Tears of No Return

by David Bernstein

  Thomas was chatting with a young redhead no more than sixteen years old. She looked ragged and had trackmarks on her arms—definitely a runaway involved with drugs and most likely prostitution.

  Morgan knew Thomas’s game: comfort the individual, offer whatever he or she wanted, whether money, food, drugs, or a place to stay, then get the human alone and spend hours listening to their pleas while he sucked them dry.

  Morgan approached Thomas. The fiend took notice.

  “Well, well,” Thomas said.

  The girl turned around to look at Morgan. Her eyes were glassy and red.

  “Never thought I’d see you down here with us lowlifes,” the vampire chuckled.

  “I bet,” Morgan said, his tone even. He took a long hard look at the girl. “Get lost, and I mean leave the area.”

  The girl hesitated, lost in Morgan’s stare.

  “Baby,” she said, speaking to Thomas, “who’s your friend?”

  “I said now,” Morgan reiterated.

  “Get out of here, sweetie,” Thomas said. “I’ll catch up with you later.” The vampire watched her run off, then looked at Morgan. “What’s with the hostility, man?”

  “What were you saying?”

  Thomas smirked. “I’m surprised to see you is all. Especially in these parts.”

  Morgan took a step closer. “I’ve never had a reason to come here, but I need your help with something.”

  Thomas feigned surprise and asked what it was that Morgan, the great and powerful vampire, needed his help with.

  Morgan glanced around suspiciously. “We need to talk privately. The matter is delicate in nature.”

  The two walked behind a copse of evergreens for cover. Morgan was certain he could rip the vamp’s head off before Thomas managed to scream.

  “What’s this matter?” Thomas asked.

  Morgan stepped to within an inch of Thomas’s chest. Smiling, teeth clenched, he grabbed the vampire by the throat and wrapped his fingers tightly to prevent Thomas from screaming out. Ready to remove Thomas’s head, Morgan was grabbed from behind.

  A burly member of the undead pinned Morgan in a bear hug. Next to him stood another vamp, just as large. He saw Thomas smiling, a look of satisfaction on the vampire’s face. “Now, now. Were you just about to end my undead ass?”

  Morgan glowered at Thomas.

  “You should know how I operate. I’m never alone. Working in a pack these days, like the wolves. Have to be careful with the new rules implemented on us by The Nation.”

  “You’re a child murderer and bringing unwanted attention to us,” Morgan said, deciding to play along and acting as if The Nation, a vampire group set in place to keep their existence secret, had ordered him to kill Thomas.

  “So, the Vampire Nation sent you to kill me?”

  “That’s right. Boys,” Morgan said, referring to the two oversized vamps, “this here’s a dead man and anyone standing with him is a dead man, too. I suggest you let me go and leave these parts.”

  Both vamps started laughing.

  “I don’t think so, Morgan Hughes,” Thomas said. “I’ve helped you countless times and this is how you repay me?”

  “Let’s not talk about the help you’ve given me. We both know how you saved your own ass with the hunters.”

  “Oh, so they did find you?” Thomas joined in on the laughter with the two behemoths.

  Morgan broke the other vampire’s grip, jumped up and launched a crushing kick to Thomas’s groin.

  The lowlife vampire fell to the ground, howling in pain. Morgan got his right arm free. Reaching back, he shoved his fingers into the large vampire’s mouth and yanked down, ripping the U-shaped bone from the vamp’s face. Blood gushed like a burst water main. Morgan opened his mouth wide, craned his neck around, and began lapping up the vampire’s blood.

  The other bloodsucker grabbed Morgan, lifted him up, and slammed him on the ground. The impact hurt, but Morgan had felt much worse and simply rolled away before springing to his feet with feline grace. He saw Thomas slowly recovering.

  “You’re going to pay for that,” the remaining large vampire said, looking at his friend lying on the ground and bleeding out. The hefty bloodsucker charged at Morgan.

  With fresh vampire blood coursing through his body, Morgan easily sidestepped the oaf’s attack, grabbed the vampire’s arm, and tore it free. The undead creature howled in pain, his eyes glued to the severed limb in Morgan’s hands.

