My Doctor is a Vampire

"Sometimes, I wish I still knew what it was like, to feel things, and to have a heartbeat," Shadya Ismail said, as she stood inside Dr. Jayson "Jay" Hawthorne's living room, looking more tired than he could ever remember seeing her. The tall, handsome African-American physician looked at her with concern, and for a moment, he looked much older than his thirty seven years. Setting down his notepad, he sighed deeply and gently laid his hand on Shadya's shoulder.

"What in hell happened out there?" Dr. Hawthorne asked, and the hollow, haunted look in Shadya's normally sparkling brown eyes surprised him. Dr. Hawthorne knew that Shadya had been around for quite some time. In fact, the Vampire was pretty matter-of-fact about not dying. That's why seeing her so rattled unnerved him to no end. She's my rock and has been for quite some time, he thought, suddenly feeling very protective of her.

"I've been declared persona non grata by the Supreme Council of the Vampire Community, Jay, tonight, three of them came for me, I got lucky and took them out, but they'll send more, and sooner or later, my luck will run out," Shadya Ismail said flatly, and there was a defeated look in her soulful brown eyes. Dr. Hawthorne bit his lip, not knowing what to say. Impulsively, he grabbed her, and pulled her into his arms. Shadya seemed surprised but did not resist him...

"Not while I live and breathe," Dr. Hawthorne said, and he took Shadya's face into his hands and looked into her eyes. Shadya smiled faintly, surprised by such a display of passion from the usually aloof doctor. His handsome face drew closer to hers, and he looked into her eyes. Without another word, they kissed, embracing each other passionately.

Dr. Hawthorne's life was one void of excitement, and he couldn't recall whether he liked it that way or not. Excitement had become part of his daily routine ever since he met Shadya. Last year, his life changed after their explosive first encounter. Dr. Hawthorne went to give a lecture on minority rights and medicine at his old stomping grounds, Howard University in Washington D.C. While walking to his car that evening, he was accosted by a trio of young white men, and they were definitely not muggers...

"You think you're a big-shot doctor, eh? Well, we're taking America back in order to make her great again and you're going down like the uppity negro you are," said the lead assailant, a skinny young Caucasian man with spiky red hair and green eyes. Surging forward with a knife in his hand, he attacked Dr. Hawthorne, who instinctively raised his hands and assumed a defensive posture. Their eyes burning with hatred, the three white male thugs came for the lone physician.

"Screw you, you're the frigging scum of the universe," Dr. Hawthorne replied vehemently, and he surged forward and caught the redhead assailant with a mean left hook to the chin. The thug's head snapped back, and he spat blood. Glaring murderously at his prey, he nodded at his acolytes, a chubby tattooed guy with a shaved head, and a tall, slender, dark-haired young man dressed like a Goth. They surrounded Dr. Hawthorne, blades at the ready.

"What do you know? Bad apples really do come in threes," came a feminine voice, and both assailants and would-be victim looked up...and a vision of beauty and majesty materialized before them. A tall young woman with brown skin and a stylish Afro, clad in a black leather coat and tight black jeans stepped forward. With a grace that Hollywood sensation Beyonce couldn't match, the young woman surged forward, and waded into the three thugs.

"Fellas, check out Foxy Brown wannabe," said the redhead thug as he lashed out at the new arrival with his blade. The young woman caught his hand, and effortlessly twisted it, causing the thug to howl in pain and drop his blade. Balling her fist, she slammed it into the redhead's face, and he dropped to the ground, unconscious. The other thugs came at her, but she was ready for them.

"You're going to pay for what you did to Jeff," said the Goth, and he was still jawing when the young woman grabbed him by the collar, lifted him into the air and threw him at the nearby wall like a bowling ball. The Goth fell to the ground, and lay still. The last remaining thug was about to strike the young woman with his blade but the burly physician caught him in a bear hug and wrestled him to the ground. Raising his massive fist, Dr. Hawthorne slammed into the thug's face, and the pudgy, pale young man lay still.

"Nice moves," said the young woman, and she held her hand out to him. Dr. Hawthorne took it, and was amazed as she effortlessly pulled him to his feet. At six-foot-three and two hundred and sixty seven pounds, Dr. Hawthorne was a lot heavier than he'd been during his halcyon days at Howard University, where he'd played varsity football while studying pre-med. Yet this tall, slender yet curvy young woman did not look strained from helping him up. Impressive sister, he thought admiringly.

