Bad Blood

by Ren Hamilton

  “You piss us off all the time,” Patrick said. “We’re still here.”

  “Yeah. That doesn’t give us much credit,” Shep said.

  Joey sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s hard to be optimistic when you have nothing going for you.”

  He’s got to be kidding, Patrick thought. “Joey, you’re insane if that’s what you think. Just look at what you did tonight. You had that whole bar following your lead like you were the Pied Piper or something.”

  “A naked Pied Piper,” Shep said.

  “Right. But that’s not the only time I’ve seen you do that. You’ve always been able to influence people. It’s like magic for you. That’s why you’re so much better at finance and marketing than I am, and don’t think it pleases me any to say it.”

  Joey raised a finger. “Hey, wait a minute, Obrien,” he slurred. “I said I was never—”

  “I know. You’re never wearing a suit again. We all heard you, Joey. My point is you can do whatever you want.”

  “He’s right, Joey,” Shep said, draining the last of his glass as he stood up. “You’ve got influence. People listen to you.”

  Joey sighed. “People. Not family.”

  Shep crossed his arms in front of his chest and gave Joey a dark stare. He walked over and snatched Joey’s drink out of his hand, dumping its contents onto the cement floor of the balcony. Joey looked up at him, his jaw slack in surprise. “What the—”

  “Stop wallowing in self-pity, it’s pathetic!” Shep said.

  Joey scowled up at him. “Have I done something to offend you, Shepherd?”

  “Yes! Yes, you selfish, arrogant little prick.”

  Patrick felt as though his universe had just taken an unexpected hard left turn. Shep never so much as breathed wrong around Joey. Joey and Shep weren’t supposed to fight. Sure, Patrick and Shep fought all the time. That was expected. Patrick had even fought with Joey a few times. But Joey and Shep never fought with each other. It just wasn’t done.

  “You think you have no family left?” Shep screamed. “You think nobody’s going to be there for you? Well fuck you, Joey. Fuck you!”

  Patrick had been concerned earlier about the lack of sentiment being displayed by his friends. Now everyone around him was falling apart. His cup runneth over. Joey sat motionless, his fingers still curved around the glass that was no longer there. Shep turned his back to them, mumbling. When he whirled back around, his eyes glistened with tears.

  “How can you say that to me, Joey? How can you say that to me of all people? Do you think I don’t know what it’s like to feel orphaned? Do you think I know nothing about pain? Well, let me tell you something. If I ever forget, I have this to remind me.” Shep tore his tee shirt off and tossed it aside. He gave them his bare back, displaying the horseshoe scar between his shoulder blades.

  “Take a good look. This scar is what family used to mean to me.” He faced them again. “That all changed when your family took me in. You gave me a home. You treated me like a brother. I felt safe for the first time in my life. And now you look at me with those sad blue eyes and tell me you’ve got no family left? Well fuck you, Joey Duvaine!”

  A knot formed in Patrick’s stomach. Shep had never voluntarily brought up his past, and he’d never spoken of it without jokes before. Joey stood. He moved toward Shep, and Patrick was sure he was about to hug him. Instead, he wound up and punched Shep square in the jaw.

  The blow sent Shep stumbling backward. He caught himself by grabbing the railing. Patrick gasped. They were on the third floor, and if Shep had gone over…well, he’d be roadkill. “How dare you speak to me like that after what I’ve been through!” Joey shouted. “You can’t allow me five goddamned minutes of self-pity? So you had a hard life. Well, guess what? We all have hard lives, so get over it, Melvin!”

  Patrick gasped again. You could get away with a lot with Shep, but calling him Melvin was off limits. “You son of a bitch!” Shep launched himself at Joey and they went down, sending chairs flying as they tore at each other in a wild rage. The situation was so foreign to Patrick that for a moment he was frozen, a child caught between his warring parents. Shep was on his way to winning the scrap and pinning Joey’s arms down with his knees. Shep’s wiry build had always been a deceiver of his strength. The little bastard was strong as an ox.

  Finally finding the will to move, Patrick jumped from his chair, and with considerable effort, tore Shep off of Joey. “Both of you stop it! This is insane!”

