Bloodlust

by Kramer, D. L.

  “Aleksander,” she leaned in close to his ear, her accent heavy and tone low, just above a growl. The boy writhed and screamed again, his voice fading into little more than a pant.

  “I don—I don’t know,” he repeated. Foolish, stupid boy.

  Before I could say anything, Marcella turned toward him, then snapped her head back, biting off a large chunk of his ear. He screamed again as she spit it out on the ground in front of him.

  “I’ll tear you into little pieces,” she promised him. I saw her arm move slightly as the boy cried out and I guessed she’d just sunk her claws into his wrist and forearm. When he screamed and writhed yet again, I was sure she’d just released more venom into him. She took her free hand and ran one finger through the blood running down the side of his head and neck, then made sure he saw her lick it off her fingertip.

  “Like I said,” I told the boy, flexing my own claws in his shoulder. “It’s important.”

  The boy squirmed and gasped for air, his skin growing an unhealthy pale. His mouth moved slowly, opening and closing several times before he nodded, his eyes shifting from me to Marcella to the two bodies beside us.

  “We—we—we were supposed to m--meet him again day after to-tomorrow,” he wheezed. Good boy. Cooperating finally.

  “Where?” Marcella prompted. She ran her finger through the blood on his neck again.

  The boy struggled to speak and I loosened my pressure on his shoulder slightly. All of his wounds were only flesh wounds, he’d survive if he got help for the blood loss.

  “The d--docks down by the r--river,” he stammered. “Ware-warehouse.”

  “Now that wasn’t so hard,” I told the boy. I started to release my hold on him when something caught my eye in the blood that was still flowing freely from his torn ear.

  Black specks.

  Marcella was in a feeding cycle.

  He couldn’t be allowed to live, not now that she’d bitten him.

  “I’m sorry,” I told the boy, honestly meaning it. I released my hold on his shoulder, letting him go.

  That same instant, Marcella tore into him with her claws, ripping the side of his face into nothing more than shredded tissue and skin. His last strangled cry died quickly as she ripped out his throat.

  I turned away, not wanting to see anymore.

  The smell of blood, urine and fear were thick in the air, making my stomach turn.

  While Marcella finished feeding, I grabbed the two we’d killed first and dragged them over to the fence. Heaving them over, I jumped over after them, then dragged them to the rusted out car. I kicked at the lock on the trunk, then pushed it open when it gave way. I tossed their bodies inside, hoping the rusted bottom would hold. As I was finishing, Marcella appeared next to me, dragging what was left of the other boy’s body. She tossed the lower jaw from the first boy into the trunk, then let me put the other one’s body in with the other two. I slammed the trunk lid down.

  “What about the blood?” I asked her. Her lips were bright red from the boy’s blood, but she’d done a remarkable job keeping any from getting anywhere else on her face. I suppose she’d had a lot of practice. The red around her eyes seemed brighter, but the dark circles under them had faded some. I knew her vision would be faintly red; it takes a while for that to fade once you had fed. Her claws and hands were bright red and nearly completely covered in blood, just as my own were.

  “There’s not much on the truck,” she said, her accent not as heavy now. “I doubt they’ll notice the pavement. It looks abandoned.”

  I nodded, hoping she was right. The truck did look like it wasn’t used very much. Hopefully it would rain again before anyone went near it.

  “Did you see any sign of cameras?” I asked her. Security cameras were always a risk to us now. I missed the days when almost no one had them.

  “None here,” she replied. “If there are, they aren’t turned on. There’s no power to anything around these buildings.”

  I nodded, trusting her judgment. I could find them fairly easily if I looked, but I knew she was better at finding them than I was. I suspected she could feel the power they drew, or the frequency they broadcast on.

  “What now?” I asked her.

  She seemed to think about it for a moment, then sighed quietly. “I should go home for a bit,” she said. I understood, the fading cycle made you want to sleep, or at least rest. It was almost as overwhelming of a feeling as the hunger at the worst of its grip.

  I was somewhat amazed that she’d been able to control the fury that long. I suspect it had something to do with age again. I know if it had been me, I’d have been unable to resist the first scent of blood.

  Nothing but damned animals.

  I went with Marcella back to the shop, making sure Rosie knew she needed to rest and why. After letting Rosie know the details and washing my hands to get the last of the blood off, I left, making my way down towards the river. I wasn’t too concerned about Aleksander showing up at Marcella’s. Even with her tired from feeding, he’d be no match for her, especially if he went after Rosie.

  I walked at a steady pace, letting the sounds and smells of the city occupy my senses and give me something to concentrate on as my mind churned over the three we’d just killed. It had been so easy. There had been no second thoughts of any of my actions. Time and experience had taught me how to kill quickly and efficiently, as well as how to simply incapacitate someone.

  It wasn’t something I was proud of.

  I didn’t know if anyone would find their bodies in the trunk of the rusted out car, but if left alone, it wouldn’t take long for the insects to destroy all the flesh. And with summer just a couple of months away, it would be getting hotter.

