MERCY: No need. I said, “My voice won’t record because I’m a vampire.” And you asked if that was true. And I said, “No, go ahead and record.” You assumed my no was an answer to the recording question, when it could’ve easily meant I wasn’t telling the truth about me being a vampire.

ART: Are you a vampire then? I mean, how do you explain your being here, burnt-up heart and all, almost a century later?

MERCY: Meh, maybe, I guess, or not, whatever. But I can tell you this unassailable truth: I don’t believe in the supernatural.

ART: You don’t believe in the supernatural?

MERCY: Nope.

ART: But the unexplained—

MERCY: The unexplained means it just hasn’t been explained yet.

ART: I guess that’s one way of looking at it.

MERCY: You’re looking a little peaked, Art. Are you feeling okay?

Muhahahaha!

* * *

I appreciated the help Mercy had given me on the paper, though I was puzzled by her insistence of having last say on the edits before I submitted it. I wanted to change the last part to make it clear Mercy admitted to being a vampire. She insisted that her answers and the confusing ambiguity/mystery remain, word for word.

I got a B- on the paper. Mrs. Danforth docked points because there wasn’t enough history in my history paper, but I aced the creativity aspect of the assignment and she encouraged me to submit to the school’s literary magazine. I didn’t take her suggestion. The most creative aspects of the paper weren’t mine. Mercy had come up with, seemingly on the spot, the personal details, descriptions, and the bit about Mary Olive sitting on her chest at night, no reference of which appeared in my sources. While I had no problem using her impromptu answer in my history paper, I wouldn’t have felt right about submitting her work as mine to the lit magazine. And I was disappointed in the grade. By disappointed I mean my brain worked overtime churning out worst-case scenarios, including but not limited to a college retracting my acceptance because of an improperly sourced B-.

Three weeks later, I received my acceptance letters to the University of New Hampshire and Providence College, neither of which was revoked. I chose Providence.

Four weeks later, the Pallbearers Club attended its final funeral.

Man, you should’ve submitted the paper to the lit magazine with me listed as your coauthor. That’s some good stuff I gave you. I recall you wanted to cut the bit about the Mary Olive sitting on Mercy’s chest thing as it strayed too far into invention/supposition. Oh, the irony now, with my banging on about your creative ornamentation, shall we say, within this book. Aren’t you glad you kept that part in though? That’s some creepy-and-sad gold right there, my friend. We’ve collaborated well.