  They scrambled to their feet, glaring at each other through labored breathing. Joey’s cheeks were smeared with dirt and Shep’s lip was bleeding. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared at the sticky red stain. “So it’s blood you want. Huh, Joey?”

  Joey shook his head. “Let it go, Shep.”

  Shep looked crazed in the dampened moonlight. Tiny chips of cement clung to his sandy curls. “I understand now,” he said. “Blood is family. Family is blood.”

  With this statement Shep turned and disappeared through the doorway into Joey’s apartment. Moments later he stepped back onto the balcony with a short dagger. Patrick gaped. “Shep, what the hell are you doing with that knife?”

  “I’m going to give Joey my blood,” he said, and promptly sliced a half moon cut just above his wrist. Blood seeped sluggishly into the wound.

  “Has everyone lost their minds?” Patrick shouted.

  Shep gave him an innocent stare. “Joey obviously doesn’t consider someone to be family unless they share his blood. So I’m going to share my blood with him.”

  “Shepherd, give me that knife.”

  “No, give me the knife,” Joey said.

  Patrick caught Joey’s wrist as he reached for the dagger. “No offense, Joey, but you’re not in any condition to be handling cutlery.”

  “It’s his choice, Obrien,” Shep said.

  Patrick studied his two friends, covered in sweat and blood, eyes wide and feral. “Fine,” he said. “Take the knife, Joey. Kill each other for all I care. I’ve had enough. I’m going to bed.” Patrick stepped into Joey’s apartment, determined to pass out on the couch regardless of the consequences. His friends seemed to have gone stark raving mad in a matter of hours, but he was too tired and fed up to care. He was heading toward the bathroom when he realized Shep was trailing him.

  “Can I do something for you, Shepherd?”

  “You have to come back outside. You need to be a part of this.”

  “A part of what?”

  “Making a pact. Don’t you see? Joey is feeling orphaned. He wants family. He wants blood. It’s symbolic.”

  “You…don’t mean cutting ourselves and rubbing our blood together.”

  Shep held up his arm, still bleeding from the cut he made. “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Patrick laughed. “Well for starters, this isn’t summer camp, and we’re not in the third grade. There is of course the lunacy issue, and don’t even get me started on sanitation.”

  “I really think this will help Joey. You saw him. He’s all messed up. He’s totally depressed. God knows what he might do. I know this sounds crazy, but if it will help Joey, I think it’s worth trying.”

  “This is beyond crazy, Shep. Do not ask me to do this.”

  “Please? You have to trust me on this. I know what I’m doing.”

  Famous last words. Patrick had heard them more times than he could count. Shep looked up at him, his green eyes wide and pleading. Patrick huffed. “Don’t pout and bat your lashes. That shit doesn’t work on me, I know you too well.”

  “I’m not batting my lashes. I’m genuinely upset. And scared. I don’t want Joey to…do anything stupid, you know? I’ve known him since we were fifteen and I’ve never seen him like this. Please, Obrien.”

  Patrick felt his resolve weakening. The Shep Factor was kicking in. He was about to jump off another bridge after Shep. “Can’t we just spit shake or something?”

  Shep stepped cl
oser. “You’re the responsible one. If you do this, he’ll follow along.”

  “Fine. But I’m warning you, Shepherd. This is absolutely the last stupid thing I’ll do in the name of friendship. I’m drawing the line after this. Are we clear?”

  A smile warmed Shep’s face. “This is the last thing I’ll ever need you to do for me. I promise.”

  He grabbed Patrick by the elbow and led him back onto the balcony, where Joey leaned against the railing, staring sadly out at the river. Shep handed Joey the knife. Without a word, Joey made a slice above his wrist, identical to Shep’s. This is so unsanitary, Patrick thought, and winced at Joey’s freshly carved wound. Joey held the knife out to Patrick, who took it apprehensively. It was slick with Joey’s blood.

  He gripped the knife, hesitating. Mixing his blood with Joey and Shep’s was about dead last on his list of things to do. They’d both slept around a lot. He tried to push that thought away. Looking at Joey’s somber face, he saw the importance of this childish act reflected in his pale blue eyes. Holding in a deep breath, he made the cut on his own arm.