  So many changes in such a short time. Had it really come to this so quickly? It had only been a week since Aleksander had shown up at my studio, spouting his grand schemes and thinking I was going to clamor right on board with him. It seemed like both yesterday and an eternity ago.

  He’d obviously thought I’d forget about the last time we’d met. No doubt his sense of self-importance made him believe no one would stay angry with him. I’d have been perfectly fine if I’d never seen him again, but I suppose it was inevitable. We had a way of crossing paths with each other, even without intending to.

  I’d enjoyed my private, quiet life before all of this as much as I could. I kept to myself, painting and drawing and occasionally visiting Marcella and Rosie when I needed to get out for a bit. I spent my feeding cycles hunting people no one would miss or even notice had disappeared. I cooked most of my own meals, only making the occasional trip out for groceries. I kept my own hours, not really paying attention to day or night while I was painting.

  I didn’t get close to people for a reason. I didn’t want to risk hurting them.

  I had hurt too many in years past.

  April had changed that. Her willingness to trust me had made me realize what I’d denied myself all these years. Friendship. Someone just to talk to when a random thought occurred to you.

  I had a chance with Dawn to have a family again. To raise her as a daughter. To watch her grow and learn the lessons life would teach. Love, friendship, loss, joy, accomplishment, failure. All things that could help a person grow into someone stronger, someone new.

  Someone who didn’t fear the monsters in life.

  But could a monster teach those lessons?

  Marcella had raised a daughter, then helped with each of her grandchildren. She had shown them love, protection, encouragement and guidance. When Rosie’s father died, there had been no second thoughts from Marcella about having her move in with her. It was simply how things were going to be.

  Maybe, just maybe, we didn’t have to be monsters all the time.

  I paused in my walking, stepping back into the cool shadow of an alley as this new thought took hold in my mind.

  Was that the secret? Did I see myself as a monster all the time, when in reality it was only when the need arose?
>
  Was I capable of honestly caring about another person after so many years?

  I had played a part in the killing of three people today. I had killed one of them myself and had a direct hand in the killing of a second. But it had been necessary. Aleksander was doing something very wrong, something that endangered not only the lives of countless innocent people, but the existence of those like us, too.

  I only killed when it was needed. I didn’t hunt randomly just for fun. I didn’t torture people for my own amusement. It turned my stomach and made my head pound.

  But I wasn’t the monster.

  And I had the ability to stop the real monster.

  I extended my claws on my right hand, flexing my fingers as I turned them slightly in the shadowed light. I could see the veins in them. Translucent and hollow, some almost an inch up from the base of my claws. Veins that would someday fill with venom like Marcella’s did.

  Venom that meant the infection in me was old. It wasn’t diluted down through continuous spreading through generations.

  It was old. And it was powerful.

  And it didn’t make me the monster.

  Everything started clicking into place in my head as I retracted my claws.

  I wasn’t the monster.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Mallory

  There’s a fine line between religion and philosophy and it’s common for the line to blur and to even, in the occasional rare moment, fade out completely. Expansion of thought, questioning, considering, growing, learning to understand. They were all basic tenets of both. Though I’d seen a fair share of religions that discouraged a lot of them and relied on the members blindly following the leaders without bothering to stop and question them. Those were the religions I felt were the truly dangerous ones.

  You should never be afraid to question and learn.

  Since I’d been a philosophy student at university, during my time spent traveling, I made it a point to go to Greece. I guess I somehow felt I’d find answers there that I hadn’t been able to find anywhere else or inside my own head.

  I’m allowed my occasional folly.

  For the record, it’s beautiful there, but if you go seeking absolute answers, you’re going to be disappointed. Still, there’s something peaceful about sitting and watching the water, walking the streets and simply absorbing what you find there.

  There was an old priest in Greece that I met while I was there. He was bent like an old apple tree and nearly deaf. Even his hands, twisted and gnarled with arthritis, reminded me of an old tree. We spent a number of afternoons sitting and talking and a few more sitting and arguing. He was absolute in his faith and except for an occasional bout of orneriness that led to the arguments, was willing to discuss possibilities with me. In the couple of months I was there, I think we managed to cover a fair number of topics. A dozen, at least.

  I suppose you’ve noticed I’ve gravitated toward a lot of elderly people in the years I spent traveling. There just seemed to be something about them that drew my attention. I seemed to have a better rapport with them and I had this desire to learn as much as I could from them before they died. They all had so much knowledge, had lived so many experiences and I badly wanted to preserve as much of that as I could.

  And it kept my mind from dwelling on what I’d become.

  Most youth don’t take the time to listen, or they roll their eyes and try in vain to find something interesting in the wallpaper when their elderly relatives are talking. They stay in their chairs out of politeness and because their parents insist on it, but they tune out as much as they can.

  Such wonderful things they deprive themselves of without ever realizing it.

  My talks with the priest were one of the things I cherished about my time there. To be able to distract myself with our debates and spend my time coming up with suitable arguments against his comments made the days pass that much quicker.

