Blood and wings

by J Wells

  I gaze down, watching his unsteady hand as it searches in the pocket of his black hoody. Hasn’t he read the sign, smart causal dress? He’s attempting to enter dressed in three-quarter trousers; he’s got a nerve. Everything about him cries out trouble; he’s probably been inside. Long trousers would have been far more favourable tonight, for his bare legs can’t disguise the fading tan lines left from the tag he has recently worn around his ankle. He hasn’t learnt a lot, I think to myself as the thug keeps goading me to let him pass.

  “Come on, mate, give us a break, it’s his stag night,” an agitated voice shouts.

  I can feel the crowd like a wall as they push forwards, but I’m not budging, not for the yobs of today. I’m paid to do a job, to keep these pissheads out; they can go elsewhere.

  “Here…”

  I hear his stammers as he slams a plastic card into my face.

  “Alex Scott, of 42 Maple Drive,” I read aloud, mentally taking in his details, for I don’t forget easily. My memory is good, it’s where I store lots of information I may need later.

  My eyes widen and I flick the ID out of my face and out of his hand. I turn and square up to him.

  “Look, I don’t give a fuck about your age. You’re wearing three-quarters and trainers, and you’re pissed. Do one.” I point my finger towards the taxi rank.

  I laugh to myself at the pretty boy trying to act big, trying to be a man in front of his mates. His fist flies up towards my face with such predictability, and I catch it with the same reflex action I would catch a flying ball. Alex Scott has met his match; he has no idea who he’s messing with tonight. My fingers clamp around his clenched fist, and I squeeze tightly enough to cause searing pain. He makes no sound, he doesn’t need to, I can see it in his face. No, not yet, I think to myself, I will allow him a reprieve and a chance to be on his way.

  “I’ve told you once, do one.”

  He gives a slight turn towards his mates. I think I’ve won, but just as quickly he turns back and snorts a mouthful of saliva, spitting it with force into my face. Its warm congealed texture clings to my lashes, before slowly seeping down onto my cheek.

  He is goading me; I can see it in his eyes as he awaits my reaction. Though I never react how one would expect, my lips curve into a smile and I laugh in response. Alex Scott’s joviality is to be short-lived, for my cold stare cuts him dead, like the blade of a knife. My vice-like hold tightens around his fist. One move is all it will take for me to hear the crack of his knuckles and turn the bones inside those small fingers of his to dust. He’s not in pain, he’s in fucking agony; it’s the shock that prevents him from crying out. I know my strength and I love it, I love the control. It is such a thrill to have the power I do, to change somebody’s demeanour in an instant, to be able to destroy his evening with the flick of my wrist.

  “Lucian.”

  Briefly distracted, I turn. It must be time for our rotation already.

  “Lucian,” Dennis calls again as he walks towards me.

  He is a bald-headed bouncer wearing a black coat that matches my own. He stands at my side ready to take my place on the door. He’s a happy-go-lucky kind of bloke, quite contradictory to his outward appearance. He is built like a tank, and has a large dragon tattooed on his head, its tail trailing down behind his left ear and then curving around his neck and up onto his face. I smile; for the next hour I have the privilege of patrolling the dance floor.

  “I’ll be seeing you, Alex Scott of 42 Maple Drive,” I mutter between clenched teeth so as not to be overheard by Dennis or unwanted ears.

  I turn Alex’s slender wrist just that extra inch to make a point.

  “I’m not telling you again, do one.”

  I’ve got a feeling he’s heard me this time, as there’s no arguing back and I watch him and his friends scatter towards Bar-code, the next club down the street. I’m quick to press the button on my walkie-talkie to forewarn my fellow bouncers. That’s Alex Scott’s evening fucked, I think to myself.

  With my mind back on my job, I open the door to allow a group of giggling ladies entry. The beat of the music booms out onto the street like a drum, accompanied by a gush of warm air from inside. An arm hangs from around my neck and I turn into coppery hair and laughter. I smile at a rather flamboyant redhead. Her steps waver; she’s not quite drunk, but well on the way.

  “Maybe later, Lucian?”

