“Hello? Is this Wendell Dupree?”

“Yeah,” I answer a little sleepily. “Who is this?”

I don’t recognise the number. Something European is all my brain can make out.

“Yeah, this is Sam Barclay, Rashid’s boyfriend. He asked me to call this number in case anything happened to him.”

I’m suddenly wide awake.

---

Dearest gentle…

Oh, fuck that. Not doing this anymore. (Sorry, Soso!)

Hey to everyone who’s reading this!

You made it to part 4 of my story! In which I royally fuck up my life and everything good that’s ever happened to me. Go me.

Part 1 ended with me meeting the love of my life, Talamasca agent Rashid Chaudhury for the first time. In part 2 we had our first kiss, and in part 3 we said three spectacular words to each other. Pretty good, huh? Sounds like we were on the right track.

In the following year, my life took some unexpected turns. I started therapy with Dr Eli Barnes (I see you fist-punching the air, yelling “Finally, Wendell!”), and I started working with the vampire journalist Daniel Molloy. But we will get to that later.

It happened almost a year after we left off. It’s fall again. The days are sunny, but the humidity is a little more bearable. I started a new project. I’m transforming part of our community backyard into an actual little green garden with actual little plots where I can grow my own vegetables. Etie and Gigi, the kids of my tenant Doris, help me. They are enthusiastic for about five minutes, then Gigi wants to play soccer again. Etie stays a little longer. Their parents are divorced, and maybe he misses a male companion, surrounded by his mom and little sister. Growing up with my dad, who regularly used me as a punching bag, I never felt the need.

I love this physical work of digging in the soil and then seeing things grow, things that I have planted there. Like I’m actually achieving something productive. It’s really satisfying and it also balances out the time I spend in front of my laptop lately. I’m currently doing research for Daniel Molloy’s newest book, and it involves quite a bit of screentime. Most of the time working with Daniel means interviewing people during the day, which can be a bit tricky for him as a vampire.

He sends me his data and a list of questions, lets me do my own research on the interviewee. I can add my own ideas, if I have any. Then I conduct and record the interview and send him the file with an additional report of my impression. I have quite a generous timeframe for when to get everything back to him. I guess for a vampire, deadlines don’t matter very much. I can pick my own working hours and mingle them in with my tasks as a custodian. I still have time to visit Josie, my little princess Soso, and the twins.

This also helps when Rashid is here. He tries to come to New Orleans as often as work allows it. Occassionlly he has assessments stateside, so he can combine it with a little detour to see me. I can’t wait to show Rashid my new project. There isn’t much to see yet, of course, but I’m just excited to share this venture with him. In my mind I’m already picking meals that I will cook for him with my own homegrown vegetables next year. Maybe a traditional Indian curry. I add it to my mental to-do list to ask Mari for a recipe.

I haven’t seen Rashid for a few weeks now. I spent some time in Europe with him this summer. Unfortunately spies don’t seem to have a union that guarantees them a certain amount of time off. He managed to shuffle some things around to spend as much time with me as possible. We went on a weekend trip to Paris (cheesy, I know, but it’s so beautiful!). We saw a play in the West End in London and a soccer game at Wembley Stadium. I took lots of pictures for Gigi and Etie and sent them to the siblings via Messenger.

Whenever Rashid had to work, I just went to Hyde Park, lay in the grass and enjoyed the sunshine. When the weather was bad, I went to one of the museums (the Natural History Museum is so cool – and free!) or relaxed in Rashid’s apartment. It was a damn near perfect time, and I didn’t even mind the rain.

I miss him terribly. We stay in touch, of course. We constantly text each other, even if it’s just a cheesy kissing emoji, and video chat every evening. Time differences suck, but modern technology and insomnia help. At times those video chats turn a little naughty, and we jerk off together. It’s not the same, and I miss feeling him, his arms around me, his lips kissing mine, his hot breath against my sweaty skin, his hands on me… well, you get the picture.

We made tentative plans for Rashid to come over in fall, but so far he’s been a bit evasive when it comes to settling on a date. I assume it’s something to do with work that he can’t tell me about, and I try not to interpret too much into it. I still can’t believe I hit the jackpot with Rashid. He’s all I could have ever dreamt of. He’s gorgeous, inside and out. He’s kind and caring. A bit overprotective from time to time, but I don’t mind. And as a lover, he’s attentive, passionate and incredibly giving. He always puts my happiness first.

I wish we had more time in London so I could have met his friends. He mentioned someone called Charlie, who’s a friend. I took Rashid on a double date with my mate Rafa and his girlfriend Elodie. She is a sweet girl – we met before – and I think Rafa wants to propose to her soon. Watching my friend and my boyfriend interact was pretty funny after Rashid confided in me that he’d been jealous of Rafa when he saw us together at Lestat’s concert. I also introduced Rashid to my sister and her family. Sadly, his parents and grandparents passed away years ago. He’s an only child, so there’s no family on his side that I could meet.

