Dearest gentle reader,

My niece Soso says, “This is how you speak to your readers if you really got sauce.” I remind her she is too young to be watching smut. She reminds me she is almost as old as I was when I started hustling. I don’t even know how she knows about that.

She said I left you with too many unanswered questions, and I should clear a few things up.

The biggest question probably is, am I dating Rashid?

Which I can answer truthfully and with full conviction: it’s complicated.

You will remember that he asked me to join the Talamasca, an ancient top-secret organisation that watches and studies the supernatural. And I was the perfect candidate to join their ranks: young and done with life. General life expectancy among (human) Talamasca agents isn’t the best. And I already had achieved what many others had failed to before me: I had close contact with the most notorious vampires out there: Messieurs Lestat de Lioncourt and Louis de Pointe du Lac.

It had been Rashid’s mission in New Orleans to evaluate me and potentially recruit me. He watched me, not constantly but on and off for almost two years, and came to the conclusion I could be a valuable (due to my connections) but maybe unreliable (due to my lifestyle) asset and approached me. I told him I needed time to think about it and we should meet again. I strung him along for weeks, and by that time our recruitment meetings had turned into dates. Unofficially at first. There was always a bit of flirting going on, but I think when we started making out, that’s when we both knew it’s not business anymore.

It was my first time dating as an adult, the first time ever since Remy, and despite my outward bravado, I was pretty nervous about it. But there was no need; I never needed to hide anything from him. He accepted me just the way I was. The times I spent with him were the happiest of my life. He never judged me for my past and held me when my nightmares tormented me. When my little apartment got too small and suffocating for me, he joined me sleeping on my rooftop terrace.

But the motherhouse demanded an answer, and that’s when I had to tell him – tell the Talamasca – no. I could not in good conscience spy on my friends, the vampires that had saved my life.

If you read my story, you might say meeting the vampire that first night changed my life, but maybe not necessarily for the better. It did; only sometimes things need to get worse before they can get better.

When I turned the Talamasca down, Rashid just nodded. It didn’t come as a surprise to him. He knows me better than I probably know myself. After that Rashid was called back to London. He asked me to come with him, but he already knew I could never leave Josie and Soso. We still see each other, Rashid and I. We visit each other every so often. Flying terrifies me, but I do it. For him.

Louis and Lestat offered the “Dark Gift” to me (turning me into a vampire) but added they would only give it to me after I had lived a little – lived a real life, not the zombie existence I endured when I was younger – and after I worked on some of my trauma.

Louis introduced me to his friend Daniel, the coolest grandpa on earth and a vampire. In his human life he was a journalist and wrote books about Louis and Lestat. I never read them, but Rashid read them to me (I can read myself – thank you very much! – but let me tell you: having your lover read books to you while you’re spooning naked with them in bed is damn hot!) In one of our early encounters, Louis said Daniel would like me, and he was right about that. We instantly bonded, even though there’s about half a century between us in age.

I don’t know what it really was. Maybe the knowledge of some shared trauma. But one night, when maybe the alcohol or drugs in his last victim’s blood loosened his tongue, Daniel started talking. Told me about his youth as a junkie when he hustled for drugs and booze. That he fucked up two marriages and that his daughters hate him. He also told me about how he met Louis and almost had sex with him. And he told me about his maker. He uses a lot of cuss words for him, but I learnt that it means he really likes someone if he does that.

He also shared a bit of Armand’s backstory, but I think he left out some details that seemed too personal. I realised later that he didn’t tell me these things because he needed to get them off his chest. He did it for my sake. To make me open up and face my own demons. Listening to Daniel and hearing about his struggles helped a lot. Even if our paths were different, I felt I wasn’t alone. Daniel understood what I had been going through.