"Thank you for your help, mademoiselle," Dr. Hawthorne said, and the young woman smiled faintly, licking her lips with a tongue that was far longer than any normal woman's tongue had any right to be. Was it his imagination or were her teeth a bit too white and too sharp? He looked her up and down. She appeared to be in her early twenties, and exotically beautiful. Definitely not the sort of sister commonly found in Washington D.C.

Looking at the eerily beautiful, leather-clad female stranger, Dr. Hawthorne was reminded of the lovely Somali ladies whom he saw while visiting his cousin Lucas Hawthorne in Saint Paul, Minnesota, a while back. There were so many of them on the University of Minnesota campus, where Lucas played basketball while studying Criminal Justice. Dammit I'm staring at her, he thought, as the young woman's expression shifted from amused to slightly annoyed.

"Don't mention it, sir, although if you're going to drive a fancy car and wear fancy clothes in a neighborhood like this one, you ought to carry protection," she said, flashing him that disturbing smile of hers. Dr. Hawthorne blinked upon noticing that he was not seeing things, the young woman's canine teeth were way longer than they should be, and her ears were a bit pointy, not quite like Spock's, but more like Peter Pan's in that ancient Disney classic.

"Wait, I don't even know your name," Dr. Hawthorne cried out, and the young woman laughed, a laugh that was both thrilling and absolutely scary. He watched as she took off in a run, moving faster than any human being he'd ever seen. Not even Usain Bolt could match that speed, the good doctor remembered thinking at the time. Shaking his head, he got into his car and drove away. He went home, had a stiff drink, then slept. The next day, one of the American Capital's leading physicians went back to work as if last night's events were nothing more than a bad dream...

Dr. Hawthorne, being a physician, believed firmly in logic and science, dismissing the supernatural as nothing more than the result of superstition. When the Washington Examiner began to feature stories about a black female vigilante fighting crime on the streets of Washington D.C. he laughed along with everyone else. He never forgot that fateful night's incidents, but he put them aside, until he ran into her again...

One night, Dr. Hawthorne went on a stroll around town, having seen the new movie The Dark Tower at AMC Loew's Georgetown. He was on his own, as usual. He'd dated a few women recently but none of them lit his fire. A lot of people thought that being a doctor made him one of the most eligible bachelors in the U.S. capital, and they were dead wrong. Few women could handle being the wife or girlfriend of a physician, not with the hours that such men had to keep at work. Or the stress they brought with them when they came home.

"I'm going to end up the male version of the crazy cat lady," Dr. Hawthorne mumbled to himself, as he came toward the park. It was ten o'clock, and at this hour, the parks were usually deserted. Lovebirds and vagrants found better spots to hang out. The sound of violence, of screams and shouts caught his attention, and with a DMV native's curiosity, he went to check it out. Just call me nosey, he thought to himself. He went deeper into the park, and came upon a seemingly one-side conflict...

"Shadya, your actions have attracted the attention of the humans, if you're caught, you will expose us all, I must put you down," said a tall, burly man with long blonde hair and alabaster skin, clad in a dark overcoat. He was standing over a young black woman who lay on the ground, seemingly hapless. The blond man pulled a sharp piece of wood from his coat pocket, and drew his hand back, ready to stab the young woman with it.

"See you in hell, Hauser," the young black woman replied, and the blond man slammed his boot into her neck, and she gasped. Dr. Hawthorne had seen enough, and surged forward, gun at the ready. The blond man and the young black woman looked at the new arrival. The one called Hauser looked at Hawthorne, and his eyes zeroed in on the gun. The man's eyes suddenly turned bright yellow, and his teeth, which looked normal a second ago, elongated and sharpened into wicked fangs.

"Let her go, dude, don't make me kill you," Dr. Hawthorne warned, and Hauser ignored his warning and surged forward. Before the good doctor could even aim, however, Hauser was on him. The blond man struck him, and Hawthorne doubled over in pain, and fell to the ground. How did this fucker move so fast? Hawthorne wondered, astonished.

"I wish you hadn't interrupted us, human, because you've seen too much and you must die," Hauser said, matter-of-factly. The blond man stood over the fallen physician, and shook his head. Before he could do or say anything else, however, the young black woman he'd so thoroughly beaten came up behind him. Moving faster than anything human, she snatched the wooden shaft from Hauser's hand, and shoved it through his chest.

