my purpose, Detective.”
“Bwuh?”
And suddenly Oliver is on the ground, his hat leaving his head from the force of the shove. Vampiric speed at its finest.
Owen is holding him down, tugging down the collar of Oliver’s sweater. Before Oliver can do anything, Owen’s fangs are in Oliver’s throat. There is a sting, then a sucking noise, and not the awesome after hours kind.
“Get off!” Oliver yells. Owen doesn’t budge while Oliver kicks at him. “Don’t touch me!”
Oliver’s blood is draining. Dizzy. He doesn’t stop fighting. Can’t stop.
Some part of Oliver thinks If I had a nickel for every time I was recently held down by a man who has a fascination with disproportionate revenge…
The rest of him uses the memory of Eugene’s hands around his neck to his advantage.
Like he did back then, Oliver pushes his thumbs into his assailant’s eyes. They sink in with a wet squish.
Owen jolts in surprise, but he doesn’t release Oliver’s throat. He keeps drinking, keeps taking, too much too much too much!
Oliver’s starting to lose control. He can’t give up. He can’t die here. He won’t!
He didn’t survive the jaws of two Houses and the wrath of a business major to die to a would-be theatre kid!
Too lightheaded to speak. He thinks instead.
Bastard, motherfucker, you remind me of a vile man. And I killed him!
Weak. Getting weaker.
Oliver’s hands fall from Owen’s eyes. Limp.
For the fourth time in his life, Oliver Beebo dies.
…
Lord, give me one more chance.
And for the fourth time in his life, Oliver Beebo resurrects.
It’s far more immediate than his previous deaths. Wrong, so wrong. The dead were not meant to come back to life, but at least the House of Vera had rewound time to before the moment of death.
Now, Oliver feels wrong. He is wrong. He is the corpse that he never wanted to become.
He breathes, but the air goes nowhere. He feels stationary, frozen. He’s dead.
He’s dead, and he’s a vampire.
Oliver stares at Owen, who tilts his head, Oliver’s blood around his mouth. Owen’s eyes are bloodshot, but they’re already healing.
“There. I’ve given you a very special gift, one I expect you not to take lightly. I can’t imagine a better fate for Drift’s precious role model. Let’s see her model what you are now, Det-”
Oliver punches Owen in the jaw. He’s pinning the other man to the ground before he can react.
There is not an emptiness inside him. There is the scent of decaying yellow wallpaper, the sting of fresh snow, and the wailing of Oliver’s ghosts.
There is hunger. There is unleashed rage.
Oliver bashes in Owen’s face with his fist, his free arm holding down Owen by the collarbone. He’s making a truly inhuman noise, snarling, hissing.
He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want this.
His own voice erupts from his memories, roaring in his ears. But what's the point of living forever if we are trapped, unable to enjoy everything life has for us? I'd rather live a short and happy life than an endless stagnant one.
Blood from Owen’s mouth. Oliver drools at the sight of it. Thirsty. He’s thirsty.
“You motherfucker!” Oliver spits between the gnashing of his new fangs.
Oliver readies his fist to strike again, but Owen bursts into a swarm of bats. Oliver lunges forward, but the bat that he catches in his mouth is not Owen.
Owen flies out of reach and watches Oliver with unmistakable fascination. “You’re more interesting than I first thought, Detective,” he notes. “Quite an unexpected side from you. I believe I’ve made the right decision. I wonder if you’d agree about your own choices, severing yourself from my side so quickly.”
Wrath burns in Oliver’s chest. He makes a show of biting the neck of the bat in his jaw and feeding from it, swallowing gulps of the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. Better than sopaipillas. He’s growling.
Owen looks gravely smug. “Pity to not have you as a member of the family right away, but you’ll realize soon enough what you really are. What you can’t change. I’ll be waiting for you once you’ve confronted what you can no longer see in the mirror.”
With that, Owen flies off, leaving Oliver alone and shaking.
The pain in Oliver’s fist and neck dissipates as he has his first taste of blood. The liquid rejuvenates him and clears his head.