  “Want this back?” Morgan asked, tossing the appendage at its owner. The vampire raised its remaining arm to catch the limb. Seizing the moment, Morgan launched himself at the undead creature. Landing on the vampire, he sunk his fangs into the thing’s neck and, like a wild animal, tore away flesh. Blood gushed into Morgan’s mouth.

  As Morgan sucked the vampire dry, Thomas attempted to sneak away.

  “Going somewhere?”

  Thomas halted and turned around. “What the hell are you?”

  “I’m the new and improved version of your kind. Actually, I’ve been around for a while now.” And with that, Morgan leaped forward and ripped the heart from Thomas’s chest, leaving the body to bleed out and dissipate like a forgotten memory. He would drink none of the scumbag’s blood.

  Chapter 9

  Karen arrived at Melanie’s apartment building a short time after leaving the Mercedes. She stood outside the entranceway, contemplating whether or not to enter the building. Glancing around, she looked for anyone odd or out of place. The sidewalks bustled with pedestrians while numerous cars and trucks drove down Second Avenue. She didn’t notice anything unusual, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t being watched.

  Karen opened the door to the building and headed inside.

  “Hello, Ms. Lakemire,” said Bill, the building’s desk clerk.

  “Hi,” Karen replied, giving a gentle wave as she proceeded past the man to the elevators. Melanie had given instructions to the front desk that Karen be permitted access to the apartment anytime she wished.

  She exited the elevator on the twenty-first floor, trepidation in her step. The agents’ voices remained fresh in her mind. Taking long and counted breaths, she worked on calming down. Were they at Melanie’s place, too?

  She listened intently as she crept along the hallway. Upon reaching the apartment, she placed her ear to the door but didn’t hear anything beyond the rush of blood in her head. She wanted desperately to call Melanie, see if she was home, but couldn’t risk using her cell phone for even a minute.

  Raising her hand, she hesitated then rapped on the door. No answer. She knocked again. It seemed Melanie wasn’t home. Relief flooded her when she remembered that Melanie was still at work. She took out her key ring, found the spare to Melanie’s, and opened the door.

  Inside, Karen plopped down on the living room sofa. She closed her eyes, letting her body sink into the cushions. She took slow, even breaths, listening to the quiet and trying not to think about anything. After a few moments, her stomach complained. She was hungry.

  She found slices of turkey and salami in the fridge and made a sandwich with whole wheat bread. After pouring herself a tall glass of cold orange juice, she went back to the living room.

  Grabbing the remote, Karen turned on the television and flipped through the channels. She felt a small hint of relief at finding no news about herself and clicked the TV off. Karen then turned on the radio and began searching the channels. A bullshit broadcast about Josh played on one station, the newscaster reporting that Josh had acted alone and that no one was harmed during the escape. No mention of her as either victim or accomplice.

  She shut off the radio, grabbed her dish, and went to the kitchen. After placing her empty plate in the sink and pouring another glass of juice, she sat at the small square kitchen table.

  Why hadn’t the military put out a report on her? She was a threat, but unlike Josh, they wanted her kept secret. Why? They could’ve easily made up some bullshit report about her, too. If every cop in Manhatt
an was looking for her, they’d surely have caught her by now.

  Karen had an advantage. Whoever was after her didn’t want the local law involved, which meant she had one less problem to worry about.

  Feeling ragged, she headed to the bathroom to freshen up. There, she washed the small cuts on her face.

  Ten minutes later, sitting on Melanie’s bed, Karen began wondering if it was such a good idea to be waiting inside the apartment. What if the agents found out that Melanie was a friend, her best friend, and were on their way to the place now, a perimeter already established, any chance for escape cordoned off. Didn’t most people flock to loved ones when in trouble? Having been raised by the State, Melanie was her only family. And if she had living parents, siblings, aunts or uncles, she wasn’t aware of them, and had never tried looking.

