Forever Hunger

by David Salkin

  He panicked for a moment. He didn’t even know his number. “Um, sure, that would be fine…”

  “Okay—your number is in my cell, I’ll call back in a couple.” The phone went dead, like Adam Priest, and he sat quietly, feeling totally out of sorts. If he had a heart, it might even be pounding with what? Nerves? He smiled. He did feel almost human. Amazing. What if he could have her join him in his “forever”?

  He crouched back into the corner of his room again, arms wrapped around his knees, posed almost bat-like—the way he had spent that night in Jena. He sat and watched the phone, his head cocked awaiting the ring. His thoughts drifted over a sea of time. He could hear Renee laughing. Then screaming in shock and horror, her face showing such betrayal, as he opened her throat with his fangs and enjoyed the hot spray of her oxygenated blood. It was foamy—fine champagne. The phone rang and snapped him back to 2011.

  “Hello Sara,” he said.

  “Hi again. I blew off my friends and told them I had a hot date. I

  assume you are a hot date,” she said with a cheerful laugh that made him smile.

  “I will try my very best.”

  “Anyone who likes Gellman and can teach me about my favorite photographer can’t be all bad,” she joked.

  “I can’t be all bad,” he repeated, wondering what she would look like torn open and bleeding with her entrails strewn about her body. “It’s settled then. I shall see you Friday night? You need only give me your address.”

  Seventeen

  VWX

  Thursday – Taskforce Begins

  Captains Ammiano and Rosetto had assigned each officer from their two precincts a box of very old cases to begin examining. While none of the reports came right out and said that any recovered body had been “eaten” or “drained of blood”, there were a few that described “scenes of particular violence” where the body had been mutilated. A few of the files had pictures, and once you started looking for it, you realized that even though the bodies may have been violently torn up, there was very little blood in any photo. Sloppy police work. You’d think someone would have noticed.

  The majority of cases they looked at were just missing persons files, and when it came to hookers and illegal aliens, there wasn’t much to go on. There were boxes of old files like that, and most of them

  • 95 • were women. The two captains discussed at great length the problem they faced in trying to run a stakeout for a cannibal killer that looked like somebody’s grandfather without running counter to the chief ’s instructions of secrecy. When they called him and explained their situation, asking for officers to be notified of their vague description of a possible serial killer so they could run a city-wide manhunt, they were told not to get overzealous. While “Goth Girl” had been brutally murdered, the chief reminded them she was also into some kinky shit and was very promiscuous. There was no guarantee that she could be linked to any other missing person case. When they hung up with the chief, they were pissed.

  “What’s his problem?” asked Tim. “We are painting the picture pretty clearly of some whacked out homicidal lunatic, and the chief is afraid of bad press? This is ridiculous.”

  Pat sat back and frowned. “The chief is still walking funny from the ass reaming he got from the Mayor a few months back. A couple of DBs had turned up related to some gang activity, the chief released a statement about it, and the papers ran two months of stories about ‘gangs running midtown’. It killed tourism for part of the summer, and the mayor’s favorite restaurant near the crime scene closed down. The mayor was pissed about that—God forbid he might miss a meal, the fat fuck—no disrespect to you—and made the chief ’s life miserable. So now the chief ’s walking on eggshells.”

  Tim made a face. “You mean to tell me we can’t warn the city because the mayor’s favorite restaurant closed down? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Until we can prove that we have multiple murders all committed by the same guy, we can’t make a public statement. Period.”

  · · ·

  After Adam hung up with Sara, he spent the rest of the afternoon trying to recall how he came to be. How was it that the thing that made him didn’t kill him? It was so long ago. At times, it seemed like yesterday, but more often than not, the sea of time had clouded so many of his memories. He remembered the battle itself and the days leading up to the rout at Jena. He remembered the horrible night of the attack. But what had the thing done to him specifically? He sat in the corner again, arms wrapped around his legs and chin on his knees, and tried to remember. The thing had bitten his throat. He remembered the smell of its breath. He closed his eyes and concentrated. The thing had exhaled hard into his lungs…had spit blood into his open wound. Maybe that was it. It had breathed its life into him and mixed their bloods. Maybe that is how it infected him. Could he do it too? Did he posses that ability? If Sara was indeed someone he would want to make into his permanent company, could he even do it?