It took me a really long time, but I started talking to Daniel. Our meetings almost turned into therapy sessions. I told him about my life on the streets, about the times I had been abused, beaten up, assaulted and almost killed. I told him about my dad, who spent all our money on drugs and who hit Mom, me and Josie regularly when he was drunk. I told him about Mom, who died of cancer when Josie and I were really young. About Josie, my big sister and my biggest supporter. About Soso, my little princess, who always made me forget all the doom in the world with her big eyes, her smile, and the way she threw her chubby arms around me and put sloppy kisses on my cheeks.

Eventually I told Daniel about Remy, the first love of my life. I told him how he died, the way I told you. Most of the time, Daniel would just sit there and listen, but this time the journalist in him came through, and he started asking questions. Gently at first but then more and more probing. That’s when I realised why I remember Remy’s death so vividly, why it comes back to me in my dreams again and again. Because I had been there.

Remy and me had spent all Saturday in that abandoned house in our neighbourhood, making love for the first time (actually more than once, but we lost count). I let him fuck me, and he let me. We just wanted to stay in that shabby old house forever and keep doing it – and each other. When we went home, we were both sore but happy.

The next day was Sunday, and I knew Remy had to spend the day with his family. I just couldn’t bear to spend a whole day without him. So I sneaked out of the house without telling anyone and went to Remy’s church, hoping we could steal a moment after service had ended. I waited around the corner. The church bells rang, and Remy and his family came out. I stepped out a little and waved so Remy would see me. He did and smiled his big smile that would transform his whole face and light up even the darkest of rooms. He said something to his mother and started walking towards me. He was only a few feet away from me when his face was blasted off. His brain exploded, and his blood splattered my face.

I don’t remember much of what happened after. Just Remy’s lifeless body on the pavement. Blood everywhere. Screaming. Crying. Someone pulling me away from Remy. Running, blackberry brambles scratching my arms and legs.

Daniel says my mind just couldn’t handle the trauma and made my brain forget all about it. He calls it a coping mechanism. I probably did go to the supply shed on our school’s grounds, as I remembered it, but maybe it had been on Sunday, not Monday. Maybe I spent the night there. Memory is a monster. We forget. It doesn’t.

To this day, it feels unreal to have this image, which I clung onto for all these years, in my head, and also this other one, the real one. Sometimes it is still difficult to decide which one is real and which one is a modified version that my brain created to protect itself.

After I broke down in front of Daniel, he did something he doesn’t do very often. He sat down on the floor beside me and hugged me. He said we’re friends and he’ll always be there for me, but he actually thinks I should see a therapist. I couldn’t really argue with that, and it was actually Louis who helped me find my therapist. I suspect Eli – Dr Eli Barnes – is also Louis’ therapist, but of course he can’t talk about his other patients.

Josie and I are closer than ever before. She got married to her old boss, Malcom – Big Mal – a couple of years ago, and Soso, my little princess, is now a proud sister of two baby brothers. I love my two nephews and visit them often.

I hope they turn out better than me.

So what about me, then? Where am I now?

For starters, I’m not hustling anymore. The handjob I gave that guy in Armstrong Park, so I could afford the bus ride to Josie’s, was the last time I offered sex for money.

When I met Daniel, we also started working together, and he trained me to become a journalist. Gave me some of his old contacts, too. He said writing down my journey will be a good start as a writer but also quite therapeutic. I’m far from being a best-selling, Pulitzer Prize-winning author like he was in his human life, but I love working on interviews with Daniel and helping him with research. As long as I can afford my apartment, the occasional flight to London (to see my boyfriend!) and my Soso’s college fund, all is good.

I asked Louis why they helped me to find my footing – why me, why not someone else – and he just shrugged. I think he feels guilty for what he (almost) did to me during our first encounter. I don’t know if Daniel told them anything about Remy or if they read my mind, but I suspect they know by now what the blood on their faces the night they killed my attackers had triggered in me.

Rashid and I have talked about whether we want to accept the Dark Gift. The offer includes him, too, or I wouldn’t have even considered it. But we decided against it. So far at least. Maybe we’ll change our minds one day, but right now we’re happy with who – and where – we are.

Yours truly,
Wendell Dupree