The rage quiets.
Oliver spits out the bat with revulsion. He feels disgusting.
He keeps an eye on Owen’s bat. A spike of fear floods through Oliver as he sees a few other less-than-animalistic bats join Owen. There’s talking, not that Oliver can hear it, then the group of vampires flies away to the castle.
Oliver wants to run. He wants to get out of here. He has to leave.
He rises shakily. He feels so confusingly strong and weak at the same time.
Closer flapping of wings. Oliver’s head jerks to the side.
The new bat transforms into Cleo. So she’s a vampire too. There is a stake in her hand as she sizes Oliver up and down.
“What’s the blood from?” she asks stonily.
“Owen. Bat,” Oliver answers, jerking his head to indicate the bat corpse in the grass.
“Did he turn you then?”
Oliver nods. His teeth feel too big for his mouth. It’s distracting. Too much. There is too much.
Cleo closes her eyes. “That was his plan. Turning those connected to Avid.”
“It’s not Avid’s fault. Owen chose to do this,” Oliver manages to get out. “Can you put that away, please?”
Slowly, Cleo tucks the stake away. “Don’t hurt anyone.”
“I won’t,” Oliver swears. He doesn’t want to kill again. Shoving Eugene out the window is not an act he regrets, but it is one he never wants to repeat.
More sounds of someone approaching.
Apo rushes up to Oliver, but stops before crashing into him. She puts a hand to her mouth. “Oh god. Oliver? They said they wouldn’t turn anyone else!”
“You believed them?” Cleo snarks.
So Apo is a vampire too.
“Can vampires sense when there’s a new one or something?” Oliver asks. He needs to know the logistics of this.
“Yes,” Cleo answers. “Will anyone else be coming?”
“No. The rest of them went to the castle. They saw me. Owen probably told them what happened,” Oliver recounts.
Apo crosses to Oliver and holds him by the arms in clear worry. “Owen? Owen did this? Did he hurt you?”
Oliver’s chest aches. “Yeah. I told him to stop, and he didn’t.”
Apo lets Oliver go and returns her knuckles to her mouth. “God. He turned you. Oh god.”
“Right. We need to get Oliver cleaned up and back to town,” Cleo states.
Cleaned up. Oliver looks down at his hands. They’re red from Owen’s eyes. “Can… one of you get my hat? I don’t want to get blood on it.”
Apo retrieves it wearily. She looks unwell.
They start walking, and Oliver focuses on something he can do right now. “Apo. You can wear the hat. It helps for avoiding eye contact.”
She glances at the hat, then back to him, then gingerly sets the hat on her head. “Thanks.”
“How’d you hurt Owen, then? You said some of the blood is his,” Cleo asks.
Oliver sighs lifelessly. “Word of advice. If someone’s holding you down, and your arms are free, go for the eyes.”
That surprises a slight smile out of Apo. “Nice,” they mumble.
“It’s not going to gain you any favor with the vampires,” Cleo notes.
The rage threatens to resurface. Oliver swallows it down. Not the time. “Owen killed me. I don’t need their favor. Shelby and Pyro are young and lost, but Scott and Owen know what they’re doing.”
Cleo hums. “Scott hasn’t done anything as far as I know.”
Oliver looks at Cleo incredulously. “I wouldn’t be so sure. He ostracized Avid. He likely turned Pyro. Who knows who else?”
“Me,” Apo mutters. “Owen said they’d all kill me, and I let Scott turn me so no one else would get turned in my place.” She glances at Oliver and Cleo warily.
“I’m sorry that happened to you,” Oliver says. “Are you alright?”
Apo tucks the hat further down. “No.”
“Understandable. This is an unprecedented situation for you. I’m overwhelmed too,” Oliver dips his head down. “I’m here for you, okay?”
“...Thanks,” Apo mumbles.
Oliver glances at Cleo. “How about you? Are you alright?”
“I’m controlling myself,” they answer.