  He would need to practice. But on whom? What if it worked, and he created another being like himself that he couldn’t control? It could be disastrous. He rocked back and forth on his feet. He was lost in thought when he heard a bird singing outside, and then had a thought. Perhaps he could try it on an animal first, rather than a human? He decided he would try.

  Wednesday had faded into Thursday, and he was still in the same spot in the corner of his apartment. Once he had come to the conclusion that he would try his experiment on an animal, he became animated, and Adam left his apartment in somewhat of a hurry. It was approaching darkness and he had his first date the next night. There was much to do before then. He needed a huge meal to keep him calm on his date, and he needed an animal subject for his attempt at “procreating”.

  Adam hustled off into the darkening streets of New York and decided to venture a bit further than usual. He knew he had been careless in Greenwich Village, and wouldn’t make the same mistake twice, especially if he was going to take several victims at once. Where could he go that he could find several strong male victims that no one would notice missing? He decided it was time for a subway trip.

  Adam hopped on a subway heading uptown, with no particular place in mind. He just figured he would know it when he spotted it. He kept heading north, changing trains, looking for the oldest and dirtiest subway lines. As the crowd on the train grew smaller and rougher looking, he smiled. When four short, heavily muscled and tattooed Latino males got on the train wearing red bandanas, swearing profusely and looking menacing, he knew he was getting close. He looked at the four of them and could smell their sweat. He could hear their hearts pounding louder than the clack of the subway wheels. One of them pulled a knife and carved his name in a seat, not caring who saw him vandalizing city property. They cursed and joked and occasionally looked towards Adam, in his neat clothing. He wondered how long it would take before they got around to him.

  Two stops after they got on, they hopped off, and Adam got off at the same stop, exiting out a different door. He stood on the platform, which was empty except for the four gangbangers and himself. He smiled and walked up the stairs to the street above. The neighborhood looked like one of the cities he vaguely remembered in war torn Europe some sixty years ago. Empty, burnt out buildings and garbage was everywhere. He walked quickly, listening to the men behind him trying to whisper about him. He heard them, and he smiled. He looked around him. Most of the streetlights were broken, and it was dark and void of life in this part of the city. He smiled broadly when one of the men behind him screamed over at him in Spanish. He kept walking. The man repeated himself, this time in English.

  “Hey! You lost muthafucker?” He stopped and turned to face the approaching “crew”. One of them slid a knife from his pocket. It was the same one that had carved his initials in the seat.

  “I said, you lost motherfucker? What you doin’ in this neighborhood, pussy?”

  Adam smiled and stopped walking. He inhaled deeply and felt his hair starting to stand on his arm
s. It was like electricity pumping through him as his claws started to tingle under his skin. His mouth felt full again, as razor sharp fangs slowly began to extend from their hidden slots.

  He stared at them, his eyes going silver and shimmering in the dark street.

  “You got off at the wrong stop, heffe,” snarled one of the men. “You in our neighborhood without permission. You gotta pay a tax.” He laughed at his great joke.

  “Everybody gotta pay a tax, pussy,” said one of the others, finding his fellow punk very amusing.

  Adam inhaled again, smelling adrenaline. He wanted a fight, not just a meal. He wanted to taste the testosterone, the adrenaline and the endorphins when he hurt them so badly. He goaded them.

  “I think you will all pay me a tax. Each of you. Before I tear you all into little pieces.”

  They kept walking closer, fanning out around him as they approached. “You a tough guy, huh?” said one with a smile. “You better have a gun.”