  His skin burned with a stinging pain as the blood welled. He’d never felt more foolish. He was twenty-eight years old, standing outside at one in the morning carving himself up with a knife. Shep grabbed it from Patrick and placed it on the balcony floor. He seemed driven by an uncharacteristic urgency. “Form a circle around the blade,” Shep said. Patrick complied, silently amused by the theatrics.

  The three of them surrounded the knife, then Shep closed his eyes and began to whisper. The words were unrecognizable, so Patrick surmised he was making them up. “Esk ul kalde ich hlada ich dar.”

  Patrick smirked. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It’s a phrase spoken by the ancients to bond them together before battle,” Shep said.

  “Oh, I see. Are we going into battle then?” Shep shot him a scathing look. Patrick couldn’t hold in his giggles. “Sorry. What ancients, exactly?”

  Shep glared at him. “Just…ancients.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “What do the words mean?” Joey asked. Patrick stopped laughing and stared at Joey. He was wide-eyed and serious, like he was really buying it. Patrick wondered if this might be a good time to sell Joey some swamp land, or a slab of the Brooklyn Bridge.

  “It means unity and brotherhood,” Shep answered. “It will bind us together.”

  Patrick bit down hard on his tongue to keep from laughing. “Hold out your arms,” Shep said. Patrick stopped laughing. He didn’t want to do this part. He said a silent prayer that Joey and Shep had no communicable diseases.

  Shep placed his own arm over Joey’s first and held it there, letting the blood mingle. He recited more gibberish. Then he removed his arm, and led Joey’s over to Patrick’s. Placing Joey’s bloody wound directly onto Patrick’s, he sandwiched their arms together.

  Patrick flinched as Shep pressed Joey’s arm down on his fresh knife wound. Holding their arms firm, Shep closed his eyes and uttered the strange words again. “Esk ul kalde ich hlada ich dar.”

  A tingling sensation started at Patrick’s fingertips, then a painful jolt coursed through his arm, like a powerful electric shock. He jerked his arm back. “Ouch! Holy shit. Did you feel that?”

  Joey shrugged. “Feel what?”

  Patrick stepped back, rubbing his throbbing arm. “What the hell!” he said. “I just…felt something. It was…it hurt.”

  “Probably just hit a nerve,” Shep said. “From the cut.”

  Shep didn’t attempt to put his arm on Patrick’s, so apparently they were done. Patrick had a sudden, inexplicable urge to get the hell away from Joey and Shep. If it weren’t so late, he’d have left right then and gone to his own apartment. His arm was still pulsing uncomfortably. Shep stared at Patrick’s wound, then met his eyes. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s all go get some sleep.”

  ****

  Shep stretched out on the twin bed in Joey’s spare bedroom and invited sleep to enter his body. He was just on the cusp when he heard the bedroom door creak open. He lifted his heavy eyelids, but he already knew it was Robin. He’d smelled her as soon as she entered the apartment. “What are you doing here? I told you I’d come over later and you told me to fuck off,” he mumbled.

  She moved to the edge of the bed, her blonde hair luminous in the window’s moonbeam. “I changed my mind,” she whispered, and slid her dress over her head. She wore a matching set of black lace bra and panties.

  “Very snappy outfit, but you’re too late. I’m exhausted now.”

  She slid her hand over him and found him erect. He silently cursed. He loathed not having control over everything in his life, the way he had with Obrien tonight. He smiled at the thought of that victory. Robin assumed the smile was for her, and she climbed on top of him. “You don’t feel too tired.”

  “Fine,” he said. “But get a condom first.”

  She frowned at him, the way she always did when this came up. “I’m not ready for a condom yet. Just relax.” She pulled off his shorts and explored his body with her tongue, circling his hip bones and teasing around his upper thigh. When she slid his length into her mouth, he gently eased her head back.

  “Get a condom, Robin. In my bag over there.”

  “I’m on the pill, and I can’t get pregnant in my mouth, in case you didn’t realize. What the fuck, Shep, do you think I’m diseased or something?”