Control. Oliver thinks about his bout of unchecked violence. He prefers to solve problems calmly. Sure, he’d fight if he was cornered, and he could become a little hater when things got desperate, but the way he had hit Owen…
It wriggles around under Oliver’s skin. He’s still thirsty.
He needs to know more.
Oliver starts, “This might be obvious, but I felt… strange after I turned. So much… anger. And it went into my fists.”
Cleo nods. “Yep. Vampirism makes you feel all your emotions very deeply.”
Oliver swallows the taste of iron. “I don’t like this.”
Apo groans. Oliver thinks about consoling her, but the blood on his hands discourages him.
Cleo seems to observe them with a sort of unexpected responsibility. “Okay. Here’s what you need to know. Keep garlic on your person to conceal yourself. You can eat raw meat, and you can bottle the blood when you kill animals for it. Breed my cows if you take them. Tell those you can trust.”
Apo blinks up in surprise. “What? You’ve been telling people?”
Cleo crosses her arms. “Yes. I was raised to tell the truth as much as possible.”
“A little trust goes a long way, Apo,” Oliver notes. “I’m going to confide in the friends I’ve made here. You don’t have to tell everyone. You don’t have to tell anyone, actually. I won’t judge you for keeping this to just us. And I won’t let anyone know about you. But it’s good to have people you can count on.”
Apo squirms. “I… Who would I even tell?”
Oliver shrugs. “Your friends. The more level headed people, like Pearl or Abolish.”
“Tell the doctor,” Cleo adds. “He’s vowed to help us.”
“Good idea.” Oliver almost laughs as a thought crosses his mind. “It’s like coming out all over again.”
Apo buries her face in Oliver’s hat. “Oh my god, you’re right.”
Vampirism in this instance isn’t a good all-encompassing allegory for Oliver’s queerness, that’s for sure, but he thinks the comparison is apt for this specific dilemma.
Cleo looks a little confused. Is the townsfolks’ weird amount of modern references not universal, even among those that were initially human?
The three vampires continue their trek back to Oakhurst, whatever fate awaits them there.
So Oliver’s a vampire now. The part of his consciousness that sounds a lot like Nina puns that this sucks. Thanks, inner Nina.
Oliver doesn’t want eternity. He wants to go home and appreciate his mortality. The highs and lows, the joys and sorrows. He wants to experience it fully, knowing that it will come to an end in time. The time that he fought for at the gallery, at the House of Vera. The time he’ll continue to fight for here in Oakhurst.
But fine. Be that way. If he’s been given this “gift,” he’ll use it to break the Heart and give everyone a chance to live their lives. He’ll fight for them.
There is hunger, rage, and fear. But Oliver refuses to give Owen the satisfaction of seeing him lose control.
He will live. Despite his undeath, he will live. Tonight, tomorrow, and other tomorrows.
-
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-
Soon after Cleo and Apo leave him, and once the blood is cleaned up, Oliver heads to the first person he wants in the loop.
…Poor word choice. At least Oakhurst isn’t another time loop.
Oliver taps Drift on the shoulder once he finds her. “Detective? Can I have a colleague-to-colleague conversation?”
Drift lights up instantly. “Oh my gosh, of course, Detective!”
It’s their running gag. Greeting each other as Detective. Oliver thoroughly enjoys having another in the business here, even if she’s still wet behind her ears. He’s more than willing to mentor her. He feels like such a cool, responsible adult!
They sit together in Avid and Drift’s Merp Manor. Oliver is an appreciator of silly names, so he approves greatly of the choice.
Drift looks excited. It’s infectious. “Do you have a new lead or something? A new clue?”
Oliver fiddles with his hands. “Nothing that fun, I’m afraid. There’s been a development.”
“Oh. A bad one?”
“Yes. Owen turned me into a vampire.”
The look of abject shock on Drift’s face causes Oliver to think he said that a little too bluntly. Oops.
“What!?” Drift gasps. “That’s… oh my gosh, are you okay!?”
“Not really, but I’m managing. We were just… talking in the woods, and then we were arguing… and he took the opportunity to follow through on the promise he made to Avid.”