  One of them pulled a thirty-eight from his waist band. “I got a gun, pussy.

  You got a gun?” He aimed it at Adam’s chest. “Huh? You bring a gun, pussy? Or you just gonna’ give me all your money and beg me not to kick your fuckin’ ass…”

  Adam smiled, his fangs now sliding down into position. He closed his hands to hide the long razor talons that now extended a full inch from his fingertips. He could open a can with them.

  “No gun,” he said quietly. “I’d rather use my hands. Wouldn’t all of you? Pussies…”

  The one in the center snapped at that, and ran straight for him. Adam let the animal out. He slashed the man’s throat open with one swift arm motion, and the man dropped, spraying blood and clutching his open throat.

  “He got a fuckin’ knife!” yelled one of the others, and the one with the gun fired at Adam’s chest. The slug went straight through Adam’s chest, and Adam sprung at him like a leopard, snapping his arm like a twig, making him drop the gun. He brought his other hand around the man’s leg and cut his hamstring completely through to the bone, dropping the man to the ground. An attacker jumped at him from behind, but Adam’s reflexes were like lightning, and he spun around and brought his hand down so hard on the man’s shoulder he could hear the clavicle snap. The last man standing was the one with the knife, which he shoved as hard as he could into Adam’s stomach. He twisted it and snarled at Adam.

  “Take that, motherfucker!” he yelled, then pulled it out to attack again with it. Adam opened his mouth and showed his fangs, howling with rage. He leapt at the man and used both hands to grab the man by the face, pulling his head back to expose his throat. He sunk his mouth into the man’s neck and growled as the man’s carotid sprayed into his mouth. He sucked deeply, feeling the power rushing into his body. The man gurgled and dropped like dead weight, and Adam could hear two of the others trying to get up. He dropped the one in his mouth and turned on the other two.

  One of the thugs was still holding the back of his leg, trying to stand, but having difficulty moving, his leg muscle completely severed, causing extreme agony. Adam could smell the endorphins and hear his blood pumping. He moved so fast the two men still alive both screamed in terror. He was on the man, his mouth on the man’s throat in a second, ripping and tearing through muscle tissue and arteries. The hot blood sprayed in his mouth and he sucked so hard the man’s arteries collapsed in his neck and chest. He dropped that one and turned to the last, who was now up and trying to run, his shoulder broken in several places, but his legs moving as fast as he could. Adam could smell the fear and pain and feel blood beating his own dead heart. He hadn’t felt so alive in decades. Adam ran the man down in a matter of seconds and pulled him to the ground.

  Adam jumped on the man’s back and used his talons to grip his pray. The man howled as the claws shredded his back, and Adam sunk his teeth into the man’s shoulder, tearing out a huge chunk of muscle tissue. He didn’t want to kill this one too quickly. He wanted the man’s blood to be full of as many chemicals and tastes as possible. He slowly sucked and began chewing on his victim, bones cracking under the gurgling sounds of the creature feeding. The man was trying to scream, but no sound would come out now as shock took over. Adam stopped for a moment, lest he kill him too quickly, and dragged him back to the others. One was already dead, and the other two were close. He saw blood flowing and grew angry at the waste. He let go of the one he had been enjoying, and grabbed the one closest to death before his meal was ruined. He bit through the man’s shirt and ripped out a piece of his chest, then used his hands to open the man’s chest and pull out the heart while it still beat. The man who was still alive had to witness this creature eat his friend’s heart, slurping and sucking it dry.

  Adam went back and forth between the three that were still alive, enjoying the subtle differences in their blood chemistry, now completely lost in his blood lust. He ate chunks of flesh, knowing they would make him sick, but not caring. He tore the bodies apart, breaking bones, ripping tissues and organs, and sucking back so much blood he felt like a tick on a dog.