  I knew Marcella had been born and raised Catholic while my parents had never really pressed religion in our home while I was growing up. I’d asked her once what she believed in now. I’d thought maybe being infected and having seen her daughter and so many of her grandchildren grow old and die might have changed her ideas about religion and belief in a higher power.

  “Living.”

  It was her only comment and she didn’t elaborate. I do know she still has her rosary beads from her youth, however. Whether she held onto them out of respect, fear, tradition, or because she still believed, I didn’t know.

  And no, I wasn’t going to ask her again.

  Perhaps it was the thought of regaining some of that from the past that brought me once again to the church next to the homeless shelter. Something to distract me. Something to occupy my thoughts away from my problems.

  I considered that for a minute.

  No, that wasn’t it. I had my painting to distract me when I needed it. And I really didn’t need or want to avoid my problems at this point. There were times that you just needed to deal with things and move on with life.

  And I was at the point of dealing and moving.

  The honest truth is, I didn’t know what I was doing here.

  But here I was.

  I stood outside the church for a long time, just watching, listening, absorbing. My coat collar was pulled up and my hat pulled down low, hiding me as I stood near the worn wooden fence that led back towards the alley behind the buildings. The midday sun was a bit warm, but not so much I was uncomfortable. The air was dry, a reminder that spring hadn’t brought quite as much rain as usual. Somewhere off in the distance I could hear sirens and a couple of dogs howling. Closer to me, I could hear the conversations of those who came and went from the shelter next door. One young woman was hopeful to hear back about some possible work for a few days. An older woman had finally gotten a call from her daughter, wanting her to come live with her. A young couple was trying to decide where to spend the night if they wouldn’t allow them both to stay there.

  I could smell unwashed bodies and stale cigarettes. Fear. Desperation…

  And Aleksander.

  I managed to keep most of my growl under my breath, even though it came up instinctively. I took deeper breaths, sorting the scents that mingled in the air, discarding the ones that I could easily identify as belonging to others. I moved away from the fence, turning to test the air from different directions. Sorting. Sifting. No scent of blood. Nothing that set off alarms in my head from anywhere nearby. But it was unmistakably his scent. After another minute or so, I was able to pinpoint a direction for it. It wasn’t as strong as a fresh scent mark, so it was possible he was no longer there.

  How quickly a scent faded depended on a variety of factors. The weather and age of the person being two of the key ones. There were certain elements in the scent of one of us that made it easier to pick us out from normal humans. And the older one of us was, the longer it would be there to pick out. The fact that I could find Aleksander’s scent told me it hadn’t been that long since he’d been there.

  It was coming from the church, not the shelter. I wasn’t sure if that made me feel any better or not.

  Probably not.

  I already knew from experience that Aleksander cared less about religion than I did. I briefly wondered if he was still following up on where my scent had led him to a week ago. I wasn’t sure why he’d wait that long to go back and see. Though I suppose he thought he had good reasons.

  I hadn’t made it down to the river docks to look for the warehouse the night before. My mind had been too caught up in sorting through my new realizations about what was inside me and what it really meant to who I was. Besides, I had little doubt I’d bee running into Aleksander again soon on my own.

  For all of his faults, he wasn’t stupid. He’d waited this long to go back to the hospital, which had probably saved Dawn’s life. Although he had known about where I’d gone inside, so he’d followed my scent a fair ways in before leaving the first time he’d been there. I hoped i
t had been long enough after I’d held Dawn that he hadn’t been able to find me on her. The fact that he’d asked why I’d been there told me it probably had.

  I pulled open the door to the church and slipped inside. The air was a bit warmer in here, no doubt from the candles that were burning. I paused inside the door, getting my bearings and not wanting any surprises. A young man in a suit coat and tie sat near the back, his head bowed. His cologne was one that tried to be expensive, but wasn’t quite hitting the mark. I noted the same about his tie as I walked slowly past him. The altar with candles sat in the same place, about half of them lit. I could smell the burning wax and heard the occasional quiet pop or hiss from the flames.

  I paused about half way up between the pews, testing the air again. Aleksander’s scent was still there, but faint. I found plenty of other scents, no doubt from those who had come and gone through the day so far. I flexed my fingers slowly, then relaxed them. I didn’t sense any danger. If Aleksander had been there, I was sure he was gone now.

  Somehow that didn’t make me feel any better.

  “Mr. Dorian?”

  I turned, recognizing Father Mallory’s voice from the other side of the pews on my left.

  “Father,” I greeted him, noting my voice had gone back to its usual growl since last night. Apparently I still needed more practice talking. I tilted my head down slightly, using the brim of my hat to hide my right ear. “I trust everything is going all right with the painting?”

  “I suppose.” He walked over towards me. He had that moment of a pause as he drew closer and my appearance became more obvious to him. Not quite the pulling back in fear, but a definite hesitation as he steeled himself to come closer. I tensed slightly out of reflex, not from any sense of danger from him. “The gentleman I spoke to at that number said they had to wait for their appraiser to get back from out of town before they could set the price on it for auction.” Yes, talking about the painting would be a safe topic, it was something that meant he didn’t have to focus directly on me.