  I watch her cheeky wink, and smile courteously in reply. Yes, she’s beautiful, but what is beauty? What does it matter to me? For beauty or not, it is impossible for any female to stir emotion or lust within me. My desires are long gone. How can I ever hope to love without a beating heart? It’s ironic how the symbolisation of a heart is depicted so beautifully in one’s mind, when drawn or replicated in whatever manner, yet in truth it is just a beating organ encased in blood and bone. Its only finesse is held within one’s own imagination, which humans allow to conjure up the meaning of love.

  “You should see the new bit of skirt that’s started here tonight.”

  Snapped from my thoughts, I jump from my mind’s tormented carousel and frown across at Dennis.

  “Didn’t know there was a vacancy,” I am quick to reply.

  “You must know Vanessa’s about to drop; she’s on maternity as of last weekend.”

  I pass a half smile and step past him into the club. I blink several times to allow my eyes to adjust and walk around the dance floor’s perimeter. Varying patterns of strobe lighting hang over the dancers. I glance around; all seems well. I walk between the beams of light and stand at the bar, where I rest my arm.

  I grin at Lucy, a petite blonde-haired barmaid, as she passes me a glass of iced water. She’s a single mum and works bloody hard to look after her two kids. Her ex was a bastard; he even had the look of one. He’d boast that the teardrops tattooed on his left cheek were for each time that he’d been inside. I don’t often stereotype people based on their looks alone, for what right have I, when I am the way that I am? His name was Vinny. He’d often prop up the bar, and I’m sure it was to check on Lucy. I could see the jealousy in his eyes; he hated other blokes looking at her. When he walked through the doors of the club, she’d turn into a different person. Her bubbly self became quiet, and her sparkling eyes that normally beamed at the customers looked down. God knows what hold he had over her, but she was scared shitless. I couldn’t have been working here long when she turned up for her shift with a black eye. I wasn’t having that; let’s just say I paid him a wee visit, scared the shit out of him. Not long after, Lucy told me that he’d packed his bags. He still hangs around on the odd occasion, though now under my watchful eye.

  My eyes are on the move the whole time, looking for this new bit of skirt Dennis told me about. I back away from the bar when I see Gaz, the club manager, walking through an archway from the backroom. He is dressed in a black suit and his usual open-necked shirt. He stops, picks up a glass and helps himself to the optics. He’s another pisshead; must be at least a treble, I think as I watch him pour. Then, chatting to the barmaids, he sits on a leather-topped barstool. I watch the way he looks at Lucy from under his eyes, but then he’s the same with all the women. My assumption is that he’s probably already had his way with this new bit of skirt. The manager’s eyes are wide, and they roll like a slot machine; it’s either the till or the cleavage of a buxom woman leaning over the bar where they come to rest.

  My eyes widen when I see her and I stir from within, my breaths touched by a kiss of life. I blink not once, but again and again, for I cannot believe the sight before me. My mind is awoken; I envisage the sweetest petals as they float before me in a collage of crimson. Then, dream-like, it all comes back to me: the girl I saved on the bridge, my fallen Rose.

  Serene, utter perfection, I keep her within my gaze. I watch her as she seems to float towards Lucy; with her tanned complexion, she resembles a bronze figurine. Black flowing tresses float across her shoulders in a dark absence of colour. I bite back my gasps as my star
e falls upon her full crimson lips, for they are the deepest of red, blood red; I can almost taste them. I hunger for this woman, but it’s not just her lips that I taste; I can taste all of her. I am transfixed on her every move, and my eyes follow as she shadows Lucy. From the optics to the cash register, my eyes circle until my head aches for release, but from this lady it appears there is none. The life that I lost that was forsaken I can now see before me, reflected within the smouldering brown of her eyes. Like an endless melody that plays in my head, she is my addiction.

  Gaz sits alone on a barstool, drinking. I see Rose look up and catch his stare; I watch his finger as it beckons her. She lifts her head from pieces of lemon as she stands cutting them for the tequila shots. Placing down her knife, she walks towards where he sits supping from a whisky glass.