Drift stares with positive sympathy, processing the confession. “I’m so sorry that happened to you. It must have been scary.”
“...It was. Thanks.” Oliver’s died four times and he’ll never be used to it. He’d make a joke about occupational hazards, since Oakhurst was technically a case by virtue of spawning from a Haunted House, but he doesn’t want to scare Drift away from the detective business altogether.
“Gosh… What are you gonna do now?”
Oliver feels his ghost in his chest. “Keep going. Not give up.” He thinks. “And I’ll try to tell more people. It’s good for there to be more trust here in town.”
Drift nods. “Yeah, of course, dude.” She hesitates. “Oh. Um, Oliver? What about Avid?”
Oliver hums in frustration. “Right. With his past experience, I wouldn’t blame him for reacting negatively to this news.”
After a beat, the lightbulb over Drift’s head is practically visible. “Oh! What if you told him while in the bingo hall? That way if he gets scared, you can’t hurt each other! Not that I think either of you would!” she’s quick to add.
Oliver waves a hand. “It’s more than alright to be cautious. I think that’s a good idea. I can tell Avid, Pearl, the doctor, maybe Abolish. Cleo and Apo already know, too…”
Drift sighs. “Woof. This is… wow. How do you… like… deal with all this, man?”
Oliver huffs fondly. “A lot of therapy, mostly. A support network. And fear.”
Visible surprise from her. “But you’re so brave! You’re never afraid!” Drift squeaks.
It’s such an absurd statement that Oliver has to laugh. A full laugh, one that releases much of the tension in his ancient, late twenties bones. “Drift. Drift. Fear is not the opposite of bravery. They’re best friends.”
Drift tilts her head. “Huh?”
“It’s something you learn with more experience in this business. Fear can drive your courage. It lets you know that there is something to be aware of. You have to channel that awareness into something proactive. Without fear, you’d just rush into situations without understanding the risks. You’d be unprepared, vulnerable. Fear can be a hindrance, but it also keeps you alive in our line of work.”
His colleague stares at her interlaced hands. “I… I’ve never thought of it like that. But I don’t know, fear made me run away from my last case… I feel so bad about it. I don’t want to be afraid.”
Oliver places a hand on her wrist. “That’s understandable. Fear causes fight or flight, mostly. Sometimes flight is all you can choose, and sometimes it’s the right call. But you can also fight, Drift. And that doesn’t just mean physically. You’re very intelligent, and I trust that you can use that to your advantage. So you won’t run away when it matters.”
Drift stares at him in awe. “You’re just… so courageous, Oliver. I wish I could be like you.”
“I… You can always be courageous, Drift.” He hopes she doesn’t put him on a pedestal or something. “You’re a good detective. Trust yourself for me, okay?”
Drift thinks for a moment. “I’ll… I’ll try.”
“That’s all I can ask, right? And I’ll help you.”
“Thank you,” she whispers. Oliver smiles at her.
Drift is staring. Oliver gets nervous.
“Oh, sorry!” She catches herself. “Just… your fangs look so cool…”
Oliver covers his face with his hat. “Oh. That’s a strange thing to hear.”
“Can I ask what it's like?” Drift asks with the typical curiosity of a private detective.
“Ah… Right now, I’m just focusing on how I won’t be able to eat snacks…” It’s an easier thing to be upset about than the thirst for blood or the immortality.
Drift leans forward. “We could figure something out! Maybe, like, blood pudding!”
Oliver joins in the musing, his thirst ever-present. “Mm. Blood sopaipillas…”
They continue chatting, debating the possibilities of blood snacks. A Beebo can dream…
Oliver wants more than anything to return home. But if he’s going to be trapped here in Oakhurst with the looming threat of further trauma, at least he has friends alongside him.
Ones that appreciate the value of a good snack.
-
---
-
Owen - A lumberjack with a coincidental name. Seems sad. My gaydar isn’t the best, but…? A grieving vampire who believes he has a duty to treat others with cruelty. Turned me into a vampire. Has Eugene’s eyes.