  He was too tired to have this argument again. They’d had it a hundred times at least. “It’s not you I’m worried about. We’ve been through this. It’s late, and I’m tired. If you want to do this, then get a damned condom.”

  “Fine.” She crossed the room and dug through his bag, returning with the little packet. “Okay, Mr. Safety. I have a condom.”

  “Put it on me.”

  “Not yet.” She placed it on the bedside table. “I’m not done playing.” She climbed on top of him again. They kissed deeply for a time, their bodies gliding together like an old familiar dance. She was nuzzling the edge of his collar bone, making her way down when she bolted upright. “What…is that blood on your arm? Did you cut yourself?”

  She held his wounded wrist up. It was stupid of him not to bandage the cut before bed, but he was too tired. “Oh, yeah. Joey broke a glass,” he lied.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Another one?”

  “I guess he was on a roll. I’ll go bandage it up.”

  “No! Not yet. I’m not afraid of a little blood.”

  “Robin…”

  “No!” She pushed him onto his back. “You’re so damned uptight lately. Just relax.”

  He spotted a sticky red blotch on the white skin of Robin’s lower arm. He sat up, with her still straddling him. “Oh, shit! You’ve got my blood on you.”

  She looked at her arm, and a sly grin edged her lips. “I don’t mind,” she said. “I bet your blood tastes good.”

  She started to bring her arm to her lips. “No!” he yelled, grabbing her wrist and twisting it away from her mouth.

  “Ouch! What’s wrong with you? Let go!”

  He dragged her out of the bed, his heart racing. She struggled against him as he pulled her down the hallway toward the bathroom. “Let go of me! What are you doing?” She winced as he gripped her wrist tighter.

  Inside the bathroom, he turned the water on and forced her arm under the faucet. A pump bottle of liquid soap sat on the back of the sink. He squeezed a large dollop onto Robin’s arm and worked it into a sudsy lather. Then he grabbed a sponge and she cried out and tried to pull away as he scrubbed her skin feverishly with the rough side. Watery blood ran down the white porcelain into the drain. He continued to scrub until the stream of water was clear, then he let her go.

  She backed away, glaring at him like he was a stranger. “Would you mind telling me what your problem is?”

  He gave her his back, pulling out the first aid kit and tending to his own wound. “I just don’t like blood.”

  Robin studi
ed him a moment longer, then made out of the room. “I’m going home. Call me when you’ve decided to behave like a human, if that’s possible. Fucking psycho.”

  When she was gone, he frowned at the mirror. He’d almost infected her. It was careless. All Joey had ever asked of him was that he never infect Robin with his fluids. He’d given Joey his promise, and he’d nearly blown it. He had no way of knowing what an uncontrolled contamination would do. One way or another, it would have changed her. And he didn’t want to change Robin. He liked her the way she was. She was one of the only people he could stand to spend extended periods of time with. Obrien always said it was because the two of them were so much alike. Shep always laughed silently at this. If Obrien only knew. Nobody was like Shep. Nobody.

  His lips pursed at the thought of Patrick Obrien. There had been a few tense moments when it seemed Patrick might not agree to the blood ceremony. Joey hadn’t believed they could talk him into it at all. But Shep was never really worried. Obrien was a born follower. That’s why Shep had chosen him all those years ago. And now it was done. With the blood ceremony completed, he could finally set his concentrations on the execution of the plan. There was much to be done, but it was now a matter of letting the events he’d planned so carefully fall into place. He let his frown turn upward to a smile. It was his time to take control. His time to shine. And soon, all the world would know it. All the world, and then some.

  Chapter Four

  Patrick had a spring in his step as he strolled with his briefcase toward the Parker building. He liked his job and enjoyed having structure in his life. All he wanted was some stability. But with Joey and Shep around that was nearly impossible. With them he could count on craziness and eccentricity at every turn. He couldn’t keep up anymore. He’d had enough of the non-stop chaos. He only hoped now that Joey’s Friday night antics hadn’t gotten his own ass fired as well, just for being friends with him. Patrick wasn’t the one who’d assaulted their boss, but he hadn’t stopped it either.