Confirm His Sanity, or Share in the Delusion

Jason sat across from Layathel. When she'd told him her name, he'd asked her if it was her stage name. She took the question with good humor, and he loved her for it. He'd gotten to know a lot about her in less than a month. She secretly loved the macabre, but when they watched horror movies she held to him tightly, and buried her face in his shoulder, and he loved her for that, too. When she was around people their age, she was a spitfire, energetic and outgoing; but when she was in the company of her seniors, she was deferent and polite. And Jason again loved her.

All of that was well and good, but it was largely a distraction. He'd been putting off his decision about the family business. He'd met with Dracula a couple of times since that first meeting, hoping each time to find more reason to work with him than to not, for Pop's sake, but every meeting was as unpleasant as the first. None of their evenings together resolved Jason's uncertainty. He needed another perspective on the whole thing, and there was only one person he could think to discuss it with, even though he knew she wouldn't believe him.

Jason and Layathel sat in a Waffle House, a place they enjoyed because it was completely outside the realm of the high-class and the pretentious, which are common when you're going to law school. Most of the people are there are just regular guys and girls, but you always have those particular individuals who seem to think that their profession imparts them some sort of immunity to social decency. Jason figured the more obnoxious of them would flunk out, but it was apparently just wishful thinking. Three months out from the Bar Exam and the pompous windbags were still making the grades. No wonder lawyers were stereotyped.

"Well," Jason began. He'd told her he had something he wanted to get off his chest, so she was sitting with quiet interest. "I-" The waitress set their plastic cups of water onto the table and held up a notepad and pen. Jason sputtered. He'd been building up to his little speech for a couple minutes and the waitress hadn't been around that entire time. Layathel ordered first, giving him a moment to compose his thoughts. She got a waffle and nothing else. Jason ordered six eggs, six strips of bacon, crisp, and a cup of coffee.

"Alright, guys, I'll get this right over to the cook."

Jason smiled and nodded his thanks. He was so accustomed to being polite, to putting people at ease, that it wasn't even fake. The emotions were as real as the action.

"Well?" Layathel said. She had her elbows on the table, her chin on the back of her clasped fingers. An indulgent little smile was on her lips.

Jason reflexively began considering the affordability of an engagement ring. "Well," he said, then taking a sip of water. "I've recently been granted certain information regarding my family business." He took another swallow. His throat seemed dry. "It's a bit odd, and I've been postponing making a decision regarding whether I should take it up or seek alternative employment options."

"You do that when you're nervous, I've noticed."

"Do what?" Jason already knew the answer.

"You start talking like that. All professional." Her eyelids came down into slits. The tips of her mouth tightened in a mischievous little grin. "It's cute."

Jason leaned in close. "Not now, Darling. The waitress might see us."

Layathel leaned in too, whispering, "So what's the family business?"

The flirting had ended suddenly. Jason sighed and leaned back in his chair. He looked at her eyes for a while, contemplating what he was going to say. Contemplating, rather, whether he should say it. He could invent a lie right at that moment and not bother with an explanation. He was good enough at lying that she almost certainly wouldn't recognize it. "My family works for Dracula."

Layathel slumped in her chair and laughed toward the ceiling. "Are you writing a stage play?"

Jason appreciated the callback, and took the taunt in good humor. Still, he insisted that he was being honest. He'd even had trouble believing it himself, but in the last few weeks he'd met the man more than once and it was difficult to deny it, after the things he'd seen.

"O.K.," Layathel said, straightening, patting at her hair that hadn't really become disheveled. "So what's the problem? I wish I worked for Dracula."

"Not if you'd met the man. I'm sure the problem is easier second-hand, but listen: I wanna continue the family business, y'know? Do my father proud." Jason diverted his gaze when he said it. He wasn't accustomed to talking personal feelings. In the abstract, sure, or fabricating something for the sake of a client, but this was distinctly different, more intimate. "I'd hate to break tradition like this."

"So far I don't see the down-side. It must be lucrative, working for the Count himself."

Layathel was not taking it seriously, but Jason was so eager to talk to someone other than his parents about it that he took even her jabs as sincere. "Yeah, but I have scruples. Wouldn't you?"

She looked at him skeptically. "Aren't you a lawyer?"

The food came. When the waitress left, Jason was silent. He looked out of the big window at the waning sunlight. He'd traded his water for coffee. He took a swallow.

"Do you only want clients that are innocent?" Layathel's voice had gone down in volume, and now seemed sincere.

Jason calmly, quietly explained that he wanted clients he could be at least reasonably certain weren't murderers. "Dracula's a monster, a legend, a nightmare by his very nature," he said. "I'd like to at least suppose that my clients aren't legendary evils. Besides, I don't intend to be a defense attorney."

"Oh, that's exciting. What do you intend to be?"

Jason was aware of how lame his response was going to sound. "A compliance officer."

Layathel didn't show any hint that she thought it was lame. She just raised her eyebrows, looked at him with understanding. "Then say no."

"Say no?"

"Say no."

Jason took a sip of coffee. He watched Layathel's eyes. She held his gaze. He wasn't a believer, not really. In God, that is. Maybe agnostic. He knew some of the Bible though, from his pop who was an adherent. There was something in there about cleaving to your wife. His family would be whomever he married, Layathel or otherwise, and he'd need to do what was best for them, not for his parents, as much as he loved them.

His hand lowered; the coffee mug clacked against the counter. "Then I'll say no."

"But first," Layathel said, "I want to meet him." She was leaning forward, excitement buzzing in her hissing whisper, and alight in her eyes.

Jason deliberated a moment while salting his eggs. He snapped an end of bacon off between his teeth. Layathel just kept looking at him without changing her position. She jerked when he finally said alright. "But," he added, "we'll have to wait until the evening."

She made a show of trying not to laugh.

Jason tittered. "Hey, that's when we meet. You know why. You'll see." The prospect of someone else witnessing this ridiculousness was comforting. It'd be nice to have her confirm his sanity. Either that, or share in his delusion.