Out After Curfew

Chapter 8

A couple of hours after waking up on the sofa again – another night spent avoiding the lonely, quiet emptiness of his double bed – Gerard steps outside into his drive, the second gate remote that he keeps in his house in hand. Arm outstretched with the device pointed at the gates, he presses the button and the gates begin to pull in towards him.

He walks out through his gates, sun high in the cool sky, birds calling, a gentle breeze passing through the brown leaves of the trees around the road which leads up to his house; so quiet and peaceful. It makes the contrast of the night time nature so much more apparent and extreme. He passes a small log lying in his drive which was not there the previous night. One of the vampires must have thrown it over the fence. He sometimes hears items such as this landing on the ground in his drive and banging against his house at night, looking outside the next day to see things strewn all around.

They never used to do this, but this behaviour has become rather frequent of late. It makes their presence outside all the more an insult, all the more an assault on Gerard's peace in his home. The vampires have been congregating outside his fences for so long – desperate to get to Gerard, to taste him – that he sometimes wonders if they will ever concede defeat, learn that they cannot get in and move on. Stalk different and more obtainable prey. It seems unlikely to him, though. They are unwittingly tenacious creatures; not so much unwilling to admit defeat, but unable to understand it as a concept, always driven forward relentlessly to hunt by their voracious appetite for blood.

Gerard walks around the outside of his fences, checking for damage and eventually reaches the last panel. The vicious beasts had been pounding so hard the previous night that he wants to make sure no repairs are needed. He identifies a particular area of their concentrated efforts and runs a hand over the surface, pushing against it to see if there is any give. It's still holding strong. The only signs of the attempted breach are some scratches in the grey paintwork and a number of grubby hand marks all over - only superficial.

He goes back into his compound and when about to open up his garage and drive his car out to go to the city centre, it occurs to him to check the bulbs in his UV floodlights. He goes into the house where the switch box for the lights is located, opens it up and flicks a switch to turn them all on. He then walks around the outside of his house, confirming that each bulb is illuminated, which they all are. They should last for a good while longer.

Gerard returns home in the early evening after making his trip into town to restock on basic supplies, forgoing his planned trip to Don's bar after having checked his bank balance. He has been living on nothing but his savings for two years now and today it became apparent to him that he is running out of money.

As he puts the various items that he bought in town away in his kitchen he stops when pulling out a four-pack of Stella from his last remaining shopping bag and just holds the pack of unrefrigerated beer cans in his hand, staring at them. Why did he even buy these? he wonders. He doesn't even like the brand....He knows why. It doesn't matter the brand or even the beverage, as long as it contains alcohol – and not simply for enjoyment, not simply because he is a connoisseur or even because he particularly likes drinking. He doesn't. He is entirely indifferent to it. The beer is simply a means to an end, a sedative for him – a way to help him get to sleep since he finds it so difficult naturally.

This pack of beer in his hand seems to take on a specific representation in his mind at this point, as a symbol of his listless, repetitive daily routine. Things of enjoyment or relaxation, such as a beer, a sedentary period on the sofa, an evening watching television, have become nothing more than the devices by which Gerard inhibits his loneliness. The time he spends maintaining his house and shopping in town, although necessary, also serves this same purpose; to occupy his mind and keep his thoughts from straying too close to the bottomless well of grief and sadness for his lost daughter – his lost family. He runs from these thoughts and feelings every day but they always catch up to him, taking hold regardless of what he is doing and how he tries to avoid them.

He checks his watch and lets out a weary, dejected sigh as he realises what it's time for, what will be happening any moment.

Dull successive beeps sound out around his house and from the windows right by him in his kitchen and shutters slide down, entombing him once again. He opens his fridge and carelessly slings the cans of beer onto the middle shelf, shutting the door afterwards.

If it wasn't for his declining funds, perhaps he would continue to acquiesce to this purgatory to which he feels condemned. But he can't continue living this lifestyle for much longer. He needs a job, and he knows exactly where to pursue one.