  Fifteen minutes later, Adam was still crouching on the ground, in the middle of what had been four men. His teeth had bits of flesh stuck in them, his silvery eyes turning blue as his own flesh returned to a color he had not had in months. He was sick from overeating, and vomited up some flesh, but smiled as he burped, tasting the four men on the ground. As he calmed down and came to his senses, he decided he couldn’t leave them like this. One at a time, he dragged them to an ancient dumpster and dropped them in. When the four of them were piled up on top of each other, he ran to the nearest car and pushed it down the street to the dumpster. The tires wouldn’t roll, but Adam was so strong from his meal, it didn’t stop him. When he had the car against the dumpster, he ripped off the gas cap and shoved a piece of one the men’s shirts into the open gasoline port. He hopped up into the dumpster and fished through the men’s jeans until he found a lighter and hopped back out. The shirt was now wet with gasoline, and when Adam lit it, it went up quickly. Adam was sprinting down the street when the car exploded, igniting the trash in the dumpster along with the four destroyed bodies that lay inside.

  The run home was invigorating for the blood covered creature. It was after three in the morning by the time he had left the grisly scene, and the streets were mostly empty. He moved like a cheetah through the dark streets of New York, avoiding people by smelling, hearing or seeing them long before they knew he was near. When he got back to his own building, he scaled the side of the building, using his talons to climb straight up to his third floor apartment. He entered his unlocked window, took off his clothes and smelled them for a while before showering off the blood and pieces of human being that were stuck to him. When he was clean, he shoved his clothes into a bag and sent them down the garbage chute of his apartment as he had done many times before. He went back to his bedroom, laid down on the fake fur coat which was on his bed, and curled up like a dog that had eaten too much. He closed his eyes, enjoyed the warmth and taste that lingered in his mouth, and dreamed of shredding the four men over and over.

  Eighteen

  VWX

  Special Task Force

  Friday Morning – 6th Precinct

  The officers from both precincts sat drinking coffee around a long conference table that was covered with folders, some dating back as far as the sixties. They worked quietly until the person they were waiting for entered the room. Heather walked in with a large folder under her arm, said a quick good morning, and then walked to a whiteboard and grabbed an erasable marker.

  She was writing quickly, in large block print, making columns with data in each row. She copied the information from her notes and worked in silence, the men sipping coffee and watching her until she was finished. When she had filled the board with information she turned around, looking fairly stressed out.

  • 104 • “Gentlemen, you are looking at almost two hundred files from all over the city. I have kept the investigation to within Manhattan
for now, although who knows where this will end up. After working with every precinct in the city, and going through the notes you have made thus far, I am beginning to see the picture of something so bizarre I don’t even know where to start. I have pulled some evidence from old files and sent them back to the labs for testing using current technologies. Most of these are dead-end files or missing person cases that went unsolved. Here’s where we are…” She turned to the board and showed the columns, rattling off the information she had cross referenced over the past few days. “Every year, almost 900,000 people are reported as missing in this country. The vast majority of these are found relatively quickly. Here in the city, we had over 5,000 reports, of which approximately 4,700 were found. Of the three hundred missing that didn’t turn up quickly with happy endings, about half ended up being homicides and a couple of suicides. That leaves about a hundred open missing persons cases. There were about 500 homicides last year, but most of these were solved and the killer was someone the victim knew—either a lover, an acquaintance, a drug or gang related death— stuff like that. Our crime statistics only go back to the sixties, but the number of unsolved murder cases and missing persons cases fluctuates from today’s lows around 500 to the highs over 2200 back in the late nineties.”

  She took a breath and looked around to make sure everyone was following her.

  “Okay—so of the year’s combined homicides and missing persons cases, we average about two hundred that go unsolved. If our killer wanted to have a new victim every week or two for the last fifty years, he could have theoretically done it. I mean, if he wanted to maintain his diet.”

  Everyone cringed but no one said anything.

  “Are you people listeningto me? I said maintain his diet! I have looked at over a hundred Jane or John Doe cases and unsolved homicides that fit a pattern of a killer that potentially eats parts of his victims.”