I told Rashid I love him – and he said he loves me too – but we never actually talked about our relationship status. Is it (still) a casual thing if you’re someone’s boyfriend? Are we exclusive? We spend so much time apart. Some people do open relationships. How does one determine such things? Do you sit down and have a talk about it?

For me, Rashid is the one. I can’t imagine being with someone else. Sure, I’d prefer if we lived closer, but so far we haven’t come up with a solution for it. His life and his job are in London. Mine’s here. Missing him is hard, but longing for each other makes for amazing sex when we do see each other. So I endure his absence, and I look forward to holding him again in my arms.

The night of the phone call, I spent all day working in my little garden. I slept pretty badly the previous nights. Something is waking me up several times at night. I wish I could be all psychic and mysterious and claim I sensed something dreadful was going on. But despite being born and bred in New Orleans, I can’t really claim any voodoo powers.

So that evening I’m pretty wiped out and actually go to bed rather early. When the phone rings, it’s pitch dark outside. The time says 1:34 am. The number is foreign, something European, I think, but not UK. It’s not Rashid. My spidey senses are tingling. Something isn’t right. I answer the phone with “Hello?” My voice sounds croaky and sleepy.

“Hello? Is this Wendell Dupree?” A voice asks. I don’t recognise it. The tingling grows.

“Yeah?” I answer a little warily. “Who is this?”

“Yeah, this is Sam Barclay, Rashid’s boyfriend. He asked me to call this number in case anything happened to him.”

I’m suddenly wide awake. Something happened to Rashid? His… boyfriend? Two gutter punches that somehow land right on my heart, and I don’t know which one hits me harder. I decide to concentrate on one of them at a time.

“What happened to him? Is he injured? Is he… alive?” I know life expectancy of (human) Talamasca agents isn’t the best. A fact that I try to ignore most of the time. Now all my inner alarm clocks are shrieking.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess he is. He’s usually pretty good at surviving.” The European voice – Sam – laughs. “He just said that you’re his current shagger muffin, and if he needs to go dark for a while, to let you know. Once he completes the task, he’ll contact you himself. Maybe he’ll even come over for a little booty call.” He laughs again. “Anyhow, I gotta dash. Sunrise’s coming up.”

My brain tries to make sense out of the information it has just received when it picks up one word. Sunrise.

“You’re Sam, the vampire? The DJ?”

“Aye, that’s me,” he confirms. I can basically hear his smug smile through the phone.

Rashid told me about him. Sam Barclay, former playwright at the Théâtre des Vampires in Paris. Talamasca agent. Vampire. DJ. His ex. He said he’s his ex. They’re still together. Rashid lied to me?

Sam says something else that I don’t catch because my mind is elsewhere.

“What?”

“I said give my love to Louis and Lestat. So many fond memories of our time together,” he chuckles. Vampire humour. I hang up without replying.

Two thoughts are chasing each other in my mind, just like my cat Bruno goes crazy sometimes and chases his own tail. When he catches it, he gives it a hearty bite. Then he howls. I feel too numb for howling. Rashid is cheating on me. Or rather, he is cheating on his boyfriend with me. How could I have ever been so stupid to think this was actually true? Of course not! Anyone looking at me and Rashid could have seen at first glance that this wasn’t real. The fucking rent boy and the spy. Absolutely ridiculous!

And he’s injured. Maybe he’s even… I can’t get myself to finish the sentence. I don’t want to see the pictures in my head but they come anyway. Uninvited, unwelcome, unforgiving. Remy… his face… smiling at me… his face bathed in sunlight. Then it’s gone. His face… is gone. I can hear the gun shot. There’s something warm and sticky on my face. His blood. His brain. He’s gone. Now Rashid’s gone, hurt, bleeding, dying. Someone put a fucking warning on my, I’m a hazard, high risk of life. Don’t get too close.

I suddenly feel like suffocating myself under my pillow, and it somehow muffles my scream. It wakes up Bruno, who’s been sleeping at the foot of my bed. He yelps and flees, hairs raised, to the other side of the room. My mind is racing. Sleep isn’t going to happen anytime soon again, so I throw on some sweatpants and go for a run along the river.

When the sun comes up, I get coffee and a bagel from a bakery and sit on a bench overlooking the river. I sip the coffee but stuff the bagel into my pocket. The two thoughts are playing cat and mouse in my head.

Sam said Rashid is alive. Sam said he is his boyfriend. He’s alive. He has a boyfriend. I’m just the shagger muffin.

My heart squeezes tight, and I can’t breathe. I finish the last of my coffee. It burns my mouth and throat. I don’t care. At least it means I feel something. I start running again.

It’s early morning when I return to my apartment. Mrs Beauchamp corners me and complains about her leaky sink. I promise I’ll come by later and go upstairs to shower. Drowning myself in the shower still doesn’t work.