  The heady music and conversations, the overriding din around the club, are silenced, though for everyone else the night plays on. I choose not to listen, and I choose not to see. My senses are heightened, giving me a choice as to what and whom I see and hear, and I’ve made my decision. Now it’s only her and Gaz I see before me. I can hear the soft continuation of her breaths; I can hear every word that leaves Gaz’s lips, as though I am standing with them, engaged in conversation.

  “Job’s yours…” I hear him pipe up.

  I look towards the mahogany bar, which he leans across towards her on his elbows. He inhales, his fingers playing with loose strands of her hair. The floral essence of her perfume and traces of shampoo cry out to me. I breathe the scent of her skin; it is worn solely by her and is carried through the air by invisible messages which she unknowingly sends my way.

  “And,” Gaz continues, “if you’re up for overtime, you can make a load more money in this job. Our little secret, just give me the nod.”

  My gaze slips from her momentarily, allowing me time to look into Gaz’s face. I search every pore, every crease for any depth of emotion, but he is so hard to read. Spidery lines pull at the corners of his eyes, which are like those of a shark. His blonde hair has receded and his face appears pinched. It isn’t his looks that women crave, but the money that weighs down his pockets. His life consists of nothing but the hours he spends at the club, his family no more than a non-existent dream.

  “A lot of our regulars don’t like leaving here alone, if you get my drift,” I hear Gaz whisper into Rose’s ear.

  I can hardly believe what he’s saying; the girl has barely got her foot in the door. An anger adheres itself to my gut like no other. Over the last couple of years Gaz has been a good bloke to work for, and as a mortal, I guess you could say he’s okay. But as I look at him now and see the sleazeball I’ve been working for, my head summons up some of the worst deaths imaginable that, if given the chance, I could bestow upon him, but there’s none like the venom that seeps from between my teeth. I can imagine them penetrating his broad neck, and then I’ll sit back and wait as the poison slowly invades his bloodstream. My fists clench at my sides, but are soon to open. Why waste my energy on this pathetic excuse of a man? From what I see, he’s already dead and all I can do is crave the heart he wastes.

  It appears that Rose makes a joke of his insinuations, although her body language purveys quite the opposite. I watch the softness of her shoulders straighten; she doesn’t quite make the smile she attempts and shuffles away from him. On her retreat, I step closer towards the bar.

  “See me,” I mutter.

  My voice echoes within Rose’s subconscious, as once again I allow my senses to dull. I blink, and as before, the night and the music play on. I am ensconced by people, drowned out by their voices, and yet through the hubbub she hears my request. Those dainty brown eyes of hers look solely at me. Their soft expression on meeting mine tells me so much. She doesn’t look into the eyes of a stranger, for she holds my gaze far too long. I can see the intrigue written on her face and the furrows of her brow as if she’s questioning where we first met.

  I rest my empty glass on the bar; again I look up and her eyes are still on me. I gesture subtly for her to pour me more water. With every step she nears, and intensity inside me grows. I feel a pull of my hand as she attempts to take my glass, and her finger brushes against mine. My fingers gain warmth; I am exhumed by a strange heat that rushes to my head. The feeling is euphoria. I can hardly catch my breath. My hand jumps and I drop the glass like a stone; it shatters on the wooden floor. I fasten my fingers around her wrist and gasp as once again I am engulfed by the pain of life.

  “Gaz!” Shaking myself from her stare, I click my fingers to catch his attention.

  “Going on my break, okay?”

  He gives me the thumbs-up. I turn back towards her wide eyes.

  “And you’re coming with me.”

  I don’t release her wrist or allow her time to question. With the stealth of a panther, I launch myself across the bar to where she stands. Pulling her with me, we pass through the archway into the backroom. I close the door. We are alone.

  “You don’t remember me, do you? Look closer…”

  I have a crushing pain beneath my chest; with every breath she takes it’s as though she breathes me back to life. I must have her. She is as beautiful as the day we first met. She was like a frightened gazelle running through the forest, her clothing dishevelled, her hair wild and free.

  “No,” she murmurs, shaking her head.