  A minute later and Karen found herself in the stairwell with her cup of orange juice, standing just outside the hallway to the twenty-first floor. She took a seat on the cold cement, propping the door open a crack so she could view Melanie’s door. Bringing the glass to her mouth, a searing heat erupted in her head as if someone had pressed her scalp to a red-hot coil. The pain was debilitating, causing her to drop the glass. The cup broke, sending orange juice and glass shards about. It took all of her strength not to scream. She fell to the floor in agony, writhing back and forth; the glass shards cutting through her shirt and into her skin, drawing blood. The pain in her head was constant, but increasing in severity as if tiny explosions were going off. Her skin caught fire; every muscle in her body felt like it was being ripped off her bones.

  No longer able to hold back, Karen cried out. She begged for the blackness to come, to pass out, but she remained conscious. Focusing with all her might, she tried to stand, wanting to run into the wall headfirst and knock herself out, but she only stumbled to the floor. Her only ally was time, an uncertainty that would prove itself eventually, sending her into darkness and besting the pain. In the meantime she had to endure.

  Knowing she couldn’t remain in the stairwell, having no idea how long the episode would last, Karen opened the door and crawled along the hallway floor. When she reached Melanie’s apartment, she grabbed the doorknob and tried turning it, but the door was locked—the keys in her pocket. She needed to get inside, lock the door, and call her friend. She had no choice anymore. Reaching into her pocket, she tried grabbing the keys as the pain intensified, causing her to vomit. She hated puking; it was one of the worst things in the world, and the reason why she never got plastered. But none of that mattered now as the welcomed blackness arrived, falling over her like a shroud.

  She awoke some time later to an awful, nose-burning odor. Shaking her head, she opened her eyes to find a man crouched over her. He was wearing an FDNY paramedic’s uniform and held a small vial of smelling salts, the awful ammonia smell that had woken Karen. Clear-headed and fully awake, she tried sitting up.

  “Karen,” a familiar female voice said. “Are you all right?” The voice was Melanie’s, but she didn’t see the woman. Two paramedics were huddled around Karen, trying to make her lay back down.

  “What’s going on?” Karen asked. “Why are there paramedics here?”

  Melanie came into view, crouching between the two men. She went on to explain how she came home early to find Karen slumped unconscious outside her door.

  “I alerted the front desk and they called for an ambulance,” Melanie said. “Guess I should’ve just called 911.”

  “Well, I’m fine now,” Karen snapped. “They can leave.”

  “Ma’am,” the younger paramedic said. “We should take you to the hospital.”

  “No, I’m fine.”

  “Taking any drugs? Prescription or narcotic?” the other paramedic asked. He was older, had hard eyes and a perfectly trimmed beard. Karen thought it looked manufactured.

  “No,” Karen said, incredulously. “I just ate something bad.” Both men looked at each other. “I’m sorry to appear ungrateful. I know you guys do a wonderful job, but really, I’m fine.”

  Staring at the older paramedic, she heard the man say how fed up he was with people like her, loonies. He stood, ready to leave, but before heading off, he called her a bitch.

  Karen couldn’t believe what the man had said. Sure, she had been a little short, but to insult her like that?

  “Who do you think you are calling me a bitch?” she asked, angrily.

  The man, heading toward the door to leave, stopped and turned around. He had a surprised look on his face.

  “What are you talking about, Karen?” Melanie asked. “No one called you a bitch.”

  “He did,” Karen accused, pointing to the older paramedic.

  “I didn’t say anything,” the man responded, then repeated the insult.

  Karen’s eyes widened. “There, he said it again.”

  “Karen, sweetie,” Melanie said, bending down and putting a hand to her friend’s cheek. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

  “But I…” Karen began, but quickly fell silent. “Did you hear him call me a bitch?” Karen asked the younger paramedic who was now also standing.

  “No, Ma’am.”

  “Whatever she’s on,” the older man said, “you better get her off it.” He tapped the younger paramedic on the shoulder. “We’re out of here. Can’t force them to accept help.”

  Karen sat, caught in a daze and thinking. Josh had said the gift would take a day or so to work in her. It had been half a day since she’d been infected. Maybe it worked faster in women or smaller-sized people; Josh was a big man.