"What the hell?" Hawthorne said, and he watched, amazed, as Hauser turned to dust, and vanished before his very eyes. The young black woman stood there, her face bloodied, and she dropped the piece of wood she'd been holding. Seconds later she fell to the ground, looking so helpless. Even after what he'd just seen, Hawthorne's reactions were those of a seasoned physician. Cradling the wounded young woman in his arms, he gently stroked her face.

"I'm Shadya, and if you don't help me, I will die the final death," the young woman said, and then she closed her eyes and lay still. Dr. Hawthorne looked at her, amazed. He felt for a pulse, and found none. In fact, the young woman's body felt colder than those ice cubes he liked to mix with his orange juice in the morning. What am I supposed to do with you? Hawthorne wondered, shaking his head in wonder.

"Where am I? Who the fuck are you?" those were the first words to come out of Shadya Ismail's mouth when she came to, a few hours later, in Dr. Hawthorne's office. She was lying on an examination table. At first she thought she was in a hospital, and panicked. Then she saw the dark, handsome and very familiar face of a certain physician. He smiled reassuringly at her, and gave her hand a firm squeeze.

"Good morning, young lady, your name is Shadya, right? I'm Dr. Jayson Hawthorne, and I believe we've met before, you rescued me from those fascists a while back, and we ran into each other last night," he said, in a pleasant tone of voice. Nodding hesitantly, Shadya looked at him. The burly brother reminded her of her favorite actor, Hollywood icon Jayson Fishburne, only he was much younger. And he looked more like an NFL player than a doctor, in spite of his lab coat and bedside manner.

"Thanks for helping me, Doc, but I need to get out of there and you need to forget what you saw, we're both in grave danger," Shadya said, and when she tried to get up and leave, she almost collapsed. Dr. Hawthorne caught her in his arms, and steadied her on her feet. Still a bit woozy, she batted his hands away and leaned against the wall instead.

"Shadya, I realize that you're different, and I can't even begin to explain to myself how your pal Hauser went poof, but I know one thing and it's that you need rest if you're going to heal," Dr. Hawthorne said, speaking calmly. Shadya looked at him, surprised by his tone and behavior. In her centuries of existence, Shadya had roamed the world, from the Horn of Africa, where she was born, to the Arab world, and beyond. Mortals usually reacted with fear and hatred when faced with the supernatural. Not this one, Shadya thought, puzzled.

"You know that I'm not human, and yet you're not afraid, how can this be?" Shadya asked, and Dr. Hawthorne stroked his goateed chin, a gesture she found...pleasantly distracting. Handsome man with kind eyes, Shadya thought, and then chastised herself for having such a thought. In her experience, humans were fragile beings with pathetically simple minds. The very idea that they weren't the only sentient beings on the planet Earth was enough to terrify most of them. And what they fear, they would inevitably hate and seek to destroy...

"Shadya, if I may, I'm a doctor, I firmly believe there's a scientific explanation for everything, now, you need rest, tell me what I need to procure in order to help you, and I shall do my best to obtain it," Dr. Hawthorne replied, and he smiled at Shadya's astonished expression. Shadya looked at him and shook her head. This one is definitely not like the others, she thought, amazed.

"Alright, Doc, I'm a Vampire, and so was Hauser, the one who went poof after I staked him, he and his ilk are after me for breaking the Rules, and I need blood to get my full strength back or I'll die, again," Shadya said, and for a second, the good doctor looked pale. Dr. Hawthorne looked at her thoughtfully. Run and hide like all the others, Shadya thought dismissively, sensing his hesitation.

"Obtaining blood plasma shouldn't be difficult, I am a doctor, now, Miss Shadya, do you have any other dietary requirements that I should be aware of?" Dr. Hawthorne asked, and he looked at her as though she were just a run-of-the-mill patient. Shadya smiled, astonished by his demeanor. I live in a world full of Vampires, demons and monsters, and I'm a creature of the night, yet this mortal puzzles me, Shadya thought, now faintly amused.

"Um, nope, drink blood, avoid the sun, that's supposed to be the deal for my species, oh, and you can't tell anyone about this," Shadya replied, and Dr. Hawthorne smiled and nodded. Before leaving the room, however, he took her hand and gave it a squeeze. Shadya looked at him, mystified by his truly odd behavior, especially considering the circumstances. I don't believe in Martians or Little Green Men, but this doctor might truly be from outer space, Shadya thought, smiling slyly.