In the following weeks, I function as best as I can. I do my job. I go for long runs and work out in the park. I feed Bruno. He senses something is off and tries to play with me to cheer me up. When I don’t respond, he just curls up on my lap and purrs. I pet him absent-mindedly. I text Josie regularly and send her pictures from my garden to stop her from calling me. I’m sure she’d immediately know something was wrong. She’s got scary big sister magic.

Rafa calls to ask me what I’m up to. I suspect Josie and Mari put him up to this. When my answer is somewhat evasive, he asks about Rashid and if he’d be over for Halloween. He invites us to his spooktastic “Cinco de Mayo”-themed party and adds, “unless you’d rather trick or treat each other.” He laughs. It’s one of his jokes, but I don’t feel humorous and hang up. He texts me later: “Sorry, mate. j/k. xoxo.” I reply with the middle finger emoji. Later I add a winking smiley.

I ponder calling Louis and giving him “Sam’s love”, as I was asked, but I’m actually mad at him. Firstly, I’m not Sam’s little messenger boy, and secondly, why didn’t Louis tell me about Sam and Rashid? I’m sure he knows. I’ve learnt by now that “a little variety” is the necessary spice in every vampiric relationship, so maybe it didn’t seem important enough to mention, but dammit, it’s not insignificant to me.

It takes almost four weeks for my phone to ring again. This time it’s Rashid. I let it go to voicemail. He leaves a message, but I ignore it. He also sends me a text and another, but I don’t read them. I just delete the notification. Three days later, my doorbell rings. It’s evening. I don’t expect anyone. Maybe it’s Mrs Beauchamp and her leaky sink again. It’s basically code for she’s lonely and wants me to come over for a chat.

It’s not her. It’s Rashid, looking tired but hot as fuck in a dark green hoodie and skinny blue jeans. Damn him. When I open the door, he drops his bag and hugs me. He even smells great, underneath the scent of travelling, airports and trains. He holds me close for a while. I let him.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” He mumbles against my shoulder. “I was getting worried when you didn’t answer my call or texts.”

I don’t know what to say and just keep silent. Rashid lets go of me.

“Can I come in?” he asks with an uncertain smile, as I don’t move. I can’t decide what I want.

In the past weeks I tried to come to terms with the fact that I’m just a side note in Rashid’s life, but I haven’t figured out what that means for us going forward. I tried to make myself forget him, forget we ever dated. Maybe if I didn’t respond to his calls or texts, he’d give up and take someone else. A new “shagger muffin”. The idea of never seeing him again feels like someone plunged a hot, burning knife in my heart. But every pain becomes more bearable over time. I survived other things. I’ll survive this one, too.

In the end I just step aside wordlessly to let him in.

“You’re mad at me,” he deduces correctly, when I close the door behind him and head for my kitchen counter to drink a glass of water, without a word. I can’t say anything. I’m too tired and too numb.

“I’m really sorry. I couldn’t call you earlier. I wanted to. There just wasn’t any time. I just couldn’t.” He’s rambling.

I nod, not really listening. There’s a ringing in my ears that drowns out his voice.

He takes my hand and starts kissing me. My face, my lips. “Please, forgive me.” His voice is pleading.

His touch makes my skin crawl, and I want him to leave me alone, but years of trained behaviour are making me endure it. I always hated it when my clients kissed me.

He sighs when I don’t react to his caresses.

“Can we talk? Please, Wendell… talk to me.” He sounds desperate.

“I’m tired, Rashid. Can we do this tomorrow?” I find my voice again, turning my head away to stop him from kissing me.

Rashid just stares at me. I can see uncertainty and confusion on his face. He knows something is up. He doesn’t know what it is or how to deal with it.

“Sure…” he says slowly.

I step away from him and start taking off my clothes. I carelessly fling them onto the sofa, and I can hear Rashid making a sound. I’ve skipped a few meals lately, and maybe he can tell. I pretend I didn’t hear it and slip underneath my duvet. I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep. Hopefully, he won’t bother me.

A few minutes later, my room goes dark, and I can feel the mattress dip behind me as Rashid joins me in bed. He kisses my shoulder, and his fingers trail down my arm.

“Please, Rashid, can I just sleep?” Even I can hear the annoyance in my voice.

He backs off and stays on his side of the bed. I can still feel his body heat, and it makes me want to gag. I simply can’t stand being so close to him. I have no idea what Sam the Vampire looks like, but I keep picturing them together, in bed, naked, laughing at me. I bite into my fist to stop myself from making any noises.

I can’t sleep, and from what I can tell Rashid isn’t asleep either. Then Rashid’s breathing becomes deeper and more regular. I wait a few more minutes before getting up. I wrap myself in the thin blanket and lie down on the sofa. I stare into the darkness and the unmoving shape on my bed. I can hear a noise and then a weight landing on the sofa. It’s Bruno who’s come to join me, the warmth of his small body pressing against my chest. I kiss his head and scratch the soft skin behind his ears.

We stay huddled together until the first pink of the sunrise lights up the sky.