  Karen looked at the older paramedic walking away. She stared at his head, seeing if she could hear any more thoughts. Nothing. Then the younger paramedic spoke.

  “Ma’am,” he said. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah, sorry. Low blood sugar.”

  “And I’m sorry about my partner. He’s new to our unit.”

  “That’s okay,” Karen told him.

  “Well,” Melanie said, “let’s get you something to eat then.”

  Karen rose to her feet with Melanie’s help. Again, she told everyone that she was okay. Walking to the kitchen to get a glass of water, Karen noticed that her purse was knocked over and a couple of items were strewn about near it. “My purse,” she said.

  “We needed your info, Miss Lakemire,” the young paramedic explained.

  Karen looked at Melanie, her face accusatory.

  “Karen, you’re my best friend, but I don’t know what meds you might be taking. Thought it would be a good idea to see what was up.”

  Karen understood and had no reason to feel exposed. Melanie was her best friend; the sister she never had. Everything happening to her was just too much to handle; turning even little things into big ones. She upended her purse and began placing the items back inside.

  “What did you want me to do?” Melanie asked, sounding a little excited. “I mean I come home and find my best friend—her face resting in puke—passed out at the front of my door.” It was almost as if Melanie was defending herself. No, she was defending herself, and Karen knew that her friend cared for her and did what a friend should do. And besides, it wasn’t like they had never gone through each other’s purses before. Karen felt ashamed at how she acted toward her friend, the one person whom she would need to count on now.

  “I’m so sorry, Mel,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve had a…rough day.” Karen felt the pressure of everything building inside her and if she didn’t stop talking she’d begin to bawl uncontrollably. “I was just surprised to see my purse like that. Again Mel, I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay, sweetie,” Melanie said, and gave her friend a hug.

  “Ma’am,” the young paramedic said. “Excuse me, again, but are you sure you don’t want to get checked out?”

  “No, I’m fine.” She felt bad for the kid. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one years old. Then a thought, like a slap, struck her upside the head. She pushed Melanie t
o the side to get a clear view of the paramedic. “Did you guys have to call this in? Use my name, I mean?”

  “Yeah, it’s standard protocol,” the young paramedic answered. “Name and address. See if there’s a record of you in our system.” Karen’s face went pale and she began to feel lightheaded. The kid’s face showed that he saw she wasn’t feeling well. She needed these men to leave. The military could be on their way to her now; ready to kill any and all witnesses. Forcing a smile, she said, “I just don’t want you guys to go through all this trouble and paperwork for nothing.”

  “It’s no trouble, Miss Lakemire,” the paramedic said, smiling like a goofy kid. Karen noticed that the older paramedic had stepped out, and was probably waiting in the hallway.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” she said, “especially after all the help you’ve given me, but I need to be alone with my friend now.” She patted the kid on the shoulder reassuringly. “Again, thank you for all your help.” The young man smiled, nodded, and left the apartment.

  Melanie took a seat on the couch. “What the hell is going on with you?” she asked.

  “Just having a horrific day,” Karen answered, pacing back and forth while looking out of the living room window at the city.

  “Bullshit,” Melanie challenged. “You’re not right. You’re acting like a scared little girl or a junkie needing a fix, and I know you’re not a junkie.”

  Karen wanted to tell her friend everything. But would that be wise? She’d already put Melanie in enough danger by coming to her apartment. She hadn’t told her anything, but the people after Karen would assume she had.

  They’d probably torture Melanie to find out what the woman knew before killing her. And if they caught Karen in Melanie’s apartment, they’d probably outright kill her; no need for questioning. From what Josh told Karen, and what she’d seen firsthand, they took no chances. They were ruthless.

  However, that all depended on whether or not they found out she visited Melanie. Karen, for her friend’s sake, had to believe the woman was now a target. She had to explain everything. Convince Melanie. But would her best friend believe her? Karen had to prove it. She’d heard what the older paramedic was thinking, but when she tried to hone in on his thoughts again, she heard nothing. The stuff inside her must not be in full effect yet. She turned and began staring intently, squinting her eyes at Melanie’s head.