"Good to know, mademoiselle, have no fear, discretion is my middle name," Dr. Hawthorne said, as he swiftly exited the room. Shadya Ismail listened with a Vampire's preternaturally keen hearing as the good doctor left the premises, and drove away. She listened to the ambient noise in the neighborhood. Outside, a cat pounced on an unfortunate squirrel. A woman on her period crushed a cigarette under her high-heeled shoe. Nothing of concern to me, Shadya thought, and she waited.

"What a crazy and unpredictable world I live in," Shadya said to herself. If she still breathed, she would have sighed. She closed her eyes and willed her body to heal, but it was slow to recover from the damage wrought by Hauser. The ancient Germanic Vampire had been a particularly brutal son of a bitch, taking great pleasure in tormenting her. The bastard was cruel and vicious, and Shadya was extremely glad to have sent him to hell. If it hadn't been for Dr. Hawthorne, she would have died for sure...

"What you are, what you can do, this really changes everything," Dr. Hawthorne said when he came back, with plenty of plasma to feed a starving, severely wounded Shadya. Taking the blood pack from him, Shadya tore into it with her sharp teeth, and then greedily fed. This was pig's blood, so different from the packs of human blood that Shadya usually drank, thanks to her connections with certain blood bank workers.

"What do you mean, Doc?" Shadya asked, after finishing her third blood pack. Watching Vampires feed usually disturbed people, but not Dr. Hawthorne. He looked at her with concern. The female Vampire looked at the doctor, quietly amazed by this man's dedication. In her time, Shadya had a few trustworthy human servants, but they were usually damaged people whom she molded into shape to serve her purposes. This one, though, he was something else, she didn't have to do any work...

"I want to help you, and in doing so, gain knowledge about your kind, don't worry, I will be discrete, you can count on it," Dr. Hawthorne said, and then he sat Shadya down and told her about anemia, which ran in his family. Shadya listened attentively. In the past, she'd met mortals who had fantasies about Vampirism, and begged her to change them. She hadn't had a choice when she was made, and she didn't want to visit this curse upon anyone else...

"Alright, Dr. Hawthorne, you saved my life and I guess I owe you, but if and when I feel that your research endangers myself or my kind, I'll terminate it and you," Shadya said as she rose from the table, feeling invigorated after sating her hunger for blood. Dr. Hawthorne looked at her, astonished by her recuperative powers. You haven't seen anything yet, handsome, Shadya thought, and she flashed the good doctor a fanged smile.

"Of course, we have an agreement," Dr. Hawthorne said, and he held out his hand, which Shadya shook after a brief hesitation. Mortals usually flinched upon skin-to-skin contact with Undead flesh, and there's nothing either party can do about it. Ordinary men and women had a visceral, unconscious reaction to Vampires, the same way that they react negatively in the face of serpents. The good doctor did not seem to mind Shadya's cold flesh gripping his, not in the least...

"This is going to be so much fun," Shadya replied, somewhat sarcastically, for she was less than thrilled by the prospect, and Dr. Jayson Hawthorne smiled and nodded. Thus, for the first time in ages, Shadya Ismail allowed a human being to get close to her. Even in those halcyon days when she was merely human, Shadya never had it easy. Indeed, the Fates had a lot of pain and suffering in store for her, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Born in the City of Mogadishu, Somalia, to a Somali father and a Berber mother, on the first day of February 1809, Shadya Ismail seemed destined for hardship from the get go. As the daughter of a most unique pairing, Shadya had her share of grief, even though her parents ruled her clan.

Shadya grew up hearing about how her mother Amina Ali's family, a fierce and proud Berber clan, initially opposed her union with her father, simply because of her father Mohamed Ismail's Somali origin and darker skin color. Even long after the matter was settled, thanks to the local Imam's intervention, rouble followed the beleaguered Ismail clan...

"The Sultanate of the Geledi now rules all of Somalia, and their clan has declared war on those who once opposed them," Sheikh Mohamed Ismail, leader of the Darod Clan, said to his darling wife Amina Ali. The tall, bronze-skinned and raven-haired Berber woman looked at the Somali warrior-prince whom she loved, and nodded. These news bore sad tidings for their family, but Amina forced herself to be brave. She knew that Mohamed would need her support...

"We will move from place to place until they forget about us, may the Most High watch over us," Amina replied, and Mohamed Ismail nodded, and gently kissed her on the forehead. In those days, like in ancient times, it was rare to see African Muslim men with Berber wives or Arabian wives, even though Berber men and Arabian men had been availing themselves of African women since time immemorial. Everywhere they went in Somalia, people stared at them...