  Being a bouncer, there are so many witty comments I could throw her way, but I stop myself, for I don’t intend on playing tricks with this girl’s mind. I glance down at my clothes; I have to admit I look smart and I want her to see that, to see the man that stands before her. Not the monster, the vampire that I really am. It would be so easy for me to control her, for with the hypnotic power of my eyes and my thoughts she is there for the taking. I have no intention of letting her feelings become blurred by illusion. She is the drug to which I am addicted, and I can’t bear for her to be out of my sight.

  I feel cold as she pulls away, and the beat of my heart which stirred once again lies dormant. I watch her closely as she walks towards the corner of the room and sinks down onto a grey upholstered easy chair.

  “I don’t know you.” She places her finger on her bottom lip, gazing up. “You remind me so much of…” She falls quiet; it’s as though her eyes are drinking me in.

  I hardly hear her words, just crave her closeness and the feelings she brings. I drag the matching easy chair across the wooden floor, where I seat myself at her side. It isn’t just her floral scent I catch, but the scent of another man.

  “Are you seeing anybody?” I quiz.

  “Yes, I am; what’s it to you? And what’s with the men around this place?” She huffs, shaking her head. “All I want is a job, to go home at the end of the night and get paid. I’m not looking for a boyfriend, so what say you all leave me alone?”

  “I see you’ve still got your fighting spirit, but if your wish is that I leave you…”

  Leaning forwards, I throw her a knowing glance. I push my hands down on the arms of the chair to stand, but with the chair’s release I enter her space. Her face is so close to my own and I can feel the inner heat of her body as it rises. There’s a warm blush on her cheeks. My eyes lower and fall into her lap, where her hands are placed. I pick up the acceleration of the pulse in her wrist, and can actually see its rhythmical beat before me growing faster and faster. The sexual tension between us is like an explosive charge. Her sultry red lips are so near I can taste her. Yet there’s a hesitance on her part. She said there is somebody sharing her life, but I know she lies.

  “One would not look at another the way you look at me,” I tell her. “Well, not if you were truly in love with someone else. So, again I put it to you, is there a man in your life?”

  I can see a swimming of tears in her eyes. Maybe I’ve probed too deeply into matters of the heart. She loses my gaze. I watch her head bow, leaving her long hair to mask her face. She cannot silence the intermittent sobs, nor can she hide the rise and fall of
her shoulders. I feel such empathy as I look down upon her, so I take her in my arms like a mother would a child. The skin of my hand brushes against her; every nerve ending and every unfelt feeling inside me intensifies, every pulsating vein inside me awash with blood. The lust I feel is explosive, and the want, the hunger of the man I once was returns. My instincts are to lavish her curves with kisses and await her lips, her return of affection. As the night hours pass, we will bathe in the moon’s glow and make love until once again the sun sits against the backdrop of the sky. The urge, the desire is so strong, I am unable to quantify it. How can I pull away from the renewed life she unknowingly offers me? And yet I find myself doing just that. I can’t take these feelings any longer and the pain they bring.

  I turn towards the door, barely able to face her. When she leaves here tonight, I have a feeling I shall never see her again. My shoulders fall; I know I will lose her.

  “You can’t keep doing this, coming in and out of my life the way that you do. Unknowingly on your part maybe, but it is cruel, for when we touch you awaken the long forgotten beat of my heart that in your absence dies.”

  It hurts far too much to look again; I will say my goodbyes to both my love and my life. Maybe in time I will learn to forget, for time is one thing a vampire has plenty of.

  “I don’t understand,” she replies.

  I reach for the handle of the door to leave. She really doesn’t remember, but maybe it’s for the best.

  “Wait, I’m sorry,” she calls after me.

  I hear her sniff back her tears and turn to be met by mottled pink cheeks. She gets to her feet.

  “I don’t mean to be rude, I really don’t.”

  I watch tears spill once again, and see her damp cheeks glisten.

  “Some days you just want to wish away, and this is one of them.” Her voice seems to have gained some composure as she continues. “I’m buried in debt and unhappiness, and you know what? My life is going nowhere. It’s a case of shuffling the bills and reminders, and seeing which one I can pay first. My flatmate is doing the best he can, but he’s in and out of work, and now I’ve got a chance of getting a job and a regular income…” She pauses, running her fingers through the length of her hair. “But after the interview and trial, I don’t think it’s for me.”